A voice cut through the darkness, sharp and desperate.
"Kylexsis..."
"Kylexsis, please open your eyes..."
Then, a roar. "FUCKING OPEN YOUR EYES, KYLEXSIS, AND LOOK AT ME!"
Kylexsis's eyes snapped open as he bolted upright, his lungs burning as ragged gasps tore from his throat. Pain—searing, all-consuming—engulfed his body, and a weak cry escaped him as he clutched himself, trembling.
"Hey, hey, easy. Breathe, Lexi. Just breathe." Clarke's voice, soft but firm, cut through the haze. A warm hand pressed against Kylexsis's back, rubbing slow circles. "You're okay. It was just a dream."
Kylexsis forced himself to obey, inhaling sharply before exhaling in a shaky rush. His vision blurred, but he could just make out Clarke's concerned face hovering above him. The older boy brushed sweat-dampened black hair from Kylexsis's forehead, his thumb swiping away tears Kylexsis hadn't even realized had fallen.
"Where… where am I?" Kylexsis croaked, his throat raw.
"My apartment. You've never been here before," Clarke answered, reaching over to the bedside table. He grabbed a glass of water and two Advil, pressing them into Kylexsis's shaking hands. "Take these. It'll help."
Kylexsis swallowed the pills without protest, the cool water a relief against his parched throat. When he finished, Clarke took the glass and disappeared into what looked like a small kitchen, returning with a bowl of steaming water and a rag.
"How… how did I get here?" Kylexsis frowned, watching Clarke wring out the cloth.
Clarke stilled for a fraction of a second. "You don't remember?"
Kylexsis bit his lip, searching his foggy mind. "I remember class… you scaring me… and then… nothing."
Clarke's jaw tightened before he forced a neutral expression. "You had a panic attack at school. I brought you here, gave you a cold bath, and put you to bed." He dragged the warm rag over Kylexsis's forehead, down his neck, then across his chest. "You had another episode in your sleep. I had to wake you up."
Kylexsis's face burned. "You—you bathed me?"
Clarke didn't meet his eyes. "You were shaking too hard to do it yourself." He tossed the rag back into the bowl, his gaze lingering on Kylexsis's bruised skin. "I thought it was just the usual nightmares, but…" His voice darkened. "I guess I was wrong."
Kylexsis shrunk under the weight of Clarke's stare. Compared to Clarke's broad, muscular frame, Kylexsis was small—scrawny, fragile. The kind of guy who looked like a strong wind could snap him in half.
"Clarke—"
"Why didn't you tell me?" Clarke cut him off, his voice sharpening. "You said the bullying stopped."
"It did," Kylexsis mumbled, staring at the dark blue comforter. "For a while."
Clarke's hands clenched into fists. "Lexi, when this shit happens, you call me." His voice rose, edged with frustration, hurt, something dangerously close to fear.
Kylexsis couldn't look at him.
Clarke was everything he wasn't—strong, confident, wanted. A golden boy with a future. And Kylexsis? A burden. A sick, broken thing dragging him down.
"I didn't want to be a problem for you," Kylexsis whispered.
Clarke scoffed, disbelieving. "You're not—"
"I am." Kylexsis finally met his eyes, his own burning. "You're always cleaning up my messes. You have a life, Clarke. You shouldn't be stuck worrying about me."
Clarke stood abruptly, his expression twisting. "Are you serious right now?" His voice was a growl, vibrating through the room. "Look at yourself, Lexi. You could've died today. If I hadn't been there—" He cut himself off, running a hand through his hair. "Do you even care what happens to you?"
Kylexsis stared at his hands.
Maybe he didn't.
Maybe dying wouldn't be so bad.
"...What if I want to?" he murmured.
Clarke went deathly still.
Kylexsis didn't look up. "What if I want it all to stop? What if… what if the world would be better off without me?"
The silence that followed was suffocating.
Clarke's breath hitched. "Don't say that." His voice cracked. "You don't mean that."
But Kylexsis did.
And Clarke knew it.
Kylexsis forced himself to meet Clarke's sapphire gaze, his voice barely above a whisper. "What if I want to die?" The words hung in the air, sharp and jagged. "Maybe... maybe this will all go away. Maybe the world would be better off."
The fear in Clarke's eyes was instant, visceral. It twisted something inside Kylexsis—guilt, shame, the familiar weight of being a burden.
"You don't mean that." Clarke's voice cracked. "You don't mean that. Please don't say that."
But Kylexsis did mean it. Clarke just refused to see it.
"Right," Kylexsis murmured, turning his head toward the window. The glass was frosted over, the sky beyond it a void of black. Night had fallen while he'd been unconscious. His stomach lurched. The exams. He'd missed them. Missed his only shot at scraping together a future.
Now he had nothing. No money, no degree, no way out. Just a crumbling apartment and the certainty that soon, even that would be gone. I'm trash. Useless.The thought slithered through him, venomous. God, just let me die already.
"You missed your finals," Kylexsis said hollowly, still staring at the window. "Because of me."
Clarke's jaw tightened. "It doesn't matter."
"Bullshit." Kylexsis shoved himself upright, biting back a gasp as pain flared across his ribs. Clarke had sacrificed again, derailed his own life again, and for what? A broken, worthless—
"Ive lost, Clarke." The words tore out of him, raw. "The university was my last chance. Now I'm screwed. Homeless. I need to go home."
"Lexi, you can't even stand—"
"No."Kylexsis cut him off, sharp as shattered glass. Clarke flinched. "You've done enough."
Silence. Clarke's eyes searched his face, but Kylexsis had spent years perfecting a mask. After a tense beat, Clarke exhaled and grabbed Kylexsis's backpack from the corner, then tossed him a hoodie and sweatpants from the wardrobe.
"You don't have to go," Clarke tried again, arms crossed like he was physically holding himself back.
"I'll be fine." Kylexsis yanked on the clothes, ignoring the way his hands shook. The backpack weighed a ton—textbooks, fabric scraps for the tailor, the pathetic remnants of his pathetic life—but he slung it over his shoulder anyway.
"Lexi—" Clarke caught the door before it shut. "Call me. When you get home. Please."
"Maybe." Kylexsis didn't look back. Still treating him like a helpless kid. The elevator doors closed between them like a guillotine.