Archive of Our Own

“So, selection is tomorrow.”

Just the mere reminder made him sick to his stomach. He simply choked out a noise in response.

The weather provided some semblance of comfort, however.

The sun’s luminance dawned upon Splintered Skies. Overhead, off-white clouds fluffier than spun sugar, light flush against Boombox’s skin; limned in amber, it was warm. The water dripped lazily from the fountain behind them as they sat on the marble, filling the silence. The candy in his mouth oozed out a sour taste as he chewed on it. It was familiar, comfortable. 

Supposedly perfect.

But it wasn’t enough.

There was a rift that resided within it all, disruptive.

It was small, barely noticeable.

But he caught on.

And usually, Skateboard would be fine with imperfect, he preferred it, actually. Perfection didn’t exist, an appealing concept, sure, but ultimately unattainable. He’s seen it first hand, those around him—hadn’t known any of them personally, (the only person he would consider a friend was Boombox), falling victim to perfectionism, destroying themselves in the process, stripped of their individuality, forcing themselves to fit in a mold dictated by an ever changing society. To put it simply; he thought it was stupid.

That rift came in the form of a bubbling mess of self-doubt beside him.

Whatever was happening right now, was not stupid.

He had a feeling.

Testing his suspicions, Skateboard flashed the other a toothy grin.

He returned it with one that didn’t quite reach his eyes.

Just as he expected.

“Sumthin on your mind?” Skateboard said, a little too inquisitive, he caught on quick. Far too quick for his liking.

That damned quirked brow.

Voice faltering, “Ohh, ya’know…”  Boombox’s mind blanked, nothing but: code red, code red spasmed within.

He wracked his brain for a response, internally panicking, (he was certain he was shaking slightly with a scrunched face), with the way the other had a frown etched plastered on his lips, as he spared him a glance. But alas—with as much effort as he could muster, failed to come up with one.

With a heavy sigh, he decided on dropping the facade entirely and flicked his gaze to the clouds above.

“I’m worried.” Barely a whisper.

A shift to his left, he didn’t bother to look at the other, who he knew by now, was sporting a scowl and brows that melted into a furrow. He prodded on the idea of shutting his stupid mouth up entirely, but relented. A motto he lived by; finish what you’ve started.

“D’ya think we’ll be accepted—?” Boombox propped his head up on his palm.

He continued, realizing his wording seemed off and scrambled to correct himself, “—I mean, no doubts about you getting in bu- ow!” A dull, sharp strike erupted in his shoulder, he seethed in pain, the culprit eyeing him with a retracted fist, as if they’d gone over this a dozen times, (which isn’t that far off from being the truth.) 

Sure, he was expecting some kind of annoyance? But, not enough to cause a reaction. That wasn’t the right word. Besides the point, that hurt. He clutched on the smooth marble, it did not provide any sort of leverage, as he was scrunched over from the pain. He wasn’t expecting to get punched, and he definitely did not expect the sheer sting that came from it, especially from the doer. Despite Skate’s scrawny stature, he sure hit hard. 

In a tone that he knew so well but also dreaded, “Stop that.” Grump was evident in his tail as it flicked every now and then.

Oh he’s done it now.

“Don’t even–don’t utter another word!” Skate waved a hand in front of him, voice raising an octave.

He closed his eyes. A squeamish look on his face.

This is how I die.

“Look at me.”

Face the music (hah..)

He peeled his eyes open.

A flick to his forehead.

He blinked.

“If you start that self-worth nonsense, I will kick you down this island myself!” The skater exclaimed.

Was it bad that he was expecting worse?

He’ll take it.

Don’t joke about that, he was gonna say—if it weren’t for the intense gaze staring him down, effectively shutting him up. He rubbed his arm sheepishly in hopes of soothing the ache—to no avail. Inhaling sharply, gathering his thoughts.

After a good 30 seconds of trying not to melt under the other’s gaze, his brain eventually formed a coherent sentence, an actual understandable defense—not just a slurry of words stringed together. 

Was it a good defense? Eh, debatable. Don’t account for that, he’s already decided that it’ll do.

Mustering up the courage took a good 5 seconds. The moment he tried to speak again, he was met by a bandaged finger (scrapes from skating) to his lips, abruptly cutting him off, “Upupup! I know what you’re gonna say!” Skateboard stood up, an accusing finger still lingered from where it was.

As if he read his mind, “What makes ‘ya think that? Windforce ought to have gone mad if she decides to pass us up! It’d be like, I dunnow- ignoring free candy off the ground?” Skateboard retracted his hand from where it was, choosing to idly run his fingers through the cascading water behind him.

He shivered at the idea of Windforce listening in.

He looked around. Buildings of marble stared back at him. It’s unlikely, but an attempt to change the topic served a dual purpose; to save them both from her wrath (rumors whisper that she has all ears, better safe than sorry,) and another reason which shall not be conversed about. 

The skater thankfully provided him with a clean segway so…

“I don’t think you should just pick random candy off the ground, Skate.” Boombox said, stifled a grin as he did. 

“Where’d ‘ya get this anyway?” The sweet vat of melted jelly that sat on his tongue made him pause.

…

“Oh no. You wouldn’t.” 

The silence that followed was unnerving.

The tacky substance stuck to the skater’s teeth said so otherwise.

“I would.”

He uttered the words like a threat, for some reason.

“And I did. They’re good though!” The skater laughed, patting his wet hand dry on his shorts before digging through his pockets, pulling out different candy.

‘’And I’d do it again’’ was left unsaid.

Having nothing to say, Boombox simply chose to stare at the other disappointedly. 

Skateboard paused to return it with snark.

“Quit looking at me like that.” Boombox said.

Skateboard fired back, “You started it.”

“You aren’t supposed to return it!”

“What can I say, I can't resist a staring contest.” 

Not caring if he won—he broke off eye contact, blinking away. Just relieved that he managed to successfully sway the conversation away from what he brought up earlier. 

In his peripheral, Skateboard chirped with triumph. He continued digging through his pocket, tossing some uneaten candy along the way until he pulled out one wrapped in dark red plastic; cherry. Again. Well, it was his favorite after all. Boombox always took note. 

The wrappers spilled all over the place. Notably, the candies that were lucky enough to survive the skater’s gluttony were wrapped in every color but red.

He snuck both the wrappers and the uneaten ones in his own pockets to ‘dispose’ of them properly later.

And he had called the other a glutton…

“These floor candies slap tho.”

“First, don’t call them that. Second, I don’t think you can call them tasty if you’re only eating one flavor.” Boombox pointed out.

“Blah blah blah, I’ll try the other flavors later.”

He doubted ‘later’ would happen.

Especially when he so clearly saw him pocketing the discarded candy.

He would say something, if he was bothered by it; he reminded himself.

Silence fell.

It started small, the skater’s movements grew sluggish. Hesitation made itself more obvious as his fingers twitched, repeating movements, trying to unwrap the treats in his hand. Slowly, it came to a halt altogether. It caught him off guard. 

If he was being honest, he didn’t even think that the word ‘stop’ was in the other’s brain dictionary—but here he was, hands folded on his lap, just simply sitting. No trace of the usual spark of energy he embodied. A much needed break. Choosing to observe, thoughtfully; silently. His eyes glossy, impossibly big, looking past him.

Then, his eyes met his own. They stared at each other momentarily.

The skater opened his mouth to speak, then closed it, not before replacing his catlike grin for a more sincere one, candy residue stuck to his teeth, “But seriously, Boom. You’re enough.” 

Oh.

He faced away from him, hand just barely brushing his, staring up at the setting sun and muttering something inaudible.

Boombox widened his eyes, suddenly taking interest in the marble flooring and his untied shoelaces. “Okay, okay. I know, it's kinda stupid but, I just can’t shake off this weird feeling?” Admittedly, it was dumb of him to assume that the other forgets easily.

Skateboard hummed. “That’s valid, but I just don’t think it’s fair to me that you can’t see yourself the way I see you.” 

Oh.

The skater looked back at him. Boombox flushed, he gulped down the remains of the sticky candy in his mouth, a bashful smile crept its way on the green horned inphernal’s face. 

“Alright, I'm convinced, everything’s gonna be a-okay tomorrow!’’ Boombox laughed, albeit with a hint of nervousness evident in his voice. Like getting pelted at with bricks, the statement caught him off guard. Really caught him off guard.

That, and part of him still whispered that somehow, things were going to go wrong tomorrow, he can’t help but let his voice tremble, words washed over with an engineered, well-practiced fakeness to his tone.

“Now, how’d ‘ya learn how to spout out sweet stuff like that?”

“Natural charm?” Skateboard said.

Then, he chuckled when he shot him an unimpressed look, tail going awry, “What!? Assuring your friends is weird now? Can't anyone express their genuine appreciation towards their friends anymore?” He crossed his arms, pouting.

Weird. He didn’t mention anything about that.

“Well, you ought to pour your heart out for your only friend—” Boombox grinned, with a definitely intentional pitch change–to agitate the other, of course, going in for a hug.

The other swatted him away.  “Ack! Just you wait...”

“I’m gonna make a lot more friends once I—” Skateboard stuck his tongue out, fumbling for his gear.

“Make it to the big leagues babey!!!” He yelled out, pulling his skateboard with a flash, hopping on. With a push, he was off.

“Actually, watch me get all the inphernals once I make it!”

“Sure..” Boombox laughed, strained. He hoped the skater didn’t notice. Eyes trained on the clouds as the other circled around him. Ignoring the weird pang in his heart—choosing to trace patterns on his shorts.

Socializing. As opposed to the other, he has many friends. He’s good at it. 

It burns him out, sometimes.

But, how many of them were genuine?

He didn’t know.

“Don’t worry, I won't take ‘em all.” Skate grinned, placing his hands on his hips as he kept a steady pace.

Hm.

“And I won’t forget about you, obviously.” 

He paused at that.

He would be lying if he said he wasn’t waiting for the other to say something like that.

“Okay.”

Then, silence fell in a steady thrum.

Not the awkward kind.

A comfortable silence.

A calm break from everything that was going on.

For a moment, everything was still. Like earlier. The sky by now melted into a beautiful orange, the trees, he watched the leaves fall from their gnarled branches, somehow, every tree was uniform in shape, he didn’t give much thought to where the fallen leaves landed, not anywhere on the island, he thought. As none ever spilled on the ground.

Then his head turned. watching his friend circle around the fountain carefully — just merely observing. A calm tune played in his head.

Skateboard interrupted. As usual, always unscheduled. Slowing down to a halt in front of Boombox, still on board.

He simply blinked back at him as the red-horned inphernal winked, as if expecting something to happen. Snickering fondly as Boombox couldn’t pick up on his vague cue, “Wanna give the thing we were practicing a go?” Without waiting for a response, he rudely took off.

Taking it as more of a demand than a request, Boombox fished for his gear. He was happy to indulge, nonetheless. Like always? It let out a neon glow as he held it high, careful to control the pulses; steady and gentle, cautious not to indulge in Skate’s ‘gotta go fast anytime, everywhere!’ agenda while the sun was nearly set.

Skateboard naturally gravitated toward him, drawn in by the waves of sound, relishing in the cold air blowing past him as he gave him a speed boost. “See? This is rad dude. We’re like a package deal. Like, imagine me bashing enemies this fast!” Voice cracking as he spoke.

Boombox hummed in agreement, trying his absolute best to ignore the sour glances that a few passerbys shot at them.

Skate continued, “Say, d’ya think Splintered Skies would make marketable plushies of us two? Y’know like cool merchandise. Greatest Guardians of Windforce or sumthin..”

“Often bought together? Right.. We might be getting a ‘lil ahead of ourselves here..” 

“It’s a possibility..”

“They don’t even sell plushies of Windforce herself. She’d prolly think it’s silly,”

“Psh! Way to crush a young inphernal’s dreams! Ooh, watch this-”

Quick to ever change topic, Skateboard diverted all of his focus at the task he so suddenly decided to take up on—as he did an impressive set of tricks (he didn’t know what they were called, nor did he catch how many the skater did) along the border of the fountain in a concerningly short time frame.

Somewhere between that short time frame, Boombox just set his gear on the floor. 

Otherwise, he’d go too fast.

He internally screamed at himself that he should've set it down earlier– 

With the way the skater kept his eyes closed (He only caught onto it now, seriously, what is he doing?), he should’ve expected something like this to happen sooner. Skateboard let out a string of words, something along the lines of “toofasttoofast”, before failing his 7th trick in a row, crashing onto the cold marble. 

There was a wicked voice in his head that whispered, even if he were to do nothing—even if he didn’t indulge in the first place, an incident such as this was bound to happen.

He couldn’t help but believe it.

Boombox stared at him for a good 15 seconds. To give himself some credit, he lasted longer than his previous record (14 seconds) before laughing, almost tumbling himself (minding his untied shoelaces) trying to stand up with wobbly knees.

He wiped a tear at the corner of his eye before the other caught it. “What were you thinking, dude..” Said the music enthusiast, fondness dripping from his tone.

A muffled, “I was ‘boutta hit a record..”

“Ya good?” He made his way to his friend, who looked up at him, muttering a low “Nyeah, ‘jus beat..” before letting out a big yawn. 

Boombox helped him up, brushing off the dirt that muddied his friend’s pants. “Awnnn does the big mighty Skateboard need his beauty sleep?” He patted his shoulders with a smile.

“Shut up, dude.” Skate shoved him affectionately. He squinted at him, scanning him up and down looking for… something… Sweat formed on his nape as he just stood there.

Letting out a “ha!” as if finally deciphering ancient texts after decades of trying, he pointed at his shoes. “And does the ‘lil itty bitty Boombox need help with his big boy shoes?” He barked back.

Chuckling softly out of embarrassment, (which was quite embarrassing—how he still got embarrassed around him) Boombox had no retort.

“Oops.” He replied stupidly. A stupid reply was all he could muster. It was a reply nonetheless.

“Nawh, let me actually help with that..” The skater knelt with a soft “ow” as his knee hit the ground. 

He only kicked him.

“Hey! I'm serious!” 

“I’ve got it, bud. Also-” He fished out a pack of bandages from his bag and handed it to the scruffy skater, keeping mental note that the other preferred to patch himself up in his mind. 

“-You should be more worried about yourself, that was a pretty nasty fall.” 

“Pshh what? ‘Tis a flesh wound!”

He was sure he knocked the air out of the skater’s ribs with the way he practically shoved the pack into his chest.

He paired it with a piercing glare.

“Take it.”

The other took it hastily, with mild hesitation.

He didn’t miss the way his hand lingered on his for a beat too long.

With a satisfied hum, he knelt down to do his shoelaces. Thumbing over the silly dog embroidered onto his socks, it was a gift, from the person standing before him.

This was like, the third instant this week?

Only now did he realize that it happens so often. Part of him felt he was partially responsible for enabling him.

To give him credit, most incidents happen on the skater’s own accord; ‘not this one’, his mind taunted; and he only served as his personal bandaid supply cupboard. Still, he felt bad that he wasn’t there to drill some sense into him. ‘You could’ve done something this time’ the voice in his head persisted.

Was he doing it on purpose?

Now he was feeling guilty.

A hand that tugged at his as he stood up snapped him out of his thoughts.

Skate squeezed his hand, which was cold—not anymore. Almost to send an ‘I’m okay.’, loosening the furrow of his brows. He must’ve noticed he was thinking too hard.

He looked at the taller, who stood as if caught off guard, uncharacteristically. With warm cheeks, the skater shook his head as if to clear the fluff in his head before muttering a low thanks.

Boop.

He booped him with his free hand.

Letting go with a fond sigh, “It’s no biggie. C’mon, we’ve got a big day ahead of ourselves.” He looked over Splintered Skies’. The light that reflected off the marble blinded him, almost mockingly; so he looked away. 

“A big day where we get crowned as Windforce’s guardians?” Skate snickered, bouncing back from his trance, eyes glistening. 

I’m not sure...

Huffing after he paused for a moment too long, Skateboard looked over to the other and slapped his arm, “Hey, say it with me!”

Okay. He couldn’t say no.

He never would.

“On three?” Boombox grinned, playing it off with a light punch to the other’s shoulder.

“One..

Two…

Three!”

“A big day where we get crowned as Windforce’s guardians!” They said in unison, his voice, shaky–he was lucky enough to get drowned out by the sheer volume of the other. They earned a few sharp glances, once again.

A faint clock tolled in the distance, 6:00 PM. He didn’t even register it at first. At the same time, almost like the Inphinity was trying to scare him—cold wind blew past, the unpleasant feeling in his gut was ever blooming.

Skateboard bumped his shoulder and looked him in the eyes, twinkling with excitement. 

And as oblivious as ever,

“Together?”

-

“Together..”

He muttered. Looking down at the stamp on his hand. It was iffy, he disliked it. He wore it like a branded bull. A testament to where he belonged now. 

The ink smudged from how his palms grew sweaty; wiping it down on the back of his hand every so often. He looked at the clock.

Then, frantically looking around the selection halls, scanning his eyes over other young inphernals that littered the quarters, either in lines or bouncing with anxiety from the sides. No sign of his helm-wearing friend. He sighed, where was he? Boombox slumped his head on the railings, tracing the carvings which depicted Windforce, (a little egotistical), he thought.

A door rattled to his left, keen senses forced himself to straighten up, yet he slumped slightly once again when he risked a glance—another inphernal, who was being escorted by a judge.

To where?

He had just been there.

He sneaked out, the air stuffy inside.

He was ecstatic, at first.

His skin tingled with nerves as he was next.

The doors opened.

Windforce, with all her might, stood tall. A mere presence, her smile curbed. His skin grew clammy from her gaze–despite her obscured vision, he could feel it lingering on his every move. 

She didn’t speak.

It was easier to ignore her that way.

The sun was brash against his skin, sweat formed on his forehead, his breathing strained. He anchored his heels in the dirt. 

His gear made it hard to move, heavy—his arms shook. He hoped they hadn’t noticed.

Supporters were encouraged to show off their capabilities on a live target.

An inphernal with eyes too sunken in faced him. Their horns were dyed a golden hue, in need of a recolor as some of it was chipping off. The judges' horns were dyed the same. Those chosen as guardians were also required to mask their original horn color. He sulked at the idea of ditching his neon green.

Don’t get ahead of yourself.

He had no idea why, he always thought that it was a weird practice. To make their corpses all the less recognizable.

He could see it peeking beneath their uniform. Appendages similar to a spider’s lace work, dressed in gauze. Tired smile. Practiced posture. They must’ve noticed him staring too hard, they tightened their smile.

It began.

Okay, he’s got this; he thinks.

His gear emanated a groovy tune, they squirmed at that slightly.

They stood still. Unnervingly still. 

At one point, when he had gotten too close and pulled them toward him, they said, barely above a whisper, mouth somehow unmoving, “This is my purpose.”

“It’s better than being thrown down there.” Legs wobbled as he summoned a speed pad beneath them, voice barely audible, Boombox almost dropped his gear.

It was over before he knew it.

He had done the task at hand well enough—the judges decided.

The deity nodded, helmet rattling as she did so.

His verdict was set in stone by the hands that held everything, (or so he thought.)

And so, with a “Welcome in, kid. You’ll be valuable.” He was escorted out, after his hand was dipped in red.

Boombox was happy, really. In disbelief.

He released a breath, he didn’t even know he was holding.

But, he couldn’t help but…

What they had said.

It sat in his brain, repeating, as his footsteps echoed too loudly for his liking.

Was it really better?

A long drag was the hallway, which led to who knows where, and with it he grew uneasy.

He was ushered in as they held the door open. 

Inside, the room was stale, rows of chairs sat in a white room, almost every seat was empty. It was white, overwhelmingly so, the only pop of color was the projection that currently displayed a blue screen. A briefing, perhaps? He took a seat nearest to the door.

The room filled up slowly, still notably empty, though. And the projection switched.

Something felt off.

Uncanny. Everything about it.

Once they started talking about ‘serving your purpose as valuable members of society’, his organs twisted in a knot. 

Huh?

He continued to listen.

...

Oh—

This wasn't..

He snuck out 5 minutes later as the projection  they were forced to watch looped. 

Guardians of Windforce.

A title so revered, but what comes of it?

The system they had was wrong. So so wrong. 

His anxiety only grew, gnawing at him as Skateboard prolonged his absence. Staring at the entrance, waiting. Tail going slack. Looking down only at his big red “PASS” stamp only served as a reminder.

He didn’t know what to think.

Was this what he really wanted?

Early, he arrived. And early they attended to him.

Was he running late? Surely, not. 

Boombox made sure that Skate was very aware of the schedule, the very moment still ingrained in his mind.

He repeated to him for the fourteenth time, “8 A.M sharp, Skate.”

“Copy that, chief!” Skate saluted, a little too stiff, before they parted ways.

Had he managed to miss him?

Nope, he was hard to miss. 

He was a walking firecracker.

He snickered at the thought. Then, a heavy thud echoed throughout the halls, and the room stilled along with its occupants.

His throat went dry when the clock chimed.

The trumpets blared, not out of triumph, but as a sign. A warning. 

Someone was about to get exiled.

And, admittedly,

He was surprised.

It was the first that morning.

These exiles happen too frequently.

Especially on selection day.

So, choosing to tune them out was a perfectly normal reaction. As wrong as it sounds, they were conditioned to this.

When they really shouldn't.

Normally, he’d feel a whole truck’s worth of sorry for the unfortunate inphernal.

But an all too familiar voice screaming, “Put me down!” caused his feet to start running as fast as he could.

His bandaged knees were forced to kneel, knocking harshly against the floor, protesting as it made a sick scratch, scraping against the pavement.

When he lifted them momentarily–it was stained red.

Then came the sting.

It crept and bloomed under him as he was shoved down again. Cold metal pressed harshly against his cheek. With gritted teeth, he tugged at his head, trying to pry the deity's claws away from the grip on his horn. 

His head felt heavy, burdened by the combined weight of his helmet and deity’s hand.

The sharp tips grazed the keratin of his horn, leaving marks. He held his breath and stilled under Windforce’s grasp. 

He had trained his eyes on the cold pavement, knees raw from kneeling.

Stuff like these always managed to attract a crowd.

He (only him) prided himself on being a crowd attraction, sure. 

He didn’t mean it in this way.

The murmurs. Their gazes aimed with pity. It was all too much.

He cowered.

He wasn’t a fucking zoo animal.

He was forced to look up as she tilted his head upward, growling as she did, showing off his teeth.

She returned with an even sharper scowl.

The deity directed his head with a twist.

Amongst the crowd, stood out one. 

Boombox.

“Vermin.” She seethed, close to his ear.

Boombox—his only friend.

“This one’s too… rowdy.”

His only friend. 

“A liability on the field.”

Drop the facade.

Staring down, he froze.

He was greeted with nothing but discarded scraps.

Soon he’d become one with them.

It’s a long way down.

It hit him, not suddenly. The thought was buried deep into his brain, an annoying recurring one. Only now did it claw its way up to the surface. 

It was always there.

He just didn’t want to believe it.

He wanted to have faith.

But alas–

He wasn’t going to get what he wanted.

His eyes met his friend’s. Beginning to well up in tears, not failing to notice that the back of his hand was inked in red.

Skate smiled. Good for him.

At least one of us was favored.

He has so much to do.

And he has nothing.

The only thing ahead of him was getting thrown into the rotting scraps below.

What a shame.

He was deemed worthless.

A liability.

And to make things worse—

He was powerless to do anything.

He was gonna let it happen.

The grip on his horn loosened.

Don’t look down.

But all he could do was that.

I give in. 

Together, was all he thought about.

The ground gave way beneath him as Windforce struck her sword.

And it’d be the last thing repeating in his head until it was splayed open by the scraps below.

It was laughable. How easy it was to crush a sheep’s will to live. 

Little Sheep,

The trees wept with old age, rickety branches were harrowed by birdsong as it groaned in the wind. The fields were stained with innocence,

Frolicking in them, the flora swayed gently as he moved along, trying to control the volume of his gear. A high pitched “Hi!” erupted the serene setting further.

You graze in my fields

Another mouth to feed,

I watch you.

Blinking slowly, he looked behind him as he clutched his gear closer, tail flicking as he did so, his back strained, heavy, his arms shook.

A ‘yoohoo’. Followed by another.

His head turned with every little sound.

And with it, the fauna grew even more irritated. His gear was doing enough.

Where… was it coming from?

That day

I saw you

I watched you

I already decided.

Huffing, the mystery inphernal revealed itself, bouncing out of the grass, where the shorter grass grew in front of him, startling the other with a yelp, stumbling.

“Hey!” The red horned individual stomped.

The green one dug his thumb pads into the dirt, getting some under his fingers, landing conveniently on it—tail fluffing up out of surprise, mouth agape as he tried to process.

“Woah! I’m not that scary!..” 

“Sorry!” 

With a smile, a hand reached for his.

“It's okay! I'm also sorry—!”

He grasped the hand outstretched to him.

“—You know.. for scaring you?!”

He simply blinked, warm.

Go on,

Little starving sheep

What are you without your flock?

Your flock of pitiful size?

“I’m Skateboard, by the way!” Skateboard said, tail going haywire behind him.

“Boombox.”

The grass blades rustled softly in the wind.

The wolf’s hunger had to be satiated.

One way or another.

Little sheep,

You are nothing.

You will remain nothing.

Stray away from my lands now.

You are not permitted here.

The fields were blanched in something else.

Blood stained the grass, along with the wool.

Bright red.

“Together.” The word felt more like a taunt than reassurance. He spat it bitterly.

He didn’t think.

What was there to think about?

The moment the ground shook and the shaking figure of his friend went along with it—

He was scared.

But, he jumped.

It could be easily mistaken for an unfortunate slip of the foot—

I abdicate.

—and so let that be his story—

At first, he didn’t even process it. His mind lagged behind as he pushed onwards.

—if it meant that he got to stay by his side.

He was scared.

He didn’t look back as voices behind him screamed. All his other friends, the question remained, were they real?

His eyes shut in an instant, the world going topsy turvy all of a sudden.

He should’ve expected it.

He was scared. 

Insistent winds pressed against his face, an unsettling feeling of dread settled in his gut, eyes squinted from worry, struggling to keep them open.

The thought of a future without him scared him more.

Through his impaired vision, he could make out the silhouette of his friend, panic evident throughout his body. 

The idea of serving Splintered Skies scared him less, but the mere prospect made him want to vomit.

And, speaking of, he did want to vomit, right now. Hot air clung to him as the onslaught of whipping winds continued to wear him down.

He didn’t know what to do.

Be brave.

With gritted teeth, he stretched out his hand,  fumbling to summon his gear with the other, desperate to get closer to the inphernal ahead of him.

What can he do?

He hadn’t felt brave in a long time.

His first attempt, nothing.

Actually, when was he ever?

If only he could—

He couldn’t.

Shit.

What can he do? 

Why now?

The junk below crept closer.

What can he do? WHat CAn He do?? WhAT CAN HE DO???

He slammed his hand down in a desperate attempt.

The gear dragged him down, finally materializing it.

A gasp of relief, the feeling flaring up in his system, regretting it instantly as he sucked in a ton of debris.

That’s the least of his worries.

Now, he decided. 

Finally catching up to the other, with the combined boost of adrenaline and speed boost emanating from his gear, he cradled the other, who was frozen; passed out, supplied his mind.

Now was the first time he had ever felt brave.

“You’re fine, I’ve got you..”

His shield enveloped both of them.

He woke up to a shadow looming over him—and an even bigger shadow looming over the shadow that was looming over him.

What?

Blinking a few times, he straightened his head. His body protested as it groaned, he held his head in a futile attempt at easing the ache. Limbs creaked as he tried to sit up. 

Green.

What.

He blinked harder, which only intensified the sharp pang he was feeling. Muddled was his train of thought. 

He was supposed to be dead.

The green whipped around, seeing that he was awake, gave him the answer–actually no, it gave him more questions, surely his head couldn’t handle it all.

He’s awake.

“Are you okay?” The green asked.

Boombox.

He backed away. Confusion was strewn across the other’s face as he did so, he was sure he sported the same look, his tail curled inwards upon himself, giggling. 

But being awake wasn’t the same as being present.

He stood up—not without stumbling, only now did he realize his knees were bloodied as he pushed himself off on them, skin raw, the pain was excruciating, an invisible pressure constantly pressing into his everything–his nerves tingled with discomfort–from the fall, but he didn’t care.

His hands formed into a fist, trembling, however–in a fist nonetheless, his thumb, curled in.

Ahaha…

Was the Inphinity toying with him?

He knew the answer.

Silence.

What’s another broken bone?

With all the strength of someone who just fell from the sky could’ve mustered, he threw a punch aimlessly. He didn’t hit anything, he realized just a bit too late, losing his footing and tumbling down in the process. Everything burned once again, the sharp pebbles ever so gracefully caught him and kissed his already marred skin.

A strained gasp escaped the other’s throat as he crashed. Pitter patter, something hurried. Their movements jerky, feet probably catching onto something as a grunt pierced through the silence. A presence found itself nestled between him and the rusty, discarded roof piece he was staring at. Boombox, he presumed. The other busied himself inspecting him as he just laid unmoving.

“Are you okay!?” Boombox tried again, worry emanating from his tone.

Too hard to ignore, hands moved to brush away the fragments of glass dangerously close to him, glinting as he flicked them away carefully. Some nicked him, he hid the way he winced, Boombox grit his teeth as it happened.

It was until he pulled out an all too familiar pack of bandaids did his brain decide to implode on itself.

How did he even—

More evidence.

Skate did his best to ignore—well, everything.

Instead, he thought.

He thought hard, as hard as a person who currently had mush for brains could, blocking out whatever Boombox was spewing at him.

He hit nothing.

He was sure he aimed for the green.

That was hardcore confirmation.

This ‘Boombox’ wasn’t real.

“You aren’t real.” He didn’t mean to say that aloud. Or, maybe he did.

‘Boombox’ stiffened, he looked almost hurt.

He flicked his eyes back to him, catching his form hunched over, now with bandaged hands—hands that hovered over him, gauze held tightly in his palm, ready to tend to his injuries, despite sporting injuries himself.

Ever selfless.

Nice try.

He rested his eyes. He was almost disappointed in himself. On second thought, he was. How he thought that he deserved a world where Boombox chose him.

He glanced at him once more, inspecting. Observing. A deep frown was plastered on his face, his hands shook, the other coated in red–he wasn’t looking him in the eyes, instead opting to scan his injuries, unsure what to do, he had the same stuff on when he saw him in the crowd, maybe the real deal breaker was… Huh.

His eyes moved to stare at his socks, well–perhaps, lack thereof, then paid attention to his kicks.

Untied shoelaces.

Then, the bruises.

Wait.

One last thing.

His hands moved on their own. If he were fake, then why could he feel his eyes set on him with intent?

For verification.

He stretched, extending his arms, bones cracked along with him, straightening his spine and whole body, he pushed through the pain.

Then, suppressing all the strength a person that willingly threw themselves off an island possessed (which isn’t a lot)— 

Boombox kicked him, softly, away. It was more of a nudge than a kick. 

The fall took a toll on them both.

A yowl signalled that he had once more triggered the sharp pang that had only recently settled, jolting in his bones. Skate crumpled down once again.

He scrambled, apologizing would’ve been his first response—

But then, Skateboard lunged at him, lips set in a snarl.

Yelping, the pair landed on each other, setting fire to his injuries, again. That hurt, the rocks chewed on Boombox’s palms as he was held down, the other was fragile, trembling, like a leaf–yet kept him in place with unnerving strength; as if he’d disappear if he let go. Bloodied hands cradled his face, ire-filled eyes fixated on studying his everything, fingers traced his features, gently, but so with purpose.

“Prove it.”

Whuh?

“Prove that you’re real.”

Stiff as a board, he paused to think. Looking into those impossibly round eyes his friend had. Anger was not a look he suited. Not knowing what to do with his hands, he kept them there, ignoring the way the debris fragments nipped at him.

What was there to think about?

A lot.

Praying to SFOTH that he wouldn’t have his fingers gnawed off, Boombox pulled him in for a hug, content as it was met with compliance, unexpectedly. 

Skate completely melted into his arms. Out of exhaustion? Out of silent defeat? He wasn’t sure. Petting his head, his other hand reached into his pocket.

“Floor candy.” Was all Boombox offered. How did they cling on during the fall? He didn’t know. For once, he was grateful to have forgotten.

The other just stared at them, unmoving, once again.

He tried at it with a loose squeeze around him, wincing as the uneven ground hurt, digging into his knees. Skateboard didn’t react. But, Boombox pushed on, not before tracing circles on his back; a familiar touch. His fingers almost felt numb.

“Remember when we first got a hold on a deck of cards?”

The first memory that came to mind.

Skate’s fingers carded through the halved deck, ending the shuffle with a fluorish.  

The sound that he made was almost embarrassing, he shouldn’t have been that impressed.

He imitated his shock with a crack in his voice, as best as he could from memory. Skateboard stirred slightly, looking off to the side.

“The only games we knew how to play were Trash and Old Maid. Well, until now—they’re still the only games we know..” He rambled on.

“Which was funny.”

Behind an old alleyway, they rummaged through the dumpster.

Slick fingers ran through the scraps, before the other pair pulled out a box with an esteemed, “Aha!”

A deck of cards.

“Remember?”

He took one hand, one hand that hovered over his face and placed it just shy away from his chest, where his heart was. It was close enough that he could hear his heartbeat.

“I still remember what you told me when you were teaching me how to play Old MaId..”

He idly wrapped a finger around Skateboard’s own.

“No! You’re supposed to drop both of them! If one goes, the other must follow! They’re a pair for a reason!”

“If one goes, the other must follow.” Boombox parrotted.

Skateboard, hush against him, “They’re a pair for a reason…”

Boombox perked up as the skater spoke. Chuckling, “Reminds you of somethin’?”

The other hand that remained—the blood crusted fingers left his face, instead hooking onto his shoulders.

He could afford to embarrass himself, just this once.

“Do you know why I don’t have socks on?”

The eyes on him signalled that the other was listening. They flickered momentarily to his feet once again.

“I refuse to wear any other pair than the ones you’ve given me.”

The other exhaled shakily in his arms.

“And it so happens that all the pairs you gave me were dirty—so I didn’t wear any today.”

It was awkward, like talking to himself; but he expected it, and he’d go through it, for him.

“And, I made a promise to myself—”

He traced the cuts on his arms, mindful.

“—But that isn’t the only reason why I decided to bind myself to you.”

Skateboard’s breath stilled.

“I chose you.”

You’ve been brave for far too long.

“Don’t forget that. Keep that in mind for me, please.”

He sniffled into his robes.

“There are endless reasons why I did, and I’d spend countless time reciting it all to you.”

He was trembling now. He wiped at his face, but it did not stop the tears.

“But I doubt that you’d process all of it… especially in your current condition.”

His finger curled more.

“Skate.”

Stagnant in his arms, shuddering out of disbelief, he tightened his hold on the other. 

“I’m real.”

It stopped. He closed his eyes, head resting atop the Skater’s, attempting to calm him down.

“You’re real.” The other repeated, sullen, in a low tone.

“But.. why..” Skateboard said, face buried against Boombox, hands fisted in fabric with an ironclad grip.

“Are you okay?” He repeated for a third time.

His head was not clear. Indignation ran through his mind, this was real. Only one thing repeated in his scattered brain, in a heavy rhythm, it pounded; why? why? why? Why? WHy? WHY? WHY?

Knuckles white, Skate shoved him harshly against the unforgiving ground, letting go. He attempted to stand, albeit with a struggle, he did so, maintaining as much distance as he could manage, even though his thoughts cried the opposite. 

The other hissed at the abruptness, hot white pain erupted throughout his body.

“YOU’RE asking ME that?”

Boombox blinked, like he had just spoken to him in a different language. Holdijg his head, he wasn’t sure what to make of the situation, a weary, testing smile graced his face, stern. “Yes. Yes I am.”

Skateboard inhaled sharply, “Fuck, Boom. You coulda had everything…” He wrapped his arms around himself, suddenly missing the other’s warmth.

But no, he didn’t deserve that.

“You should’ve deserved a chance at everything.” Boombox was stood up now, hands clutched around nothing, looking for something with the way they twitched. His injuries became more apparent as he did; bruised knees, and a few cuts, there was no way he’d not sustain a few fractures and sprains, but by some miracle, he was unscathed, in that department at least.

Unless…

He was hiding it. And, he was looking awfully pale.

Fuck. I caused this.

He deserved nothing.

He stomped, which caused Boombox’s face to twist into disproval, “I just- why'd— Why'd you do that?!" He yelled out in what was practically a landfill, the air was dry, as was his throat, hoarse from his incessant screaming. He breathed harshly, desperate for any sorts of moisture to soothe his throat, which unfortunately came in the form of frustrated tears, threatening to spill.

“Stop, Skate. You’re gonna hurt yourself even more—”

He wanted to scoff. He threw his hands about, amplifying the searing sting in his shoulders, which he was sure he tore, not caring if it hurt further, "Why did you go after me?! Why'd you throw away your fucking life like that!"

Boombox took a step closer, almost tripping over something that was not his own shoelaces for once. He stumbled over nothing. "You were gonna die!" He shouted, the final ounce of his tolerance depleted, seeing that the other wouldn’t stop, dreading the screaming match that was about to follow.

"You only put yourself at risk too! You didn't need to save me!" Skateboard clawed at his head, laughing. 

That’s a crazy thing to say. Not a sane person would say that. 

The other closed in further, clutching his side as the effects of the fall finally caught up to him, adrenaline wearing off. 

"And I'm supposed to live the rest of my life knowing I could've!?”

Skateboard paused at that.

He was being selfish.

Doubling down, "Yeah! Maybe– you could've just moved on, forgot about me, lived your best life or sumthin'— but nooo, of course not! I'm gonna be forever plagued that I fuckin' robbed 'ya of your future!" 

He didn't know what he was saying 

But, it was stupid enough to set off an explosion.

“That’s—that’s so fucking unfair to me!” Boombox cried out, arms thrashing wildly, knees buckling a little, catching himself before it was too late, he stood an arm’s width in front of the other, eyeing him.

His vision blurred.

“How c-could you—” He wiped his tears away, “—In what world would you think that I could’ve lived my ‘best life’ without you!?” Boombox formed his hands into a fist, eyebrows scrunched into hurt.

“Do you think I could live with that!?” The green horned inphernal shouted.

“You’d be revered.”

“No, you don’t understand–”

“You’d be remembered. Something I wouldn’t ever be.”

“That isn’t the same thing and you know it! Or, maybe you don’t–”

Heaving into the other’s arms as he dropped down, the other still—he grabbed at his shirt pulling him downward, still as gently as he could, minding both of their injuries, he sobbed, “Just- why are you being so damn difficult!”

The music enthusiast let his tears fall against the broken tiles they were sitting upon, he couldn’t even be strong for him now, “Why can’t you just—accept the fact that you’re worth it..”

Skate retorted, “You don’t know that.” He hesitated before speaking, fingers ghosted his face. He was crying as well, again. His leg strained against Boombox’s but he didn’t make an effort to move, he was tired.

“Well, it’s clear that YOU don’t know that!” 

He chose to let his tears silently fall.

“Don’t act like you wouldn’t do the same thing.” Boombox jabbed a finger into the other’s chest, it stung a little.

His chest tightened a little, he hated how he was right.

Quietly, he sat. Listening, “Skate. You’re so important to me.” Boombox shook his shoulders, ow, murmuring into his left, “I’d jump off that cursed island a hundred times just… to prove it to you.”

He held his hand, squeezing it.

“What else can I do?” The green horned inphernal looked up at him.

...

“What else can I do to prove to you that you're worth it? What else can I do to make you believe that?” 

He wasn’t doing this.

Skateboard shushed him, retracting his hand, covering his own mouth to stifle his sobs, “Y-you’ve done enough.”

The latter laughed, “I’ve done enough—and yet… a-and yet..” Boombox trailed off, before capturing him in a warm embrace. Breaking down, clutching onto him for dear life. Before he knew it, his shirt was even more damp and his eyes stinged.

At a loss for words, “It’s always been you.” Boombox admitted.

Holding him tightly, words didn’t come to him, settling with, “I’m so sorry.”

“I’m so fuckin’ sorry man..” Skateboard repeated. His throat felt swollen and his cheeks were warm.

I give in.

They stayed there. Both crying messes, just, existing in each other’s presence.

“We’re alive.” Skateboard settled on, from the many things he wanted to say in his head, wiping at his face. Patting Boombox’s back as he rubbed his shoulders. 

“We’re alive.” He repeated. Like that would somehow convince him that everything would be fine. “You’re here.” He said. And finally, “I’m sorry,” his lips trembled.

He didn’t react.

Boombox just simply said: “Okay.”

“I’m sorry.” Skateboard choked out.

A weak flick to his forehead.

“Stop that.”

“We’re alive.” Boombox said, him saying that brought him better comfort than himself repeating it like a broken record.

I abdicate.

“Yeah.” He found himself idly agreeing.

“And.. maybe that’s enough.”

...

Am I okay with that?

He was so tired.

Will everything be alright if—

Boombox wrapped his arms around him tighter.

Okay.

Rest dawned upon him easily.

“As long as you’re with me.”

When he awoke, the air was sterile, pungent chemicals invaded his nose. Soft, and warm was the second thing he noticed. Everything was white, blindingly so.

Then came the beeping.

He looked to the side.

There, the other laid beside him in another hospital bed.

Maybe everything is okay.

He smiled, the first in what felt like a long time.

Their time at the hospital was a blur.

Boombox told him everything.

The moonlight casted a purple hue, seeping from the cracks and crevices of the mismatched skyline, the smell of faint smoke rampant across the pavement.

Over yonder, past the dysfunctional city, was the landfill. Where they landed all those years ago.

They sat upon discarded vehicle scraps, a thrum heavy in the air with familiarity.

"I sometimes wonder. What would’ve happened to you if I didn’t follow you?” 

The inphernal beside him stared absently into the inky pool that he faced, the shadow of Splintered Skies loomed mockingly above them. But, they weren’t bothered, they got over that a long time ago.

“I would’ve died.”

“But—if there was a way I somehow survived..”

“I would've waited for you." 

Boombox reached for the other, the night’s chill was unforgiving.

“I know.”

"And—for what I think what would've happened to me..."

“I would've fallen apart.”

A joke about falling would’ve been distasteful.

He kept his mouth shut. 

A hand entangled with his.

"We're here now aren't we?" 

The DJ simply hummed, taking in more dust than air; it was home, nonetheless.

"C'mere."

Skateboard cradled his face with an unforeseen but welcomed softness, his lips pressed against the top of his head. He remained there, still — holding him.

The clock chimed, yet, they didn’t cower from fear.

Not an omen of death.

The sky exploded with makeshift explosives.

"Cheers to another year, Boom."

It was a reminder that they survived, and they will continue to do so.

"Love you too, Skate.”

Together.