What the hell did I do? What was that for?

Why did I stare at him like that?

Do I like him?

No, of course not. He's just attractive - like Gary Kieth.

That doesn't mean I like him. I don't like him. I certainly don't - not like that.

I love April.

But I don't feel the love.

It's a bloody platonic love.

I'm gay.

I'm gay.

I'm gay.

All of those words had been swirling inside his head like trapped debris after an explosion when Pelham and Lucio headed back to their cabin later that night. Pelham had been trying to push those thoughts away - closing his eyes, clenching his jaw, curling his fingers into a fist - as he stared at his reflection in the mirror. Anyone not paying close attention would mistake his impassive eyes as him being sentient. In truth, as he observed himself, it was the other way round. He could just tell how full of anguish his eyes were. He had been cursing at himself for a while now, for he had been failing to erase the war that was raging in him. The seemingly incessant battle, never as much as wavering to let Pelham breathe.

Earlier, Lucio had asked whether he was all right. He must have noticed the vacant look in Pelham eyes; the one thing that Pelham had always masked, and the one thing that most people had always failed to notice. Pelham had simply nodded in response, however, before he went to lock himself in the bathroom. Lucio hadn't bothered to ask again since then.

This camping trip was supposed to provide some sort of distraction from the perpetual battle that was raging inside him ever since he was in his early adolescent years. Now that he thought about it, it could be nothing more than a wishful thinking. A futile hope.

He could stay in the bathroom for the rest of the night if he wanted to. Though, after deliberating with his choices of sleeping area, the idea seemed downright ludicrous. He was, after all, in a phase - no, he was back in a phase full of plights. The last time he was in it, he had been disoriented with his sexual preferences. He might not be disoriented now, but he was definitely muddled with his feelings. It was tearing up at all of his guts.

And he didn't know what it was, where to put his fingers. It was like studying a map without any lands on it except for the vast ocean.

He didn't think it was another juvenile phase, now that he thought about it. In fact, it looked more like a tribulation that he had to endure for the rest of his life - for eternity, if he were to put it correctly.

He wanted to talk to April. He really did - he'd always wanted to tell her, after all. But he didn't think it was that of a brilliant idea to express things on the phone without watching a reaction cross her face, without any form of a tangible contact. Moreover, such act was regarded as cowardly, especially coming from a boy like him. He wanted it to be original and sincere. No charade. He thought that maybe he should get it all over with once the trip was over.

Apart from all that (he swore his subconscious was practically yelling at him) he was definitely not infatuated with a Hispanic boy. Irrelevant, he told himself, frowning at his reflection on the mirror.

Pelham exited the bathroom after brushing his teeth and changing his clothes. It was nearly one in the morning now. Lucio should already be fast asleep in the next room, for he was the one who had been whining on about how deadbeat he was and that they should call it a night.

Pelham had only perceived how worn out he really was the moment he collapsed on the bed, sinking into the soft mattress. Without shutting the lights off, he immediately fell into a deep slumber - so fast he didn't feel it at all.

But it wasn't exactly sleeping - at least, that was what he thought. He hadn't felt the sleep come and knock him out. What he felt, though, was him moving around places and meeting his parents and April and the tyrants that had somehow killed the poor homophile and Roshon being a successful gaming editor and Lucio drowning-

Pelham opened his eyes as his body jerked awake, a small gasp escaping his lips. He had dozed off; that was a normal one. Squinting from the glare of the lights, he got up from the bed to shut them off before collapsing, once again, back on the mattress, letting the soft thick fabric envelope him whole. Once again, he didn't feel the sleep come; it was as though the dreams came before the sleep.

And - as though the previous dreames had been paused and now resumed - he was standing in front of his parents. Kenneth and Jody. He said something he didn't quite comprehend, as though he was fluently speaking in a foreign language, yet didn't even know what he was talking about. Soon, they were hollering at him - both his mother and father - calling him names. And the tyrants emerged, rising from behind his parents in looming dark silhouettes. And one of them - Bryce Tanner - called him "faggot", their voices sharp and lucid and piercing at his skin, gouging out the remnants of his soul.

Lucio was drowning again, writhing in the water, bubbles gurgling on the its surface as though it was being boiled. April was turning her back on him, calling him names, as well as his parents. And Pelham was looking at his baby sister, who simply stared at him, yet was carving the word 'blasphemy' on his skin using a knife, the word itself bright crimson in colour. And his mother picked her up, said, "Our son is normal - you're not ours." before slamming the door in his face.

This time, Pelham was the one who was drowning. And Lucio was above the surface of the water, just staring at him, his eyes a mix of blue and green and hazel - completely iridescent. The fireflies came, hovering above thsm all. Then Roshon emerged. None of them did anything but to hover, drifting in and out of sigh. And when Pelham opened his mouth to scream, he was choking, his throat gurgling.

"That's what you get for staring at me."

That was Lucio.

"That's what you get for sleeping with him."

That was April, emerging - like Roshon - out of nowhere.

"That's what you get for giving yourself into sin."

That was his parents.

*

Lucio spotted the empty drinking bottle sitting on the bedside table. He had seen it the night before, and thought that it belonged to Pelham. He hadn't asked Pelham, though, seeing as they were too preoccupied to bother whose item belonged to whom. But he figured that he should return it to Pelham before he forgot. Now or never, he thought. He didn't even know how the bottle even got there.

It was only half-past one, and after washing his face, he wasn't as exhausted as he was earlier. He grabbed the empty bottle and exited the room to head towards the next room. He was certain that Pelham was still awake - Pelham didn't look that jaded to him, though his eyes did look vacant, which was something completely new to him. In the end, Lucio simply assumed that Pelham was up chatting with Roshon, who was in New York. Or April.

He tapped on the door twice and softly with the tip of his forefinger. It didn't take him long to realise that something was definitely wrong with Pelham inside. There were some kind of grunts and gasps, followed by panting. Lucio frowned (What's he doing?) before he closed his fingers around the doorknob, twisted it as quietly as he could and pushed.

It was already dark inside. But the lights from the hallway was flooding into the room, landing on the bed, where Lucio saw some movements under the covers, giving him the impression that he shouldn't be here right now - it wasn't appropriate. Not until he heard a grunt that sounded more like a pained "No" did he take large strides towards the bed.

He saw that Pelham was thrashing around in his sleep, kicking at the covers and turning his head here and there with his eyes closed tight. Lucio watched him in horror; he had never seen anyone like that in their sleep.

He wondered whether he had ever ...

"Pelham?" Lucio put a hand on Pelham's trembling shoulder, feeling beyond concerned himself. "Pelham?"

"Don't ..." Pelham mumbled weakly, his forehead glistening with sweat.

Lucio shook him again. "Pelham!"

"Don't ..."

"Hey, it's all right," Lucio sat on the edge of the bed, trying to stir Pelham. Why was Pelham in a nightmare? What happened? Was it because of the trip? "Pelham?" No answer. More writhing. "Pelham!"

"No, don't ..."

"Wake up!" Lucio said, raising his voice.

Pelham's face was all scrunched up, as though he had just tasted something utterly bitter.

"It's all right - it's just a nightmare, Pel-"

Pelham's hand found Lucio's wrist, and in that instant, he pulled Lucio towards him on the bed that Lucio nearly knocked his head on Pelham's jaw. Lucio froze.

"Pel?" he whispered.

A soft snore came from Pelham.

He wasn't thrashing or kicking anymore.

He had his arm wrapped around Lucio's body, from where he had yanked him close as though Lucio were a stuffed animal that he used to sleep with. And Lucio, whose head was currently under Pelham's jaw - he was practically facing his throat, and could see Pelham's Adam's apple visibly bobbing up and down against his skin - was not able to move in case he woke him. Pelham was sleeping - he knew that. Still, Lucio couldn't help but feel the mad blush creeping on his cheeks, sending warmth all over his body.

If this helped stop whatever nightmare Pelham was having, then Lucio resolved that he had to stay like this for the rest of the night. He somehow had this strong, odd urge to want to protect Pelham.

He had never spared a thought that someone as charming and charismatic as Pelham could be so fragile under the covers.

*

Pelham woke to a weight pressed against him. The first thing he felt was a mass of hair tickling his nose and half of his jaw. He noticed he had one arm draped over someone's body.

What the-?

Lucio Alves, with his back facing Pelham, was currently asleep next to him, as though he had been cuddling with him all night - which they clearly had. Blood rushed in Pelham's veins that he could practically feel the intense heat on his cheeks. He began asking himself what had happened during the previous night. He didn't remember Lucio coming in, let alone asking him to. But he definitely remembered his nightmare - and how it had come to a stop after a while. He couldn't recall his dream. And he didn't want to.

Pelham was lying to himself if he didn't admit how cozy it felt. He gazed up at the ceiling and saw that it was around half-past six in the morning. He could see water droplets all over the glass of the clock, accompanied by the soft patters of rain from outside. The sky was leaden, yet it made everything feel so warm and comfy that he just wanted to snuggle up closer to Lucio-

Don't.

Pelham took a deep breath and tried to move his other arm, but found that Lucio's whole side was pressed on it, pinning it against the mattress. He didn't want to wake the boy up; he could wait for maybe another hour. In that way, he didn't have to face the gauche interaction once they were both awake.

In the end, Pelham remained in that position. His eyes fell on Lucio's raven hair. He had this tiny impulse to comb his fingers through the soft strands, just to feel how soft they actually were. He could also hear his soft snores, observe the way Lucio lay on the bed. The question of how Lucio got in still lingered as a mystery.

After what felt like an eternity, he felt Lucio stir and make a considerably long inhalation through his nose. Quickly, Pelham pretended to be asleep; he closed his eyes at that instant, faking snores, which sounded far too loud anyway - even for him. He could hear Lucio's snores coming to an abrupt stop, and he could feel movement.

"Crap," he heard Lucio murmur.

Pelham felt Lucio remove his hand from around his body and place it gently on Pelham's side. Soon, Lucio left the bed and Pelham could feel the bed rise a little. At that moment, Pelham decided to pretend to have just woken up; he gave a yawn and rubbed his eyes with the heels of his palms. Once his eyes were open, he looked at Lucio, who was seated on the floor, looking at him worriedly and out of place at the sams time.

"Oh, morning," said Pelham groggily.

"Er ... hi,"

Pelham pushed himself up on one elbow. "How did you ...?"

"The door wasn't locked," Lucio answered abruptly. "I came to give you back this."

Lucio held up an empty drinking bottle that looked all too familiar. Pelham frowned. "Isn't that Roshon's?"

"Gosh darn it,"

"That's not mine," Pelham gave a little laugh. "That bastard left it here. It's fine - I can transport it to New York."

"Along with a note saying that he needs to name his bottle,"

"Spectacular idea,"

"He'll probably called it 'John',"

"I see you're catching up with Roshon's character,"

"He's not hard to read," Lucio shrugged, earning another small tired laugh from Pelham. "So ... are you all right?"

Pelham looked up at Lucio at he asked that. He noticed everything about the boy now; how his dark hair was tousled in every direction, flat on one side from where he had been sleeping, his tired eyes that somehow managed to remain brightly iridescent, or his loose grey sweater that slipped a little below one of his shoulders after getting up from the bed, or his skin that seemed to glow brighter than normal. Pelham blinked to push the thoughts away. He shouldn't be observing someone like that. Lucio had just asked whether Pelham was all right, which told Pelham ...

Lucio knew Pelham had a nightmare.

"You had a nightmare," Lucio voiced out, as though it wasn't already so obvious.

"Did I ... did I scream or something?"

"Scream and something,"

"Is that why you came in?"

"I came in to hand you that bottle that turned out to be Roshon's," Lucio explained. "And you were ... just kicking around in your bed. I tried to wake you up, but you ... sort of pulled me."

That explained everything, Pelham thought to himself. "Yeah, sorry about that,"

"It's fine,"

"Fine?"

"Fine."

"Good."