[Kevin's POV]

I feel too empty inside to be serving ice cream.

I have spent the past few hours wrapped in blankets, combatting concerned glances with scowls and glares made of ice. It's worked on my family members enough for them to leave me with my solitude.

I sigh, loudly, to no one. The sun cheerfully waves at me from the window; I flip it off. Who gave the sun the right to be so cheerful? I sniff, push a few tear-soaked tissues into the trashcan, and retreat further into my blankets.

It's nearly time for me to go to work, and, though I'm not really in the mood for excellent customer service, I'll only feel worse if I abandon Seymour. I groan. I don't want to leave my warm cocoon of sadness. I'd rather sulk all day.

I drag myself out of bed slowly, like cold molasses sliding out of a jar. My work clothes are unwashed; I put them on anyways. I only half remember to brush my teeth, skip the mouth wash, and stumble to the ice cream shop.

When I enter, Seymour already looks a somber shade of concerned. "Are you okay?"

I shrug. "I could be worse, I guess." I take up my place behind the cold counter and sigh.

Seymour approaches cautiously. "Alright, well, Cal has been seriously up my ass about your whereabouts. He said that Abel is definitely not okay." I don't know whether to scoff or sob. "Wanna talk about it?"

I open my mouth to speak. "Well, I-"

The shop bell rings, and Seymour apparates back to his spot behind the register. I avoid eye contact with the woman who's entered the shop and try not to look too much like someone's died.

She orders a triple scoop of chocolate chip cookie dough on a sugar cone, and my hands start shaking because this is his favorite. The first two dollops of ice cream make their way to the cone, but the third scoop slaps onto the ground.

Something about the way it lies there, melting, makes me want to cry. The tears welling up in my eyes blur my vision, but I manage to finish the cone.

Once the woman leaves, casting a concerned look over her shoulder, Seymour turns to me. "Okay, tell me what's wrong. You're shaking like a leaf."

A drop of salt water leaks down my face without permission. I wipe it away. "I think I fucked up. Maybe? Or maybe I'm doing the right thing and it just hurts. I can't tell."

Seymour winces. I know he doesn't do well with tears. "O-okay, um, don't cry. Do you wanna talk about it, or just eat some ice cream in the back room?"

I smile softly. "Ice cream would be lovely."

***

[X]

Cal pushes his hand onto the back of Abel's. "Okay, dude, it's been, like, five days. You need to get some rest." He's sitting on the end of Abel's bed, Abel's head next to his lap.

"I've slept." Abel furrows his brow, his voice muffled by the mattress. "I'm sure I've slept."

Cal scoffs. "Bullshit. You've slept maybe ten hours total this week." Abel opens his mouth, and Cal cuts him off. "That whole going-to-sleep-at-eleven-thirty-and-waking-up-screaming-at-twelve thing you've been doing doesn't count."

Abel frowns. "I've slept enough." He rolls onto his side. "I'm fine."

"You aren't fine. This thing you're doing, this isn't fine." He checks his watch. "When's that little shit get off of work?"

"Five thirty on Wednesdays." Abel glances at him. "And don't call him a little shit. He's justified in doing what he's doing."

Cal rolls his eyes. "Yeah, well, since you won't tell me what happened, you'll have to forgive me for not taking your word for it." He looks at his watch again. "I'm going to talk to him." He grabs a jacket hanging on the headboard.

Abel's eyes widen. "Shit, no. Cal." He looks panicked.

"What? He's literally killing you. I can't have you being upset like this." He slings on his shoes. "I'm going to talk to him. Wanna come?"

Abel gives him a hard look. "Hell no. He doesn't want to see me. At all."

"Fine. Want anything back, then? Ice cream?" Cal is diving underneath his bed to find the car keys.

"Yeah. Ice cream sounds good." Abel curls into a ball under his comforter.

"Alright. Cookie dough. And you better eat all of it," Cal warns on his way out.

"Yeah, yeah. I know," Abel mumbles to the empty room. He sighs to himself, lays on his side. He closes his eyes, but doesn't sleep. He never does anymore.

***

"Hey, you! Twatface!" Cal opens the door violently, and the bell rings softly.

Seymour gapes like a dying fish. "Babe. Don't curse inside Wiggle's. It's a family establishment." He sweats nervously. "And Kevin isn't really... Available right now."

Cal frowns. "I need to speak to him. Now."

Seymour nods, biting his lip. "I know, I really do, but he's sort of recovering from having a small breakdown at the mome-"

"There you are, you shit!" Cal points at the back room and Kevin's barely exposed curls. "Get your ass out here. We need to talk." He then looks over at Seymour. "Sorry, love. I need to curse him out. I'll make it up to you." He winks.

Seymour blushes and looks away as Kevin emerges from the store room, head down, shoulders in a shrug, wincing. "Hi, Cal..."

"Don't you 'Hi, Cal,' me. What the fuck did you do?"

"Why do I have to be the one who did something? Why not Abel?" Kevin sounds incredulous.

Cal rolls his eyes. "Okay, fine. I don't know what happened, so it's unfair for me to assume it's your fault. But you have to fix it."

"Why do I have to-"

"Because he can't." Cal puts his hands on the counter and leans close to Kevin. "He fucking can't. He hasn't slept properly since that night. He just paces all night; there's a little worn track of wood in our living room. And when he does try to sleep, he wakes up full on screaming. Night terrors, Kev. They're a bitch.

"He doesn't eat unless I pester him, and even then, he doesn't eat enough. He smells to high heaven because he doesn't shower. Sometimes I come home late at night, and he's just sitting in the dark, staring at the wall. I ask him what he's doing, he just shrugs and lies down.

"He hasn't written anything in three days. I know, that sounds fine, but Abel is almost always writing. If not physically, mentally. He writes on his pants, his shoes, napkins, his hands, even the walls if he's in a mood." Kevin nods, sadly. He's noticed, too. "At least he used to." Cal's eyes darken. "Since that night, he's written one sad poem, threw it in the garbage, and didn't look at it again. I read it." Cal takes a deep breath, nostrils flaring. Kevin prepares himself to be screamed at.

"You fucking broke him, Kevin." Cal's voice is soft, nearly disappointed sounding. "While you've been sitting here doing whatever you do, he's been trying to remember how to live. He's drowning in your wake, and you've done nothing."

Kevin takes a deep, shivering breath. "I'm sorry." He tries to stop himself from crying, but his voice gives him away. "Dammit, I'm so sorry. But I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

Cal stares at him, cold. "I don't care what you do. Do anything. Try, at least." He takes another deep breath, nearly a sigh. "And you can start by helping me help him. Give me a large bowl of cookie dough ice cream."

Kevin moves to get the ice cream, head down, while Seymour grabs Cal's arms. "Babe-"

"I know. It was harsh. But, I need him to do something, you know? I need to move him."

Seymour smiles, pecking Cal's cheek. "I know. I understand. But, is it true?"

"Every word." Cal swallows, avoiding Seymour's eyes. "I've never seen him so worked up, you know?"

Seymour nods, kissing Cal's lips. "I know. Just... He's struggling, too, yeah? Don't be too hard on him."

"Yeah, okay. I'll try." Kevin reappears with the ice cream, thrusts it into Cal's hands.

"I'm sorry. I'll try to fix things," he mumbles. Cal gives him an approving nod, kisses Seymour goodbye, slaps a ten dollar bill on the counter, then exits the shop.

Kevin sets his shoulders. Enough moping about. It is time for action.