ᴀᴅ ᴍᴇʟɪᴏʀᴀ ~ ᴅᴘꜱ (ꜱᴛᴇᴠᴇɴ ᴍᴇᴇᴋꜱ)

28 - pyromaniac's keeper

I freeze in place. "What?"

He uses my support to pull himself up, brushing the snow off of his back. "I said, come to Boston with me," he repeats.

It takes a moment for his words to fully register in my head. "Meeks," I say, pausing to draw in a breath. "Are you insane?"

"No, no," he spews out, words tripping over eachother, "I'm not. I'm sorry, Ivy. I-I didn't mean what I said earlier. It came out wrong. You're good for me, okay? Having you around would help a lot." He hastily tacts into the end, "Plus, the city is beautiful. You'll love it."

I try to plaster on an understanding smile, placing my hands on his shoulders. He shivers under my touch as the remaining snow melts into his clothes. "Calm down. Take a breath, okay? You're not thinking clearly. I can't just... just leave. Even if my parents didn't notice, the school would care that I'm gone. Did you— did you even ask your family?"

He keeps the same rushed tone but loses some confidence. "Well— no, but—"

"No. No 'but's. It's a bad idea."

He shrugs away from my touch, taking a moment to straighten his coat. Heartbreak floods his face. "Is it a bad idea, or do you just not want to go with me?"

"It's a bad idea!"

He rolls his eyes. "Ivy, come on—"

"Steven," I cut through, overlapping his pleas, "no—"

"I can't lose you, too!" he blurts out.

My speech halts. For the second time today, the boy looks down at me, shocked by the words that just left his mouth. This time, though, he doesn't scramble to retract them. They hang between us silently, intermingled somewhere between shock and discomfort. Tears begin to roll down Steven's face.

"Meeks," I say, pulling him into a hug. "No, you're not gonna lose me. You need to give yourself a break, okay? Time to process, and whatever else, and, whenever you're ready, I'll be here. I'm sorry for— for guilt-tripping you earlier. You were right. It's not about me."

He accepts my hug, squeezing me back a bit too tightly. "Seriously," I continue, "I'll be here with open arms. I'm not going anywhere."

We stand there for a moment, embracing each other for support (both physical and metaphorical, in his case) before Meeks inquires, quietly, "You won't be mad?"

"Mad?" I say, pushing out of the hug. His hands fall to my waist, unwilling to let go just yet. "Steven, I'm not sure if you've noticed, but it's incredibly difficult to stay mad at you."

He suppresses a laugh and finally lets me go. The boy shoves his hands back into his pockets, once again shivering.

"You're right," he says, turning his head from me and looking into the street. "No, you're right. I wasn't thinking clearly. I'm just— I didn't want you to remember me, mad at you, y'know, just in— in case..."

"Don't talk like that."

"I'm serious," his voice cracks. "I couldn't stand the thought of it. Not again. Just knowing that—" nausea washes over his face as memories resurface— "the last time Neil saw me, I was annoyed at him... it's eating me alive. You were there." He looks back at me for confirmation. I nod slightly. "You remember, I made that— that joke, about him 'going Broadway' on us. I was kidding, but, somewhere deep down, I was blaming him for it. It was petty. The last thing he ever saw on my face was a scowl, and I can't change that."

His words sow a seed of discomfort in my gut. I push away the feeling, but it still nags at me persistently. "Neil didn't hold grudges. It wasn't his nature. You have to forgive yourself, okay? And this isn't the last time we'll see eachother. I promise."