How It Feels To Be Lost ♠ Kellic

Dying To Believe

Kellin eventually fell asleep where he was, hugging the pillow close to him instead of placing it under his head. He didn’t have the will to get up and get a blanket, honestly, and feeling as shitty as he did, he didn’t feel like he deserved one either. He was all cracked up inside, like a porcelain doll fallen from her wooden throne, head split on the crude reality that awaited a couple feet further down.

When he woke up, his first reflex would’ve been to check the room to see if his lover was in there, but instead, and since he wanted to be forgiven so ardantly, he jumped to his feet and practically jogged to the kitchen, where he occupied his hands with making coffee and pancakes, only hoping Vic was still home and hadn’t decided to go somewhere else, somewhere where they may treat him nicer or something.

‘Treat him,’ Kellin thought ‘as he deserves to be treated’

Quite honestly, at first, the thought didn’t bother him much, but the more he let it wander his mind, the more his hands trembled when making the coffee, to a point where he had to stop because his brain was making elaborate scenes where someone else grabbed his boyfriend’s hands, where someone else spoke softly to him, and he saw them so clearly. Maybe it was a boy, maybe it was a girl, maybe it was neither, but they were so close to each other in the eye of his mind, almost a unity, and Vic would smile, and probably chuckle too, easily, easy like he never had with Kellin. In this unreality, he’d be careless, he’d sing love songs and get praised for it. They’d walk outside hand in hand without a care in the world. And there was Kellin, so far away, a mere spectator of the events, palms pressed white against an invisible glass pane.

“Stop, jesus.” He scolded himself softly, shaking his head to chase the thoughts away. “Vic wouldn’t do that to you.”

‘No, he’s way too kind for that.’ He’d answer himself internally. ‘But someone can only take so much bullshit. One day he’ll snap.’

His eyes stung like there was sand on them and his mouth tasted shitty. The noise from downstairs pissed the hell out of Victor. He spent the whole night up, just thinking, and while a part of his head had almost forgiven Kellin, the other knew best. That one part had cracked. Vic was tired and maybe that's why he was as pissed as he was, or maybe it was because of the twirling rage growing from deep within his core. Victor heard and he got so fucking annoyed because he knew who was downstairs, doing god knows what, pretending like life was fucking perfect when it fucking wasn't. Victor leapt out of the bed, not even bothering with his hygiene and rushed downstairs, his face falling blankly like an unused canvas. Only he had been used far too fucking much.

He didn't even say good morning or any bullshit, he only crossed his arms, making noise enough for Kellin to know he was there.

"We need to talk."

Kellin turned around, a mug of hot latte in one hand and the pan in the other, sliding the last pancake on top of the others on one of the plates he'd bought especially for when they moved in together. He used to only have two plates and a mug, that he'd wash as often as needed, but as he lived mostly alone and was shit at cooking and baking, it didn't happen so often at all. Most times, back then, he'd live off ramen, but, you know, the expensive one, not like, Mr Noodles.

When Vic came along, it changed things. Kellin wanted to be good for him, to be more than just the half-broken thing that remained of him back when. Kellin had seen an individual capable of such good in those chocolate eyes, and he wanted to reciprocate. He remembered in detail going to shop for cutlery and whatnot, his mind on his lover, his lips in a wide smile.

Now, they arbored that same smile, but tighter, his eyes almost like he had to smile or else he’d break.

“I made you pancakes!” Kellin said, voice a little too upbeat.