[Columbine] Never Gonna Give You Up

"I just wanna tell you how I'm feeling."

They were lying on the floor of Eric’s bedroom, watching the shadows of dusk wander down the beige walls, enjoying their first time alone together in ages. Their parents had refused to allow them to see each other for months following an unfortunate incident at the school, where a lack of attention and a mistaken door had resulted in both of them toppling into the girls’ locker room.

Despite their hasty exit, the school officials had decided this warranted a week’s suspension and mandatory sessions with a counselor. The news had not gone down well with Eric’s parents in particular, especially his father, who still refused to allow his son to leave the house for anything other than school.

This superfluous restriction hadn’t stopped them, though. There were still moments that found them, pressed into an alcove in some godforsaken corner of Columbine, proving all the jocks that called them f**s right. And this moment here, now, their backs pressed against a carpet that was scratchy even through their shirts, their fingers wrapped clumsily around each other; unsure of how to love, but keen to hold onto it as tight as they can.

“Eric--” Dylan’s favorite word caught in his throat, and it was amplified by the particular silence that comes out to breathe during the in-between times of the world. He wasn’t sure what he wanted to say, only that Eric’s name had to be on his lips, just to make sure that it was real. That everything was real. But then, it wasn’t just Eric’s name now, but Eric himself, kissing him. Kissing him, with his cold fingers tangled in Dylan’s long blond hair, pulling the taller boy closer as if they were miles apart, though Dylan could feel his warm body pressing against him--was that Eric's heartbeat, or his?

Dylan’s favorite noise was that sound Eric made in the back of his throat, the one that said all the things that words couldn’t do justice to. He played it over and over again in his head at night, when he struggled to sleep and his mind carved pain into every waking second, as if he was a sculpture of suicidal thoughts and fresh bruises inflicted on his thighs. And as Eric pulled away to breathe, his lips already swelling, Dylan felt suddenly so desperately alone, and he could not bear to exist for one more second without Eric, who took all his Nothing and made him feel like he was Something, if only in his arms.

His sob, half-suppressed, came out as a bizarre kind of hiccup. One that made Eric c**k an eyebrow and laugh for a moment, before the agony written all over Dylan’s face became readable and the tears falling down the six-two teen’s cheeks came in earnest. But Eric didn’t have to do anything, even if he didn’t know how, because Dylan buried his face in the plaid flannel shirt that they both hated but Eric still wore.

It was stupid. He was stupid, soaking Eric’s shoulder with misery as the knot in his stomach tightened so much that he felt sick. Shame burned his cheeks, and he screamed at himself inside, equally infuriated and embarrassed that he couldn’t keep his insanity in check. But Eric--the one who so often fought with the popular kids, who wrote about being a bullet for a class paper, and posted on his website about how much he hates weak people--hugged him. Dylan could barely breathe when Eric’s skinny arms wrapped around his shoulders, and they lay in the dark room now only lit by the glow of a streetlight.

How long did they stay like that? Dylan didn’t care. After a while, the knot loosened a little, and the acidic feeling that turned his stomach lessened enough for him to speak, his voice cracking and halting: “thank you.”

Eric didn’t say anything, though he shrugged slightly. Dylan hoped he’d say ‘it’s okay’, or ‘I love you’, but he was disappointed. Instead, Eric pushed him gently away, and stood up. Two steps took him to the stereo that sat on top of his dresser. It was one of the fancy ones, with multiple cassette slots and a CD bay, and a remote that had gotten lost a long time ago. Eric took a CD and placed it in the top, taking care to ensure his body was blocking Dylan’s line of sight. A few clicks and a whir of machinery later, and music Dylan would have never associated with Eric came pumping out of the speakers.

The upbeat synthesizer introduction of Rick Astley’s “Never Gonna Give You Up” made him simultaneously want to groan and laugh, and Eric turned back to him with a wide, sheepish smile on his face.

“Reminded me of us,” he confessed, a deep crimson blush flooding up his neck. Dylan grinned back, and the dried tear trails on his face felt tight against the laughter threatening to bubble to the surface.

“Did it really?” He almost couldn’t believe what Eric was telling him, considering that Eric was most definitely not the talk-about-his-feelings type. Part of him was touched, most of him was convinced he was having some kind of fever dream.

“Well, yes?” Eric fidgeted nervously. Dylan felt a twinge of sympathy: Eric was clearly uncomfortable--normal, considering he spent most of his time being a cold-hearted son of a b***h. “I just mean…”

“I know,” Dylan said, unable to stop beaming. “I’m never gonna give you up, either.”

With an exasperated groan, Eric kneeled next to Dylan and pulled him into an aggressive but passionate kiss, stopping only long enough for him to sing against Dylan’s lips, “you wouldn’t get this from any other guy.”

Author's Note

A songfic request. Had a lot of fun writing this.

I commit sacrilege with every word.