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A peculiar dread seemed always to accompany any trek down the field and to the front door of his neighbor. The apprehension felt brought onto him some sense of guilt for leaving the boy there to his lonesome for whatever amount of time it had been since he last came through. Not that he could get his neighbor to accompany him anywhere, no - such a feat even the good Lord might have a bit of trouble with - yet the guilt remained steadfast, as did the uncomfortable knot in his stomach as he approached the front door.
Aleks, donned ever the same in his usual sweater, only opened the door when specifically asked to do so, as if he was always somehow suspicious of his intentions. But patience was his God-given virtue and, with a few bags of groceries and a case of beer coupled with a smile that his wife promised him was very charming indeed, he did actually seem rather happy to see him after all. Hell, if he thought it was possible, the kid might have actually even almost smiled.
The evening sunset shined bright beams of orange and red through the pulled curtains of the house, illuminating clouds of dust particles dancing in them. The kitchen was pitch black when he arrived and, by the looks of the dry dishes in the sink, had been unused for a while. With that damn sweater on, it was impossible to know if Aleks had lost any more weight, but he was one to assume the worst when it came to him.
“Don’t be mad,” he started, setting the paper bags on the counter tops. Aleks sat down in the chair facing the doorway, and lit a cigarette. “Oh God.”
Pouting at treats, as a thirty three year old does. He slid the beer onto the table and with it a box of croissants. “Come on. Wife made them, just for you.”
A little guilt never hurt anyone, as long as it made him actually eat them. Aleks exhaled smoke as he continued to put the canned goods away in the cabinets. “Thank you,” the boy said, though it was almost certainly just a distraction from the fact he had just opened the fridge. Continuing his master plan, he asked - “just plain ones? Or filled?”
The fridge was a mess. No food in there at all, other than a few cans of coffee and the same old plastic container of potato-something that was growing a new kind of mold unknown to mankind. He held back a sigh, and instead focused on keeping a smile as he placed a fresh container of milk alongside a few necessities to make sandwiches inside.
“I know you only asked for canned, but make an exception,” and with his work being finished, he sat himself down in the chair beside him, grunting as he did so. “I’ll want a sandwich in the morning.”
“You’re staying?”
The tone seemed hostile. How else was one to take it when the speaker’s nose curled and his lips formed the most exaggerated frown he had ever seen?
But he knew better. “Mhm,” and he slid the croissants over to himself, opening the lid and taking two of the five out. He handed one to Aleks, who eyed it and then him repeatedly. It was only when he took a bite of his own and raised a brow did the boy finally give in.
Getting Aleks to eat was a major win. Beer came naturally afterwards, and with just a half hour or so, the boy's shoulders dropped, and a layer of redness returned to his pale visage. Whether that was his mood talking or the beer he couldn’t be sure. Maybe both, but either way, it was just nice to see him calm down a bit.
“So,” he began after a while. He leaned back in the chair and rested his hands on top of his stomach, staring at his neighbor for the first time without a grin. “I thought you said you’d come down for Laura’s birthday.”
“I did?”
He hummed in response. Aleks dipped his head onto the table, awkwardly rubbing the back of his buzzcut with his arm. He allowed the silence to fester a bit; it would pressure him to talk, maybe. It always got Laura to tell the truth if she had done something she wasn’t supposed to. This time, though, the silence remained intact. It was a minute and maybe more before he was forced to continue. “I’m not mad,” he assured, leaning forward to place a hand on Aleks’ wrist. His thumb gently caressed the others’. “But we missed you.”
Aleks tore his hand away and lit another cigarette. His third in an hour.
“I know it’s been hard for you.” It’s never not hard for him, to be fair. “How long has it been since you even left the house?”
He was rubbing the back of his head again. Staring down at the table like there was something really interesting written there, or that somehow, all of the discomfort in his life would simply vanish if he ignored it. This time, the silence festered; he reached forward again, catching Aleks’ wrist and bringing it to the table to rest with him as he angled his arm back down. Aleks allowed it, though he didn’t move to speak. In fact, he didn’t really move at all. The cigarette burned until the stub ashed itself on the table under its own weight. If the boy wasn’t breathing, he might have figured God Himself had taken his soul and left his body there.
He wanted to say something. To ask more, to question him, to fucking reassure him, for God’s sake. It was perhaps the lack of natural lighting in the room that made it seem so damn bleak and hospital-eque, but he couldn’t imagine living in it from day to day. Even with Aleks there, the place just felt like a damn morgue. That was his father’s doing, and now wasn’t the time to mention it.
He opted for the next best thing. “Let’s watch a movie tonight,” he said, returning to a smile. Retreating his hand from Aleks, he had gone to lean back, to continue on - “I could run home and grab-”
Slam. A fist hit the table and it damn near sent it flying. His smile immediately faded, and he learned forward once more.
Instantaneous. “Sorry,” and Aleks rubbed the center of his forehead with the knuckle of his thumb. “Sorry. Fuck.”
“It’s alright.” He pulled his chair in to the right, reaching his hand out to touch the kid by his shoulder. “It’s alright.”
The silence, once again, permeated; he gently rubbed his shoulder and a bit of his back, staying at arms distance as if he was somehow afraid the next slam would be at his face. He didn’t think Aleks would do it, but it was better safe than sorry, especially if he was having a moment. And hell, even if he did, it wasn’t going to be the end of the world. But some time to dodge would be nice.
The cigarette was smoked to the butt before Aleks spoke again, this time finally peering up to meet his gaze, though its staying power was limited to one sentence; “You should just leave,” he said, before turning back down to face the ever-so-interesting blankness of the table. “Sorry. Just fucking leave.”
It really was his fault for trying to stay over unannounced. “Right,” he mumbled, retreating his hand, and pulling his chair back to stand. The kid had his issues, that was for sure - issues that he had known about for as long as he had lived in the house next door, so twenty some odd years. He felt almost burdensome to intrude, and though his intentions were only to give him some social interaction, he really should have warned him. “Sorry to bother ya, neighbor. But hey, I’ll be just next door, so if you ever want to come over, or me come here, or need anything, well.” He raised his hands almost in defense before dropping them to his sides. “Take care, Aleks.”
Hand to the door, it wasn’t the squeak of the chair that had alerted him, but the pace in which the footsteps approached. Before he turned he figured a punch was coming his way. Maybe a well deserved one, too. Whatever it was, if it could help him, he would take it. Turning around and bracing himself, he closed his eyes.
Two hands grabbed each of his shoulders. Knuckles dug so deep into his flesh that his eyes opened in shock of the grip. Where he had expected a punch he received another blow to the face, though one with lips instead of fists - Aleks’ lips against his, messy and inexperienced and heat of the moment. Childish, even. A smack that lasted two seconds or less.
Speechless. Silence raped the room.
The time that had passed afterwards was longer than the kiss itself. He stared down at Aleks with eyes wide, only to see that his neighbor seemed just as shocked as he was. He blinked once, twice, three times before loosening his grip and taking a singular step back, his arms locked in place as if he was some clay figurine that now had to be molded back to normal.
“I’m sorry,” he said, just barely audible in a whisper. “I haven’t, I haven’t, uh, someone, touched me. In a long time.”
“...Yeah.” What else to say?
Tears welled in his neighbors eyes. His tone quickly became more panicked, though he remained perfectly still - “m-my,” and no words followed for several seconds. “I’ve just been - sort of - I guess… living…”
He nodded along, exhaling a breath.
“...The same day… for a while… and…”
He took a step forward towards Aleks. He had expected him to rear back, but he remained still.
“...The last person… t-to touch me, I mean… was… my wife? And before that, uh, before that, it was, uh…”
His arms latched back onto his. Still perfectly molded, they clicked into place like a jigsaw piece. He brought his arms to Aleks’ shoulders and pulled him into his chest.
“...dad…my…”
It wasn’t the first time he had cried in front of him. When he had moved in to the place next door, his then teenage neighbor had shared quite a few moments of vulnerability in front of him, whether he liked it or not. Whether it was the boy coming over with a bloody face and held by the ear and made to apologize for something so infinitesimal you’d figure it was some prank, or so fucking pissed he ended up hitting him then balling his eyes out, the only person in the whole world who had seen him so vulnerable was probably just him and the boys father.
It was just the first time in about fifteen years he had ever let himself be seen like this.
They stood in the hallway for what felt like ages. He didn’t mind the time - he had all of it in the world to spend, and as long as Aleks felt like being held a bit, then that was that. About time, too.
He spent the time rubbing his back and caressing his hair, gently shhh’ing him and whispering “it’s okay”’s and “you’re alright.”’s. It worked with Laura. Hell, it worked with his wife. And all Aleks was in that moment was a child, a lover, family. He was someone so deeply burdened by isolation and rage that a brief respite could probably power his engines for another fifteen year uninterrupted period before he needed to recharge once again. But fifteen years was too long for any human to go willingly. Aleks fought to keep himself alone, and he fought hard. It spoke volumes to how terrible he must have felt, how terrible indeed, to cry, to kiss, to…
Well, another matter had come to his attention. As the tears began to calm and Aleks was reduced to sniffles, he finally took the time to mention it. “Aleks.”
“Yeah.”
“Let’s go get you to your room, alright?”
It was his neighbor that broke their embrace, and with it, he hung his head low and turned his back to walk towards his room. Following him he opened the door for him, and allowed him inside first.
Aleks sat himself down on the bed, and immediately as he sat, he began to bounce his leg. Sweaty palms dug themselves into his knees, and with an exhale, he sat next to him.
Aleks’ hand moved with no warning. A fumbling, desperate motion as he reached down to press his palm against the denim of his jeans, searching for his groin through the fabric. His own hand was there in an instant to catch him in the act, firm and unyielding as he caught Aleks’ wrist, stopping the movement before it could truly begin. “No” he said, his voice level but saturated with a sudden, sharp clarity. “You know this isn’t right.”
The rejection seemed to shatter whatever fragile composure Aleks had managed to regain. He recoiled as if he’d been struck, his face contorting into a mask of pure, unadulterated agony. “I’m sorry,” he wailed, the sound torn from the back of his throat. “I’m so fucking sorry. I should just die. I should just fucking die.” He began to shake violently, his words tripping over one another in a frantic, hysterical rush. “He ruined everything, and now I don't even know how to be a person. I just want it to stop. I just want to be dead.”
The broken child beneath the sweater stood to his feet and paced back and forth. Words pressed against his throat. He wanted to say something, to make this all stop, to put his neighbor, his friend, at ease. Any sane man might have knocked him out long before that. Even shot him. He was married for God’s sake, not to mention much older than him and, biggest point, not at all a faggot in any sense of the word. There was no desire, no hidden motive, and yet…
He felt a profound, aching pity that overrode his own boundaries. Without a word, he reached out again, this time catching Aleks by the shoulder. Without a word he led the boy to sit into his lap.
Aleks stiffened, a sharp, hitching breath catching in his throat as he was pulled into the unexpected contact. The boy was trembling, a fine, rhythmic shudder that seemed to vibrate through his entire frame, but he didn’t pull away. He couldn’t. The touch was the only thing anchoring him to the present, the only thing keeping the encroaching shadows of his own mind at bay. He let his head fall against the older man’s shoulder, his eyes squeezed shut as if trying to block out the very world around them.
“Shhh,” he whispered, the sound a soft, rhythmic pulse against Aleks’ ear. His hand moved with a slow, deliberate grace, reaching down to find the zipper of the boy’s jeans. It was a clinical motion at first, born of a desperate need to provide some form of release, some physical sensation that could override the mental agony. As the fabric gave way, he felt Aleks surge against him, a desperate, fumbling movement that spoke of years of starved affection and suppressed need. “It’s okay, Aleks. Just let it go. You don’t have to think about him right now. He’s not here.”
His fingers closed around the boy, the warmth of the contact immediate and jarring. He began a slow, steady rhythm, his movements practiced and soothing, mirroring the gentle shushing sounds he continued to make. Aleks’ breath came in ragged, uneven bursts, his fingers digging into the denim of the older man’s thighs as he fought for composure. But the rhythm was relentless, a physical demand that couldn’t be ignored. The boy’s head thrashed back, a low, guttural moan escaping his lips, a sound of pure, unadulterated relief that seemed to echo through the small, dim room.
“That’s it,” he murmured, his voice a steady anchor in the storm of Aleks’ reaction. He didn’t look down, kept his gaze fixed on the peeling wallpaper of the bedroom, focusing entirely on the sensation of the boy in his lap. The shame and the confusion were still there, hovering at the edges of his consciousness, but they were drowned out by the sheer weight of Aleks’ need. He was a vessel for the boy’s pain, a conduit for a release that had been denied for far too long. With each stroke, he felt the tension begin to drain from Aleks’ body, the violent shaking subsiding into a soft, exhausted trembling.
When the end came, it was sudden and quiet, a sharp intake of breath followed by a long, shuddering exhale that left Aleks limp and heavy against him. The boy’s forehead rested against his neck, his skin hot and damp with sweat. The silence that followed was different than before - it wasn’t the oppressive, heavy weight of the morgue-like house, but a quiet, fragile peace. He continued to rub Aleks’ back, his hand moving in slow, comforting circles, long after the physical act was finished. “You’re okay,” he whispered one last time,
Senses seemed to be regained with the boy’s orgasm. Within a minute, he picked himself up, tidied his jeans, and simply rolled onto the bed they sat on. He moved himself down to sit on the edge of the bed, and turned only to look as Aleks faced towards the shut window which let in no light from the now night sky.
“Listen,” he began in the silence for the final time. “I’m gonna stay, alright? Let's have a conversation in the morning. I'll see you in the kitchen when you wake up.”
The only sound breaking through the stillness was the sniffling of his neighbor and the low hum of the refrigerator. As he left the room as quietly as he could, he headed straight for the beer at the kitchen table, and sat down where he had been.
That particular sense of dread, the one encapsulated by a home so full of misery had overtaken him once again. Without Aleks present, the full reality of his day to day living seemed ever apparent. Anyone under these circumstances, he figured, would go mentally insane. Especially given everything that damned psycho had done to his own son, well…
Blame for Aleks’ actions seemed not to fall on his own self, but the circumstances in which life had given him. Reflection was sparse, though, as he cracked open a beer and drank it down as quickly as he could before heading right for another.