The blonde boy placed his arm comfortably around Ned, securing him next to him as he laughed alongside his friends. Ned gave a frayed smile to play into the look, twiddling with the straw of his coke. Zach, laughing at whatever, seemed to forget about Ned for a moment. Giving Ned time to think. If Conor had Ned, then who's the father? We slept together...but he sure as hell topped. Ned considered, before his thoughts were interrupted by a gentle rub on the shoulder, along with a concerned look. Zach wasn't very articulate. He was sensitive and complicated, but was commonly unable to express his love, concern, or other emotions. Ned took his look and sighed, "I'm fine. It's just—"

Jeff, another rugby player, spoke, "Ned, is it that guy your were with. He looks like a creeper, mate. If he's hurting you in any way then I will replace his—"

"No," Ned quickly interrupted, "I mean, it's about him but not that. He has a kid, and it's just odd. Like, I feel that I haven't grown up and he has." Ned laughed a bit at his own thoughts.

"So? What's wrong with that?" Jeff's girlfriend laughed, as if growing up was the silliest concept.

He nodded, smiling towards her and then towards Zach, "You're right. What a rubbish life he chose." And the young adults rejoiced at their youth.

***

They walked out of the bar as drunk as sailors, and all were leaning on each other as if the other drunken one would be able to support the weight. The other couple headed off to some motel because their roommates wouldn't be thrilled with waking up to them having sex. Once they were out of sight, Zach pushed Ned's small frame up against some apartment building. His eyes held one of lust and lack of sympathy, as he locked Ned in. He was clearly not as drunk as Ned, who laughed and could barely keep his head up. Zach's rough, rugby-player hand grabbed onto Ned's ass, the other whisking it's way to Ned's tilted head. He began to kiss Ned's neck roughly, and if a stranger saw they might've thought they were seeing Twilight in real life. Ned moaned—in a resisting sort of manner—lightly pushing Zach's shoulder with all the strength he could muster in this state. Zach's dirty blonde hair tickled Ned's chin. "Z-Zach, not now." Ned tried to remove the boy's hand from his ass, but Zach was much stronger. Truth was, Ned hadn't had sex with Zach yet. After Conor, he inexplicably became revolted at the thought of sex with another person. It's wasn't that Conor was bad, oh no, but he was worried that he'd never be able to feel like that again. You see, Conor was considerate and loving throughout, but he doubted many were like that. And, something in his subconscious seemed to relate sex to bad consequences. Zach's made their way down to the button of Ned's jeans, roughly undoing them. Ned grabbed Zach's wrist, fighting him. Soon, his zipper was undone and his pants were loosely hanging onto his hips— the cold, brisk air tickled at a revealed part of his stomach. "Stop." Ned groaned, but his efforts were to no avail.

Zach's hands were soft and his movements were almost angry, whereas Conor's soft hands lightly touched Ned's skin and he regarded that the other person involved had to feel pleasure too. As Zach slid his pants off, his mind immediately went to the memory of his fingers tracing Conor's back muscles. Zach was always nice, but Ned had never fell in love with him. Their attraction seemed to be more temporary and trivial. Ned's heavy eyelids fluttered, his breathing becoming heavier with the weight of anxiety on his chest. "No. Stop, Zach, I'm serious." Ned insisted, tearing brimming in his the corner of his eyes which made the blue of his eyes stand out.

***

When he awoke the next morning, he was safely in his own bed—considering the night before as a dream. He got up, went to the joint bathroom, and looked in the mirror to see a disheveled boy with giant bags under his eyes. His head pounded as if his brain was knocking against his skull, and his lips were swollen and a bit bruised. If he didn't know I.T was himself, he would've assumed that this was an abuse victim. Hickeys covered his pale neck, he traced them and stared. He must've blacked out drunk, and Zach must've taken I.T as consent. His ass hurt as if someone had tore into I.T with a chainsaw, he felt his poor bum and blood lined the back of his boxers. He felt destroyed. Locking the door, he stared at himself in shame. He laid down on his stomach in the tiled floor, his head turned towards the counter and his bum face up. He closed his eyes to prevent tears of pain and regret, but when he did he remembered sobbing into Conor's arms on the disgusting floor of a drugstore restroom. When that happened he was unsure, but he yearned for someone to be there for him now. If he closed his eyes tight enough, he could envision Conor playing crappy guitar in the basement of their high school. His fingers barely made I.T to the correct placements, but he smiled at his own playing. A part of Ned never left that school. When he was forced to move on, he would think about the first friend he'd ever had late at night when he couldn't fall asleep.

***

Ned slept soundly in Conor's arms, while he also balanced a box of their belonging. Mr. Sherry and his boyfriend followed closely with more boxes. Admittedly, Conor didn't have many things. The new apartment was only a few blocks away, so he didn't see I.T fit to order a moving truck. They walked silently, fairly sad about the separation.

Once they arrived and all boxes were placed in the apartment, Conor began the tedious process of blowing up an air mattress in one of the bedrooms—Conor hadn't bought furniture yet. Mr. Sherry helped Ned find his ant farm in the other room, rummaging through the boxes because Ned was still recovering and couldn't lift or do anything strenuous. A part of Conor beamed with pride for all he'd done to get here: get a job, save endlessly, risen to the occasion of being a father, etcetera. But, of course, a part felt beaten down by life in the recent years.

Once the air mattress was blown up, Conor went into the other room to rummage around for blankets. He saw Ned barely being able to keep his poor eyes open. "Someone looks tired." Mr. Sherry laughed, "We should get going. Come visit!"

Then the apartment became silent, Ned being unable to say much more than he was tired. Conor slung the blankets over his shoulder, grabbing Ned and placing him on the air mattress. Out of fear of hurting the frail boy, Conor took a spot on the floor with the only blanket he didn't give to Ned. The cold, bare floor pressed against his cheek and he thought about how lonely he felt in that very moment.

***

The cruel air of a damp night pressed onto Ned's reddening face, as he pushed past the wind and pain. Out of paranoia, his head swung around every few moments to check his surroundings. The worst part was he still cared for Zach. The thought made his heart shudder, which seemed to ripple throughout his entire being. "Hey babe, what're you doing out so late?" The familiar, once comforting, voice rang out in complete innocence—as if he didn't realize he'd completely ravished Ned, because he didn't realize I.T. Zach looped a hand around Ned's bony waist, Ned almost recoiled at the touch.

"G-Getting some fresh air. The air in the dorms smells of horny young adults and people who haven't showered in a week." Ned complained, hoping the abundance of substance would make up for the lack of confidence in his voice.

Zach smiled, kissing Ned lightly on his cold cheek—sending a warmth throughout his body that seemed dangerously hot. The tenderness of it was almost horrifying. Commonly Zach had the issue of being to rough—possible because of rugby—but now he seemed to touch Ned like he was porcelain, and valuable porcelain at that. In the casted light of the streetlight, the unique birthmark that was shaped almost like a fish almost seemed to shine. "Last night was our first, huh? That's the best if ever had, I'm telling you that right now." Zach spoke, smiling innocently, like he didn't accidentally rape Ned. In sick and twisted way, Ned almost felt guilty for being so frightened of someone so seemingly benevolent.

There was a drugstore on the corner store that was open 24/7, but didn't always have the best crowd as the sun set. After shaking off Zach, that's where he headed. As he searched through the aisles, he picked up a few items: booze, aspirin, a ballpoint pen, and pad of paper. After checking out, he beelined to the restroom, slamming a locking the door behind him. He let his heavy-feeling body drop to the cold, mistreated floor. Rummaging through the plastic bag, he grasped at the bottle of whiskey and took not-so-mindful sips. Before he knew it, the poor bottle was half empty—half full to others—and his throat burned from the intensity. Placing the bottle down, there was a certain numbness that he'd never felt so strongly. After going through the bag again, he pulled out the pad and began to messily scribble:

Dear Spectators,

Enjoy what you created and what you did. Most regret not being able to do certain things in their short lived lives, but I regret living in a world such as this one. College was supposedly the place where children became men, but I just became used.

Despise,

The Dearly Departed Ned Roche

Ned finished writing, dropping the pad almost angrily beside him. Looking at the ceiling, he felt like someone had hallowed him out, and the only reminder that he was still living was the ache of his ass and an intense headache that cut through his skull. Was he really going to do this? I.T felt as if he was fine only a few days ago. He still felt out of place, but at least he felt something. There was only one thing left to do; down an entire bottle of aspirin. The pills felt uncomfortable and almost sharp in his throat, but nothing more whiskey couldn't fix. As he awaited the effects, he didn't think of anything or anyone or anywhere or anytime. His head had been taken along with his heart. Although he wasn't dead, the grim reaper had already visited and ransacked the boy.