Cestello Annunciation, Botticelli, 1490
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Most people would be familiar with that saying about making lemonade whenever life gives you lemons. Ever since he was young, Isaac considered the phrase absurd, because one would also need a variety of the right ingredients in order to not find themselves gagging on the taste of watered down lemon.
As he awoke in an unrecognizable bed, he started thinking more and more about the quote. He wondered if he's ever made lemonade before in his life, or if he's only ever resorted to its failed counterpart lemon juice. Sticky, sour, bitter lemon juice.
Then he remembered his night with Jesse, and all the fucking lemon juice he created.
"Good boy," Jesse said, finger pressed against his lip, "you never fail to surprise me."
"Wait..." Isaac had hesitated. "...I have one request though."
"Oh?"
"I wore a silk scarf here," he explained, "I want you to use it on me. Blind me."
The man only bit his lip and stared with growing excitement. He smirked, like he knew he was going to have a good time. "If you insist."
It was a strange request, and Isaac was afraid to make it. For some reason, he had an overwhelming desire to have one of his senses taken away. Maybe, at the time, he thought it'd remove the guilt of his decision. Maybe it aroused him to have the smooth material on his skin.
Maybe it was his sick, disturbing way of being able to picture the right face on the wrong body.
He didn't need to see the man to know that he was there. All he wanted to do was feel. Sight never proved existence to begin with.
Isaac hurried out of bed. Examining his surroundings, he noticed that the room he was in was bare. There were no signs of life or character, so he made the assumption he was in a guest bedroom. Behind a barely drawn curtain, he could see that time had not yet reached the crack of dawn. He had to have slept for a few hours though, so it couldn't be too far off.
Quickly, he gathered and threw on his clothes, scrambling out of the apartment like he'd just committed the crime of thievery. He liked to think he wasn't a suspicious looking person, but from the way he sprinted out the door and constantly looked around him, he wouldn't be surprised if the neighbors were put off.
Outside was viciously cold, especially in his knit jumper and flimsy denim. It kind of reminded him of the night where he kissed William. Except, then it was the end of spring, and now it was the start of winter. He was fortunate he didn't face any form of precipitation other than morning dew clinging to sharp blades of grass beneath his sneakers.
And, in comparison to that spring night, his winter morning wasn't leading him to places unexpected, but instead to the familiar run down apartment he'd managed to afford with the money he could scavenge.
Thinking about it, there were really no similarities between the two days. He only wanted there to be.
He took a bus home. It took everything in his power to not fall asleep and miss his stop. To distract himself, he ended up having a pleasant conversation with the little girl one row ahead of where he sat.
"Are you some sort of prince?" she asked, eyes glossy, cheeks and nose red from the cold.
Isaac was surprised by her question, but he laughed. "I'm certainly not one. Besides, I think I'd rather be a knight instead. Aren't they much cooler?"
"But knights are ugly," she explained, "and princes are pretty! Just like you."
He looked into her wide eyes. They were eyes that showed him that she didn't understand why he couldn't possibly be a prince. In her unknowing eyes he must've been perfect. "Princes also get happy endings," he explained.
Okay, so maybe the conversation wasn't the best one to have with a little girl he'd just met. Still, he enjoyed having someone who listened to his random thoughts and only responded with hopeful ones. It was a nice change of pace from Asher, who gossiped relentlessly into his ear.
When he reached his stop, he said his farewells to the girl and her mother, and entered the cold once again. Sometime during his conversation about medieval royalty, dawn must've cracked, because it was no longer pitch black out. Though his breath was still visible in the form of mist.
Opening the door to his rather new home, he knew the first thing anyone in their right mind would've done was take a shower, especially after what he'd just done. However, it seemed like he was never in his right mind these days. The second he caught sight of his bed he collapsed onto it. Lemon juice and all.
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"Hey! Charlie!" When Josiah found him in the corridor, he hurried after him like his life depended on it. "Charlie, wait up."
The boy swiftly spun around and raised a brow. "What? Now you want to talk to me? Sorry, I don't have any weed on me so you can get high and forget the world," he sneered. "Or matches for that matter, so you can watch it burn."
When Charlie described his recent behavior like that, he couldn't help but feel sheepish. "I'm sorry. I know that I haven't been the most approachable person, okay? I'm sorry."
"...Go on."
"I'm a complete fool. I used you. Actually, I used a lot of people. And now I've fucked up terribly," he admitted. "But I really need you to help me unfuck one of my biggest fuck ups."
Charlie examined him, probably unbelieving of confession. Josiah wouldn't blame himâhe knew how much he had once hurt him. To think that it would never come back and bite him in the arse. "Depends on what you want me to do."
He lit up at the response. "As of now, I just need to know where I can find Asher Alexander.I tried his dorm but he wasn't there."
"Alright. Try the drama room, he likes theatre, being the dramatic person that he is."
"Thank you, Charlie. I mean it."
He gave a wry smile. "Of course. Personally, I can't stand seeing you like this any longer. It's not a flattering look. You used to be so attractive. Now you look like Archie."
Josiah pursed his lips in order to hold himself back from spitting poison in return. "Thanks."
"Any time, lover boy."
He made haste to the drama room. What was he going to ask Asher? Did he even know about his relationship with Isaac?
I'm not a stalker I swear. I just need to know where I can find Isaac.
Awful.
I think I might've broken your best friend's heart. I need his address so I can fix it.
Jesus, what was he? A knight in shining armor?
I may or may not be in love with your best friend. Please, I need his address so I can tell him I no longer want to bring him to my father so that he can sell him into prostitution.
Hell no.
Josiah wasn't used to this feeling uncertainty. He always knew people. He always knew how to be in control of a situation. It's how he was raised, and it's something he grew up proud of, because he was praised for it.
Running down the corridor, with shoes squeaking against a freshly waxed floor, he realized that for the first time in his life, he knew absolutely nothing.
He didn't know what to say. He didn't know how Asher would react. Hell, he didn't even know if Isaac would listen to him if he ever found him. But he just kept running.
When he reached the theatre room, he was relieved to find out that no one was rehearsing anything. He wasn't relieved when everyone stared at him, probably because he hadn't shown his face on campus in weeks.
He didn't need to say anything, because he heard Asher's faint voice speak up first.
"Josiah?" he asked. "What are you doing here?"
He gulped. "Can we talk? In private."
"S-sure."
Josiah led him outside to one of the nearby benches. He gestured for the other boy to sit beside him.
Sitting next to Asher, he felt oddly nervous. He tugged at the end of his sleeves, covering his hands, anxious and hesitant. Asher was always a nice kid, though, and waited patiently by his side for him to speak.
"I-" he struggled to let out. He hated being unsure of himself. "I was wondering if..."
"If I knew where Isaac was? I was wondering when you'd ask."
He flushed.
"You know, he was dead set on not telling anyone other than me. He's always been stubborn like that."
"I know."
"And he especially didn't want me to tell you." Josiah flinched. " You hurt him."
"I know."
For awhile they didn't speak, and he started to think this was a lost cause. That his fuck up was permanent.
"...But right now I feel like he's hurting himself even more. I'll tell you where he is. For his sake, not yours." Asher rose from his seat pointed his finger in accusation. "But I promise you now that whatever you did to him you will not do again. Ever. Do you hear me?"
He nodded, eyes open with fear.
"I'm serious. You may be handsome now, Beckett, but if I ever hear that you hurt him again, you won't be any longer once I'm done with you."
"I-I understand." Josiah never knew the smaller boy could be so frightening.
"Good." His rigid facial features finally softened. He lowered his hand and looked into his eyes. Josiah could see that under all of his menace was suppressed sadness for his friend. He could see that Asher truly loved him.
"Because everyone always admires him for looking like a doll. No one ever makes note of the fact that the most beautiful ones are also the most delicate."
Asher tore out a piece of paper and wrote down what he assumed an address. He handed it to him.
"All I ask is that you take care of him."
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