Chapter Text
December 21st, 2000. High: 29° F. Low: 15° F
Andre Kriegman inhales ice cold air, sharp and rough on his lazy tongue. It’s almost as uncomfortable as the smoke rising from the joint held between Cal’s thumb and pointer finger. His friend raises it to his chapped lips and inhales, deep and strong. Cal always holds it in much longer than Andre could, he says he likes how much it stings his lungs. Probably just like he enjoys the draw of a pressed down blade on his arm. Strange, Andre thinks.
He is unable to remove his gaze as he watches Cal tilt his head backwards on his neck, parting lips and closing eyes. The smoke dances from his mouth, and Cal elevates to his tip-toes to try to blow it out the high egress window. When his lungs are empty he breathes in, glancing through heavy eyelids at Andre and handing the joint to his left.
Wordlessly, the silence more from inability than choice, Andre takes it from his fingers. He copies the way Cal holds it like he has been doing all night, thumb and pointer. He can feel Cal watching him - why, Andre can’t place. He’s unable to think about it anymore before his intoxicated mind takes a wave to a new thought: he should probably do something with the joint. Andre takes a drag and he thinks he sees Cal finally look away from him, up at the window, but he is too busy riding the next wave thinking about how cold the air coming in from the outside is to be able to check. What that means, Andre can’t hold the question long enough in his mind to answer, but he can still feel it’s deathly important. His hands start to shiver as he exhales the piercing smoke.
Suddenly, Cal laughs next to him. It’s a sound so unexpected in the night that Andre doesn’t process it for a few seconds too long. When he does he can only let out the words, “Why are you doing that?” in slurred speech.
Cal just reaches for the joint, tapping Andre’s occupied arm with his knuckle. When he gets it back in his possession Cal says, “This is it,” and takes another drag.
At the words Andre makes a simple, “Hmm?” but is met with only the sound of air leaving lungs. After some time with no answer, his mind starts to wonder. It is it , he guesses. Cal and I are about to leave our whole entire lives as we know it behind and do what the devil himself put us on this earth to do: cause destruction to the hypocritical excuse for something alive human’s deserve.
Unfortunately, though, Cal keeps talking and interrupts his… thoughts.
“I wonder what it’ll feel like.” he whispers.
“What what feels like?” Andre asks, learning he is speaking only as the words come out.
Cal looks at him with a sobering blue gaze. “Death,” he says. The words roll around in Andre’s mind with no clear destination.
Cal continues, “I’m so fucking ready for it to be over, Andre,” he looks away to the window again, shaking ash off the joint, “I hope it’s quick and shit… but I don’t really mind if it isn’t, I guess,” he pauses for a few seconds. “Like… like a firework. Boom,” Cal’s body ticks with the word, startling Andre. Cal doesn’t notice. Instead he laughs again, the timing off and uncanny. When he is done he lethargically says, “And then I feel it all as I fizzle out.”
Andre's mind is filled with images of glowing fireworks launched with his family at his summer home. He remembers how Cal lit one with his pocket lighter at the suggestion of Andre’s father, Wanna give it a shot, Calvin? But Cal didn’t back away. Andre watched the reflection of sparks in his eyes. It looked like they were glowing. His father had to shout his name twice before Cal backed away, and when Andre whispered in his ear, the fuck were you doing, man? all Cal did was shrug.
The next memory surges. Him and Cal playing with their explosives, homemade, shitty, and definitely dangerous. This time he was the one to light them, pushing Cal off in worry he would do something else stupid like last time, using the excuse I was the one who did all the research, Cal. They are practically mine. Around three booms in, his friend asked, do you think these could kill someone instantly? After a moment of thought Andre answered, I mean I guess so. Depends if they actually work though. When he asked a simple why? Cal avoided answering.
“Think you can handle one more drag, Andre?”
Andre swims out of his sinkhole of memories and wordlessly takes the joint from Cal’s reaching grasp. Andre almost brings it up to his lips until he realizes he did not register the meaning of a single fucking word Cal just said. “Wait. What the fuck are you talking about?”
“I’m gonna die, Andre,” Cal says flatly, “On Zero Day. I’m gonna blow my fucking brains out after we kill everyone. We are all gonna die.” Andre watches in object horror as Cal smiles. The blond snatches the joint from Andres fingers, takes a short drag, and sighs, “Oh jesus.”
For a second, Andre thinks it means what it’s supposed to. That Cal doesn’t want to get out with him. Just a second, and then Andre laughs.
But for some reason Cal doesn’t laugh with him. Instead, he blurts, “Why are you laughing?”
“You are fucking with me. But I know,” Andre snickers.
Cal frowns. “Andre. You serious right now?”
“I don’t think I’m the not serious one right now.” Andre reaches for the joint but Cal holds it close to his body. The action snaps Andre out of himself and he notices how serious and annoyed Cal’s face is. His open mouthed smile falls.
“I am serious. There is no way you still think that we are going to get out of that building in anything but cuffs or a bodybag.”
All Andre can do is stare into Cal’s eyes. Cal matches the sentiment and for a few beats that is all they do.
Andre starts to reply, “I don’t…”
“Don’t what?”
Don’t what. I don’t want to give up. I don’t want our missions to end. I don’t want you to die. I don’t want to die, not yet, not like that. I don’t want everything to be for nothing.
Andre can’t speak, until he can.
“I don’t know.”
Cal snuffs out the snub of a joint on the basement wall. “Shit, Dre. You are way too much of a lightweight for this shit.” Instinctually, Andre gets offended. “No offense,” Cal adds and then latches the window shut after throwing the joint remains into the snow. Patting Andres shoulder he continues, “You- We should sleep, I think.”
Andre grunts, “I’m fine.”
“Sure thing.”
Cal leads him by a grip on his old pajama top to their sleeping arrangement: a couch without the back cushions, them instead creating a makeshift bed on the floor for Cal, flush to the legs to the couch. They came up with this years ago, on the dawn of their first sleepover. What would they think of us now? Andre wonders uselessly. As Cal pushes him to a seat on the couch, Andre can feel the weed in his system calling him to sleep. It’s almost enough. Almost, until panic from whatever the fuck that conversation just was rises back into his throat. He watches, still as a petrified statue, Cal sit back on the cushions and wraping his goosebump-covered body in blankets. Andre can’t just go to sleep after that. It isn’t done and he isn’t done. There are a million things he wants to say to his friend, his partner. He needs clarification, comfort, shelter.
“Cal.”
It’s a pathetic plea, whiny; like a kicked puppy. But that's all he can do.
“Shit.”
Cal has an uncharacteristically sad expression. He kneels over to Andre. A freezing hand meets the side of his face, fingers parting to make room for an ear and kiss wisps of brown hair. With a squeeze to his jaw and charged eye contact Cal gently says, “It’s okay. The feelings- They won’t matter.” Just as quickly as Cal touched Andre, he leaves and lies down. Andre stays where he is.
A tired voice speaks, “Andre?”
“...Yeah?”
Blankets shuffle and Cal rolls over to tap Andre’s calf. “Sleep, please. Just sleep.”
Andre doesn’t think he would be capable of anything else now.