----loose.ends.for.all.things (GB)

To say the last, Nikko Vea was at an all time low. To start things off, his rabbit had died. Not such a big deal. That same day, he and Gianna had become engaged. Something marvelous, Nikko thought, since he hadn't been turned down like he had with Vicky. Just two weeks after the incident, there had been a house fire that caught fire to two houses of Nikko's dearest companions: Naz and Gianna. And outside of that fact, things sucked. They sucked hard. Uncle Charlie was constantly bickering him and Dahlia about whatever-the-hell his mind was twisting around (Nikko was pretty sure that he was on some type of drug, but he wasn't quite positive. You could never judge people by their actions, especially when drugs came to mind. Maybe Uncle Charlie was just naturally odd.) And his parents calling him a disappointment for moping around the house like an idiot. You know, he was too paranoid to move back to his own house. You know, house fires and all that. Somehow, his parents had convinced Nikko to tentatively move back into his own house, but Nikko had just sat there like a moron before slowly moving all the dead bodies that he had kept in his freezer and placing them outside in seemingly random places. Then he sat in his house, twiddling his thumbs, sometimes cracking open a can of beans to eat cold while watching whatever was on television. The hunger games, news broadcasts. The typical that Nikko really would rather just ignore, but he didn't have any books, and any work he did now get was for drawing small-scale versions of parks, and he'd caught up with that weeks ago. To say the least, Nikko was an emotional wreck caught in a time loop of doing nothing but missing Naz and Gianna. He honestly missed his best friend, and while he knew Gianna was not always the most aware with her intentions in things.... To say the least, Nikko had loved her. To some extent, he had.

Which is why, eyes brimming with tears, he finally chucked the aluminum cans that he had been feeding himself out of for the last few weeks at the opposite side of the wall, and with frustrated eyes, he glared at a picture frame that had childhood memories contained in it. A happy time in life, honestly. In that oak frame was an old-fashioned photograph with six happy children in it. Three boys, three girls. On the far left, and the tallest, was Nikko himself, looking gangly and somewhat... happy? Happy with life. Standing next to him was Gianna, who was holding a pair of old roller skates, her eyes looking at the camera with something very odd to Giannas face. It was sincerity, and with her little pink overall shorts and white tee shirt, it made Gianna look much younger than she had been at that time. In the middle stood Caine, looking like Caine usually did, just less depressed looking. With more of a smile than anything else, beaming in the sunlight. Dahlia stood next to Caine, her bangs brushing her eyes, and she looked a lot younger than the lot of them, with teeth missing and a teddy bear being hugged in her arms. Then Vicky stood, a bit tall for her age, with her hair cut haphazardly around her face. That picture had been taken on Naz's thirteenth birthday, and for some reason, Nikko couldn't help smiling, but as tears rolled down his face. He wished that Gianna and Naz would just come back from their graves. That he hadn't been so mean to Caine and Vicky. That Dahlia didn't hate him so damn much. He wished he wasn't so worked up about the little things. Nikko Vea regretted every single thing that he had done up to that point. Now, the group that was so happy in that pictures back were turned against each other. Something that Nikko wanted to start sobbing over. To say the least, Nikko wanted to go back. To a year earlier, when nothing had changed from when he and Vicky had been dating. He wanted nothing more than to go back, not make a big deal about anything and he wanted to make sure that Gianna and Naz never got caught in a house party. That he'd be fine with Vicky breaking up with him and going to Caine. That he hadn't made such a big deal when he found out that Dahlia had LSD frequently. All he wanted to do was go back. They were just six kids, stupid and fearless. And they'd shot it down with drama. They were like a time bomb.

He really needed a drink. Nikko tilted his head at his inner dialogue, which confused him. Most of the time, Nikko had the saddest fear of anything alcoholic, so he was shocked when he realized something. He really did need one. Or, so he thought. But in his slight amount of hysterics, he admitted something to himself. You could only get one chance that your body lets you do things, so when Nikko's mind screamed at him that it needed something alcoholic to slide down his throat; he wasn't going to deny it of himself. So he got up from his chair, scratching at his head and making sure that his shoes were firmly on his feet. The pair of shoes had always been his favorite, brown leather ones with the back being able to slip onto his feet without tying. The type of shoes he wore daily, and the same type of shoes that he wore to the funerals... and to the fire scene. And... That’s when Nikko's mind went back to the horrible, smoking mess. He refused to let it go past finding rubble of Naz's house, and he would never even think about the dead corpses found on the parts of the house that hadn't burned. Smoke inhalation. The exact thing that Nikko no longer wanted to think about, the intact bodies and how stark eyes were left open. At least you're alive Nikko thought, putting on his favorite jacket, something of a security blanket for him. Just to aid him through his first drink.

Nikko locked the door behind him as he stepped out onto the back porch, his shoes echoing on the wooden boards. The air was crisp and cool, and seemed to dry the tears on his face the instant he walked out. It was that odd time of night where the moons out, but not prominently so, that you could see, but only with the aid of streetlights without straining your eyes. The sky was a deep blue, and stars blinked above him. Stepping off of the porch, Nikko slowly got onto the sidewalk and walked. Walking farther down the street, he attempted to avoid all eye contact. Do something technically illegal. Not something that Nikko ever intended on doing, and liquor seemed like one of the ones he'd never even expected himself to come in contact with, nothenless drink. But it was a good as any time to start, he figured. A determined gleam in his eye, Nikko walked down the streets until he came to a seedier part of town, where the only things were run-down houses, undersized storefronts and a single bar, with hoarse piano music playing from the inside, the off-tune making him cringe. But he entered anyway, pushing the door with the squealing hinges open to find people look in his direction, and resume playing cards or drinking. Nikko bit onto his tongue, his nervous actions showing in the way he crisscrossed in his walking and how his skin prickled over. The Vea family didn't do illegal things. Outside of drinking wines, they didn't do anything illegal. Well, except for Dahlia, but Dahlia was the shining example of everything that she could get away with. Dahlia could get away with keeping LSD in the house, but Nikko couldn't get away with shit. He needed a real job, not making sure that people received quality architectural designs. Dahlia could prance around in capitol quality clothes and her parents wouldn't think of it. Nikko bought a new jacket, and he received a stern warning "Not to waste money, Nikko Alexander Vea!" Curling his fingers around the cigarette smoke that littered the bar, Nikko flung himself into a stool and looked at the man who was tending the alcohol. Picking at the wood grain of the counter in front of Nikko, he finally threw out a coherent sentence, his voice quiet, shameful, and somewhat anxious at the same time. "Whatever will clear my head."

Nikko snapped a piece of wood off of the bar and tossed it to the ground, making sure that his teeth were clenched the whole time so he didn't make some sissy comment about how a piece of wood falling to a rickety-bars ground was going to remind him of Gianna and Naz's deaths. Or, at least he'd try. Trying was better than anything. The bartender finally plunked a glass of something putrid smelling in front of him, and requested five dollars. Nikko yanked out his wallet and tossed a bill to the man, and then took a swig of the horrid tasting thing. But somehow, he didn't want to let it go to waste. So he finished the thing and leaned back in his chair, letting the chain reaction of numbing go to his brain. Pretty soon, he felt better. All around better, this was why he requested another.