blitzkreig blitz | paxos

p a x t o n .

"Maybe won't you take it back
Say you were tryna make me laugh
And nothing has to change today"

"Put that out, it's disgusting."

Maybe he'd been waiting for that small piece of attention, for Amos to break the silence he was usually so fond of filling up with endless babble so that Pax didn't have to shoot him with a rubber band. He did as he was told anyway and pressed the end of the cigarette into the ash bowl beside his head. Amos was one of three people on the planet who could get away with telling him what to do and Pax was pretty sure Amos didn't realize just how much he was curled around Amos' little finger.

He'd never really been able to handle himself around Amos, despite all the appearances he was so good at propping up. Paxton couldn't remember the first time he noticed how soft Amos' hand was. He'd held it so many times in his own as they ran through Nine's allies. He could only remember the thought of it keeping him up at night, when Amos' hand was curled up loosely on the pillow beside his face.

Long digits on the back of his neck, holding him close in a dark alley, they'd been rough then but not in a bad way.

He wondered how long Amos would be mad at him for this time, how much space he had to give his best friend before things finally went back to normal. Then again, maybe they wouldn't, Maybe Amos would finally decide that he was done with his bullshit and Paxton would wake up one day to an empty apartment.

The idea of that was terrifying, only because he didn't know how he'd respond. An empty apartment just sounded lonely. One toothbrush, only half the amount of groceries and just Pax' shoes at the door made something twist inside of him at just the thought of it.

It was his own fault.

That kiss held too much weight to be ignored forever but every time that Pax opened his mouth to bring it up, he felt something else slip out instead, inane shit about the weather or how they were almost out of eggs. He saw the disappointment on Amos' face every single time and he wished that he was a different person, that he could stop making up excuses for his own cowardice but he felt like he was stuck. He had no idea what Amos was thinking.

What if he poured his heart out to his best friend and Amos hated him for it.

Paxton didn't even really know what he wanted to say to him, his head had been empty for three days as he'd tried to sort out what he was feeling. That kiss had come out of fucking nowhere but despite everything he didn't regret it. But how was he supposed to tell Amos that kiss was the best one he'd ever had and not make it weird between them. The situation felt impossible like he'd be losing Amos either way.

He needed a drink.

Pax rolled off the bed and landed on his knees with a soft thud. He was tired of the stupid curfew and of being stuck inside with Amos when he was in a mood. They both could use some loosening up. He stretched slowly and felt his back crack as he pushed the air up over his head and then did a small shake to ease some tension out.

Amos was focused on an old ammunitions textbook that Pax had mainly bought to prop up the coffee table and didn't seem to be moving with him. That was just another thing that was off, the two of them had always moved in tandem and it was a rare thing that Pax actually had to get his attention. There was a reason they were always partnered for missions, they always showed up everywhere together anyway.

He grabbed his jacket off the hook by the door and slipped his feet into his shoes. Amos still didn't move and Pax felt something weird shift inside him, an odd sort of panic that he hadn't felt before around Amos. He didn't even know what to name it.

"You coming?" he asked, a hand on the zipper of his jacket.

Uncertainty.

p a x t o n .

"Maybe won't you take it back
Say you were tryna make me laugh
And nothing has to change today"

His zipper wasn't enough to keep his hands from shaking a little bit at the acid in Amos' voice. Normally he'd say something back, maybe like, 'Hey, I know Adroxis Ammunitions is your absolute favourite but no one's that slow a reader'. Paxton hadn't heard the page turn in the whole half-hour he'd been holding it.

Amos wasn't really reading the old book, they both knew that. It was a prop, in the same way how Pax used it to hold the table up. He knew that he probably shouldn't go, that he should say something. The air in the apartment was trying to choke him though, even with the window down it wasn't enough. He'd never noticed the size of the place before but it felt as if the walls were closing in on him.

He needed to go out but he didn't want to go without Amos. In the end, nothing was fun without him.

Even if he did go out, he'd probably just worry about him the whole time anyway. Still, he knew that tone and exactly how much anger was laced behind it. There was no talking to Amos when he was like that, just talking near him and Pax hoping to god that he was listening.

And maybe Pax was a little bit angry too.

Because Amos hadn't brought it up either and for all the years they spent together, Pax still couldn't read his mind, despite years of trying to. How was he supposed to know what his best friend was thinking about now that Pax had crossed a line he'd never even glanced at before?

Maybe Amos didn't want to come because he wanted to go out and fuck someone else, makeout a little to get the taste of his best friend's mouth off of his.

Pax's hand curled around his zipper so tightly that he could feel the little metal ridge digging into the palm of his hand. He wished so much that he could be enough for him.

"Yeah, cool," he muttered and pulled on a baseball cap, "Catch you later then."

He pulled the door open and waited for a breathe, fingers ghosting over the doorframe briefly, waiting for Amos to change his mind. But the moment grew old and he didn't say anything.

So Pax left.

p a x t o n .

"Maybe won't you take it back
Say you were tryna make me laugh
And nothing has to change today"

It was weird to walk out of their small apartment alone, to clatter down the steps that ran along the outside of the building and hit pavement without the familiar sound of Amos following him. Pax didn't turn back though, not until he was the furthest he could be without losing sight of home. He stopped on the corner of the street and looked back, eyes on the still open window, the curtains moving slowly in the wind.

Amos wasn't leaning out of them, yelling for him to wait up, he wasn't even at the window. Paxton kept on walking, turning the collar of his jacket up as he did so. No one would look twice at him anyway, it was strange for him to be without Amos, they were always together.

He didn't know where he was going at first. There was just a crumbling inside of him brought on by the way that his heart felt as if it had been replaced with a sheet of paper that someone had folded into the shape of one. It made sense that he was in pain, a paper heart couldn't be expected to work as well as one made of flesh and blood. He walked until he wasn't certain of where he was.

Pax knew Nine well, better than most probably. It wasn't hard for him to have explored every inch of it, he hadn't had a curfew since his father had died. The gang cared of course, but not enough to force him to listen to a thing they said. When he was sad, walking was easier than talking to someone. Amos was the person he would have spoken to anyway.

He slid down a quiet alley and knocked on an old metal door three times. There was a beer in his hand a few moments later, a clap on his shoulder from another gang member, someone asked, "Amos not feeling well?"

Downed the beer in minutes, wanted something stronger so he went for whisky next, two fingers. Just one big ice cube cold against his lips made him think about Amos still, about how his lips had been so warm. So Paxton laughed and slung an arm around Trent and challenged him to a game of darts. Someone lit a cigarette up so Pax did too and held it between his lips as he aimed at the target.

Then another beer, or two maybe. Trent left, said curfew was coming but Paxton stayed. He sat at the bar and ordered two tequila shots. Maggie sat down beside him, "One of those for me?" she asked and batted her eyes. Pax just shook his head and downed them both, one after another. Five minutes later he was sitting with Cecilia in a back corner having a heated discussion but Pax kept on losing the plot.

It was his turn to argue but he couldn't remember what they were talking about. "Kid, you ok?" Cecilia asked, motherly concern etched all over her face.

"Yeah, yeah, just need a water," he said and left her there but when he got back to the bar he forgot about that and ordered another whisky instead. If Amos was there, maybe he'd have taken the whisky glass while Pax wasn't looking and switched it out for water but he wasn't and dammit, he was still thinking about him. He dropped the glass on the counter and it broke, glass shattering and skidding across the wooden top slowly.

Or maybe it was fast.

"Okay kid, get your ass home," Tank said and guided Paxton over to the door, "You've had more than enough."

Suddenly he was outside and it was quiet and there were stars above him and a breeze pushing through. He put a hand on the wall, red brick and rough and waited for the ground to steady a little bit but it didn't, not really.

He was probably going to be sick eventually but not at the moment. A muted blanket of quiet settled over him and Paxton shut his eyes, listening carefully for his little paper heartbeat.

It crinkled quietly with each breath, or maybe that was just his lungs, bent out of shape from smoking cigarettes mare often than he should. He started walking again, hand running along the wall as he did so. He knew he was supposed to be careful, that Peacekeepers were just waiting to catch anyone out after curfew, but Pax carried a knife and he wasn't afraid to die.

He never really had been.

Normally he'd be looking for a fight anyway, pour enough alcohol into Paxton and instead of losing his inhibitions, he was just punching someone in the face. The anger he'd felt before was gone though, or maybe still there but just weighed down.

Suddenly all he wanted to do was be at home in bed with Amos. Pax would probably be kicked onto the couch for the night, Amos silent and cuddling that stupid ammunitions book. He didn't want things to be as they were between them now but he also didn't want to go back to before the kiss, not really for all his insisting.

He just wanted Amos to look him in the eye again. Maybe the best way to do that was to be honest, to just get all of his feelings out so they could start to heal past it. Pax wasn't a talker though, he never had been.

Maybe for Amos he could be.

"..."

His head turns, ear caught on a soft sound coming from one of the trash cans on his walk home. There're a couple of bags tied up beside a silver can, not enough room inside to hold all of them. He gazes for a moment, pretty sure that it's just a raccoon, when he sees one of the bags, smaller than the rest and knotted at the top, wiggle.

It wasn't his business.

He knelt down in front of the bag anyway, knees slowly going wet in the gutter and pulled his switchblade out. He lay a hand down on the wiggling lump and dug his blade into the knot carefully.

"Ah," he said softly as a furry little head slowly poked out of the black bag, "Shit, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry." A tiny kitten crawled from the plastic, fur slick with sweat. It mewed quietly, tail between its legs. Paxton put the knife away and held a hand out, fingers extended in a relaxed way for the little cat to sniff. "Who did this to you, little guy?" he whispered, "Who do I gotta kill, hmm?"

Paxton scooped the kitten up carefully and slipped him into his jacket against his chest. He zipped up just enough for it to poke its little head out for air. He didn't really know what he was doing, just that he couldn't leave the poor thing there. Amos would know what to do probably.

When they were almost home, it started purring and Pax felt the vibration against his chest. His head was empty, the purring calming him somehow after days of anxiety. He'd never really thought much about animals. He liked them enough but he'd never considered getting one. Dogs required a lot of care and cats seemed like assholes but he'd done a pretty good job of taking care of Amos. A cat couldn't be much harder.

He took the stairs slowly, they were waving quite a bit more than usual and there was a burn in the back of his throat from the whisky and cigarettes. Pax was vaguely aware of the fact that he smelled like a bar.

It was late, he knew that, but he didn't know how late. The lights were all off, Amos wasn't home or he was but asleep and it all seemed like a lot to figure out, so he didn't. Pax settled down, back against the front door and scratched gently under the kitten's chin. It had large blue eyes which shut as Paxton scratched and he wondered how anyone could think to leave a kitten like that.

How could anyone do something so cruel?

Pax shut his eyes, drink making him sleepy. He would have just stayed there all night too if he hadn't suddenly lost the support behind his back. Pax fell back unceremoniously and cupped a hand around the lump in his jacket even as he felt its tiny claws dig in for support. He blinked slowly, a smile spreading across his face at the sight of Amos standing above him in one of his old t-shirts, baseball bat in hand.

"Yeah!" he said and a chuckle climbed out from between his lips to jump into the air between them, "Yeah dude, I'm fucked, like.... really fucked... like worse than New Years!"

That was funny, he laughed again.

"Mmm this? I found her!" he said proudly and pulled the little cat out of his jacket by the scruff of her neck. Her legs stuck out stiffly and she mewed loudly before clawing and biting at his arm. "Found her on my way home, hey I gotta talk to you," he said in one breath.

Pax tucked the cat back into his jacket and rolled over unsteadily onto his knees. He crawled into the apartment, shoving past Amos' legs and the baseball bat. "Don't worry, I didn't even fight anyone," he said and climbed to his feet. The room swam a little and somehow Paxton felt like he was even drunker than before, as if all the alcohol inside of him was sloshing around and tunnelling right into his head.

"We got tuna?" he asked and pulled open a few cupboard doors without really looking into them, "Hey can we talk?"

p a x t o n .

"Can you tell me a secret
Can you tell me what's wrong with me
I know I should be angry
But I can barely feel a fucking thing"

His words felt too fast and then garbled, like a river filled with too many stones, the meaning leaked out. He moved through the kitchen and dug through the cupboards, smile lukewarm but still beating.

When he asked for a can of tuna it was just repetition. Hey I want to talk to you, I want to talk, I want to talk, I want to tal-

The kitten probably just wanted milk anyway. It still purred against his chest, body so small and malnourished that the whole thing vibrated with it. Pax's hand was still cupped around its small form within his jacket and he'd already named it in his head. He didn't say it out loud though, Pax knew he was going to have to warm Amos up to the idea of a cat in the apartment; baby steps.

"Nooo, Amos," he whined as the other boy started to steer him across the apartment, "Please not the couch I hate it." He did his best to dig his heels in but wooden floors never led to much purchase and he stumbled forward all the same. Amos was fond of making him sleep on the couch and Pax could sleep anywhere, so it was alright. Even though he could though it wasn't the same, he didn't wake up rested. He felt sore and his mood was always bad after sleeping alone on the couch.

And it was too cold at night, even in summer.

"But I wanna talk now," he said too quietly and let Amos help him get his shoes off. He kicked them away carefully and then shrugged out of his jacket, not letting go of the little kitten. The sweat had dried a little bit and it was softer than he thought it'd be. It was comforting to run his thumb over its tiny head as Amos didn't make eye contact with him. "I'll get tuna in the morning," Pax said louder.

He didn't know if he'd be able to talk in the morning, if he'd be able to say all the things he wanted to. Paxton watched Amos walk away from him to go and get a blanket. His old t-shirt didn't fit him quite right, it was a size too big for him and his shoulder was almost fully showing. His hair was slightly mussed from laying down, the seam from the duvet had embedded its pattern into the skin of his calf.

Pax just wanted to lay beside him on the bed and stare at Amos' back until he was too tired to stay awake, his eyes too heavy to stay open. Then he wanted to wake up in the morning and do all of it again.

He knew the words that he wanted to say to him but when Amos came back with the blanket, all he could muster was, "That's my shirt, y'know?" He slid down on the couch and the little kitten reorganized itself into the crook of his arm. "You can wear it though, you wear it really good, looks better on you"

And he knew that he had to keep Amos talking because if he didn't, Amos would walk away from him and go lie on the bed. The bed might as well have been one hundred miles away and Pax' world was already spinning, he wasn't sure he could make it there. He didn't want to be alone though, not that night, there was something wrong with him, he felt wrong.

Like there was a hole inside of him that he was finally able to see and everything important had fallen out of it.

"I'm gonna name the cat Tuna," he said, "...unless it doesn't like tuna, then... I dunno."

His hands found the hem of the t-shirt and Pax grabbed it with both, holding his best friend in place.

Please don't go.

He wanted to say it.

He was a coward.

p a x t o n .

"Can you tell me a secret
Can you tell me what's wrong with me
I know I should be angry
But I can barely feel a fucking thing"

The couch blanket was too heavy, he liked the blanket on the bed better. He liked to lay beside the window and let the breeze from outside in so that he'd have more reason to burrow down deeper under the covers and up against Amos. The couch blanket was knitted by the neighbor up the street, Mrs. Harris or something. The wool made his skin itch slightly but sometimes in the winters it went on the bed as well to keep them extra warm. Paxton still didn't like the blanket.

Mainly because it meant that it was final, that he was sequestered to the couch. He sighed in defeat, an encroaching heaviness falling over him and glueing him to the couch. How much had he ended up drinking anyway? More than he had in a while. He couldn't remember why he'd done that, just that he'd felt kind of hollow so it'd seemed like a good idea at the time.

Amos hadn't been there to stop him or something, tug on his arm, tell him it was enough and drag him back home before he got too hammered. He needed Amos there always, a tether or an anchor or something.

Pax kind of felt like he was going to be sick, everything was wrong, he'd had so many intentions when he'd left the bar only an hour ago. He was going to talk to Amos about everything, tell him how he felt. He couldn't though, the words were trapped beneath the blanket, bunched up in the folds.

"I'm attached already," he muttered and shifted slightly so that the cat was tucked more under his chin. Part of him wanted to curl up beneath the wool and just shrink into the couch, disappear maybe. The comfortable haze that came with being drunk was receding, the euphoria dwindling until he was just left feeling mildly sick and wishing to be anywhere else. "I am gonna get her tuna," he said stubbornly. He would, he'd drag himself to the store if he had to.

Paxton gazed at Amos, watching as he sat beside the couch, knowing full well that as soon as he shut his eyes Amos would be back in the bed. So he resolved not to do that, just stay awake for forever so that he couldn't leave him. His eyes were heavy though and all the alcohol in his system was making it hard to keep them open. He wanted to do as he was told, just fall asleep like that with the kitten purring so loudly up against him.

"I'm afraid for the morning," he mumbled, "Cause I'm not gonna be able to say it." He snaked a hand out from under the blanket and brushed a hand against Amos' cheek lightly, the absence of him for three long days almost too much to bear. Then Amos was brushing his hair back and Paxton shut his eyes, a breath caught in his throat. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

He could feel himself fading, he hadn't even had any water and in the morning he was going to be paying for it. All of it was worth it for this though, Amos' fingers in his hair and a moment of honesty from him to accompany it.

"Can't stop thinking about that kiss."

He knew it was taboo, an unspoken thing that had happened that they were just supposed to get past. Maybe he didn't want to though, he couldn't. He'd been trying to convince himself that he just wanted things to go back to normal but he didn't want that either. Normal was just a lie anyway, a band-aid they'd placed on things years ago.

"About you."

p a x t o n .

"Can you tell me a secret
Can you tell me what's wrong with me
I know I should be angry
But I can barely feel a fucking thing"

He'd made amos angry again and as per usual, Paxton wasn't really sure what he'd done. Sometimes he felt like he was always just making Amos mad at him and then he wondered why Amos even bothered with him. More often than not, he found himself staring up at the ceiling from the couch. It never really bothered him though, somehow he always knew that Amos would calm down and things would go back to normal between them.

It had always taken a lot for Paxton to get mad.

If you were a friend, he always managed to give the benefit of the doubt and despite being raised in a gang, he had a lot of patience. Tank told him that he used to creep him out a little, he'd just sit in the corner of his dad's office and watch people. Never really having been a man of many words, Pax had just figured that he was stupid and maybe that's why it took so much to get him mad.

Really it was just because he had something, a dark little secret that should have been squashed out of him years ago. Empathy had managed to poison him, its tendrils reaching in and entwining itself around the base of his spine to take root there. It was too easy for him to understand why, for him to accept someone's actions.

He'd always been slow to anger, like a pot left to reach a boil on low. He could simmer forever until a tipping point was reached and suddenly he was bubbling over and destroying the stovetop.

He'd been mad before, he could count on his fingers at least two times in the past year. Neither of those times had been Amos.

"Stop Paxton."

He could pick apart the disdain, the cold in Amos' voice. It lay there heavy in the air, a thick cord to wrap around his neck signifying the end of the conversation. Paxton never really argued with that tone, there'd never been much use. So he lay there, silent, hands reaching as Amos stood up and left him there.

And unfortunately, he was reminded once again how brittle he was, how easy it was to crumble in the dark when no one was looking at him. Pax felt his chest go concave, felt the ceilings of his vatican heart crumble into itself to let the night air in. Tears formed at the corners of his eyes as he slowly came to terms with just how hard he'd been shut down.

The cat's purring suddenly seemed way too loud, the sound of the clock on the wall ticking driving him mad. He wasn't sobering up but things did suddenly feel more clear. That wasn't supposed to have gone that way. Amos was supposed to love him back.

Maybe he couldn't read his best friend at all.

He lay there for a long moment, eyes on the ceiling and the water stain from the leak that he'd patched last spring. Then he sat up slowly and set the limp, sleeping kitten back down on the couch. Foliage grew in the cracks and crevices of the cavity in his chest. He could feel vine leaves unfurling, pathos curling around ivory bone.

"But I think I love you," he said.