He's standing at the counter, leaning forward over the bathroom sink and looking back at his tired reflection in the smudged, battered mirror, smudging eyeliner under those burnt orange eyes of his in hopes to hide the purple circles underneath them from years of insomnia, when his phone rings.
The vibration buzzes loudly against the marbled countertop and the phone propels itself off the edge into the sink where his hair straightener is resting- and occasionally fizzling when a drop of water hits the four hundred degree ceramic plates; he sighs a little, reaching down to get it and flipping it open without bothering to look at the caller ID.
"Talk to me."
It's his best friend; she had gotten his earlier text- which was none too enthusiastic in the least, and opted for calling him. "What's up?"
He sighs dramatically again, rolling his eyes and reaching up to swipe a bit of black hair from his face, brown at the roots where it's started to grow out again. "Guess who I have to see tonight," he begins, putting her on loudspeaker and setting the phone down again, leaving it open as he turns to finish applying the thick, black liner.
"Who?" She sounds.. curious, even.
"Marty."
Their first date had been one of those.. ridiculous, teenagery sorts of things; they had met via the internet, actually, and the first day they spoke, they had decided to go to the movies. Of course, as teenagers often do, they had deviated from their plans and ended up walking around a WalMart parking lot, holding hands and laughing at every nasty comment or appalled stare from the people around them. They had gone to the mall two days later and.. that was it. They had broken up.
Months later they met up on accident. They still talked briefly every now and then but, out of nowhere, Marty had asked him out again- to a school dance, and at Notre Dame Catholic nonetheless. Still, Pan had agreed and later that night they'd agreed to date. Again. Give it another shot. A ski trip later- and, Pan's history of being locked in an abusive relationship preventing any serious intimacy out of simple fear, because sexual abuse wasn't something one could get over terribly easily- a second breakup had happened.
The girl on the other line snorted softly. "Why?"
He sighed again in reply. "He's coming to Haven tonight." Local youth group- geared towars GLBT kids and allies. "He just texted me out of the blue and asked if I wouldn't mind if he showed up."
"...Oh," his friend replies, simply. "Well."
"Yeah." He snorts again. "Well. I.. have to go. I do. I'll talk to you later. Tell you what happens and.. s**t."
"Mhm. 'Bye."
As all their conversations end, the Hatter hangs up as Pan does, with no goodbye besides that, and the phone is tucked into the pocket of his jeans- they're the only brand he'll wear, dark grey Venice skinnies- and he slips his feet into his shoes, grabbing a hoodie off the rack in the hallway as he passes and heads downstairs. Thick, black plastic-framed glasses are pushed up his nose as he tucks his wallet into his pocket as well, the chain hitting his leg as he makes his way toward the front door. His ride is there- his other best friend, of all people.
Not that he doesn't love both his friends, exactly; the one he's riding with is arrogant and full of himself with an ego to rival that of any rockstar's, and Pan sits in silence most of the ride till they reach the church. He thinks it's mildly amusing, if anything, that their gay-centered youth group is held at- and sponsored by- a church, but he certainly isn't complaining about that. At least they have a place to hold it, after all.
He walks into the community room, realizes there's no one there and makes his way through the closet in the back to the door. The courtyard is generally used for smoke breaks, but.. he doesn't smoke and has never intended to. As a singer it'd ruin his voice, and as an asthmatic he generally tends to avoid anything that would trigger an attack. He uses the weight of his shoulder to push the door open, as he's small and it's heavy, and finally stumbles down the ramp outside.
There he was. Tall as always, at 5'11" or so- ten inches taller than Pan was- and looking better than ever in blue jeans and a black hoodie with green skeletal print. Brown hair covers one eye and he's got contacts- my, he's changed. Last time Pan had seen him, he had hazy brown curls and a thing for rainbow tie-dye.
"Hey," Pan greets simply, making his way over and extending a hand; Marty takes it and simply holds it for a second.
"Hey."
Silence, and even with that little contact Pan smiles weakly, making his way over to sit down on the gravel in front of the taller boy, thinking for a long minute or two.
"...How've you been?"
Marty shrugs again. "Okay. Good, I guess. Have a boyfriend."
"Ah." Pan simply.. nods slightly. He expected it, but still. It didn't seem fair to him, exactly. He had started dating at fourteen and the first relationship he had was abusive in every sense of the word. It started out emotional, verbal.. progressed to physical- to the point where he was literally being thrown around- and finally sexual. That was what he considered his 'last' relationship, anyway; it had been two years since then and no relationship he'd had had lasted more than a week.
"Mhm." Their conversation lapses into silence and Marty seems to find better things to do; he gets up, wandering off to talk to other people. Of course, again, he's not surprised; they're exes, after all, and Marty does have other friends. That's why he's here, right? Right. To see other friends. Not Pan. Pan.. was just an afterthought. An add-on. Not part of the package.
The rest of the night proceeds as normal- as normal as it can be, at least, with both of them there at the same time; they remain far from each other, for the most part, and Pan wracks his brain, over-analyzing just about everything- the hand-holding, more than anything else, because you didn't do that unless you liked someone.. right?
Normal continues till they all walk down to the pizza place after support group, and, armed with food and drink, the entire group makes their way to the gazebo nearby. It's public property, and all is well- even Pan joins the conversation now and again- until someone pulls out what appears to be a pipe.
"Who wants to smoke?"
Half the group shakes their heads, Pan included, and get up to shuffle out of the gazebo, gathering their things. He fully expects Marty to be there, so when the group moves maybe twenty yards and settles themselves by a statue instead, he glances around, as if to do a headcount.
He's not there. Pan blinks a couple times, turning to glance over his shoulder at the group in the gazebo- Marty has the pipe to his lips.
First he's angry. Pissed off that, of all people, the person he dated- the person straightedge, totally anti drugs-and-alcohol Pan had dated- was now sitting in a group of people with a pipe and they were all rambling about what pills they'd taken at the latest rave. He hated being able to overhear that conversation.. He bristled a little, and finally realized that not only was it anger that it was sheer disappointment. Not only in Marty but in himself- because Pan sort of felt that had he been able to save their 'relationship' he would have been able to..
That was stupid. That was ridiculous and he knew it. He hated himself for knowing it, too, but he did just as well as he knew that Marty was very much not the same person he was before and that he needed to get out of there. He stood and, with a couple quick hugs to the people he'd been with, ducked off toward the parking lot, skirting the side of the building and leaning up against it silently. He had no ride home, not yet, but he was content to wait here till then.
People changed. He knew that.
He just had never been aware of how much.
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