Author's Note: Because this story heavily features Mike Makowski and Michael (aka Tall Goth) as main characters, I decided to refer to Michael as Ethan here. It was just too confusing otherwise! I hope you enjoy this first chapter. Much more to come!

I'm not sure what this could mean
I don't think you're what you seem
-Bizarre Love Triangle, New Order

x.

The morning sun was glaring off of the sink. It was another faceless morning and I was already tired.

"Can you please stop stubbing your cigarettes out in my parents sink." Mike reached across me for the tea kettle. He used the hose on the sink to spray the soggy black ash down the drain before filling the kettle. His t-shirt hung over his boxers and his bare feet padded quickly over the frozen tiles. I liked to be dressed by the time he got up. The black soles of my creepers pushing me a good inch off the floor, away from his bare feet - pale and veiny in the morning light.

"There aren't any ashtrays."

He flipped his hair forward and combed his fingers through it, hitting a snag and untangling it. "We don't smoke - and if you had any sense at all -"

I waved my hand through the air to make him shut up. "I have to leave anyway."

His head was turned towards the collection of green tea on the shelf above the stove. "Oh. Don't call this weekend," he said. He pulled open one of the boxes, holding a paper satchel in his hand. "Katie is home from college." I hated any mention of Katie. I felt a flare of anger at him for bringing her up and underscoring the guilt I tried to ignore. They'd only been dating for a couple weeks, and I kept hoping it would end so I wouldn't have to feel as terrible about myself for helping him cheat on her. The longer it went on, the worse I felt.

"Fine. Cya." If there was a goodbye from him, I didn't wait to hear it before pushing open the door. I felt my pockets for my cellphone and wallet - not wanting to have to go back there prematurely for any reason.

I'd like to think that this would be the last time I'd walk away from his house. But I'd told myself that same thing so many times that the thought crossed my mind without any real conviction.

It always felt the same. The flash of the text message asking me what I was doing. My heart twisting in my chest, glad someone wanted me. Not happy, but glad. Followed by casually slipping out of the apartment, with just a hoodie so no one would realize my coat was missing. The cigarette on the walk over to his house, flicked in the snow on his front lawn. The way he'd pull the door open like maybe he was just going out to check the mail and I happened to be there. The meaninglessness of what followed. We'd never discussed it. It just happened and kept happening. I guess some things were like that in life.

Sometimes I'd leave in the morning and sometimes I'd walk home, my hair still sticky with sweat - making me feel feverish in the frozen air. This morning I felt in dire need of caffeine and stopped in at Tweaks. I was the only customer in the cafe and the girl behind the counter was annoyed she had to stop playing on her phone to make me a coffee. I spared a look at my reflection in the window as I waited for my drink. My hair was sticking out on the side and I could tell it was unsalvageable without a shower. I pulled my hoodie over my face.

Coffee never tasted better than when it was washing away the stale taste of the night before. Sometimes I had so much coffee I could smell it coming out of my pores - Henrietta always said that was impossible. But Mike liked to throw me across his bed and promise that the more bitter I became, the better it was. It was weird to think that in a way, I was contributing to our sex life even now.

The light was on in the living room when I pushed open the apartment door. Ethan glanced up from his laptop. "I didn't realize you were already up," he said. He was sitting Indian-style on the floor, a mug by his knee.

"What?" I hated myself for not drinking more coffee on the walk home. "Oh, yeah. I went to Tweaks." I never actually lied to anyone. I just didn't tell the entire truth. It felt better that way. Like maybe it wasn't my fault for lying at all, but theirs for not catching on.

"We have coffee here." Ethan took a sip out of his mug pointedly. He was inexplicitly already dressed. A soft black cardigan was pulled over the Postcard Records t-shirt that he'd had imported from England.

"It's not the same," I mumbled. I kicked off my shoes and perched on the arm of the sofa, not wanting to get too comfortable. I glanced down at my clothes and wondered if they were recognizable enough for him to remember that I'd worn them yesterday. Maybe I was just lazy and would have put them on again. Or maybe I had spent the night with someone - a girl - someone respectable - someone I could love. He didn't know. There's no way he could possibly tell I had Mike Makowski's dried spit on my neck or hickies on my collar bones or deep scratches that Mike insisted on leaving across my sides.

During the semester it was so much easier to memorize everyone's schedule, but now that it was winter break it was impossible to count on solitude. I was too used to the mornings where no one had any idea I hadn't actually spent the night in the room wedged in between theirs.

"What do you think?" He was raising an eyebrow.

"Sorry dude, it's too early. What did you say?"

Henrietta opened the door to her room and stumbled towards the coffee maker, blearily glancing down at her phone.

"I said that it's Wendy's birthday this weekend and I need to pick up her present in Denver. Henri and Firkle are coming to see if Tom's Records has gotten in any new stuff. Do you want to come?"

It felt nice to have the day open. Most days we were in class, shut away in our rooms doing homework, or, in my case, at the campus radio station organizing new music. I couldn't remember the last time we'd all been able to hang out.

"Yeah - let me get a shower first."

"You look like you need one, " Henrietta mumbled as she passed. I ignored the fact that her own hair was a tangled bun on the top of her head.

I'd have to make some adjustments to sneaking around over break if I didn't want to raise suspicions. Getting away with something so easily for so long had made me sloppy I guess. I used to shower at Mike's in the morning. I used to keep extra clothes there. But the sooner I could get out of there in the morning the better. Getting away from him became more important than getting away with going unnoticed by my friends.

The hot water hit against the red welts his sharp nails had left. I turned the heat up and let the spray hit my sides. Something should hurt about it. I leaned forward against the tiles, the water pasting my hair over my eyes as I thought about going with Ethan to get a present for Wendy. Once again I was thrown into the position of getting to hang out with Ethan in the context of helping his relationship with her.

Even after all these years, whatever drew the two of them together was still a mystery to me. A mystery I'd smiled and gone along with for so long that sometimes I thought my cheeks might tear. There was something about her that felt so incredibly boring and incomplete. I'd always wondered what Ethan could possibly talk to her about when they were alone. Sometimes it felt like he was only still with her because that's what everyone expected from him. Why wouldn't they? She was smart and pretty - they looked good together. I'd just never been able to shake the feeling that she'd stolen something that belonged to me.

After we'd graduated and she'd left town for college I thought that'd be the end of it. Up until then I had this feeling like I was just waiting for things to fall apart between them. But now I felt like I'd just been waiting for a bus that had never come. And the only thing that had fallen apart was me.

xx.

I'd spent the better part of the day in a hole-in-the-wall record shop with Henrietta and Firkle. I tried not to look too pleased when Ethan had announced he'd already ordered something and was fine picking it up on his own.

"What do you think he got her?" Henrietta set her stack of records on the milk crate by my coat.

"No idea," I mumbled, thumbing through Depeche Mode albums trying to remember if I already owned a copy of Violator.

"You know, I'm honestly surprised they've managed to make it work like this - long distance."

"I guess." I hated when she tried to talk to me about this. There was no right thing to say, so I tried to say as little as possible.

"I sort of thought she'd meet someone...more like her in Chicago."

It was a leading statement. I was supposed to ask what she meant by "more like her." I wasn't going to.

"Yeah, I don't know."

"What do you mean you don't know?" She said, waving her hand between the records I was hunched over. "What does that even mean?"

I tried to focus between the spread of her fingers - trying to catch a glance of the names beyond the distraction of her maroon fingernail polish and thick silver rings.

"Come on, I'm trying to find something."

"It's like anytime I bring up Wendy, you suddenly have no opinions."

"Yeah? What is there to have an opinion on? They've been together so long. It's just like, the way it is."

She raised an eyebrow. "Is that all?"

"That's all."

Her only reply was to continue staring at me, waiting for me to do or say something to confirm whatever it was she suspected I felt. My face was hot under her gaze and I was relieved to see Firkle working his way through the shelves towards us.

"Are you guys almost done?" He was holding one of the frozen gumballs from the machine by the door inside his cheek. "I'm not finding anything and I'm starving."

"Yeah," Henrietta said, "I'll text Ethan and tell him we're ready to meet at the cafe."

I paid for the records and followed the two of them to the cafe across the street, my head swollen with my thoughts about Ethan and Wendy. But what did Henrietta expect me to say? They were together, they'd been together for a while, and as far as I knew - they always would be. It's not like Ethan ever talked to me about her. Why would he need to? I was just the person he talked to about records. Wendy was so damn book-smart and self-righteous - no doubt monopolizing phone calls with details of her glorious life at Columbia, he was probably glad to be able to get a word in edgewise with someone.

Anyway, I wasn't the right person to be giving relationship advice. As far as they were concerned I'd never been with anyone. Sometimes it was hard not to wonder if they knew I was gay - like, why had no one ever brought up my lack of interest in girls. Were they waiting for me to realize it? Waiting for me to tell them? God, it was so much easier to go on lying than worry about shit like that, maybe it was easier for them too.

When we got to the cafe Ethan was already sipping a coffee out of a thick ceramic mug in the back corner. He was eyeing the bag in my hand with interest and I thought he'd be impressed with the Sisterhood album I'd found.

"Well, what did you get her?" Henrietta asked, breaking his focus. He turned to the small bag on the table and I set the record under my chair.

I reached for one of the menus. I blew most of my money on the records, but didn't feel like eating anything anyway. Still, maybe there was some bullshit latte I could justify buying myself.

"What do you think Pete?" Henrietta said sharply. I glanced over the menu at the silver necklace sparkling from the plush velvet box in his hand. It was hard to imagine how he'd saved up enough money to afford it working his part time job at the bookstore cafe. I don't know why anyone wanted my opinion - Firkle wasn't even looking up from his phone.

"I had it custom designed - her birthstone is in the center - and our anniversary date is engraved in the back." He flipped it around in his palm to show us like we were all in a goddamned jewelry commercial. It felt pathetic, and I felt pathetic for sitting here being a part of it. Is this what our friendship was going to entail in our adulthood; sharing the things we bought with one another?

"That had to cost a shit-ton." Henrietta said, clearly impressed.

"Weren't you saving up so you could get the heat in your car fixed?" I said it too loud, making everyone look at me. But I couldn't help but point out the fact that he was draining his bank account on bullshit trinkets when I had to watch him shiver on the way to college every day, a hot to-go mug of coffee pressed between his legs for warmth.

"The cold doesn't bother me that much." He shrugged and closed the small case, but continued to hold it in his palm.

"Yeah but Ethan -"

"Christ Pete, it's his money." Henrietta shot me a look.

"Yeah, okay."

"It's her twenty-first birthday so I wanted it to be something special," he explained, not looking at me.

"It's a really nice gift Ethan, I'm sure she'll love it," Henrietta said with unnecessary emphasis.

I couldn't take the weirdness that had settled around the table so I stood up and walked to the counter, forgetting about the latte I wanted and just ordering a black coffee in a panic.

I remember when we used to talk about how love was fake. Why should Ethan have to buy something like that to prove himself to anyone? Is that what happens as you get older - you just start believing everything you once saw for what it really is; consumerism. By the time I made it back to the table, the necklace was away. Ethan was staring over Henrietta's shoulder at the busy street outside, probably wishing he could slip into the crowd and leave me here with my coffee and records and inability to pretend to be happy for him. How could I? Just looking at him now I could see he was miserable - maybe it wasn't obvious enough for Henrietta or Firkle to notice. But I could see that there was something in his eyes that didn't match the enthusiasm that the necklace was meant to convey.

"When's her birthday again?" Firkle asked, clearly trying to make up for my lack of interest.

"The party is Saturday night- and you're all invited obviously." He said, glancing over at me. "Her plane gets in Friday night. Then I'll go over early Saturday to give her the necklace so she can wear it the rest of the night."

The way he said it sounded more like a chore than anything. It must be exhausting trying to constantly coordinate someone else's happiness. He'd had those bags under his eyes for months now - excusing it as studying for finals. But we were a week into break and he looked worse than ever.

"Oh god, look who's walking in," Henrietta sneered. I craned my head and sucked in a breath.

"Bloodrayne and Vampir," she laughed. I watched as Mike held the door for Katie, her shopping bags hanging from his wrists. She turned and smiled at him, pointing at a pastry in the glass case by the counter. A beanie was pulled over his forehead, pressing his long green and black hair against his pale skin. The collars were turned up on his navy pea-coat and underneath was the plaid shirt that I'd stripped off of him the night before. My hand instinctively went to the small bite mark just below my ear. I knew my hair was covering it, but something about his presence - and Katie's presence made me all the more insecure.

"Isn't he so interesting? I'm so sick of his pseudo-bohemian Jack Kerouac bullshit," Henrietta laughed.

Firkle laughed, "What do you mean, he has long hair - of course he's so different than the rest of us."

I stared down at my coffee, wondering how long my hair had to be until Firkle thought I was a shitty poser too. Leaning down like this my hair was barely hovering above the foam of my coffee.

"What is he even doing with his life? Selling pot to high school kids after his acoustic sets at Tweaks?" she said, her voice getting louder at the end almost like she wanted him to hear her.

"I always thought he was just waiting around until there was an open casting call for the next pop-punk boyband." Firkle offered.

"God, can we stop talking about people? I can't take this highschool bullshit," I whispered across the table. I didn't need it pointed out how much of a phony egotistical ass Mike was by the people whose opinion I valued most. It already took all of my mental blocks to not dissect whatever it was my need for him said about me.

Henrietta laughed, like maybe I was being sarcastic. "Oh I don't know - I thought it was fair topic for discussion - Firkle agrees."

I wondered, not for the first time, what was wrong with me. What it was that I kept going back to him for. And why I needed it and for how much longer this could really go on. I almost wanted to tell them - to feel their disgust.

"Christ, Henrietta - just drop it." Ethan said. He swiped a loose curl behind his ear. The thin cross hanging from his ear shook from the movement, hovering over his scarf. How could he say that the cold didn't bother him as he sat across from me, still wearing that scarf inside.

Henrietta sighed and I guiltily looked away from Ethan and back towards her eyes wide with mock outrage. "Don't get sanctimonious with me. Pete, you used to stub out cigarettes on his drying sculptures in the kiln room during seventh period art. And you stole the chord to his amp right before the talent show senior year. I mean - it's not like this shit happened in another lifetime."

Ethan shot me a look, like maybe he was interested in my response too.

"Whatever, I don't do a lot of things I used to - like skip gym class."

"Yeah, sure. Maybe one day I'll be as mature as you guys." Henrietta shot Firkle a long-suffering look.

"Come on Henri, that's not what I'm trying to say. I just don't want to waste time talking about Makowski, okay?"

"Cool," she said, stabbing something into her phone. Most likely a text to Damien to ask him to come rescue her from the oppression of my presence later.

Firkle brought up a new topic, but I felt like I barely said another word the rest of the trip.

xxx.

When we got home I made up some excuse about wanting to go listen to my new albums. But when I shut the door to my bedroom I sat in the middle of the bed and waited until I heard the familiar noise of the TV from the living room to finally relax.

From my bed I watched Damien's old Ford Focus pull up to the curb and Henrietta's huddled form walking quickly through the cold and to the passenger door. She was always leaving. It was only a matter of time until she moved in with him. Then in another year Ethan would graduate college and rush off to Chicago to be with Wendy. I needed a plan to get out of here before any of that. I didn't want to be the one who was left behind. But every time I thought about the future I felt exhausted.

I turned away from the window and closed my eyes, pulling my iPod from my hoodie pocket. I put on a playlist to zone out to but must have fallen asleep before the first song had ended. When I opened my eyes the earbud was stabbing into my cheek and Ethan was standing in the door of my room with a pensive look on his face. I wondered if he'd said something that woke me up but I couldn't remember, my thoughts having to work through the thick fog of sleep

"I made dinner- did you want anything?" He was wearing his Smiths hoodie that he'd let me wear one time on a walk home from Benny's.

I scrubbed a hand over my face. "Um, I don't know. What time is it?"

"It's seven thirty - come and grab something, I made too much." He glanced at the records I'd bought today, laying in the bag on the floor still. I knew the neat-freak in him was fighting the urge to pick it up and alphabetize them in with the rest of the records on the make-shift shelf by my bed.

I sat up and nodded. I tried to ignore the fuzziness in my head, following Ethan as he headed towards the kitchen with my hand running against the wall behind him.

He placed a veggie burger on a plate in front of me, the smell of food making me both queasy and hungry at the same time. I decided to split the difference and put a cigarette between my lips and lit it. He placed the bottle of ketchup in front of me. Something about all of it made me feel shitty.

"Hey, I'm sorry about how I acted earlier - with the necklace." I tried to think of some excuse for being a jerk, but I didn't have one other than that was how I really felt. Still, I was sorry; he shouldn't feel bad for loving someone.

He nodded and sat across from me at our cheap kitchen table. "It wasn't a big deal. I just, sometimes I feel like..." He paused, his eyes glancing up at the ceiling, "I feel like I'm not doing all the right things." He straightened the plastic owl place-mats that Henrietta had picked out before running a hand over his hair.

"Yeah, who knows what anyone is supposed to be doing," I said dismissively. For good measure I took a bite of the burger. I'd rather choke on it than have a heart-to-heart where I'd be forced to give him relationship advice.

"Yeah." He looked thoughtful for a moment, his brown eyes watching the lit cigarette I'd perched on the edge of the plate. I was grateful when the silence stretched on and the subject had been dropped.

His sketch pad was laying open, and I just now noticed the charcoal smudges on the side of his hand. He retrieved a pencil from behind his ear and held it above the page, deciding what still needed work. His eyelashes were casting long shadows over his cheeks as he appraised his sketch with a small frown.

"Spending the night drawing?"

"That was the plan. It's not really working out though." He nodded towards the ripped out pages on the chair next to him. "Everything I start ends up looking wrong half-way through."

I nodded, taking a drag of my cigarette.

"I might head out and try and take some new reference photos. Want to come along?"

"Why not." I tried not to get too excited. Ethan and I hadn't spent too much time alone in the past couple weeks because of finals monopolizing our time. But normally during the semester he'd visit the radio station after his shift at the cafe. On nights I worked late he'd bring leftover bagels and coffee to snack on while I did my show. He'd nod his head in approval when I played songs he liked. Shooting me a look whenever my tastes moved to anything too emo. But going out with him to take reference pictures seemed nice - it was something we'd done together in high school dozens of times.

After we'd swaddled ourselves in hoodies and coats we headed out - just catching the last glimpses of the sun before it sank behind the mountains. His camera hung from his neck, his hand resting protectively over the side to keep it from moving too much as we walked.

We both found ourselves unconsciously walking towards the graveyard that was the scene of many bleary nights huddled over Henrietta's Ouija board in sixth grade.

"There's not like there's any deficit of depressing imagery here." Ethan said, snapping a shot of an artificial carnation caught in a sewer grate.

I padded my pockets and realized I must have left my cigarettes at home and felt a surge of anxiety at not having anything to do. I settled for reading tombstones. So many familiar last names; great-great grandparents of the kids I went to school with who were rotting beneath our feet.

"I hope when I die someone had the sense to burn my body - not let any goddamned funeral industry huxter bleed whatever cash remains in my bank account."

"Yeah, death shouldn't be some sort of transaction," Ethan said from behind me - as I stared up at a gaudy angel statue.

I heard a click and turned back to see him wiping the lens with the tips of his fingers.

"Did you take my picture?"

"Yeah, but I think it's starting to snow. That was a good shot though." He focused the camera back on me, his eyes narrowed as he framed the shot.

"Aw come on, I don't want to be in the picture." I felt suddenly self-conscious - like the camera might tell him something about me that reality couldn't.

"Just stand still - like you were."

I sighed and turned back towards the gravestone. It was better to go along with it than make a big deal out of not wanting to. "Should I just look up at the angel..or...?"

"Yeah - just - stay there." I could hear his footsteps crunching through the snow behind me. "I just want to fix your hood." He tugged my hoodie out of the back of my coat where it'd gotten bunched up. "Okay." he said, pursing his lips together. "And look at me quick."

I looked up at him, watching the white puffs of his breath dissolve between us. Sometimes I forgot about the height difference between us - but it was starkly apparent to me as I stared straight ahead at his cherry red lips. The only color in the whole drab area of concrete and gray clouds. "Can you just sort of, pull your hair out from behind your ears. You'll cast a better silhouette from behind that way."

"Yeah," I mumbled. I shook my bangs into my face. "Like this?"

He wasn't looking at my hair or my collar though - he was gazing softly into my eyes. It felt like time had slowed down, my thoughts racing while the rest of me was frozen. I could smell the peppermints he'd been crunching on the walk over, the snowflakes collecting on his curls, weighing them down.

"Sorry," he said, almost inaudibly. I might of thought I hadn't heard it if it wasn't for the small white breath that had been created when he said it. Any words I could have said died on my lips as he quickly retraced his footsteps to take the shot. The back of my neck felt hot, knowing he was scrutinizing me through the frame of the lens.

I felt strange and breathless as I stood there listening to the clicks of his camera. I hated myself for wanting to read into the moment. I've learned a long time ago not to trust my own judgement when it comes to anything involving him. I tried to focus on the cold prickles of snowflakes hitting my skin instead.

"Okay, we should go - it's really coming down now." He casually slipped the camera under his coat.

The snow was coming down at an angle making the world feel like it'd been tipped sideways. My heart felt like it was beating against the metal zipper of my coat and I had to mentally clamp down on whatever thoughts were trying to surface as I joined him on the cement. "I think I heard that it's supposed to be three feet by the morning," I said, proud of this banal piece of small talk even though I'd just made it up to have something to say.

"Well, we don't have anywhere to be," he said.

I wondered if he was happy about that, or the fact that Wendy was a thousand miles away meant that his life was on stand-still. I hated that even after all these years, he was still a mystery to me in so many ways.

When we got back to the apartment Henrietta and Damien were sprawled out on the sofa watching Twin Peaks.

"Jesus, you two are soaked." Henrietta glanced up at us before looking back at the screen. By comparison, she was wearing leggings, an oversized sweatshirt, and was cuddling into a blanket thrown over Damien.

"We were taking some pictures." Ethan said nonchalantly - and why shouldn't he sound nonchalant? We had just been taking pictures, there was nothing more to say or think about. He sat his camera on the table and took off his coat, laying it on the back of a kitchen chair to dry.

"There's stuff to make drinks on the counter." Damien motioned towards the bottle of rum and cans of coke sitting out. I headed straight towards the cupboards and poured myself a glass, never appreciating Damien in my entire life as much as I did in this moment.

I gulped down a mixture that was more rum than coke and kicked my boots off. I could feel Ethan watching me from across the room as I sat down in the chair next to the coffee table.

"Do you know who killed Laura Palmer?" Damien asked me, nodding towards the TV.

"Yeah - "

"Pete! Shut up! Damien hasn't seen it!" Henrietta pulled the cover closer towards her neck. Damien looked like he couldn't give a damn either way, and reached for a bag of chips on the table.

I leaned back in the chair, my bangs drying against my cheek. I took another gulp of my drink, already feeling the pacifying effects of the rum. Ethan disappeared into his room with a cherry coke in one hand and his camera in the other. I wondered, with a detached interest what would happen if I followed him. Closed the door behind me, pressed my lips against his until he pushed me away.

But my feet were firmly tucked under me and my eyes were fixated on the TV screen. I was determined not to let whatever loneliness I was feeling make me see things that weren't real. By the time I had finished the glass I felt my head droop towards my shoulder, and the door to Ethan's room was still shut.

Author's Note: Thanks for reading the first chapter of Roses in my Blood! I hope you'll leave a review and let me know what you think!

And be sure to check out the fanart from this chapter on my tumblr page.