Chapter Text
Tank felt comfort bathing in the closeness of others, maybe because they missed having a connection, or maybe just to leech off of second-hand experiences.
They lazily sipped their vodka soda, sinking into the weirdly plush couch of some college apartment, eyes unfocused, taking in the heavy air. They didn't know what brought them out here tonight, since they weren't one to party, but the alcohol was nice.
They didn't know why they started liking to drink, maybe because it made them loosen up,
or maybe because it reminded them of the good parts of home. Drinking in basements, body glitter that they couldn't fully wash off the next day, that sort of thing.
The couch sank down beside them, and Tank was brought out of the cliff they were diving headfirst into in their head. The stranger fumbled over himself and was clearly far from sober.
“I like your shirt!” The words came out slowly as he tried to enunciate each word, but they came out as a jumbled sentence strung together with hopes and dreams.
Tank drew back a bit, looking at the man incredulously, “Thank you?” It came out a bit more like a question than a proper answer. Their eyes flicked down to the shirt they happened to be wearing, suddenly feeling very exposed under the gaze of this stranger.
Another stranger appeared behind the first one, gently trying to guide the stranger out of their space and properly onto the couch.
“I’m Asher!” He said after being properly seated by his friend.
“I’m.. uh, Tank.” Their voice wasn't certain; sometimes they felt like they didn't have a name anymore, hardly recalling the last time someone said their actual name and not the nickname they coined in childhood.
Asher fumbled over himself again, turning to his friend, “Did you hear that, David! Tank! That's such an awesome name!” The other man, whom they now knew as David, looked flustered at the way the inebriated Asher flung himself towards him. Tank couldn't tell if his face was red because of the alcohol or Asher.
“Asher, please sit down properly.. I'm going to spill my drink on you at this rate.” David muttered under his breath, holding his solo cup tight to his chest. Asher frowned, shrugging back into the couch between Tank and David.
Tank was rendered speechless at what was unfolding in front of their eyes; a warm summer night, drunk, not just off the alcohol in their system, but off of interaction and the alluring nature of relationships that meant something more than just a warm body at the end of the party.
Tank didn't know what to do with themselves as they melted into the couch next to Asher, letting him play with their hand in his lap, talking too fast for them to respond, but just enough for them to revel in the noise and the warmth.
It wasn't until what felt like hours that David was peeling them off the couch and helping them through the initial stumbling and dizziness, a strong hand holding them up by their forearm. They dawned on the summer night.
That night changed their life. They became fast friends with the pair, finding comfort in their closeness. Spending nights at their apartment, drinking, taking the night on like they were immune to the chill because the conversation kept them warm. The salt of the air was heavy in their lungs, rolling their head over their shoulder as they stared out to the shore, the water lapping at the rocks Tank and Asher were perched on.
They wanted friends, but ever since moving to Dahlia and losing contact with people at home, they felt like they just didn't operate for connection. They truly did like being alone, but they missed having people to talk to. They spent their time in Dahlia getting back on their feet because their move wasn't exactly planned, and being a broke 18-year-old in California wasn't exactly the best way to operate. They’d spend time living out of their beat-up Acura TL, waitressing and working at a local music store, giving guitar lessons to kids.
“Y’know, I'm surprised you were so persistent. In being my friend, I mean. People aren't usually like that,” they said, surprising themselves with the sentiment.
“What do you mean?” Asher asked, dropping his head onto their shoulder, looking up at them.
“I never thought I was built for this kind of thing. Friendship.” They started, hesitating to continue. “I wasn't sure I was going to survive moving to Dahlia, so friendship was the last thing on my mind for a really long time. I'm glad you're so persistent.”
Friendship felt like a betrayal. The plan wasn't to come to Dahlia alone. There was a plane, not a rushed move across state lines alone. Someone was supposed to be here with them, but they weren't so sure that they'd ever see him again. Making new friends felt wrong because they weren't supposed to do it alone, but they weren't gonna say that.
“I’m glad too,” Asher mumbled, loosely wrapping his arms around them. Tank rested their head on top of Ashers, relishing in the moment, in the closeness, the connection.
Connection was Tank's fatal flaw. Something they were always frustrated with themselves about, and something they were scared of. It was a double-edged sword; scared they'd hurt themselves or their friends, just like back home.
Tank’s core felt warm, and it was scary.
They didn't move from the spot on the rocks for what felt like an eternity, but they eventually hoisted themselves up, dragging Asher with them. David was here to pick them up after his shift at the bar. They were bone tired, and the night chilled them through their sweater.
They fell into the back seat of David's car, hitting their head on the back cushion with a groan.
The car ride was quiet besides the hum of the engine and Asher's snoring in the front seat. Tank played with the edge of their shorts, running their fingers across the raised scars on their skin. They reminded them of home. Home was a thought that plagued their minds on quiet nights like this.
They thought of the warm summer nights, the buzz of a cigarette between their lips, and a warm body. They'd spent many summer nights entwined with a safe, warm body in their back seat, not for romance but for the comfort of another. Hands exploring their scars, handling healing ones with tender care.
Tank cursed under their breath at the memory, which was probably the last thing they should be thinking about in the back seat of David's car.
Tank sighed, resting their head against the headrest with a thump.
–
A familiar night, hazy, heavy, salty air, and a coast that felt out of reach, Tank rested their head on their friend's shoulder. This felt real. They flicked the tip of their cigarette, getting rid of the built-up ash before drawing it to their mouth and breathing in. The smoke was rich and heavy in their lungs.
“Those are gonna kill you, Tank.” Their friend started with a smirk on his face. Tank breathed out, looking up at him, rolling their eyes, and snubbing out the cigarette.
“You really think that's gonna take me out?” They questioned, eyeing him as the nicotine buzzed in their ears.
“Milo, are we really gonna make it out of here?” They asked, looking away from him, kind of ashamed at the sentiment. Of course they were going to make it out. Together. Their lungs burned. Milo was silent for a moment, probably thinking. He did a lot of that, keeping a calm head that went well with Tank’s hotheaded tendencies.
“I hope so.”
The sun was bright and hot. Tank squinted, twisting their hand into Milos. They were scared.
“What do you wanna do when we get outta here?” Milo asked, returning a calming squeeze to their hand.
“Be happy.”
They closed their eyes, leaning into the heat of the sun.
When they opened their eyes again, they were standing in the doorway of an apartment building, and a rough hand was caressing their jaw.
“Call me when you get home?” He said, staring at them. His hands were rough, but his eyes were soft, staring into theirs like they were his whole world.
They didn't answer, words too heavy to speak. They gave a wobbly smile before stepping out of the doorway and into the bitter air that burnt their skin.
“Darlin’?” His accent was smooth, buttery, and the name made their legs feel like they would collapse. It was too good, too nice. They had to leave.
“I’ll see you soon, I promise.” They muttered, sweat pooling at the back of their neck.
The steering wheel felt slick in their hands. They didn't know where they were. A moment ago, they had been with Milo the summer before they moved to Dahlia. They were in the same car they'd owned since 16. But things were off, beads strung around the rear view mirror, someone's sweater they'd never bought strung over the back seat.
They had to go, but they weren't so sure where.
This had to be a dream, their brain torturing them for reaching beyond what they thought they deserved. The weird calm settled in their chest that they hadn't felt before as they pulled onto the highway, cranking up the radio, the audio breaking up before the start of a sad melody they'd never listened to before.
The sunset loomed in the distance as they drove towards it. The sun was getting more intense the longer they drove, the overwhelming orange of it becoming concentrated.
They didn't know what was worse, not being able to see the road in front of them or the fact that the radio had gone static, and the buzzing thrummed in their head like a painful rhythm.
Metal shrieked, and the static got louder. The car had been hit, and the light was just getting brighter.
Their head throbbed as the car slid off the road and their head bashed into the driver’s side window.
They woke up with a start, sitting up on whatever they had been sleeping on. Their skin burned like they were really in that car, driving to their death, metal caging them into the driver's seat, static screaming in their ears,
Their face were slick with tears they couldn't stop, the couch creaking beneath them as they swung their legs over to the side, realizing they were at David and Asher's apartment. Breathing hard trying to calm down.
Hot blood ran down their face from their nose. It felt like it was burning their skin, and they were woozy from getting up too fast.
What the fuck.
They shut the bathroom door behind them, slumping over the sink, letting their hand free from their face. Blood dribbled into the sink, mixing with their tears. They were a mess and had no idea how they had gotten there.
Tank heaved into the sink, trying to catch their breath and forget the nightmare they had woken up from.
There was a soft knock on the door. “Tank? Are you okay? Can I come in?” David's low, tired voice pierced through their ears, and they stopped.
…
“Tank?” Another soft knock followed.
“I-I’m fine. Go back to bed,” they squeaked out. If David wasn't convinced they weren't okay before, he probably was now.
“I’m coming in.” The door creaked open, and Tank flinched as they came into view of David. Hot tears burnt and slid down their face as they glanced at him. David frowned, joining them in the small bathroom.
He reached behind them and ripped off some toilet paper from the stand. Tank watched him as he folded it up and handed it to them for their nose. They shoved it into their nostril and sighed, closing their eyes. David turned on the sink and placed a hand on the back of Tank's neck, bringing a wet hand to their face to clean it.
“Wait, David, you don't- you don't have to-it's my blood, that's kind of disgusting, don't you think?” They said, holding a hand out to stop him.
“Tank, I do not care. You're probably one of the last people I’d find disgusting.” He said, shooing their hand away.
David's hands were cold and wet as they slid over their bloodied cheeks, rubbing off the blood that settled into their skin. They were a mess; they didn't know who they were anymore. Crying in a friend's bathroom, him cleaning up their bloody face. It was pathetic, over a dream? Dreams of a faraway summer night, a mysterious lover, and a cruel death.
They looked at David, like, really looked at him. His knitted eyebrows and eyes focused on cleaning up their face, hand gently working into the skin of their chin. His calm expression was traded for a look of concern.
“I’m sorry.” They muttered, looking down at the sink where some blood had settled. They were embarrassed. Having a nightmare? Really? Having David clean them up because they can't handle taking care of themselves, let alone while freaking out.
David stopped for a moment, looking up from Tank's face and into their eyes. “Why are you sorry?” He asked, confused. Tank felt stupid.
“This. All of this, crying in your bathroom, bleeding everywhere, making you clean me up like I'm some child.” The words came out strangled as they worked against their increasingly struggling breathing. They lowered their head, ashamed, their cheeks burned. This was a new low for them.
“Tank, I. This isn't something you need to apologize for. You're my friend. I want to help." The words were sweet to Tank's ears; they hated that. How sweet David and Asher were. The sickly sweet feeling in their heart, which they hadn't felt since they left home, was an indication they were going to be okay. They wanted to be okay, oh, they wanted to be okay.
Remembering the cold nights when they were living in their car, wondering if the effort they were putting into their new life was even worth it.
They were learning how to live all over again, new scars and all.
“C’mon, let's go sit down.”
They both sat on the couch in the dark living room. Tank grabbed the blanket that they were sleeping with around their shoulders, suddenly cold.
“What's going on?” David asked, squinting at them in the dark.
“A nightmare, I guess,” Tank mumbled, playing with the skin around their fingertips.
“It was scary, like I lived the life I wanted?” They had more to say: the dream of Milo, the summer night, the crash and burn.
David looked at them, urging them to continue.
“I died,” Tank said, more like whispered. The words that gritted past their teeth were painful to even acknowledge. Death was a recurring thought for Tank since childhood. The first thought to come up when things got hard. Thoughts that came so loud and sharp, something they hated. Tank wasn't sure if they truly wanted to die or if thinking about it was easier than confronting that things get hard.
They've tasted death, something they didn't think about fondly.
David wrapped an arm around their shoulder, bringing them close, tucking them into the crook of his neck. They didn't want to cry in front of David, not again, not ever. They shut their eyes, feeling the burning threat of tears beneath their eyelids.
“I get nightmares too,” David said quietly, something for just the two of them, a comfort between friends. David wasn't one to open up to anyone, hardly even Asher. He wasn't a soft guy on the outside, but Tank knew people like him. “They really can be horrible.”
They wondered what David knew, the life he had lived up until this point, why he was quiet, why he looked at Asher that way when he wasn't looking, but looked away when it was noticed. How he was raised, who raised him to be the sweet guy he is. Asher didn't know how good he really had it. Tank envied the two, the connection and looks the two shared when no one was really looking.
They thought about home, their upbringing. How it differed from their newfound friends. What got them to this point, a family loud and disruptive. The fighting and the poor job at trying to patch the problems, like the holes in the walls. Driving to Dahlia, alone.
Tank thought about Milo, having to leave him alone because they couldn't live in Seattle for a moment longer. Sleeping on the basement floor at Milos, wrapped in various blankets and his arms, finding comfort in each other's presence and bodies. They knew they probably would never find a relationship like what they had with Milo. He was their best friend, and continues to be the only person they'd ever let get that close to them.
“Thank you, David. I'll be okay. But you have to go back to bed. How else are you gonna wrangle Asher out of bed if you don't get sleep?” Tank chuckled at their own words, peeling away from David, looking at him with a newfound smile.
“Fine, fine,” David said, getting up from the couch, letting them lie down again.
“But if you need anything, please wake me up.” He said, donning a smile. Something that was rare but appreciated. Tank gave him a goofy thumbs up before bringing the blanket up to their chin, watching him leave the room.
They turned over to their side, closing their eyes and hoping for better dreams.