May These Noises Startle You In Your Sleep Tonight

Did Someone Just Scratch Me?

Kellin held the flashlight up in front of his face and breathed deeply. On exhale, he watched a thick cloud stream away from his mouth and vanish into thin air, all the while keeping the camera aimed as steadily as he could on the sigh.

He laughed weakly and turned the camera on his own face. He couldn’t see what he looked like, but he could picture it all too clearly in his mind’s eye. Everything green with the night vision, his face almost white, eyes bright and shiny and a little wild with the barely-contained fear bursting to get through and show itself. He licked his lips and smiled nervously into the camera.

“See that? That’s my breath. It’s hella cold in here,” he said with another empty laugh.

It was awfully cold. Far colder than it should be; fuck, the temperature had dropped at least ten degrees since he first entered the room ten minutes ago. Kellin had to admit that it had shocked him, the way that suddenly the temperature change made his lungs feel empty and he could see his breath and he was shivering from the cold. Still he was struggling to keep a steady breathing rate. He had to make an enormous effort not to start hyperventilating.

Of course, the cold was not the only reason his body and mind were in overdrive.

There was also the fact that he was wandering around by himself in a haunted sanatorium.

Fuck you, Vic Fuentes, he thought now as he explored the room. You and your great ideas. The entire building was just as creepy as you would expect it to be, if not more, and this particular room was no exception. In the screen of the camera he could perceive the grave writings on the wall, most of which were threats to the reader or references to this place being hell. There were hospital beds everywhere, some folded up and stacked in the corners forlornly, and others still set up in neat rows along the walls, dingy mattresses and all. Kellin fancied he could make out some dark stains on the fabric as he passed.

“Oh, yes, there was malpractice,” the tour guide had said eagerly upon Vic’s fascinated questioning earlier in the evening. “Horrible, horrible. No one died peacefully in this place.”

And, though he was a skeptic and would have denied it earlier, Kellin could feel the truth in that statement. Feel it. Like, in the air. He was personally experiencing the pain and abuse that the patients in this place had suffered every day when they were alive. It was one of the worst things he had ever felt; no, definitely the worst thing. His heart felt like it was breaking in his chest, like its shattered fragments were actually piercing through his lungs and killing his breath and oh god, this was so horrifying there were no words. Was he being attacked? Or was he just absorbing the lingering energy in the room, the remnants of long-ago tragedies?

Kellin refused to dwell on it. He forced thoughts of what dark spirits probably lurked in this room right now from his mind, instead focusing on what he, Vic, and the others came here to do: catch some of the rumored ghosts on camera.

“Come on, dude!” Vic had begged, throwing his arms around the smaller man’s neck from behind and kissing him lightly on the cheek. “It’ll be so great. We’ll be just like Zac and Nick and Aaron.”

“Who?” Kellin had sighed, turning around in his boyfriend’s arms to face him.

“Never mind. Just please come.” Vic gave him a real kiss now, on the lips, and Kellin closed his eyes and felt safe because that’s the way he always felt with Vic. Hell, why not? What could possibly happen, with Vic there?

Little did he know that Vic wouldn’t be there. Not all the time. Not right now. In fact, it had been the traitorous Mexican himself that suggested they all split up and take different wings of the hospital, just to cover more ground.

“You’re not scared, are you?” he had teased when he saw how reluctant Kellin was.

His boyfriend had given him a shove and snatched one of the cameras he was being offered. “Fuck no! See you in an hour, bitch.”

Which was how he ended up all alone, in the West wing of the hospital, surrounded by invisible spirits and regretting ever agreeing to this stupid “lockdown.”

Kellin avoided looking at the beds now, instead turning his view back to the walls, and then the floor. Various objects lay abandoned on the tile; a broken toothbrush here, an old hairbrush there. Kellin had to swallow down bile when he saw that there were still strands of hair caught in the bristles.

“Fuck,” he whined, deciding then and there to exit the room and move on to the next one.
He felt shivers that had nothing to do with the cold tingle up his spine as soon as he set foot in the hallway. He hated these goddamn hallways. An endless tunnel of black leading to nothingness, with the hospital rooms acting as individual portals of darkness dotting up the walls. He turned the camera back and forth, frowning. The camera shook in his hands. He couldn’t remember which way he’d come from.

For the umpteenth time he reached down and around to the back pocket of his jeans, just to make sure the walkie-talkie was still there. It wouldn’t surprise him if he got lost and was forced to contact the others to come get him, but as of right now he was willing to put that for off as long as possible. After all, he had his dignity to protect. He would show them. Just because he was the baby of the group didn’t mean he couldn’t hold his own against some stupid ghosts.

“I’m not afraid of you,” he said out loud to the blackness, and regretted it almost immediately as he felt the icy air and agonized spirits rush against him. His hair actually blew back from his face. “Shit . . .”

He started down the hallway to the left. He had to keep moving. If he stood still for too long he knew he wouldn’t be able to move, would be frozen with pain and memories and terror until the others found him. And then they would make fun of him and then Vic would tell him they were just teasing and this entire endeavor would have been a waste for him. No. He’d show them.

He went in a random room, wanting to get out of the hallway, and almost turned and fled when he saw that it was split into sections with hospital divider curtains. But he didn’t want to flee, didn’t want to be back in that infinite hallway, and he especially didn’t want to run. Because he knew how it worked. As soon as he started running, the fear would burst from his carefully-set boundaries and would take ahold of him and possess him, and he wouldn’t be able to see in the blackness and would drop the camera and he’d have to stop and pick it up but it would be broken, and then he would be completely lost and he would have to call Vic and the others, but his fingers would fumble over the buttons in fear, and all the while he would be so excruciatingly frightened that he might possibly go insane. No thank you. He walked forward on legs that felt like jelly, dutifully holding the camera out in front of him even though he was shaking like a leaf.

He felt like there was something behind him. He knew that he was being paranoid; of course he would feel like there was something behind him. That’s what you’re always afraid of in situations like these, right? Because eventually you can’t take it anymore, so you turn around to see what’s there, and you’re met by nothing. Relieved, you turn back around only to be face-to-face with something that would be the end of you. Kellin didn’t want that; he would rather be killed suddenly from behind; he would rather not see what it was that took his sanity, and then his life. So he kept his gaze forward, scanning the curtains and the beds between them and the sinks along the wall and the dreadful graffiti, all the while feeling the back of his neck tingle horribly.

The floor felt grainy under his Toms, so he aimed the camera down and saw that there was some sort of dried, dark liquid puddled beneath his feet, covered in a layer of filth. He wrinkled his nose and moved on.

It was no longer as cold as it was in the previous room, but Kellin still wished he’d brought something heavier to wear than a jean jacket as he traipsed through the alley between lines of curtains. It really was freezing cold in here; goosebumps were popping up all along his arms, and he knew that under his denim sleeves, thin hairs were standing up like a forest. It felt unnatural; it was more than the cold, he realized. Something was beside him, all around him, touching him, infecting him. He held his bottom lip firmly between his teeth, concentrating on breathing and moving slowly and not running.

Then suddenly he jerked forward, throwing himself a few feet ahead in surprise, because something had just touched him. Right on his back. A tap, no, more like a pat. A firm pat on the back with the palm of the hand.

Kellin couldn’t help it; he whirled around with the camera to face his opponent. Of course, nothing was there, but at the same time there was definitely something there. He couldn’t see it, not even in the night vision camera’s screen, but he knew with all his heart that there was someone else in the room.

Or something.

Kellin decided to speak to it. He had been talking out loud earlier, more to humor the other guys than anything else, since they would be reviewing the footage later. But as his bravery had diminished, so had his voice, and so the last fifteen minutes had been spent mostly in silence, except for his breath and the sound of his shoes hitting the ground.

But now he needed to talk. He knew he did. He couldn’t not acknowledge what he knew was there in front of him and above him and inside of him. So he said, “Who are you?”

No answer. Not even an emotional one. Kellin persisted, more to comfort himself than anything else. “I know you’re there. You touched me.” Still nothing. Kellin began to calm down a bit, though his heart rate was still through the roof and the camera was now trembling so violently the video was blurry. “Won’t you talk to me? What are—?”

But he was cut off by the sudden buzz of electricity that he felt shooting through his limbs. It crackled along his skin and made his eyes widen and he nearly dropped the camera, but somehow managed to keep a hold on himself as he stumbled. And he knew that he was being touched again, but this time in a different way, a stronger way, and at the same time he suddenly felt a the weight of a dark presence settle on the room like a cloud, and it was supremely obvious that he was not in the company of anything friendly.

“Okay,” he panted when the final buzz had worn off, leaving him with a wobbly, weak feeling all throughout his body. “Okay. Okay. Okay.” It was all he could say.

This feeling, this pressure that invaded the room was the most foreboding thing Kellin had ever experienced. He sensed insanity and agony and a rage so vast that he could not begin to comprehend it. He felt that he was on the verge of something evil, something so twisted and awful that it was enough to have him shuffling back toward the door of the room, whimpering. This was a bad room. This was a very bad room and he needed to get out now.

Then the growl.

Throaty and beastly and so deep it vibrated through the room and echoed around the walls, and now the raging fear that Kellin had stifled for so long had broken free, and he broke into a sprint, still clutching the camera in his hand. Dammit, the door was so close, and who the hell cared what happened when he got back into the hallway, because even if he was lost it would be better than staying in this room a second longer. There it was, a rectangle of black looming ahead, and Kellin was almost there—

The door slammed shut an inch away from his face.

He threw himself at it with all his might, throwing the camera down on the floor and twisting the door handle this way and that and all the while he knew there was something behind him, something getting closer and closer and why wouldn’t this fucking door open?!

He bruised his fists in the door for a second or two before he remembered, in a moment of rationality, that there was no one on the outside, no one to hear him knock, no one to help him. He wrenched the walkie-talkie from his back pocket, his fingers trembling and missing the buttons just as he had predicted, but eventually he managed to elicit a blip from the machine and he started talking into it, holding it close to his mouth and crying hoarsely, “Hey! Someone, anyone, answer me, I need help, please!” Everything was crashing down on him, and he turned back and forth frantically, his eyes bugging out of his head as he tried to see into the blackness, but his flashlight was on the floor along with his camera.

One second of feeling completely alone in an ocean of terror and darkness and evil, and then the walkie blipped and he heard the sound of Vic’s voice through the static. “What, had enough already, Kell?” and god, he was laughing.

“Vic, please!” Kellin yelled. “Help me, oh, god, please, Vic, there’s something here and it touched me and the door won’t fucking open! Oh god, oh god . . .”

“Where are you?” Vic must have sensed something in Kellin’s voice because now he’s all business, and Kellin could faintly hear him calling to the others to come help him.

“I-I don’t know, I don’t know, Vic. God, please, help me!” Kellin was crying now, but he didn’t care because the presence was growing stronger and he could feel his time ticking away. “I-I’m in the West wing somewhere, um, the s-second floor. Please hurry, oh fuck, Vic . . .”

Another terrifying second of silence, and then blip, and Vic’s crackly voice, “We’re on our way, okay, Kellin? Hang on for a little bit longer, baby.”

But Kellin couldn’t hold on, he knew he couldn’t because fell to his knees, scratching at the door, anything to get away. He couldn’t even comprehend the level of fear at that moment, but he wished for death. Death would be a relief now, anything to end this torture, this horror, this atrocity. He feels the presence closing in around him, and then FUCK it was touching him again. No, not a light pat on the back, not electrically, but roughly, physically, shaking and shoving him and there was an agonizing burn all down his back and chest, and please oh god let me die. Somehow he managed to fumble the walkie-talkie again, and blip, and then he screamed into the speaker as loud as his voice could manage, “IT’S GOING TO KILL ME!”

It didn’t matter what they said back now because it was too late, so Kellin threw down the instrument and fought his way to his feet, literally fought the demon off of him to throw his entire weight onto the door and pounded against the cold metal until the skin in his hands broke, and there was blood, and he could smell it, and it wasn’t just on his fists, but it didn’t even fucking matter.

Because It was going to fucking kill him.


Vic could not suppress the guilt welling up in his chest, not even a little bit. He marched as fast as he could through the halls of the hospital, knowing with an overwhelming certainty that his boyfriend was in serious danger. Maybe not actually in danger of ghosts; Vic wouldn’t be surprised if Kellin had just let his overactive imagination get to him. But there was still danger, yes, because he knew Kellin could hurt himself if he got too freaked out, especially if he was indeed trapped in a room like he said.

And he, Vic, was the cause of all of it.

“Hurry up!” he called to the others behind him, breaking into a jog as the anxiety and guilt and fear crashed around his skull.

“We’re trying,” barked Jaime, and Vic heard him curse loudly as he stumbled over some rubble. “Do you even know where the fuck we’re going?”

Before Vic could answer, his walkie blipped, and he pressed the button but before he could say a word Kellin’s voice shrieked through the tinny speaker, “IT’S GOING TO KILL ME!” and Vic’s heart jumped into his throat, choking him with fear and making his vision blur as he began to sprint down the hallway in the direction that he hoped to god would lead to his boyfriend.

This was all Vic’s fault.

About ten minutes ago he himself had grown a little too frightened of the hospital, and so gathered the rest of the group back at base, but had neglected to alert Kellin. He knew his boyfriend was fine, probably finding some really good evidence for them to watch later in the comfort of Vic’s apartment, and he really didn’t feel the need to interrupt the delicate process of ghost-hunting. Plus, he really was not looking forward to admitting to his boyfriend that he had cut the lockdown off early because he was afraid.

He didn’t want Kellin to know about that. He felt stupid for it, but he had this complex, this desire, for Kellin to know what a man Vic was. He felt like a douchebag for it, but part of the reason he wanted to bring his boyfriend on this little excursion was because he knew eventually the younger man would come running back to Vic, trembling slightly with fear and whining that this was stupid and he wanted to go home and muttering empty threats of breaking up with the Mexican man. And Vic would smile in victory and put his arms around Kellin and comfort him and make him feel safe because he could, because he knew he could be that for his boyfriend. If he couldn’t, what was he? What was his point?

And, in some warped way, the situation was turning out exactly as Vic had fantasized it would, except worse. Far worse, cluttered with anxiety and fear and the terrible idea that Vic would not even allow himself to consider; the idea that, because of what Vic did, Kellin had gotten hurt.

Please, please, please, he prayed internally as he rounded the corner, Jaime and Jesse in tow. Please let him be okay.

Then he heard it. A loud banging down the hallway to his left, like someone was pounding on the door rapidly, frantically, and Vic yelled, “Kellin?” and began to run toward the sound. His feet pounded the tile floor as he strove toward his destination, thoughts of only Kellin racing through his mind. He was so close now, and if something had happened to Kellin he would never forgive himself, and the sweat and exertion of running was making the long strands of brown hair stick to his forehead and the T-shirt he wore under his jacket cling to his back, and the sudden freezing cold made it all feel so wrong, and suddenly the thought that Kellin had actually been attacked by a ghost hit him in the chest. He put on an extra burst of speed. “Kellin?!” he yelled again.

He found the source of the banging as soon as it ceased; a door about halfway down the hallway. He knew as soon as he got to it that it was evil, and that he was in danger now too but not nearly as much danger as Kellin, so he fought off the sudden fear that threatened to invade his heart, and threw all of his energy into wrenching on the door.

It opened easily, and in his hurry Vic almost tripped over the crouched form of his boyfriend on the floor, shoulders shaking with sobs and all technology abandoned and broken on the ground beside him.

“Oh no, all right,” muttered Vic, getting down and putting an arm around the mess of a man as his friends collected the camera and flashlight. “Come on, baby, we’re gonna get out of here.” But Kellin wouldn’t, or couldn’t, stand up, or move at all apparently, just shook his head and clutched his hair with one hand, so Vic grabbed his boyfriend’s arm and pulled it over his shoulder, wrapped his own arm around Kellin’s tiny waist, and hauled the smaller man to his feet.

It really didn’t take long to usher everyone out of the hospital and into the car parked
outside in the deserted lot, but it was still far longer than Vic would have liked it to be, considering he wanted to get the fuck out of that hospital as soon as humanly possible. Not an easy feat, what with Kellin having a breakdown, but finally all four of them had thrown themselves into Vic’s car and slammed the doors behind them.

Vic tossed Jaime the keys from the backseat, where he was still comforting a very distraught Kellin, and Jaime quickly put the car into drive and began to speed away from that haunted hellhole.

Vic switched on the light, illuminating the entire car in a yellow glow, and rubbed his boyfriends arms soothingly. “We’re out of there now, Kell, we’re safe, don’t worry, baby . . .”

Kellin buried his face in Vic’s chest and knotted his fingers in Vic’s shirt as he shook violently, and Vic was suddenly blinded by an insurmountable fury, because no one made his baby cry and got away with it, and it made his muscles flex and tense with desire to physically damage something. It was made worse by the fact that Vic had really nothing to be angry at, nothing certain, nothing solid and tangible and punchable, because if he did, god help him. If he had had the capability to punch that whole fucking hospital, then he would have had Jaime turn the car around right then and there and Vic would take his revenge on whatever had hurt Kellin.

As it was, Vic could do nothing but hold his lover as the night wore on and city lights began to flash by their windows and the entire car sat in silence while Kellin broke down in the backseat into Vic’s chest. Vic didn’t dare to stop his steady stream of comforting words, hoping in vain that in some way he was easing the pain a bit.

“It’s all right, Kellin, I’ve got you . . . I’m here and I’m not going anywhere . . . You’re safe, baby, we’re all okay . . .”

Then, when they were about twenty minutes away from the sanatorium, Vic caught a whiff of something that nearly stopped his heart.

He quickly pushed Kellin off of him, ignoring the whine and the hurt look that his boyfriend gave him, and for the first time since they left the hospital he gave Kellin a good once-over. He started by taking Kellin’s face in his hands, looking deeply into his eyes, and although they were puffy and bloodshot and glistening they were still those blue crystals that Vic was in love with.

Then his eyes roamed down to the Kellin’s chest, and he hissed, “Shit.”

“What?” demanded Jesse, whipping around to face the back seat, looking concerned.

Vic didn’t reply, just stiffly touched the front of Kellin’s shirt, where a few minuscule, almost unnoticeable drops of blood had seeped through the fabric. Kellin’s eyes were as wide as saucers as he slowly shrugged out of his jean jacket and lifted up the front of his blue V-neck.

Vic couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t even bring himself to try; he didn’t remember that he was supposed to. His vision blurred and his hearing began to fade, and he just stared off in a daze even as the other occupants of the car freaked out around him. He could hear Jesse as though from a long way off, “We need to get to a hospital!” and Jaime was suddenly switching lanes without using the turn signal, and all the while Kellin wouldn’t rip his eyes away from Vic’s face, because up until now Vic had had all the answers, had been the man and the comfort that his boyfriend needed. But now Vic was empty of comfort; he could do nothing but stare, repulsed and appalled and horrified by what he saw.

Because there on Kellin’s chest, blossoming blood vibrantly against the pale skin, were three long scratches.


Three Months Later

For a moment Vic couldn’t figure out what it was that had roused him from sleep; he had felt the mattress jerk a bit beneath him, like someone had bounced once on the other side, and there was a noise, too, a small choked sound. Vic rubbed his eyes blearily and opened them, blinking first at the clock—it was 3:20 in the morning—and then automatically turning to his right to check on the sleeping figure beside him.

Except the figure wasn’t sleeping, wasn’t curled up adorably under the covers, breathing deeply and lost in his slumber. No, Vic could clearly see Kellin’s shadowy outline sitting up in bed, rubbing his arms, looking like he’d just jerked out of an unsettling trance. Which was probably exactly what had happened, and in turn what had woken up his boyfriend.

“Hey,” murmured Vic a little groggily. He propped himself up on his elbows and attempted and failed to stifle a yawn. “You okay, babe?”

Through the dimness of the room he vaguely saw Kellin nod, and then curl in on himself timidly, clutching his elbows. With effort, Vic pushed himself into a sitting position and moved closer to his boyfriend, placing a hand on the small of his back and rubbing back and forth calmingly. He frowned when he realized that Kellin’s entire body was trembling ever so slightly.

Without a word he pulled the younger man into his arms, feeling the familiar body relax into his embrace and lay his head on Vic’s shoulder.

“Nightmares again?” questioned Vic in a low voice close to his boyfriend’s ear. He stroked Kellin’s dark hair slowly, rhythmically.

He felt Kellin shrug. “Yeah. I’m okay, though.”

“Okay. If you aren’t, though, that’s fine. You know that, right?”

“Yeah.” Kellin’s voice was barely more than a whisper, his breath tickling warmly against Vic’s bare chest. Vic combed his fingers through his boyfriend’s incredibly soft hair, sometimes brushing against the smooth, soft skin of Kellin’s face in the process. The mantel clock on the dresser ticked the seconds away into the night.

They sat like that for a minute, everything about the situation feeling both routine and new at the same time. Yes, they had sat like this in the middle of the night countless times in the past few months; yes, Vic had at this point a created an internal catalogue of comforting actions to perform for his boyfriend, from brewing hot cups of herbal tea to distracting him with an impromptu blow job. But at the same time, it was all still very new, very different, and a little bit scary. Vic never ceased to be amazed by the feeling of Kellin Quinn, the embodiment of perfection, shaking in his arms.

Vic let his fingers wander down Kellin’s neck, along his scrawny shoulder, and then finally to his back. Kellin’s breath hitched slightly when his boyfriend began to trace the thin scars striped down his bare skin.

“It’s been better, though, right?” asked Vic, his voice a little muffled by the way his cheek was smushed into Kellin’s hair. “Since Jessica?”

“Yeah, it has. A lot better.”

“Good. I just don’t want you to be afraid anymore.”

Jessica was a medium that they had spoken to a few weeks after the incident at the sanatorium. They had had no other choice, really. Vic had spent too many nights without sleep, sitting in bed or in the living room with a hysterical Kellin, rubbing his knee while the younger man rambled on about how he was sure something had followed him home, how he could see Its face in his mind when he closed his eyes, how he could feel the pain of everyone who had died in that goddamn hospital. Vic would listen and nod and occasionally kiss Kellin’s fingers soothingly, but he knew that they were both barely keeping their heads above the water. Kellin was breaking; it wasn’t hard to see. He thought Vic didn’t notice when he lay awake in bed for hours after hitting the hay, or absentmindedly rubbed his chest where Vic knew the scars to be, staring into space. Once or twice when Vic stepped out of the shower, he had caught Kellin standing in front of the bathroom mirror, gazing at himself with an unfathomable expression and running his hands over the three faint, pink lines stretching diagonally from his chest to his stomach.

Not only was Kellin’s emotional state clearly deteriorating, but whatever had happened in the hospital was also taking its toll on his and Vic’s relationship. Kellin’s emotional sensitivity was through the roof. They fought every other day; Kellin would get suspicious and jealous and blow up over nothing at all, and Vic wasn’t much better, defending himself angrily and storming out of the apartment in the end, slamming the door behind him. Sometimes they came dangerously close to hurting each other, and that thought frightened Vic so much that he sometimes avoided speaking to his boyfriend at all, afraid they would end up in a fight and then who knew what could happen?

In the end, things had gotten so bad for Kellin and Vic that they knew they had to do something about it. First Vic got them into couples’ counseling, which definitely made an improvement on their communication skills but did nothing to ease Kellin’s ghostly trauma. So they turned to Jessica.

It had been hard to talk to her, especially for Kellin. She asked him lots of questions in her deep, spiritual voice, and though it took an enormous effort, Kellin answered her. He talked about things Vic had never known, about things the younger man had heard and felt in the sanatorium, and it awakened Vic’s staggering fury at the spirits for doing what they did to Kellin all over again.

Vic had just rubbed Kellin’s back silently while his boyfriend tearfully recounted his experiences.
He knew he shouldn’t speak, shouldn’t interrupt or tell him he didn’t have to talk about it if he didn’t want to. Because at this point Kellin did have to talk about it; if he kept everything bottled up for much longer, it would end up destroying both himself and his loved ones.

Jessica listened intently and nodded understandingly, and at the end of Kellin’s tale she suggested sagely that Kellin should get a cleansing. Both men nodded eagerly at her advice; anything to help ease Kellin’s suffering, to lift the burden in his heart the tiniest bit.
But the medium wasn’t finished. She then said slowly, carefully, the last words that Vic ever wanted to hear: that they would have to return to the hospital.

To make a long story short, they did. It took every ounce of Kellin’s bravery, and more than a few tears were shed over it, and Vic repeatedly told him that they didn’t have to do this if he didn’t want to, almost begging his boyfriend to stay put, but Kellin wouldn’t have it. A month after the event that scarred the younger man physically and emotionally for the rest of his life, he, Vic, and Jessica returned to the hospital to confront his fears.

Things had been easier since then. They still quarreled, maybe a bit more often than most couples, and Kellin still had nightmares on a regular basis—hell, Vic himself still was still sometimes troubled by disturbing dreams of chasing Kellin’s screams through the hospital—but it was getting better. Slowly but surely, the evil presence in Kellin’s mind and heart was fading away, revealing more and more of the man that Vic had fallen in love with, that he would always love with all this heart.

Now he ran his hands once again over the tiny ridges down along Kellin’s back, and then his chest, earning a shudder from the smaller man, but Vic knew Kellin didn’t mind; it had taken months for him to grant Vic access to his scars, but now he was comfortable with his boyfriend touching them. Vic did so as often as possible, sometimes slipping a hand under Kellin’s shirt to finger the long scratches, or planting kisses all down the pink lines on his boyfriend’s chest while Kellin panted under him. He just wanted Kellin feel comfortable in his own body, to know that no matter what happened, no matter how many demons ravaged his skin or weakened his heart, that to Vic he would always be the most beautiful sight he had ever laid eyes on.

He kissed Kellin’s hair now, and yawned again; he knew he needed get some rest. He had work in the morning. “You ready to go back to sleep, Kell?”

Kellin separated himself from Vic enough to kiss the Mexican man on the mouth, and Vic could feel the smile adorning his lover’s lips, that beautiful smile that he could never get tired of.

“Yeah,” answered Kellin in a whisper. “Sleep sounds good.”

And, as they settled themselves back down under the covers, Vic wrapping an arm comfortably over Kellin’s middle from behind and feeling the other man snuggle back into his boyfriend’s chest, Vic knew that, hard as they may try, not even demons could ever hope keep them apart.

The End.
♠ ♠ ♠
I know this one is way darker than my other one I've posted. Sorry about that, but I liked the idea and I like how it turned out.

You may have noticed that I have a slight obsession with Vic comforting a tearful Kellin.. O_O Haha I just love that picture. Expect to see more of it.

Anyway, thank you for reading! Comments are appreciated. Love you :)