"...They were awful things, awful evil things. Monsters, thorns. I remember only flashes. Pill bottles, bats... blood. It.. it was beyond fear of darkness..." Pete was looking down as he spoke, Patrick listened intently.

"I was so afraid I would stay awake all night, sneaking coffee during the day. I would pinch my arm so hard it bruised or bled, the pain would help me stay awake. You can imagine, then, I was pretty fucked up."

He met Patrick's gaze, Patrick's soft, understand look. Like he knew what he had gone through. When Pete saw his blue, blue eyes, he was instantly calm, even reliving these awful memories. He continued.

"Therapist after therapist, taking drugs like... like fucking water. And they all had different effects. One made me lose an incredible amount of weight. I think I was thirteen at that time. Nothing fit. And no mater what I ate, I could always see my ribs..." He blinked.

Patrick's voice was more than a whisper, quiet, full of... Pete couldn't place it. "Pete," he said. "It's okay, you don't have to go on..."

"It's okay, Patrick," He smirked slightly. "I WANT to talk. No one has ever listened before to my story."

"I'm here. I'm listening."

Pete nodded. "Yeah. So. I was fucked up. Depressed all through my childhood. Then, of course, I hit puberty. Middle school, high school. I dyed my hair blue. My parents freaked." A ghost of a smile danced on his lips.

"Did... Did you still have nightmares?"

Pete fell back onto the quilted comforter and gazed at the ceiling. It felt vaguely like an old therapy session. "Yeah," he answered. "On occasion. A few times a month. When I actually slept that is. It didn't matter, though. The damage was done."

Patrick nodded. While Pet was talking, he was thinking of his own messed up life and he realized how much he and Pete were so, so alike.

Pete began again.

"When I was fifteen, the football team ganged up on me in the boys locker room. Broke my cheekbone, collar bone and three of my fingers."
There was no emotion left in his voice.
"I fell in love when I was sixteen. His name was Liam. He had curly auburn hair.  He broke my heart. Over and over again. It was ridiculous, really. But I was convinced each time would be the last. Leave me or take me. When I was twenty-one, I OD'd on some old meds and ended up in he hospital for a week. They said my heart stopped for thirty-seven seconds."

There was silence. Patrick mulled over Pete's life and Pete...

Pete really just wanted to know why he was still alive. It's not like he deserved it or anything, he hadn't done anything amazing. He faced Patrick and shared these thoughts.

"Who decides who live or dies? Why am I here today? I'm a waste. A waste of space, I have no place. Talking is a waste of breath and living is just a waste of death--" He stopped because he was watching Patrick. And watching his eyes.

"Do you really want to know?" Patrick said. This voice was strained, sad, angry, all in one. Before waiting for an answer, he rolled over and looked at Pete straight.

Pete. A stranger. Someone who could be here today and gone tomorrow.

Pete.

His saviour.

Tears sparkled ever so slightly in his blue eyes, making them appear bluer, if that was even possible.

"With out you, Pete, I would cease to exist."

Pete sat up, slowly, so not to ram his head into Patrick's jaw. They couldn't have been more than four inches apart.

"I saved you, but..." He didn't understand. "You saved me..."

They blinked.

"Guardian angels."

A tsunami of realization hit them at the same time. Patrick leaned in closer, eyes drifting closed. Pete raised a hand to Patrick's jaw.

As their lips met, as sparks flew, something happened.

And at that moment everything changed for ever.