\u201cHey, Nico. On your left. That\u2019s the one.\u201d<\/p>\n
Jeremy shoulders the other boy, nodding his head towards the small room off the church foyer. Against the remaining shreds of floral wallpaper, a figure turns towards their voices before flickering out of existence. A bare lightbulb sparks to life in its place, illuminating the room like an old movie reel, snapshots of the space rather than a cohesive setting.<\/p>\n
\u201cAh hell, it\u2019s fucking with the lights,\u201d Jeremy grumbles, rubbing a hand under his nose, numbed to the touch and flushed red with cold, \u201cSo it\u2019s either nearly out of juice or just messing with us. What\u2019s your call, Mon?\u201d<\/p>\n
\u201cFor once, I wish it were the second scenario. Honestly, I can barely get a reading off of him.\u201d Monica closes her eyes for a moment, pressing the pads of her middle and ring fingers to the talisman centered at the dip of her throat, the prehnite stone glowing fainting under her touch. Jeremy watches the muscles at her temples work, trying to convince himself that there\u2019s something in the other room worth their time.<\/p>\n
\u201cMaybe if we got closer?\u201d Nico interrupts quietly, almost as if talking to himself. Jeremy frowns, shifting to press his shoulder to the other boy\u2019s. A foggy breath clouds in the space between them as Nico exhales slowly, glancing at Jeremy out of his peripheral before Monica opens her eyes with a grimace.<\/p>\n
\u201cDoesn\u2019t matter how close we are, Nico. You know we can\u2019t communicate with any spirit if it\u2019s flickering like that.\u201d Monica pauses, frowning as the figure appears again for a moment, knelt in the doorway now. The three of them watch as the suggestion of a hand scrapes at the chipped paint on the doorframe. She turns back to Jeremy with furrowed brows: \u201cWho the hell gave you this lead anyway, Jem? This one\u2019s not nearly cohesive enough to bring back with us.\u201d<\/a><\/p>\n Jeremy sighs, October winds from the caved-in ceiling catching underneath the collar of his jacket and raising goosebumps along the back of his neck. \u201cIt was just some teenager out on 12th avenue. At least the lead turned out to have some substance.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNothing we can work with, though,\u201d Monica adds, pulling her hat down around her cloud of tight curls, strands peeking out between the knitted threads. \u201cWe\u2019re mediums, not miracle workers. It looks like it\u2019s about to descend anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n Jeremy glances to Nico, the other boy looking pained at the thought.<\/p>\n \u201cNo one deserves that, Mon,\u201d Nico mumbles, voice low as he stares at his sister. Jeremy moves to fist a hand in the other boy\u2019s jacket as a preemptive measure. Though Nico looks like he\u2019s going to pull away at first, he eventually leans back into Jeremy\u2019s grip, lips pursed into a thin line.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re acting like I\u2019m<\/i> the one who killed it,\u201d Monica hisses in return, offended.<\/p>\n They\u2019re silent for a moment, watching chips of paint fall to the floor, each scratch punctuated with a low, whining cry; a wounded– something,<\/i> Jeremy thinks. Someone,<\/i> Nico would argue.<\/p>\n It\u2019s that distinction that nearly killed him six months ago.<\/p>\n Jeremy watches the spirit, eyes catching on the silhouette now curled beneath the bare light bulb, shadowy and distorted in the uneven lighting of the church reception hall. The filament sparks once, bright, and then fades to a gentle glow. The shadow that had been feeding it sinks between the cracks of the rotting hardwood, wilted weeds marking a second grave in the space before them.<\/p>\n \u201cWell.\u201d Jeremy can feel the blood flowing through his fingers again as the spirit\u2019s presence dissipates. He purposefully looks away from the hard line of Nico\u2019s mouth, the crease in Monica\u2019s forehead, and turns on his heel. \u201cLet\u2019s go. There\u2019s another lead on Roosevelt.\u201d<\/p>\n Once the spring of his ninth year began to melt the late snows of March, she gave him a duffle bag and told him to pack. Quickly, before your father gets home.<\/i> They went north on a charter bus, far enough that the seasons seemed to reverse along the desolate roadsides, and April felt like February had returned just to spite them.<\/p>\n A Motel 6 in Milwaukee was their home for the first few months while Jeremy\u2019s mother found work in the city. She\u2019d confided their situation with a member of the front desk staff, and a hefty, empathetic woman named Sandy had enthusiastically promised to keep them safe from anyone looking for them. But after five months of covering bedbug bites with band-aids, eating microwave meals, and getting punched at school for sporting a Cardinals cap in overwhelmingly Brewers territory, Jeremy\u2019s father never showed. It had been the last expectation either of them ever had for him.<\/p>\n His father became sort of like a ghost after that, when Jeremy only heard about St. Louis when the Cardinals were at Miller Park for a rivalry matchup, and his mother\u2019s clear, unblemished skin no longer seemed like an oddity.<\/p>\n Jeremy saw his first real<\/i> ghost when they scrounged up enough money to move into the top unit of a duplex in Westown. Jeremy remembers his mother\u2019s initial hesitation, the rent too low for the location to settle her suspicions. It was only during the middle of the night on a Thursday, startled awake by the smashing of a car window in the motel parking lot, that his mother finally began packing what little they had.<\/p>\n Jeremy didn\u2019t know<\/i> his first ghost was a real ghost, of course. Harold, the man he later learned was killed for his wallet behind a convenience store in the Northside, had seemed ordinary when he\u2019d opened the door of the Johnsons\u2019 ground unit the next morning. What hadn\u2019t<\/i> been ordinary was the way the sunrise had filtered through the thinning oak branches in the front lawn, catching on Harold\u2019s form long enough that, just for a moment, Jeremy could see through<\/i> him and into the kitchen where a boy and a girl sat watching them.<\/p>\n He had nearly dismissed it as a fluke, settling to believe that the glare off the glass door had reflected at an odd angle into his eyes. He would have continued to assume this if Harold hadn\u2019t noticed his startled expression, and winked.<\/p>\n Living with ghosts, Jeremy realized with time, was nothing like the movies he used to watch in the motel despite his mother\u2019s warnings. The Johnsons, Mrs. Jas and Mrs. Lore with their children Monica and Nico, they learned, were in the business of communicating with the dead and assisting wandering souls to the infamous Otherside.<\/p>\n Mrs. Jas had once explained it to Jeremy as a sort of spiritual taxi service, picking up spirits at the roadside and bringing them to their \u201cfinal destination,\u201d as it were.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019re just there to give them that extra push,\u201d<\/i> she\u2019d explained, her wild cloud of tight, black curls tickling Jeremy\u2019s shoulder as she leaned down to his level, \u201cWe\u2019re the hands that untangle them from all the forces pulling them this way and that, and guide them to the light they keep reaching for.\u201d<\/i><\/p>\n Save for the occasional spirit floating up through their kitchen floor in the morning, phasing through Jeremy\u2019s bowl of cereal and starling him into choking briefly on his spoon, the Johnsons\u2019 deceased guests were entirely harmless. Jeremy actually found himself enjoying their company, though he enjoyed the company of the living, breathing Johnson twins more.<\/p>\n Monica used to call him \u201cthe brawn\u201d to what Jeremy assumed was their collective \u201cbrain\u201d when they were young, when he towered over the twins and carried around a baseball bat like an extra appendage. Jeremy is bigger still, muscles defining in early adolescence under the duress of several part-time jobs. But Monica and Nico are taller now, slim and lean against his own compact figure.<\/p>\n His memories from those early days always include them: two mops of hair, dusty brown and tangled in waves across their foreheads and over their ears. Monica has more freckles, but Nico\u2019s are clustered: on his cheeks, across the bridge of his nose, the tips of his ears. They\u2019re even more evident in the summer months, when the three of them spend most of their time poking around decrepit churches and overgrown car lots.<\/p>\n Jeremy clicked with the twins like a missing piece, like a breath fully circulated in the lungs and exhaled with a satisfying rush.<\/p>\n He doesn\u2019t remember the moment they stopped being strangers. He doesn\u2019t recall the moment when he memorized the cadence of Monica\u2019s footsteps. He can\u2019t pinpoint the first time he looked to the the uneven line of freckles on Nico\u2019s face as a focal point, breathing slowly, beginning at his brow (one), eyelid (two), nose (three), cheekbone (four), mouth (five), repeating until his heartbeat steadied and fists unclenched.<\/p>\n It\u2019s only in quiet moments, waking up on a dew-wet blanket near the lake, Monica\u2019s cheek pressed to his bicep and Nico\u2019s legs thrown over his, that he can really feel the presence of the two of them like a dense, achy knot just beneath his breastbone. It\u2019s in those moments where he can\u2019t imagine sacrificing anything less than himself to keep them at his side.<\/p>\n There are other moments, however, when he feels like throttling them himself.<\/p>\n Nico in particular, whether intentionally or unintentionally, possesses the unique ability to rile Jeremey up just as easily as he can calm him down. It\u2019s his wide, sloping features and the way they make his frown seem deeper than others\u2019 when he\u2019s upset. It\u2019s the sharp cut of his cheekbones and the shadows they cast towards his jaw that makes the other boy\u2019s resting expression look perpetually grim.<\/p>\n Nico has a similar look on his face now, sitting across from Jeremy and Monica in the diner booth on Washington up from Roosevelt, their last lead of the night turning up another descending spirit beyond repair. The red plastic upholstery of the booth is stark and obnoxious in contrast to Nico\u2019s bruise-blue pullover, and the entire image reminds Jeremy of a joke he heard when he was a kid: What\u2019s black and blue and red all over?<\/i><\/p>\n Nico Johnson\u2019s godawful mood ruining an otherwise wholesome diner aesthetic.<\/i><\/p>\n An invited punchline.<\/p>\n Jeremy follows the other\u2019s vacant stare over his shoulder, the idle meandering of the waitstaff reflected in the dark surface of night outside the perpetually smudgy window.<\/p>\n Nico\u2019s jaw works beneath his cheeks, and Jeremy finds himself unconsciously mirroring the motion, tongue between his teeth and brow furrowed. Irritation itches under his ribs as the scene plays out like a memory, annoying in its familiarity: quiet discomfort filtering through the air between them, igniting the end of Jeremy\u2019s miniscule temper.<\/p>\n \u201cJesus. Lighten up, Nico,\u201d Jeremy grumbles when he can\u2019t stand the silent agitation in his throat any longer. He reaches into the communal basket of fries at the center of the table to occupy the growing restlessness in his limbs. \u201cI\u2019m getting fucking frostbite over here.\u201d<\/p>\n He allows his fingers to linger on the plating paper in the basket, sustaining the crumpling sound until he notices the other boy\u2019s fingers curl against his side.<\/p>\n \u201cJem.<\/i> Stop that,\u201d Monica speaks up beside him, chin propped in her palm, frown like a knife blade and tone even sharper. \u201cDon\u2019t be an asshole.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cSo no one\u2019s going to say it?\u201d Jeremy continues, ignoring Nico\u2019s affronted expression. He shoves a fistful of fries into his mouth, jaw working double time to Monica\u2019s exasperated sigh. He can practically hear the gears working beneath Nico\u2019s skull, filtering the emotion from his tone, purposefully depriving Jeremy of fodder for the fire he\u2019s stoking.<\/p>\n \u201cSay what, Jem?\u201d Nico asks. He sounds composed enough, but Jeremy notes the rigid cross of his arms, the straightness of his shoulders, and hard line of his jaw. He\u2019s also clutching his talisman in between his thumb and forefinger, the leather twine stiff with the force of his grip. Jeremy nearly stops at the sight of the stone peeking out between the other\u2019s fingers.<\/p>\n The talisman, a rugged prehnite that both Nico and Monica wear around their necks to help harness their medium energies, is a telltale sign of Nico\u2019s fraying nerves. There\u2019s usually a sort of rhythmic pattern to the course of Nico\u2019s thumbpad around the stone, timed with his breaths: a quiet display of vulnerability that Jeremy would rather leave alone.<\/p>\n Now, however, all of them white-knuckled and stilted breaths, Jeremy can\u2019t help but push on.<\/p>\n \u201cOh, you know\u201d –Jem winces as Monica grinds the heel of her boot into his foot, but continues in stride– \u201cthis altruistic attitude you\u2019ve got going on all of a sudden. You know descending spirits are a part of the gig, right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI know it better than you.<\/i> This isn\u2019t even your<\/i> gig.\u201d Nico accompanies the \u201cgig\u201d with air quotes, and the talisman falls from his grip to rest on his breastbone. \u201cDon\u2019t condescend me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cBullshit this isn\u2019t my gig,\u201d Jeremy snaps. \u201cI may not be a medium, but we\u2019ve always been a team. You\u2019re not allowed to play that card and ignore what I\u2019m getting at.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhich is what, exactly?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYour hangup on descending spirits all of a sudden!\u201d Jeremy shouts, slamming his palm on the tabletop. Anger wells up from the depths of his chest, hot and fierce in its desperation to be conveyed. He continues before Nico can speak up, \u201cYou don\u2019t have the energy to bring them all back, Nico. Sometimes you\u2019re just too late. That\u2019s life.\u201d<\/p>\n Memories surface in the space between them; the pier, the disintegrating figure of little girl in sopping clothes, Nico crumpled in on himself, barely breathing. Jeremy remembers it as clearly as the first moments after waking from a nightmare:<\/p>\n Monica\u2019s shrill shouts, her usual composure shattering with each shake of her brother\u2019s shoulders, the desperate panic to find a pulse, fingers trembling too violently to sense a heartbeat. But it\u2019s the image of the little girl\u2019s descending spirit sinking indistinctly into the earth in the background of their hysteria that makes Jeremy nauseas with the pointlessness<\/i> of that day: Nico comatose for six months, a spring and a summer gone for nothing<\/i>.<\/p>\n Jeremy\u2019s voice breaks, saturated with emotion, \u201cKilling yourself for someone who\u2019s already dead? It\u2019s not heroic. It\u2019s idiotic and it\u2019s fucking selfish.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n Jeremy stares at Nico, and Nico stares at Jeremy as if daring the other to look anywhere else. Even Monica, blinking slowly out of his periphery, sits stunned in uncharacteristic silence. Several moments pass in which Jeremy feels close to tearing out of his own skin in fitful agitation before Nico finally stands to his feet.<\/p>\n \u201cThen what\u2019s the point?\u201d Nico asks, voice high and thin. A broken sort of laugh bubbles between his lips, hollow and disconcerting. \u201cThen what\u2019s the fucking point?<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHey, Nico\u2026\u201d Monica whispers, reaching across the table towards him. \u201cOf course there\u2019s a point. We help spirits. We\u2019ve helped a lot<\/i> of spirits move on.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cAnd all the spirits we didn\u2019t?\u201d Nico asks, sharp and balancing on the edge of hysterical. \u201cJust because we didn\u2019t get to them soon enough? No one<\/i> deserves that. What\u2019s the point if I\u2019m not strong enough to save them all, if we\u2019re<\/i> not strong enough to save them all?\u201d<\/p>\n There\u2019s a stillness to the diner as even the waitstaff hangs back in the kitchen, the three of them a static phenomenon at the windows, stoney and stubborn. Jeremy clenches his fists under the table to distract from the ache in his chest, the way the feeling pulses at the strained desperation in Nico\u2019s expression.<\/p>\n \u201cAnd who\u2019s supposed to save you?\u201d Jeremy finally asks, pushing the question between his teeth. \u201cWhat if we\u2019re not around when you decide to be a hero?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI don\u2019t need you to save me,\u201d Nico combats immediately, tone quiet and lethal. When Jeremy scoffs, he visibly bristles, jaw clenching. \u201cFuck<\/i> you, Jem.\u201d<\/p>\n This time, Nico moves before Jeremy has the chance to respond with the venom held behind his teeth. The other boy shoves himself out of the booth, across the diner floor in five paces, and out into the night with only the desolate click of the door closing to mark his exit.<\/p>\n If it had been Jeremy storming out, he would have made sure that the door slammed. This, summed up into a singular event, was the main difference between them.<\/p>\n Jeremy stares at the basket of fries still at the center of the table and thinks about Nico sidestepping the bus stop on the corner, preferring to walk home when he\u2019s in this type of mood. Jeremy imagines Nico checking every pocket before he finds his apartment key (inside jacket pocket, on the left) and shoves it into the lock. The key sticks, it always does, and Jeremy can perfectly picture the disgruntled exasperation on the other\u2019s face as he forces the turn of the key, kicking the base of the door past the threshold for good measure.<\/p>\n The lights won\u2019t be on when Jeremy and Monica eventually follow him home. The living room only ever rests in the faint blue glow of the stereo\u2019s power button at this time of night.<\/p>\n Monica hums the tune of \u201cThis Charming Man\u201d as the two of them climb the stairs to the third floor. Jeremy adds a verse of \u201cThere is a Light That Never Goes Out.\u201d It\u2019s a game they\u2019ve played since Nico discovered the band in middle school: which of The Smiths\u2019 songs will greet them in his absence?<\/p>\n Tonight, Monica wins.<\/p>\n These universal beads of knowledge tuck themselves at the forefront of Jeremy\u2019s conscious, idly pestering him as he draws from a cigarette hours later, legs dangling off the balcony of their shared apartment. The ache from the diner is still there, rooted in his chest like a toothache. While preoccupied, he barely notices it at all. When his focus shifts, however, it becomes unbearable like a breath he can\u2019t catch, an itch he can\u2019t scratch.<\/p>\n Jeremy stubs out his cigarette, slipping back into the living room past Monica\u2019s sleeping form on the futon in front of the TV and up to the door of his shared bedroom, shut but not locked.<\/p>\n He sidesteps Nico\u2019s textbooks and piles of his own dirty laundry until his knees hit the edge of his mattress and he slumps backwards into ruffled sheets. In the moonlight drifting in from between the window blinds, the space between them seems muffled, tensions already cooled to a simmer in the hours since the fight.<\/p>\n There\u2019s a moment when Nico\u2019s form in the other bed appears too still, and Jeremy\u2019s heart seizes on reflect, nausea rising in his gut. It\u2019s only when the bundle of blankets rises and falls one, twice, three times, that Jeremy finally slumps back against the opposite wall and runs a hand down his face, cursing between his fingers.<\/p>\n Sleep has not come easily for a long time, and tonight, Jeremy realizes as the clouds shift in front of the moon and drown the room in pitch darkness, is no exception.<\/p>\n Monica\u2019s intuition has always been stronger than Jeremy and Nico\u2019s, a sort of clairvoyant quality she had inherited from Mrs. Lore. Little things, the color of the sky, the direction of the wind, the shapes bus fumes took in the open air after spilling from the exhaust pipe all set her off.<\/p>\n On that day, Jeremy remembers Monica saying the lead gave her a bad feeling.<\/p>\n \u201cI mean, Lake Michigan in March?\u201d she hissed, leaning forward across the aisle towards the back of the bus, hands thrust into her coat pockets and glaring at the both of them through those old, thick-framed glasses she used to adore, \u201cAre you fucking kidding me, Nico?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe witness described the spirit as a small girl,\u201d Nico replied, glancing over his shoulder and pulling the cord as their stop appeared around the corner, \u201cThat means she still has substance, Mon. We\u2019re gonna check this thing out.\u201d<\/p>\n The setting of Jeremy\u2019s more recent nightmares mirrors that Tuesday afternoon, sun setting low in the sky just after five o\u2019clock. The suggestion of a storm had descended around noon, no rain, but a wind like the devil summoned it himself. Jeremy had looked out over the lake from the shore, air currents raging over the distant expanse of water. Miserably gray waves hurtled against the sides of the stoney pier jutting from the beach with terrifying force, biting winds prompting careless feet towards the water\u2019s edge.<\/p>\n It only took a single, cautious step onto the pier for the spirit to appear before them.<\/p>\n Perhaps the spirit had resembled a little girl when the witness had first seen her, but there was little of a human being, much less a little girl, remaining in the figure on that evening. Figure, even, seems too specific of a term for descending spirits, torn to fragmented parts by forces only the dead are seemingly subjected to.<\/p>\n In his nightmares, Jeremy finds himself experiencing something similar, unseen claws digging under skin and into the seams of his bones. They come from all directions, though the strongest of them rises from under his feet, curling around his ankles, tearing the fabric of his pant legs to shreds, finding traction in the fibrous muscles of his calves and pulling<\/i>. He usually wakes before his vision sinks completely below the surface of the earth, jerking up and pulling back the sheets to confirm the existence of his body in one physical shape. Jeremy has never given the existence of Heaven and Hell much thought, but if either place exists in some form or another, he\u2019s sure the hungrier, greedier of them resides below.<\/p>\n The spirit on the pier moved in an orchestrated way, reduced to fractions of action played out in snapshots of form and substance. One moment the spirit lingered at the center of the stoney walkway. A second later, it teetered at the pier\u2019s edge, whipped about in elongated tendrils of shadowy matter by the wind. Only when the spirit\u2019s form spilled over the edge did it make a sound, a high-pitched shriek cut off by the distinctly choked noise of water filling lungs.<\/p>\n Over and over the spirit continued the actions, like a videotape scratched to ruin except for a few morbidly short seconds stuck on repeat.<\/p>\n Jeremy simply watched, biting at the inside of his cheek and fisting his hands in his pockets. Sometimes all they can do is watch as spirits disintegrate at an exponential rate, losing more and more of their substance with time until nothing of their living soul remains. These splintered snapshots of the moments just before death mean little else than the inevitability of descension.<\/p>\n \u201cI hate it when they do that,\u201d Monica moaned, flinching away from the spray of waves and shivering with cold, \u201cC\u2019mon, we should go.\u201d<\/p>\n Really, Jeremy shouldn\u2019t have been surprised when Nico did the exact opposite.<\/p>\n It was Jeremy\u2019s mother who had first described it to him years ago, the concept of being empathetic to a fault.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve always told you to be kind, Jeremy,\u201d she\u2019d said, stirring a pot of chicken noodle soup on the stove top, hand bent at her hip in a way he\u2019d always thought was very motherly, \u201cTo treat others how you would want to be treated? Put yourself in their shoes?\u201d<\/p>\n Jeremy had begrudgingly nodded his head, knees bouncing on the tile below the kitchen table, willing the soup to cook faster so he could run it down the stairs where the Johnsons hovered around a feverish Nico.<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s being empathetic,\u201d she had continued, leaning forward to adjust the heat, \u201cand then there\u2019s what Nico does.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat Nico does?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou know I\u2019m not all that familiar about what goes on downstairs, but\u2026\u201d She had trailed off, pulling the pot from the stove and reaching into the cupboard above her for a tupperware, \u201cThat boy gives so much of himself, his energy and whatnot, to these spirits. So much that he doesn\u2019t leave enough for himself, and he gets sick. There\u2019s empathy, Jeremy. And then there\u2019s empathy to a fault.\u201d<\/p>\n Jeremy remembers the words bothering him, the way they perfectly summed up the one characteristic about Nico that he had never been able to identify himself. He chewed the thought over as his mother ladled the soup into a tupperware, snapping the lid in place and pacing over the Jeremy with the soup in one hand, oven mitts in the other. \u201cTake this downstairs. Careful now, it\u2019s hot.\u201d<\/p>\n On that distant Tuesday, Jeremy noticed Nico\u2019s lack of presence at his side first. Walking back down the pier, trailing after Monica, he remembers missing the scuff of Nico\u2019s shoes across the stone, the noise of the other lifting the hood of his jacket over his mess of hair when it finally began to rain.<\/p>\n Jeremy noticed all of these things before he felt Nico\u2019s sudden and complete absence.<\/i><\/p>\n A punch to the gut had left more air in Jeremy\u2019s lungs than the exact moment Nico\u2019s soul nearly vacated his body. One moment, he had felt whole. The next, he became overwhelmed with the indescribable sensation of something essential, almost physical<\/i>, being removed from him, left with only a numbing sense of loss in its place.<\/p>\n Nico had never seemed so small, crumpled in on himself. The spray of waves plastered his hair against his face, freckles looking almost alien in contrast to the complete lack of color in his face.<\/p>\n In the minutes before the ambulance arrived, Monica had taken Nico\u2019s talisman and held it against her own in her fist, her lips a fevered blur as she mumbled prayers in languages Jeremy couldn\u2019t identify. All he could do was keep his ear pressed to Nico\u2019s chest, his thumb against the other\u2019s wrist, holding his breath and straining to detect a heartbeat at either location.<\/p>\n Against the grey skies, patterned with the red and blue lights of emergency vehicles, the image of the spirit sinking gradually beneath the cracks in the stone pier, unseen and insignificant, haunted him.<\/p>\n Months later, the memory still teased the edges of Jeremy\u2019s sleepless conscious, the image of the spirit appearing outside the Johnson\u2019s living room window before sinking beneath the sill in eerie similarity to that night. More than once, Jeremy found himself leaping out of the reclining armchair only to find the window boxes empty of flowers, let alone descended spirits.<\/p>\n Exhausted, Jeremy would return to Nico\u2019s bedside, folding his arms on the edge of the sheets and watching the subtle rise and fall of the other\u2019s chest until his eyelids inevitably drooped and sleep finally took him like a benevolent thief.<\/p>\n An entire spring and summer passed this way, one restless bout of existence after another. Days, weeks, and months blurred into one monotonous nightmare. Jeremy avoided sleep if only to prolong the moments just after waking up: hurried panic to check if Nico was still alive.<\/p>\n Below the surface level of fear, the unshakable anticipation of mourning, an entirely separate realization became readily apparent. The realization, morbidly comical in timing, pestered him from beneath his skin with each long look he caught Mrs. Lore or Mrs. Jas giving him. The truth to it, infuriatingly obvious each time leaving Nico\u2019s side took all but physical intervention to achieve, terrified him.<\/p>\n Jeremy has always been touchy, affectionate in a way that the twins had to get used to in time. But the mid-September morning when Nico finally woke up, however, was unprecedented compared to any past event Jeremy could call to mind.<\/p>\n Hands in hair, hands in hands, Nico watched him with eyes just barely open, smiling faintly when Jeremy\u2019s bottom lip began to tremble.<\/p>\n \u201dHey, Jem,\u201d Nico whispered, fingers trembling as he pressed a thumb to the edge of Jeremy\u2019s cheekbone, rubbing at the grease stain smeared there. Jeremy always left the garage in a hurry during those months, barely bothering to look in a mirror before returning to Nico\u2019s side.<\/p>\n It wasn\u2019t the first time Nico had wiped away grease stains, pressing the pad of his thumb to his tongue before rubbing at Jeremy\u2019s cheek. As a teenager, the sentiment had embarrassed him. With time, however, Jeremy found himself purposefully leaving them if only to watch the familiar roll of Nico\u2019s eyes, the fond \u201dYou\u2019re hopeless.\u201d<\/i> that often followed.<\/p>\n \u201dHey, Nico\u2026\u201d Jeremy mumbled, gathering a shaky breath afterwards.<\/p>\n \u201cSo, what\u2019d I miss?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201dToo much, asshole,\u201d he replied, the snap to his tone lacking force as the words caught in the back of his throat, restricted with emotion. He\u2019d stood up to retrieve Mrs. Jas, Mrs. Lore, and Monica from the kitchen, but Nico\u2019s hand caught him first. Quirking an eyebrow, Jeremy settled back on the bed, very aware of the points where Nico\u2019s weak grip met his skin.<\/p>\n \u201cHey, wait. Just you for a minute, Jem.\u201d Nico turned his head to cough into his shoulder, gathering another shaky breath before turning back to Jeremy, thumb finding the soft pit of his palm, \u201cI missed you.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat do you mean you missed me?\u201d Jeremy asked. He had meant to sound suspicious, but he remembers the question coming out with much less conviction, \u201cYou\u2019ve been comatose for months.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWherever I was,\u201d Nico replied, eyelids fluttering a bit with residual exhaustion, his grip on Jeremy\u2019s wrist slipping until Jeremy gathered his hand again, \u201cI missed <\/i> you.\u201d<\/p>\n Even as Nico\u2019s family eventually flooded into the room, a worried chatter of voices and barely contained sobs, Jeremy held tight to Nico\u2019s hand beneath the sheets, cold to the touch where his ran warm. Nico, for all his lack of strength, managed to hold on just as tight.<\/p>\n There was something dangerous in it, something reckless in standing at the edge of a tremendous fall knowing that with one more step, he would never recover.<\/p>\n The realization, of course, was that he was already falling.<\/p>\n ***<\/p>\n In the late afternoon following their fight, Jeremy prods open the door of their bedroom with his foot, unceremoniously shucking off his work jacket and stepping over to the mirror hung on the closet door. He\u2019s in the process of rubbing a particularly dark grease stain from his forehead with the heel of his hand when he notices Nico curled up in bed in the mirror\u2019s reflection, textbook tucked under his arm and surrounded by mostly illegible note cards.<\/p>\n Nico\u2019s bed isn\u2019t an unfamiliar place. Jeremy spent countless nights tucked against Nico\u2019s back as a child, a habit that continued, more or less under sober circumstances, into adulthood. There\u2019s something welcoming to the orientation of the other\u2019s mattress tucked into the back corner of the room, fairy lights strung unevenly along the walls. Outwardly, Jeremy blames the heavenly quilt Mrs. Lore made Nico for his tenth birthday and Jeremy has envied ever since. Inwardly, he attributes the habit to something else entirely, unvoiced and unsuccessfully ignored.<\/p>\n Holding lingering anxieties an arm\u2019s reach away, Jeremy toes off his boots and drops a knee to the edge of Nico\u2019s bed, nudging the other gently in the shoulder.<\/p>\n \u201cMove over,\u201d Jeremy prompts, biting his lip to stop the grin tugging at the corners of his mouth as the other\u2019s expression crumples to one of sleepy discontent. A low, irritated groan escapes between Nico\u2019s lips, followed by a complete lack of compliance to Jeremy\u2019s suggestion, and Jeremy exhales dramatically before forcibly shoving Nico over to make room for himself at the edge of the mattress.<\/p>\n \u201cYou are the worst,\u201d<\/i> Nico groans with impressive force for someone just awakened. Jeremy fights another grin as the other weakly shoves a textbook at his side in retaliation. \u201cThis is my<\/i> bed.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThere\u2019s a draft over on my side,\u201d Jeremy says, though his voice lacks any real legitimacy in the quiet air between them. \u201cYou know, because of the window.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThat\u2019s always your excuse.\u201d Nico sighs, rolling towards Jem and pressing his cheek into the pillow, eyes still closed and hair sticking up at an impressive height. \u201cYou\u2019re never cold anyway.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine. I run warm, you run cold. You should be thanking me.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJust shut up.\u201d<\/p>\n A minute passes with only the static sound of the ceiling fan rotating above them and the idle drone from the television on the other side of the door to fill the space of the room. Jeremy finds himself in the terrible circumstance of wanting to roll right out of bed again while also wanting to move closer until he can feel the warmth of Nico under his clothes, to remind him of the reason why he\u2019s doing any of this in the first place.<\/p>\n He\u2019s never denied being an asshole in execution, but his good intentions tend to get lost in translation.<\/p>\n \u201cLook, Nico. I\u2019m sorry,\u201d he says, the words sounding uncomfortably strained with rehearsal.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, I know,\u201d Nico mumbles in reply, and Jeremy watches as the other boy stretches his arms above his head with a low noise from the back of his throat, wrists curled to reveal blue veins raised at their base. His eyes linger too long on the exposed skin between the waistband of Nico\u2019s sweats and the hem of his shirt, fingers itching.<\/p>\n \u201cNo, really,\u201d Jeremy persists, and Nico finally cracks an eye open. His thick brows are furrowed, lips pulled into a frown that Jeremy knows so well. \u201cI know yesterday meant more to you than just \u2018I know.\u2019\u201d<\/p>\n If it had been anyone else, Jeremy would have left the conversation at that. Nico, unlike most people, possess a quality that makes it nearly impossible for Jeremy to leave him with half-assed apologies and generally anything less than his exposed soul on a platter.<\/p>\n \u201cOkay.\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s an invitation, the way Nico props himself up on an elbow to face Jeremy. There\u2019s scarcely a foot between them, and Nico\u2019s eyes seem browner after sleep, pupils thinning in the light.<\/p>\n \u201cYou\u2019re going to make me say it, aren\u2019t you?\u201d Jeremy asks, and Nico simply nods, though the left corner of his mouth betrays him with the suggestion of a smile, eyebrows raised a fraction higher than just a second ago.<\/p>\n The emotion pitted in Jeremy\u2019s chest feels so heavy, so visceral in its existence that words themselves fail him. They feel empty, hollow in the face of a force so all-encompassing of whatever the hell their relationship has been, is, and is becoming, that all Jeremy wants is to swallow them entirely and find another way.<\/p>\n In a moment of gifted coordination and lack of cohesive thinking, Jeremy rolls on top of Nico, straddling the other\u2019s hips. The other boy has barely enough time to react before Jeremy sprints headlong into a mindless monologue.<\/p>\n \u201cDo you even know how much you mean to me? That\u2019s a rhetorical question, don\u2019t answer right now,\u201d Jeremy begins, sitting back on his haunches and looking at Nico\u2019s headboard, pictures and postcards pinned to the polished oak. \u201cWhen you were comatose I didn\u2019t even know what to do with myself. It was like I was missing a damn arm<\/i> and nothing seemed important or worthwhile unless you were going to wake up again.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cJem–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNo, hold on. I\u2019m sorry I flipped out on you yesterday, but you gotta understand that it\u2019s because I don\u2019t what that<\/i> to ever happen to you again, right?\u201d He doesn\u2019t mean to sound desperate, his voice has never sounded convincing with a crack at its center. \u201cYou deserve to feel strong and important but what the hell do we, do I,<\/i> have to do to make you realize that you already are?\u201d<\/p>\n There\u2019s something else to the apology that lacks the confession harboring too close to his lips, he holds it back in a way he realizes has been a habit for a long time.<\/p>\n It\u2019s the truth, but not the whole truth.<\/p>\n Another ear-splitting silence falls on the room again, all but their breaths and the undeniable sound of Jeremy\u2019s heart trying to pound out of his chest punctuating the silence.<\/p>\n Nico\u2019s talisman lies at a crooked angle on his chest, and in another thoughtless action, Jeremy reaches a hand down to trail the pad of his thumb over its coarse edges. While the rest of Nico runs cold, the stone feels warm to the touch, as if possessing a life of its own. The pale green sheen reflects back at him, captivating his gaze and drawing another long stroke of his thumb from the silver clasp to its pointed edge. With each moment, Jeremy feels his heartbeat slow, and the knot in his chest loosen to something manageable. The words come easier, grounded by the presence of the talisman in his grip.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ve always been under the impression that we\u2019re stronger together.\u201d Jeremy\u2019s voice sounds far away to his own ears, not quite a whisper, but similar in the breathy way the words leave his lips. Something seizes just behind his ribs, another confession, but not his own. The feeling, as familiar as it is foreign, washes unbinded through him for a split second before retreating. It\u2019s so brief, for a moment Jeremy thinks he imagined it. Until:<\/p>\n \u201cJem.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n The sound of Nico\u2019s voice startles Jeremy back to the moment, realizing with a horrible shock that he\u2019s never done this before<\/i>. The talisman had always represented a private, intimate part of Nico and while it had always coaxed out Jeremy\u2019s curiosity, it had never invited touch.<\/p>\n Stilling instantly, Jeremy expects Nico to knock his hand away and shimmy out from under his weight. He waits for it, so long that he nearly collapses under the weight of nervous anticipation. Instead, he\u2019s startled when Nico reaches up to press the pad of his thumb against the curve of Jeremy\u2019s cheekbone, rubbing away a smudge Jeremy had missed in the mirror. Feeling electrocuted, Jeremy takes a breath, his gaze flickering to meet Nico\u2019s.<\/p>\n The other\u2019s eyes are wide, clear with their attention on Jeremey, pupils like pinpricks. Jeremy can\u2019t tell if the flush crawling up the other\u2019s neck is residual of sleep or of some other cause entirely. All he can focus on in the imminent panic rising in his gut, and the urge to expel himself from the situation as quickly and spectacularly as possible. He would, if Nico\u2019s touch weren\u2019t rooting him to the spot.<\/p>\n \u201cFuck.<\/i>\u201d It\u2019s all he manages before dropping the talisman from his grip, purposefully ignoring the sudden wash of cold seeping inwards at its absence, \u201cI don\u2019t know why I–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou too…\u201d Nico says, weak as if out of breath. Jeremy doesn\u2019t remember the last time he\u2019s seen Nico so flustered, so legitimately lost for words. It\u2019s quite the sight, he thinks: Nico Johnson flushed to the tips of his ears, lips rounded in a surprised gape. \u201cI–\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNico! Jem!\u201d Monica\u2019s voice startles the two of them nearly out of their own skin, Jeremy gasping as Nico\u2019s knees jerk up and connect at the base of his spine. Hearing footsteps approaching from down the hall, Jeremy swallows down the ache at his tailbone and rolls off the bed, falling ungracefully to the floor in an awkward heap just as Monica throws open the door.<\/p>\n \u201cWe\u2019ve got a call on another lead–\u201d She pauses at the sight of Jeremy on the floor, glancing between the two with an expression of mixed concern and amusement. \u201cWere you two wrestling again? Either way, glad you\u2019ve made up. We\u2019ve got a spirit just outside of town. We can make it before dark if you two get your shit ready right now. Come on!\u201d<\/p>\n As Monica\u2019s footsteps fade down the hall again to her own room, Jeremy slowly rises to his feet. Out of the corner of his eye, he can still see Nico staring at him, the feel of his gaze like fingernails under his skin, prying, looking for something.<\/p>\n With a pervading sense of dread, Jeremy thinks he knows exactly what it is Nico is looking for.<\/p>\n Swallowing hard, Jeremy toes on his boots again without tying the laces, grabs his jacket back off his bed, and pulls a patchy beanie over his hair, blonde tufts curling out from his forehead despite his best efforts to pat them down. He eventually gathers the courage to look at Nico, sprawled just the way he left him, knees bent and spread out at an angle, sweater riding up just a bit.<\/p>\n If he were a stranger to the circumstance, the scene would encourage entirely different assumptions. Jeremy doesn\u2019t think he\u2019s even been more fucked<\/i>.<\/p>\n \u201cC\u2019mon.\u201d He finally manages, tossing Nico another jacket from the hook on the back of the door. Jeremy shoves his hands into his pockets, clenching and unclenching his fists to feel contained in his own skin and not like something irreversible has just transpired, knocking down every pillar of familiarly between them.<\/p>\n When he turns and walks out of the room, it takes every inch of willpower he has not to look back and make sure Nico is following him this time. Old habits, even in unfamiliar territory, die hard.<\/p>\n The lake, obviously man-made in both size and location, lies ominously still despite the wind curling under the hems of their jackets, chilling to the bone. It\u2019s surrounded by trees still spindly at their trunks, branches like witches\u2019 fingers lingering low over the water\u2019s surface, bare except for a few persisting leaves. The sky, overcast besides the occasional appearance of an early moon, spreads an uneasy air over the lake\u2019s eastern bank where Jeremy, Nico, and Monica stand with their boots sinking into the mud.<\/p>\n \u201cWow, this is really fucking creepy, Mon,\u201d Jeremy says, whistling between his teeth as his turns to look over his shoulder as passing headlights briefly light up the space before drowning it in dim shadow once again.<\/p>\n \u201cPlease, you\u2019ve lead us to abandoned insane asylums,\u201d Monica replies, crossing her arms over her chest and clutching her sides. \u201cYou\u2019re not allowed to talk.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWe got some of our best finds there!\u201d Jeremy persists. He can detect the strained casualness in his own tone, made only more obvious by Monica\u2019s furrowed brows. \u201cYou remember Donny? Tabetha? Great spirits, lovely to work with.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cDonny bit off his doctor\u2019s index finger.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cI never said they didn\u2019t have some character flaws.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cHey, shh,\u201d Nico hushes them, throwing up a hand in their direction. Jeremy follows the length of Nico\u2019s arm, curious why the sleeves look so short on him before he realizes that Nico\u2019s wearing his<\/i> jacket. Marco\u2019s Auto Shop. Milwaukee, WI<\/i> spans clearly across the breadth of Nico\u2019s shoulders, printed in tacky font, the letters scuffed and curling at the edges with use. He had tossed Nico the wrong jacket from the back of the door, and Nico had worn it anyway without bothering to correct him or switch it out for one of his own when Jeremy left the room.<\/p>\n Jeremy tries not to think about it too hard. Or about the way the jacket rides up closer to Nico\u2019s waist when he lifts his arms.<\/p>\n Tearing his eyes away, Jeremy follows Nico\u2019s gaze to the lake\u2019s center. One ripple after another washes against the bank, unnatural in its uneven rhythm. Counting them, Jeremy can\u2019t keep a pattern, and he strains his eyes to focus on the source, the surrounding area too dark to make out much more than a pitch black figure lingering just above the water.<\/p>\n The spirit appears more like an absence of substance rather than a collection of it, less of the boy who died here and more like the suggestion of him in the moments where the moonlight casts down at just the right angle. For split seconds at a time, Jeremy can see pale skin, shrunken and blue, dark eyes, and a gasping mouth reflecting in the water\u2019s surface.<\/p>\n Its descension is obvious. Jeremy\u2019s fingers and toes go numb with static cold as the spirit flickers forebodingly, the echoes of its death manifesting in a display of bubbles rising from the depths of the lake, punctuated with a faint gurgling noise that makes the hairs on the back of Jeremy\u2019s neck stand on end.<\/p>\n Nico takes a step into the water before Jeremy or Monica can react.<\/p>\n \u201cNico, what the hell?!\u201d Monica shouts, reaching forward to fist a hand in his jacket, the other boy stumbling back slightly as the silty bottom of the lake sticks to his soles. Jeremy notes the brief disappearance of the spirit, feeling the cold draft the spirit brings before he sees it, closer to them this time. Monica, wary but undeterred, tightens her grip on Nico\u2019s arm. \u201cThe spirit\u2019s already descending and you\u2019ll freeze out there. What are you thinking?!\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThey\u2019re worth saving, Mon,\u201d Nico says. There\u2019s a shift in his expression this time, bolder than yesterday, surer than all the other times he faced descending spirits. The furrow in his brow had always indicated a question, agonized over. Now, however, a solution, albit a tentative one, steadies him in his conviction. \u201cI think it\u2019ll work this time. I just need help.\u201d Jeremy meets Nico\u2019s eyes as the other looks over Monica\u2019s shoulder at him, brow creased in an unvoiced question.<\/p>\n Monica looks over her own shoulder, whirling around and glaring at Jeremy as if it were his own inane idea planted in Nico\u2019s mind. \u201cYou want Jem<\/i> to help?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWow. I\u2019m offended, Mon,\u201d Jeremy grumbles. It\u2019s more of a habitual response than anything, as Nico still holds his attention, chewing at his bottom lip and holding his talisman tight in his fist.<\/p>\n \u201cLook,\u201d Nico speaks up again, stepping back onto the bank and gently pulling Monica\u2019s gloved fist off of him, \u201cI know I don\u2019t have enough energy to bring descending spirits back myself. And I get that it\u2019s selfish to kill myself over someone who\u2019s already dead.\u201d The clear echo of Jeremy\u2019s own words spoken through Nico\u2019s lips resonates in the air between them, even Monica\u2019s eyebrows raising in mild surprise. \u201cBut I have an idea. I might not have enough energy myself, but if I use Jem\u2019s as well…I don\u2019t know. It might be enough.\u201d<\/p>\n Monica stares between them, lips pulled into a tight line. The fact that she doesn\u2019t immediately argue Nico\u2019s logic is hope enough for Jeremy to wonder if it might work.<\/p>\n \u201cUsing a non-medium\u2019s life energy,\u201d she muses, sounding tentative but not argumentative, \u201cas like an energy reserve? Has that ever been done before?\u201d<\/p>\n Nico shrugs, fishing for his talisman beneath the collar of Jeremy\u2019s jacket and pulling it out to grip in his palm. \u201cIf an energy deficiency is the problem, it\u2019s the only solution I can think of. I\u2019ve never heard of it being done before. But then again\u201d –he pauses, looking from the prehnite stone in his grasp to smile faintly at Jeremy– \u201cI\u2019ve never heard of mediums and non-mediums having a bond like ours worth trying.\u201d<\/p>\n It\u2019s not so much of a realization as a reminder to Jeremy that when Nico smiles at him like that, a little embarrassed, a little lopsided, that he would fight anyone from any end of the earth to keep it there.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019m in,\u201d Jeremy answers almost immediately, feeling the sturdy rightness of the proclamation as deep as his bones. \u201cLet\u2019s do it.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cNico, wait,\u201d Monica says, prying her ear muffs off her head and handing them over to her brother, smiling softly. \u201cYou forgot yours, you reckless heathen.\u201d<\/p>\n Nico grins, taking them from her and pulling them over his ears. A moment passes where Monica simply looks between the two of them before she\u2019s hurtling herself at Nico and then at Jeremy, hugging them tightly around the neck.<\/p>\n \u201cI\u2019ll hang back just in case anything goes wrong,\u201d she says, and Jeremy wraps his arms around the small of her back, hugging back just as tight. \u201cJust be careful, all right?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOf course, Mon.\u201d<\/p>\n Had he been driven solely on physical impulses, Jeremy would have leapt from the water the moment he stepped in, breathtakingly cold, stealing more air from his lungs with each squelching step farther into the lake\u2019s depths.<\/p>\n \u201cWhy do we have to be in<\/i> the water to communicate with the spirit?\u201d he asks, teeth chattering together as the water seeps up his calves, finding the sensitive undersides of his knees and drawing another gasp between his teeth. \u201cFuck me<\/i>, it\u2019s cold.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cThe closer we are,\u201d Nico begins, his own teeth clicking together despite his best efforts to breathe evenly, \u201cthe less energy it\u2019ll take for me to communicate with the spirit. Less distance equals less exertion. Or something like that.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cWhat if I freeze to death first?\u201d Jeremy asks, cringing as their feet drop slightly on the uneven ground of the lake, the water suddenly at mid-thigh without warning. \u201cJesus fucking Christ.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cShh,\u201d Nico whispers, this time close enough to press his palm to Jeremy\u2019s mouth. It takes a significant amount of willpower for Jeremy not to bite him as Nico looks to their left. The spirit flickers closer, tendrils of shadow wriggling out from its otherwise indistinct form. Careful not to scare it off again, or prompt any other sort of vaguely threatening motion, Nico motions for Jeremy to step closer. He does, close enough that he can both see and feel each breath of air Nico exhales into the October air, each freckle stark against the flush of cold working across his cheeks and to the tip of his nose.<\/p>\n Nico turns, and Jeremy nearly forgets the cold when Nico sets a hand on his shoulder, guiding him close enough that they nearly bump chests: \u201cReady?\u201d<\/p>\n Jeremy nods, nerves harboring under his skin in the form of restless tremors. Nico notices, reaching to place the palm of his other hand at the center of Jeremy\u2019s chest, finding the line of Jeremy\u2019s breastbone beneath his jacket and tracing it in gentle strokes with the pad of his thumb.<\/p>\n \u201cBreathe for a second, Jem,\u201d Nico prompts, his voice quiet and low but filling the space between them like a flood. They\u2019re close, a step and a half apart, and Nico\u2019s hand is much more of a grounding force than his own feet stuck in the muddy grime beneath them.<\/p>\n This time, when Jeremy decides to count his inhibitions away, Nico\u2019s eyes follow the path of his gaze. Brow, nose, cheekbone, jaw, mouth. Jeremy\u2019s eyes linger on five until five becomes ten and his heartbeat slows to a steady beat beneath his ribs.<\/p>\n Noticing Jeremy\u2019s heartbeat, the evenness of his breathing, Nico removes his hand from Jeremy\u2019s chest to pull Jeremy\u2019s right hand from his side, the other reaching for his own talisman.<\/p>\n Nico\u2019s talisman is like a vital organ tragically displaced outside of his chest, lying vulnerable to prying hands. There\u2019s something innately private about even the thought of touching it, the reminder of doing so flaring a flush of guilt up the back of Jeremy\u2019s neck. The sensation of the stone in his palm still lingers, as though Jeremy had slipped his fingers between the gaps in Nico\u2019s ribs to grip his heart, his lungs.<\/p>\n Yet here he is, Nico holding the talisman by its silver clasp, encouraging Jeremy to hold it like it would be safe with him, useful with him.<\/p>\n \u201cJem.\u201d Nico\u2019s voice is softer than he\u2019s heard it in a long time, almost a whisper. He bumps the stone against Jeremy\u2019s knuckles, his fingers still curled hesitantly towards his palm where Nico\u2019s own fingers encircle his wrist. \u201cTake it.\u201d<\/p>\n Sucking in one last breath, Jeremy takes the bait.<\/p>\n He always does.<\/p>\n There\u2019s a moment when Jeremy feels only the warmth of the stone, the pulsating force from it matching his heartbeat, as if calibrating to his own energy. Everything is still as their energies link, and then Jeremy feels<\/i> it: a presence in his own veins, his own bones, that is distinctly Nico.<\/p>\n Nico\u2019s energy washes over him like a wave rolling onto a bank, crashing down and sweeping through him head to toe and then receding. Jeremy\u2019s own energy repeats the motion, a sensation like electricity but more innate to the human chemistry seizing from every crevice of his body and spilling into Nico\u2019s talisman connecting them.<\/p>\n Jeremy\u2019s witnessed spirit communication multiple times, but always as an outsider. Now, however, with the line between non-medium and medium blurred to a molecular level, he finds himself listening in on the plane of communication usually so far removed from his own comprehension.<\/p>\n The method of communication is not so much speech, but implied action. While their bodies don\u2019t move any closer to the spirit, Jeremy feels Nico\u2019s intent down to the fibers of his being. As if peering through a veil over his usual reality, Jeremy can just make out the figure of a small boy hidden in the shadowy recesses of the spirit\u2019s descended exterior.<\/p>\n Tendrils of the dark matter root themselves well below the surface of the lake, down to a level that Jeremy\u2019s sense of physical logic can\u2019t comprehend. It\u2019s Nico\u2019s essence, his willpower manifested that begins to pull at the tendrils, yanking them apart to reach for the soul trapped inside.<\/p>\n It\u2019s then that Jeremy realizes his role. He tries to imagine his physical, spiritual, and mental energy as something he can hold, something he can transfer to Nico through his talisman. It\u2019s a clumsy process at first, energies slipping between metaphorical fingers as the echoes of the spirit\u2019s death infiltrate and distract him.<\/p>\n Cold drifts nearer as the spirit moves towards them, and the violent shivering of his own body nearly breaks Jeremy from the connection, his physical reality reeling in too close. For a moment, his eyes open as the water undulates around them, washing up against the small of his back and shocking his system. He feels his focus slipping, shadowy tendrils penetrating the ripples of light emitting from the two of them.<\/p>\n There\u2019s a boy to their left, an arm\u2019s reach away. A boy and then a shadow. Doleful eyes and then a gaping mouth. An outreached hand, pale and thin, and then–<\/p>\n \u201cJem.<\/i>\u201d<\/p>\n Jeremy can\u2019t distinguish whether Nico\u2019s voice came from outside or within the separate plane of existence he\u2019s been pulled into, but the force of it, the promise and pleading within the single syllable, forces once last wash of energy from Jeremy\u2019s deepest corners.<\/p>\n The energy spills between them in an excess, bursting from the talisman and spreading in coiling emissions of white-blue light up their arms, chests, and necks, glowing from beneath their clothes.<\/p>\n Jeremy nearly slumps over with the sudden absence of energy, not realizing his eyes had closed again until colors sweep in chaotic flashes across his vision, the space around him a disorienting mess of reality and unreality. He\u2019s had more strength after running several miles, legs feeling like separate entities from him but still holding him upright. Now, however, they feel vanished entirely, along with the rest of his body.<\/p>\n It\u2019s only when he feels Nico\u2019s hand at his side, the other clutching tight at his shoulder that Jeremy can finally discern the physical boundaries of himself again, and everything else begins to fill into place.<\/p>\n Slowly, he opens his eyes, everything appearing far away and unimportant except for Nico holding tight to him less than a breath away. The other\u2019s eyes are bright, wide in a disbelieving sort of way. His mouth is agape, titled up at one corner into an almost grin. Jeremy would usually be able to tell by the orientation of the freckle at Nico\u2019s mouth, but they\u2019re too close for said freckles to look more than dark spots blurred on flushed skin.<\/p>\n Jeremy finds just enough breath to ask, \u201cDid it work?\u201d before Nico\u2019s hands grab at his face, settling against the ridge of Jeremy\u2019s jaw with reckless abandon, and he kisses him.<\/p>\n It\u2019s ungraceful, their noses knocking and teeth clashing in a movement that\u2019s too fast, too heedless for them both to process. Previous inhibitions, hesitations that kissing Nico was a thing Jeremy felt he could do, should<\/i> do, shatter as his hand drops to Nico\u2019s waist and pulls him closer. The other tugs at Nico\u2019s talisman around his neck, anchoring him as his lips find a rhythm to the kiss.<\/p>\n His teeth are still chattering, and Nico keeps punctuating the kiss with breathy laughter of giddy disbelief, but the rightness of it, the inevitability of it that rings between them makes up for each awkward click of teeth, each mismatched slide of their lips, numbed with cold.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n illustrated by cloven<\/p><\/div>\n <\/p>\n When they finally pull away to catch their breath, Jeremy looks down to Nico\u2019s talisman in his hand, the coils of light having receded from their skin. They still remain, however, in the stone glowing luminescent between his fingers.<\/p>\n Jeremy glances over his shoulder to where Monica stands whooping and cheering at the lake\u2019s bank, the spirit having drifted discreetly towards her over the course of their immediate celebration. The sight of the young boy, still pale and sporting sopping clothes, but whole and freed of the forces urging his descent, elicits another giddy laugh from between Jeremy\u2019s lips, one that Nico echoes when he presses their foreheads together.<\/p>\n \u201cSo,\u201d Jeremy says, jaw aching with the force of his grin, \u201ctime to add \u2018Successfully Rescued a Spirit From Descent\u2019 to your medium resume, then?\u201d<\/p>\n Nico only shakes his head, looking at Jeremy like he\u2019s some sort of recently discovered phenomenon disguised as his usual pain-in-the-ass self. Which, Jeremy supposes, he kind of is.<\/p>\n Rather that replying, Nico opts to lean forward and kiss Jeremy until his lips, rather than the icy chill of the water, leave them breathless.<\/p>\n The lingering energy still spilling between them feels like fire licking under his skin, teetering on the edge of too much when Nico scratches his nails softly against the soft lines of Jeremy\u2019s veins at his wrist. It takes everything Jeremy has in him to swallow the noise crawling up the back of his throat, shifting minutely in his seat to stave off climbing over his own seat and pressing himself to Nico, kissing him again and again.<\/p>\n When Monica finally drops them off at the apartment with little more than the promise to stay the night at their mothers\u2019 house and a wink, Jeremy all but shoves Nico through the foyer of their building. All cataclysmic energy and restless longing, Jeremy presses Nico back against the mailboxes, curling his hands at the back of the other\u2019s neck, pulling him down to press their lips together.<\/p>\n It\u2019s messy, punctuated with breaths not quite caught and laughs not quite finished, but so satisfying that Jeremy feels himself melting against Nico\u2019s chest, fingers curled in the hair at the back of the other\u2019s neck. Nico, for all his reservations and quiet contemplation, kisses back just as fiercely, hungry and eager and barely contained himself. This raw version of Nico, tongue and teeth, sends a shudder straight down Jeremy\u2019s spine to where his feet ache from toeing himself up to the other\u2019s level.<\/p>\n \u201cJem,\u201d Nico breathes, and Jeremy hums his question between open-mouthed kisses along the freckled lines on Nico\u2019s neck. He revels in the way Nico\u2019s breath stutters in his throat when he bites down just slightly at the hinge of his jaw. \u201cJem, we should go upstairs. Now<\/i>, c\u2019mon.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cFine, fine.\u201d<\/p>\n Nico usually takes a minute or two to open their apartment door, but with Jeremy\u2019s hand in his back pocket, it takes slightly longer than usual, the kick at the base of the door carrying a heady kind of urgency. Jeremy laughs and then Nico\u2019s tugging him him across the doorway, swallowing Jeremy\u2019s laugh between his lips again.<\/p>\n They stumble to their bedroom, tripping over themselves trying to toe off their shoes, soaked socks making a squelching noise across the hardwood. Their jeans follow shortly after, left in a sopping pile just outside their bedroom door.<\/p>\n Nico falls back first against the rumpled sheets of his bed and Jeremy follows a heartbeat later, the scene mirroring one of just a few hours ago. This time, however, when Jeremy wants to lean down and catch Nico\u2019s mouth against his, he does.<\/p>\n More than he feels the need to breathe, more than he feels the need to adjust himself where his arms are prickling numb pressed into the mattress, Jeremy needs to be as close to Nico as possible. His hands shove under the hem of the jacket Nico\u2019s wearing, Jeremy\u2019s<\/i> jacket, to press against the skin there, leaving trails of goosebumps in his wake.<\/p>\n Nico gasps into Jeremy\u2019s mouth, head tilting back at an angle, and Jeremy leans in to the capture the juncture of Nico\u2019s neck and shoulder under his teeth, tongue lining the cluster of freckles pitted there.<\/p>\n There\u2019s something awkward and something equally exciting and funny<\/i> in the way that the two of them wrestle out of their shirts, the collar of Nico\u2019s sweater getting stuck around his neck until Jeremy\u2019s fingers undo the top two buttons. Unearthed from the tangle of fabric, Nico\u2019s hair stands up at a familiarly ridiculous angle, wobbly grin tugging at the corner of his mouth when Jeremy raises an eyebrow at him.<\/p>\n \u201cWhat?\u201d Nico asks when Jeremy stops to stare at him for a moment too long, the beginnings of a full on flush working up the length of his chest. Jeremy\u2019s eyes trail along the lean slope of Nico\u2019s sides, the subtle curve of his ribs, the dip of his collarbones, peppered with smatterings of freckles along every inch. His talisman still hangs low at the center of his breastbone, prehnite stone pulsing a faint, green light in the otherwise dim room.<\/p>\n Jeremy presses his palm to the breadth of Nico\u2019s chest until the glow of the talisman only shines through the gaps in his fingers, painting them both in a shadowy glimmer of green at their sharpest edges. Meeting Nico\u2019s eyes, he gathers the stone in his grasp and lifts it to his mouth, pressing tongue and then lips to the coarse edge.<\/p>\n The talisman flares once, bright enough to leave Jeremy dazed, and then Nico\u2019s hands are on him again, rolling them over until Jeremy is the one straddled beneath his hips.<\/p>\n \u201cFuck<\/i>, Jem,\u201d Nico breathes, low and close to Jeremy\u2019s ear, \u201cif you do that….\u201d He trails off, but Jeremy gathers the general idea, hands sliding across the back of Nico\u2019s neck again to span the width of his shoulderblades.<\/p>\n \u201cKind of a weird kink, but whatever,\u201d he offers, cackling as Nico huffs indignantly into his neck, nipping at the shell of Jeremy\u2019s ear for good measure.<\/p>\n \u201cShut up,\u201d Nico growls, though Jeremy can detect the grin shaping his lips when Nico adjusts to kiss him again.<\/p>\n Jeremy almost makes another comment to fuel his obnoxious desire to do everything opposite to Nico\u2019s wishes, but only manages a strangled sigh when Nico\u2019s fingers work under the waistband of his boxers to palm over the bulge tucked hard beneath.<\/p>\n \u201cYeah?\u201d Nico muses when Jeremy rolls his hips up into the his touch, his breath heavy and urgent in the tight space between them. \u201cLike that?\u201d<\/p>\n Jeremy\u2019s known Nico long enough to detect the tiniest hint of hesitation in his question, masking nervous uncertainty with snide teasing. He allows one hand to cup the back of Nico\u2019s neck, the other meeting Nico\u2019s wrist at the dip of his stomach.<\/p>\n \u201cHere, like….\u201d Jeremy bites his lip between his teeth, shuddering at the feeling of someone else\u2019s touch so low on his body. Nico\u2019s hands are familiar, the soft pit of his palms, knobby knuckles, and wide pads of his fingers, but to feel them on his cock is enough to nearly drive Jeremy out of his mind. \u201cSlow up and down, but then twist at the top just like– f-fuck<\/i>, like that, Nico<\/i>.\u201d<\/p>\n Nico\u2019s hands, cool to the hot flush of Jeremy\u2019s cock, curl around the base, moving up and down his length just how Jeremy instructed him, less hesitant and more purposeful with each low noise Jeremy pants into his shoulder.<\/p>\n When his eyes flutter closed, Jeremy can still see the glow of Nico\u2019s talisman behind his eyelids, balling tight and white like the knot at the base of his stomach. Like fire, the sensation of Nico\u2019s hands on him licks underneath every surface of his skin, building to something too big, so hot for him to contain.<\/p>\n When Jeremy comes, it\u2019s like a shock through his entire system, gasping nonsensically into Nico\u2019s mouth when the other leans down to kiss him through it, enduring each jerk of his hips and shudder of his shoulders as he comes down. It takes minutes for Jeremy to settle back into his own skin again, sweat beading at his brow and panting heavily between breathy laughter.<\/p>\n \u201cJesus, Nico,\u201d he gasps, heart threatening to burst through his chest with the force of its pounding, \u201cwho taught you to do that?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYou did,\u201d Nico replies, wiping the palm of his hand on Jeremy\u2019s thigh and grinning devilishly at the other\u2019s affronted look. \u201cLiterally just now.\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cOkay, smartass,\u201d Jeremy scoffs, finding enough strength in his knees to nudge Nico onto his back again. His fingers still shake slightly from the endorphins running rampant through his veins, but his fingers work past the elastic of Nico\u2019s boxers like it\u2019s a practiced motion and not simply one he\u2019s thought about over and over in the privacy of his own headspace. Nico sighs, eyes drifting closed and Jeremy can barely contain the enthusiasm in his grin. \u201cWhy don\u2019t you do me the same favor?\u201d<\/p>\n \u201cYeah, okay.\u201d Nico lifts his hips off the bed, easily slipping out of his only remaining clothing and tossing it unceremoniously off the edge of the bed. Jeremy, in a moment of rare self-awareness, thinks Nico might be the most beautiful person he\u2019s ever encountered.<\/p>\n Dark-featured and angular, Nico spreads out under him all long, lean limbs, vulnerable with his talisman pitted in the dip of his breastbone. The sight of him is enough for Jeremy to get lost in and it\u2019s only when Nico\u2019s finger glides under the slope of Jeremy\u2019s chin that he focuses again.<\/p>\n Jeremy exhales, the linear constellation of freckles down Nico\u2019s face only visible with the assistance of his own memory.<\/p>\n Brow, eyelid, nose, cheekbone, mouth.<\/p>\n One, two, three, four, five.<\/p>\n Jeremy follows the last number to its destination, a grounding point as he steps with finality over the ledge of this internal war he\u2019s been raging against himself.<\/p>\n Never to recover.<\/p>\n <\/p>\n Read this piece’s entry on the Shousetsu Bang*Bang wiki.<\/a><\/p>\n![](\"https:\/\/shousetsubangbang.com\/2016-10\/ssbb_lrae_cloven.png\")