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Sometimes, especially when he was cooking, he felt like maybe the Great Big Sad took his mom so he would be ready for Jack. Like the fear and depression that choked her until she couldn’t move made it so that when Jack stumbled into his house three years ago and admitted that he hadn’t seen his own mom in weeks, August was ready to sit him down and make him some soup. It was a selfish thought.
“I’m pretty sure without you, I’d starve to death and never finish my homework. So, you’re kind of nonnegotiable, to be completely honest,” Jack said as August put a plate down in front of him. “Well, that’s reassuring. Nice to know I’m your chef/dad.”
He did things like this often. Checked to see if his memories were real.
“I remember the attic of your house. The way the sun shone gold through the slats in the windows. The dust on the floor and the crowns we wore. I remember your throne, the Wicker Throne, and mine, the Wooden Throne. I remember sitting on them, hands clasped between us. You were always the better king.”
August had wanted to roll over for him. Wanted to bare his neck. Wanted to give himself up, so ferocious was his gratitude. As Jack’s fingers trailed through his hair and as he wrapped his Pokémon sweatshirt around August’s shoulders, something in August broke. Or changed. He wasn’t sure. But he’d known then that he was important. He was valuable. He was Jack’s. Saving him was a debt August could never pay.
“We have three other kids to pick up, I doubt anyone has gotten properly fed, and it’s getting late.…” “You’re like a weird young dad,” one of the bikers nearby commented, squinting at August curiously.
He’d seen Jack fall and sprinted toward the pit; August had leaped off the edge and dove headlong into the darkness behind him. He would pull them both out of the deep with his bare hands.
The world was so big and they were very small and there was no one around to stop terrible things from happening.
“This is your game, August. You asked for it. And we aren’t finished playing because you haven’t asked to stop.” Jack was close. His breath skittered across August’s eyelids, making him shiver. “I’m sorry I made you angry. But don’t ever run away from me. You shouldn’t abandon your king. It’s … dishonorable. Unchivalrous. Cowardly. You can’t leave me behind,” the Wicker King hissed.
She didn’t even punch him good-bye.
“You seem happier than usual,” Jack said. “I’m actively frowning, Jack.”
“It’s not weak. My mom once told me that being alone makes you feel weaker every day, even if you’re not,” he said quietly. “But it’s not as bad if you’re with other people who are alone, too. We can hold each other up like a card tower.”
You were breaking his heart and the only thing that helped is watching you be happy.
“Well done.” It echoed in his bones like it had been spoken by giants, spoken by gods. Nothing could replace the glory of the Wicker King’s favor—the peace of returning from defending his honor. The phrases that ran through his mind were archaic and ridiculous and urgent and more real than anything he’d ever known.
“I think you’re doing your best,” Rina said, tossing the wet dishrag into the sink. “But your best is not good enough sometimes,” she said, deflating a bit. “Sometimes … you have to stop trying and just let someone else try their best. In order to survive.”
August wondered if Jack could taste the remnants of stardust he’d brought back with him from the edge of death.
“You’re going to die,” Jack gasped shakily. He sounded scared again. “So are you,” August whispered. “We can’t live this way, Jack. We have to tell someone. We’re just … kids.”
“We’re not dating, if that’s what you’re asking,” August sighed. “We’re just friends, I think. We grew up together. His mom and my mom were really close when we were kids, before my parents’ divorce. So we have just always been together.”
this was the first time in about ten years that Jack wasn’t immediately accessible to him in some way. It felt … indescribably terrible. Like someone had chopped off his arm, or blinded him in one eye.
I have never known a time when he wasn’t there to lead. That’s why I burned down the toy factory. That is why I let him practically drown me. Because it was worth it. It’s so fucking simple. Why can’t any of you get it into your fucking heads: He is my only constant. My fixed point.”
“At one point it was just a game. At the river it was supposed to be a game. But now I can’t stop. I never could. I’m always going to want to be at your heels, fighting for you. Hurting myself because you tell me to. It’s fucked up and I’m fucked up now, too.”
They are not “failing”; someone has failed them.
You deserve to heal and grow, too. You deserve to have someone to talk to about your problem; you deserve unconditional support; you deserve care and safety and all the things you need to thrive. Just because you may not have them doesn’t mean you don’t deserve them. If someone tells you that you don’t deserve those things, they are lying.
Keep trying your best. Ask for help when you need it. Do your best to be brave, but it is okay not to be. If you drop the weight you’re carrying, it is okay. You can build yourself back up out of the pieces.
