For the first time in years, Todd 'Squee' Casil heard his window swing open above his head, waking him from an unrestful sleep. The wind fluttered the curtains, a lone figure crouching on the sill. Before he could even utter his trademark squeal, a pair of hands wrapped themselves around his abdomen, pulling him towards the cool night air. Just as his shoulder blades brushed his abductor's cold boots, Squee began to writhe in a futile attempt at escape. A handkerchief was pressed to his face, a bittersweet odor seeping into his lungs. In a few moments, all was dark.
He awoke in a cool, shady, and thoroughly unembellished room. He had the distinct impression of being underground. He was suspended from the floor, old, brown leather straps holding him tightly to the wall, restricting his breath. A shadowed silhouette emerged from a corner. The man didn't need to speak; Squee knew where he was being kept. Miraculously, he was not afraid. During the brief time that he had known the man called 'Nny', he'd found some sort of solace in the fact that someone, even someone who killed, could stand to look him in the eyes, to speak to him. Nny was his only thing that had ever resembled a friend. And then, one day, he'd left. Squee remembered, because Nny's departure had marked the total deterioration of any normality that had been in his life. As much as those midnight visits had frightened him, they provided a subconscious verification of his likeableness, a verification that his parents surely wouldn't give him.
Nny drew closer, and the blade of his scythe-like knife glittered in the dingy glow of a single bulb above their heads. An then, he entered the light. Squee smiled inwardly at how little his 'friend' had changed. The only noticeable physical difference was his hair-it had grown back from the odd rabbit-like spikes to its former state of non-coifed manageability. This was a surprising contrast to Squee himself, who had grown up fast. At seventeen, he was lanky and thin, with black hair still mussed from sleep. His eyes, however, had not changed, their glints of naivety still echoing despite his exposure to the world.
What followed was a silence, though neither person present would have been able to testify as to its classification as awkward or comfortable. Finally, Squee broke the years-long quietude.
"Nny? Why am I here?" The man stirred, the light dancing across his cheek in a terrifyingly beautiful display. He spoke in a controlled, purposefully flat voice with hints of rage poking through.
"Squee...Squee, Squee, Squee." He paused, presumably for dramatic effect. "I tried, you know. All I wanted was to not feel, to be driven by stimuli and nothing else. To survive without emotional motive. And I thought that I'd succeeded. I came home, ready to exist in a perfect state of indifference, until something caught my eye. That was you, Squee. The only thing around here to interfere with my apathy. All my work, years of trying to obliterate emotion, all wasted. And for what? You, Squee. You've got me thoroughly fucked." His tone was becoming more frantic now, more agitated.
"I...I'm sorry." Squee whimpered. Nny faced him with closed eyes. His head nodded towards the light, and he raised his eyelids. Inexplicable tears shimmered behind his eyes. At these words, he cocked his head to the side, an uncharacteristic look of empathy on his usually maniacal face.
"No, no, Squee, you shouldn't be sorry, it isn't your fault. It's mine. Here, how about we get you down from there?" Nny walked forward and loosened the tight straps. In a strange show of affection, he reached out his arms and Squee came down, clinging to him like a toddler. However, in such a state of complete helplessness, Nny could barely figure what to do with him, and ended up simply sitting down in the corner, absently stroking the boy's hair. After a solid ten minutes of a silence that was neither pleasant nor tense, but necessary, Squee spoke.
"Are you going to kill me?" As Nny exhaled, a gentle tickle came to Squee's neck. He rearranged their positions so that Squee was on his lap, facing him with those eyes. It all held the perplexing notion of a child sitting in Santa's lap. Nny smiled in an almost fatherly way.
"Yes. Well, I was, but I'm not sure anymore. You see, I had peace before I saw you again, a few moments of emotion-free tranquility. And then, there you were, sobbing on your front porch. I knew it was you. You still have some endearing innocence left in your eyes. You're a decent little Squee, just like when I left. But here's the thing: You've pretty much made me waste these last few years, don't you see? I'm very, very upset now."
"I..I didn't mean to-"
"Well, I'm more upset at being upset than at you. You're beautiful, kid. Just exquisite." In spite of everything, Squee's cheeks reddened. "And I'm happy that you're not a bitchy cliche of a teenager." Squee laughed, a small chuckle that was cut short when Nny was, without notice, upon him, holding his wrists to the cold floor and grinning an impish twinkle. The boy's eyes grew wide with what may have been shock.
"My dear boy," The older man spoke from above. "I've been on this world much longer than you, and I remember very little of my early life. Regardless, from what I do recall, I have neither kissed nor been kissed. If you will excuse me for my bluntness, I should quite like to try it. Do I have your consent?"
Squee nodded his head, inhaling. He then lie there expectantly. Nny's head came downwards slowly. At the precise moment that their mouths touched, Squee had a single thought: His lips aren't as chapped as they look. What erupted between the two was a rich kiss that could rival any romance novel's heat and passion. Though both novices in this matter, it was mutually pleasurable. Nny thought his heart would explode. Nny's hands came upwards to rustle Squee's hair, to caress his face.
In this moment of purely human vigor, he neglected to remember the knife lying in his hand. When one has spent the amount of time that Nny had with knives in hand, the sensation of a hilt clutched in a sweating palm is second nature. As this one moment of pure, unadulterated joy flowed to each corner of his body, the weapon in his grasp was overlooked. This particular knife had a thin, but deadly titanium blade, which led to a small weight despite its surprising power. The knife slid noiselessly across the floor, angled in an unfortunate inclination, and as Nny's fingers began to feel the arousing stimulation of the boy's soft, soft hair, the blade began to feel the warm flesh of Squee's neck.
In the ecstasy a single sensuous motion of Squee's head plunged the blade into his jugular vein, completely severing it. Tears flowed from his eyes as Nny stared at the deep slice which he had unwittingly placed in this child's neck.
Todd 'Squee' Casil was dead in a flat forty-five seconds, his doll-like eyes remaining open, his fingers grasping at those of his love's, his lips whispering three inaudible words.
"Why, Nny, why?"