Holy Diver

Lars sighed. It was inevitable this was going to come up, but he had hoped for a bit more peace before this happened.

He took a deep breath and tried not to toy with the sleeve of his shirt.

"...I've never..." he groaned, reluctant to be open about this. It was shameful and hard to discuss, especially with Zion, whom he had been trying to hide it from the most. "...I've never actually quit for longer than a few months at a time. This time...it was just a few weeks."

He braced himself for Zion's disappointment, his anger; whatever was coming.

He inhaled sharply, folding his hands together.

"You've gotta stop. You know that? Chinese food isn't gonna fix the fact that I'm...you make me....fuck, never mind. You gotta stop."

"I know," he said sharply, sharper than he intends. He gripped the fabric of his shirt tighter. "I've been trying, for years, for fucking years."

He exhaled slowly and shakily.

"...I never wanted you to see me like that," he admitted softly, quietly, ashamedly.

"You mean, you wanted to keep lying," he replied, playing with the rings on his hands. "Did you even really like me? Or was that a lie too?"

"Zion," he said, forcing himself to look at him, painful as it was. "I know I lied about this, I've lied about this a lot, but I mean it when I say that our relationship is one of the best things to ever happen to me."

He felt the blood rush to his face.

"I can't deal with drugs, man. You know that--you knew that. If you really give a shit, what are we gonna do about that. I can't...I can't lose someone all over again, okay?" His voice grew small as he spoke, until the room was silent again.

"I...know." he said. Any other time he would have been elated to hear Zion speak like this, to show how he cared so openly. But in this situation it was...just depressing. "I know."

He can't even pretend Zion's worries are unsubstantiated; he's almost died from this addiction more than once, more than twice. It was deadly and it was liable to kill him again if he couldn't figure it out.

"...I'm going to quit this time, I swear, I'll...even start seeing an addiction specialist," he offered, even if that pained him to say. He didn't want help, didn't need help, but for Zion he would do anything.

"...Did you mean what you said? When I...found you, I mean. I wouldn't be surprised if you don't remember it." He looked up, finally meeting Lars's eyes with his. "If you didn't mean it, I'll forget about it. It's okay."

Lars opened his mouth to reply and then snapped it shut, averting his eyes briefly. No, he definitely remembered, and he definitely meant it. For a long time, really. But that was irrelevant; he needed to decide which was best to actually say at the moment.

"No, I..." he began, and then sighed. "...I meant it. Zion, I...it would kill me to lose you."

"It would kill me to lose you, too. I'm just scared it's not for the same reason. There's nothing tough, or gangsta about it, but...I'm terrified. Like being a little fucking kid again."

He continued playing with his rings, spinning them and taking them on and off. His shoulders shook slightly.

"...Never loved nobody before," he mumbled.

Like being a kid again, indeed. Lars hadn't felt this strongly about someone since he was sixteen. It was a bit comforting to feel like this again, like he wasn't that broken and he could feel this way again, but on the other hand...it terrified him. It had been so long since he had loved someone, and the last time it hadn't ended particularly well.

He took a deep breath as he let Zion's last words sink in and then he exhaled. Zion was still so young. Not that much younger than him, but this proved the gap in their maturity. Or rather, that they were both more similar and more different than he had thought.

"We'll make this work," Lars said. "I'll...do anything to make this work."

"Okay," he said, nodding slowly. "I'mma trust you one more time. But this is the last, okay?"

He shoved a forkful of food into his mouth, chewing with vigor.

"So let's figure out the boring shit."

Lars sipped on his second cocktail of the night, checking his phone for the time and/or any text messages indicating where Zion might be. They had been doing...okay. True to his word, he hadn't touched drugs since Zion had found him. He glanced at the now healed mark on his arm and took another hearty sip of alcohol. He glanced around the fancy decorum and hoped no one wondered why a sad, washed up metal musician was drinking cocktails alone without ordering food at a nice Japanese restaurant.

Zion burst into the restaurant, sweaty and disheleved. As he spotted Lars, he ran over to the table and slammed his hands down, almost knocking the whole thing over.

"Man, I'm fucking sorry but we gotta talk!!" he screamed. People in the restaurant did their best to glance at them inconspicuously.

Lars stared at him, taking a few seconds to process what was going on.

"Zion?!" he exclaimed, but in more of a hushed whisper than Zion had allowed himself to speak in. "Is right now the best time and place for whatever this is?"

"No!" he replied, tugging his dreads out of his face. "But we gotta talk about it now! I'm sorry, man, I fucked up, I need help. I fucked up!"

He looked around the restaurant. "We can't fucking talk here. Call a car, we can't talk here." People were starting to reach for their cellphones; he lowered his face and tucked his large bejeweled "Z" pendant into his hoodie.

Lars furrowed his brows at the people talking out their phones and hurriedly tosses a bill on the table as he ushers Zion out the front door. He pulls his phone out to text for their ride.

He looked at Zion, frowning very deeply.

"...what did you do?" he asked, his voice taking a serious tone that he hasn't had to use in a very long time.

"...Okay, you gotta promise me you won't be pissed. Okay, well not super pissed. I'm really fucking sorry. I was--it was a mistake, yaknow?! People make mistakes. Aw shit, I fucked up..."

He pulled at his dreads, tapping his foot impatiently on the sidewalk. "Where the fuck is that car? Papparazzi are gonna come or some shit."

"Well, that is your fault for making a huge scene in public," he said pointedly, but despite that worry gnawed at his stomach.

Finally, they were seated in the backseat of the car, and Lars looked at Zion pointedly.

"Explain. Now."

"The fucking driver can hear us," he whispered. "Nah, this has gotta wait til we're alone. I fucked up big time. My whole career is at stake." He fidgeted in his seat like a child on a roadtrip. "Can't this metal can go any fucking faster?! Shit!"

"Zion," he started and then just stopped.

He was worried first, and yet partially a bit relieved that he wasn't the only one who had fucked up recently and hugely. But this likely meant he would have to fix this mistake as well. He sighed, leaning back in his seat and thinking about how much he would like a fix at the moment.

Only once they were safely in Lars's apartment with the doors and windows shut and locked did Zion finally visibly relax at all, letting out a huge breath of air.

"...Okay. So, there's this guy who's blackmailing me. It's the fucking choreographer. He knows I'm gay, and he's asking for shit or he's gonna out me. My career's gonna be fucking over, Lars!"

Lars looked at Zion for a few moments, a million things occurring to him all at once. Firstly, his suspicions about Zion and the choreographer were more or less cemented in now. Secondly, Zion was just as big of an idiot as he had been hoping he wasn't. And thirdly, he couldn't tell if he was more sad or more angry.

He settled on being angry.

"What did you expect to happen?" Lars said, a sharp edge to his voice that he wasn't entirely meaning for. "And why should I help you?"

Tears started pooling in Zion's eyes. He gripped Lars's dress shirt.

"It was a mistake, okay! I'm sorry, it was fucking stupid, but you really hurt me. I was scared, and I was alone...I made a huge fucking mistake. Please, I don't wanna lose everything over something this stupid. He doesn't even mean anything!!"

"So, let me get this straight," Lars said, eyeing Zion desperately clinging to his shirt. "You're allowed to make mistakes, but I'm not? And now that it's biting you in the ass, you can't even fucking fix it your own goddamn self? Am I getting this right, Zion?"

He gritted his teeth because it wasn't fair for him to be saying any of this but he was so hurt and angry that he couldn't stop himself.

"Why should I help you?" he asked, digging his nails into his fist. "Why should I?"