~~They had kissed once. It was a simple kiss on the lips, probably a misunderstanding, really, and probably something both of them would forget later. It was impulse.

Was he only imagining there was something more there?

He lay awake in a messy bed, caramel curls brought to flight by the draft from the window. The sky outside was mixed with colours like one would find in a paint cup: greys, blacks, blues. Tiny stars pinpointed Neverland against the sea of black, and waves of moonlight spilled into the room with the grace of swans.

Neverland, huh? He chuckled quietly, earthy brown eyes gazing at the pastel ceiling. Maybe... it was just a dream. Maybe he didn't really kiss me. Why would he?

He remembered the moment with some clarity. Bits would fade into his mind from time to time, while others would drift away. The unfamiliar boy had known his name; he beckoned him from the shadows, calling softly, "Ross..." It was like a trance fell over him after that. The stranger's voice was soft, lulling, reminiscent of his long-deceased mother in both tone and effect, even for a young man's. Upon hearing it, Ross's body seemed to move of its own accord to the dark alleyway, where if one looked close enough, they could make out a dark shape with green eyes, flickering in and out of existence.

When the sound of his footsteps ceased, he was face to face with a peculiar person. His skin was porcelain white, and his face was fringed with black bangs that swept neatly over his eyes, leaving the emerald irises visible. It was such a magnificent hue, unlike any human's, as if someone had coloured them in with neon marker. Somehow he felt he could stare forever, yet another part of him felt like a rabbit kicking inside a trap, trying to escape before the hunter gutted it.

He seemed ageless. Any time Ross settled on a certain number of years, the boy's face shifted again. He was inconsistency in a human form. His best bet on the stranger's age was the same as his own, 15 - he felt it in his gut - but how he knew this to be true, he didn't know.

In that moment all other sounds faded away.

"Ross."

The strange boy smiled.

And then there was the kiss.

It was short-lived. Too short, it seemed, and not just for Ross. He didn't understand who this boy was, why he had done that, but in his soul he felt something had been broken, cut short. The pupils that had been staring into his previously now retreated further into their green outer shell, showing signs of nervousness. Sounds were beginning to return, and the stranger, now clearly panicked, moved away.

"Where are you going? Who are you?" Ross tried to say, but no words could come out. Were his lips even moving? He couldn't tell. The boy ran into an alleyway that seemed to be getting darker, until he faded from sight completely.

To Ross's horror, he couldn't move. Tendrils of shadow raced towards him from the end of the alley. He was now the rabbit, trying to kick free from the hunter's trap, but it was much too late. As much as he felt something had been stolen from him, he also felt as if he were a thief himself. Something had been broken in that moment their lips touched, and now- now this darkness pursued him, vengeful, angry.

In a few seconds, everything was black, and the last thing Ross felt was a scream desperately trying to escape from his throat.

---x---x---x---x---x---

He later awoke in that same alleyway. From what he could derive from his surroundings, it was still evening. Something had happened, he knew that much. There was a boy...

The name Seth came to mind, and he recalled piercing green eyes that saw right through him, as well as the voice that was like a lullaby. His head and chest both ached horribly, but Ross knew he had to move. The alleyway was lit now by the evening sun; was it brighter than before? No, that couldn't be. He shook his head at himself only to yelp in pain. It was like someone had punched him!

Maybe the entire thing was just a dream he had concocted. That made sense. He was in an alley at almost night, alone, slumped against a wall with agonizing pain racing through him. Someone must have beat him up.

Feeling that he was forgetting something, Ross stood, leaning against the brick wall for support. He began to walk out towards his home, but before he left the alley, he swore he heard someone whisper a few steps behind him, "Ross."

Quickly he whipped around, and for a split second there was a black mist that dissipated instantly. He stood there a moment, eyes scanning the area, before he sighed. I'm being paranoid again... ugh. Probably has to do with my head injury.

The rest of the way home was peaceful. Those quick glimpses of black shadows continued, usually accompanied by his name, a whimper, or a word that couldn't be interpreted. It was eight thirty three when he got to his house, and he gladly collapsed on the couch, feeling absolutely exhausted.

Dad was still at work. Mom was still in the grave. Neither of those things would be changing anytime soon, it seemed.

His older came out then, sitting on his legs. Her hair was a vomitus mess of purple; her tee drooped low enough to reveal a polka-dotted bra underneath, and her shorts were in actual truth shorter than her underwear. With a stick of gum between her well-looked after teeth, his sibling shot him a look of what could be seen as concerned or annoyed. Probably both.

"Hey nerd, where ya been?" For once her phone was somewhere other than her hands. It sat on the table nearby, and he found it odd that she hadn't grabbed it and started using it prior to asking him where he had been. She was showing a surprising amount of concern. 17 and only just now maturing... Jeez. What a great older sister.

"I was out on a walk. Didn't I tell you before I left?" Ross asked, a flicker of doubt in his mind. Had he told her he was going out? The memory was absent from his head. Knowing himself, he assumed he did. He was seen as responsible by all who knew him, and unless he wanted to get in trouble, he never left without saying so.

His sister's eyes, the color of the sky, rolled in her head. "No, dingus." She exhaled loudly and shot him a sidelong glance. "Listen, I know I seem all carefree, and you're a responsible kid, but... Me and Dad worry about you. A lot. Don't scare me like that again, okay?"

Ross nodded, his curls swaying a bit. "Good," she said, and as she stood, he could feel the significant ache in his legs. "I made mac and cheese while you were out. It's the good stuff. Kraft, man. Never lets us down. Help yourself, but save some for Dad, in case he gets home." After retrieving her phone, she returned to her room, not to come out for the next several hours.

The mac and cheese on the stove didn't appeal to him - he lacked hunger for some odd reason - but a loud grumbling noise from his stomach reminded him that what one should do is not always what one wants to do. Ross grabbed a small bowl and dipped out some noodles. The liquid squelched in defiance as it was collected in a ladle, and with a twinge of disgust he noticed that the cheese was practically dripping. Charlotte's never been the best at cooking... at least she tried, Ross thought.

It tasted nice, though. Neither his father nor sister cooked as well as his mother had; it was the hole in their home that they never spoke of, the event that was never brought up. Ross had inherited his mother's excellent culinary skills. On most nights, he would cook for the family. Several times he had caught his family members tearing up over food he had prepared.

"Your food tastes just like Mom's, you know?" his sister had told him once, her perfectly applied mascara near ruin. Of course, she dabbed the tears away; Charlotte never cried in front of him. She'd never admit it, but she really did take her older sister duties seriously. The ugly mac and cheese was proof enough.

How can something taste so good, but look so terrible?

---x---x---x---x---x---

Later that night, he found himself laying in bed as the wind surged through the ajar window. Caramel eyes fixed on the ceiling, Ross recalled the contradictory kiss: that boy - his lips had felt like Alaskan cold and Bahamas hot all at once, like the feeling of maple syrup and orange juice at the same time. It was comparable to a concoction of every high and every low of his life in the span of what was, at most, two and a half seconds.

Suddenly outside, the sky split down the middle as light filled the sky and clouds boomed proudly, grey heads held high. The rain came hurtling down like hooves of horses. Ross pulled himself out of bed to shut the window. A second before the window closed, he felt as if something had landed on his cheek. It was the same hot and cold feeling, accompanied by a quiet, almost longing, "Ross."

Naturally this made him jump, and he was quick to scurry back to his bed. For a moment he was tempted to return to a child's state of mind and hide under the covers, but he refused himself such a security. In a few minutes his heart stopped racing, and he could breathe normally again. His eyelids grew heavy with the weight of exhaustion. Ross fought to keep them open for fear of what waited for him when he was unconscious. But the bed's warmth was all too lulling; the rain plopping pointlessly against his window and the urge to sleep only added onto his burden until he could no longer fight it. Soon he was asleep.

The last noise he heard in his awakened state was a door opening and shutting downstairs.

2: The Reject Pile

Surprisingly, the night's sleep had yielded no nightmares. It was as dreamless as a summer sky is cloudless, and when Ross sat up, he found that most of the aches from yesterday had dissipated. His head's throbbing had reduced to a tolerable pain. A distinct smell of pancakes wafted from the downstairs, causing the boy to rouse himself from the warmth of the bedsheets.

He ambled down the brown carpeted stairs and into the kitchen where the smell originated. His father was there, busily flipping pancakes from the pan to a large plate. Charlotte was nowhere to be seen, which was odd, considering she was the first to wake up every morning.

"Where's Char?" Ross mumbled, rubbing the sleep from his eyes. His father didn't move from his spot, and neither did his gaze. With the last pancake flipped, he turned off the stove and turned towards his son.

"I don't know, kiddo. She left early this morning. She's probably out with her friends. Shame, though, because guess who made breakfast this morning?" He grinned, obviously not serious. The reject pancake pile is full today, Ross noted. Charlotte's lucky she's not here... I'll make her bury these poor souls in the backyard later, I guess. May they rest in peace.

"I could tell it was you," Ross replied, chuckling and tinting red from laughter. "Charlotte uses a little less SMOKE in her pancakes."

His dad leaned back on the kitchen wall, looking wistfully through the window. "You kids inherited your mother's cooking skills... Especially you. If you had been up earlier, I would have had you make them, but I didn't want to wake you. You looked pretty tired when I peeked in there. Out like a light." He made a gesture with his hand, fingers splaying out as he made a quiet "woop" sound. Then the man grabbed a sad looking pancake and took a bite out of it.

His face became that of a sour plum. "It's good," he said as he chewed, features scrunched up.

"I'll make breakfast, dad," Ross said as he took over the stove, "but on one condition: Go bury the reject pile with the rest. Actually, save that lopsided one for Charlotte. She gets to bury it."

---x---x---x---x---x---

Around noon Ross took to using his computer. Curiosity was a curling snake inside him that threatened to bite if not appeased. The events of yesterday had not been forgotten, only pushed aside for the time, and now they were demanding to be heard. In the search engine, he typed in key words of the events that happened, hoping to find an answer.

Nothing substantial came up. One website, however, snatched his attention. It was dedicated to paranormal activity, and though Ross scarce believed in such things, it piqued his interest. He clicked it once. Then a second time. Then a third. Each click redirected him back to the search engine. Frustrated, he shut down the tab altogether and did the next best thing.

Shyanne picked up her phone within a matter of seconds. "Roooooss! What's happening, bro? What do you need?" the energetic girl on the other line inquired. He could see her perfectly in his head, with the phone wedged between her shoulder and ear as she typed away on her keyboard, probably writing or researching. In fact, he could hear the click-clack in the background, as while as the barely-noticeable hum she made when hard at work.

"Hey, you're the only one I can talk to right now. Something weird happened yesterday," he started, and Shyanne audibly perked, her typing paused to listen to his tale. "Go on, don't leave me in suspense, dude!"

Ross took a deep breath in to steady himself and sat down on his bed, cell to his ear. "Well, I was walking out by my house, and I heard a voice calling me. It was..." He took a shaky inhale, then continued. "A voice I'd never heard, yet so familiar. I couldn't help but follow it to this alley... and there was this dark shadow there, but when I got close it was a boy..."

His friend's breath left her quickly. "Child! What have I told you about going off into alleys on your own? Are you crazy? Do you not watch ANY of the horror movies I so graciously give to you?" In truth, he didn't. Horror had never been his favorite genre; it never scared him even once, and knowing it was all fake ruined any potential appeal. He held back a chuckle and continued his narrative.

"I know, I know, but I really couldn't help it. He was just staring at me. And then he kissed me and I can't begin to describe how it made me feel-"

"Ross, we've talked about this. I don't wanna hear about your gay man boners, keep that shit to yourself."

He sighed, a smile appearing against his will. "It wasn't like that. It was just really weird, okay? But then he ran away, and there was this darkness that knocked me out, and I woke up hurting like all h-hell later." The swear, though mild, was like a dab of butter in his mouth. More accurately, it was like a bar of soap, as that would had been placed in his mouth if he swore back when Mom was alive. The cuss words never felt right to him. "It was paranormal for sure. I looked it all up online and found nothing, so I thought you might know, being an expert and all."

Shyanne laughed. "Me? An expert? You flatter me. I'm an enthusiast." She then clicked her tongue, a habit she had when deep in thought. "Can't say I know of anything like this. Describe what he looked like? Coulda been a spector."

"Well, at first, from a distance, he looked like a black shadow that wasn't completely there, but when I got close... His face looked like it was shifting, becoming transparent one second and visible the next. He was paler than any human I've ever seen and had these unearthly green eyes," Ross said, painting a very vivid picture.

Perhaps a little too vivid. "God, you sound like a YA literature writer. Or a girl in deep, deep love," Shyanne joked at his expense, to which he rolled his eyes, used to such insinuations. "Spectors can look like humans, I've heard, but they don't shift like you described. And they can't physically hurt you either. Did he look dead? It could have been a ghoul, then."

"He was alive. I'm positive. He was very warm," replied Ross, trying to sound certain. "He had eyes like a living person." He wasn't so sure of himself, however. Yes, he'd felt warm - but he'd also felt cool at the same time. Maybe it was a ghoul in a freshly dead body? No, there would have been a death mark somewhere, and dead bodies don't talk.

"Huh. I'll keep my eyes open for any similar stories and ask around. There's probably something I've been forgetting... I'm gonna go. Bye, Ross. Stay tight. And if you see that boy again, remember, keep it in your pants." The last thing he heard before his friend hung up was her chuckling madly, fingers smacking the keyboard.

---x---x---x---x---x---

The gentle August breeze whistled through the still-green treetops of the woods where Ross came to relax. Geese honked overheard on their way towards the South; probably to sunny Florida or Georgia, anywhere but the wintry fortress of Michigan weather. Rays of sun from overhead did not cancel out the cool winds, and so he wore a plain black hoodie over his neatly tucked in red shirt. He sat on the ground, back against a tall oak tree, thinking deeply.

There was the theory it was a dream, which, considering the trance he'd seemingly fallen under when it occurred, was a likely possibility. Yet it felt so real, and he'd woken up with pains all over, and in the setting of his dream no less. That ruled it out in his mind.

Before he could consider any other explanations, a sharp gust of wind cut through, loud enough to hurt his ears. God, that was strong, even for local weather. Is a storm coming again? Ross pondered, looking to the sky. There were clouds, but all were white and unburdened by rain. Storms typically occurred on a once-weekly basis, so another storm after last-night's storm would be a rarity.

Just when he was about to return to his thoughts, a pain-stakingly familiar voice called out to him. "Ross?"

He scrambled to his feet and looked around wildly, panic showing in his hazel eyes. "W-Who's there?" His heart rate elevated, and he tried to calm it, gulping his fear down. A boy with crow-feather hair and grass-blade eyes appeared from behind the tree, smiling timidly at him.

"I didn't mean to give you a scare. My apologies. I just wanted to introduce myself..." He stepped forward and offered his hand.

"I'm Seth. Seth Adarine."