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Impulse felt sick to his stomach.
He was scrolling again, and he hated every word he read.
For some reason, he had decided an hour ago to torture himself by searching his best friend’s name into Twitter. He knew that he would hate everything he saw, but he needed to see the man so commonly depicted as an angel from the eyes of the very people who suddenly couldn’t stand him anymore.
Denial wasn’t a river in Egypt—it was an icy river that coursed through Impulse’s veins.
But he saw it. He let himself see everything. He let himself feel the very hurt that Skizz had caused so many people, and the fact that Skizz had done fucking nothing to make it any better—!
Impulse threw his phone to the other end of his bed. The dull thud was muted to his ears. He knew it meant nothing, but it felt like the only way to get away. His palms reached up harshly to push into his eyes. Maybe he could stop the tears before they drowned him in that same river that suddenly poured out of him.
He was free, but at what cost.
Ignorance was bliss, but staying like that for any longer would turn to arrogance.
They needed to have a talk. The two of them. Imp and Skizz. But Impulse couldn’t get out of bed. The bedroom door had been left open for him by his wife, but all he could wish was that someone would close it for him to he could bawl his eyes out in some privacy. Then he might be able to forget about everything outside of the little bubble he kept to himself.
———
It was another hour later, Impulse sat completely still staring at the ceiling, when his wife came in.
“Scott..?” Her voice was heavy with concern.
Impulse didn’t bother wiping away the salty streaks that still covered his face.
She made some sad noise before slowly moving towards him. “What’s going on in that head of yours, love?”
He wanted to just disappear. Distant shores played behind his distant stare.
She smoothed a hand over his face, smearing the lines that just kept being traced by fresh sadness.
Impulse swallowed his fear thickly.
He couldn’t do nothing anymore.
———
Impulse only half-set up the podcast equipment. He didn’t really expect their recording to even happen that Friday.
Impulse just needed to say it to his face. He needed to see if there was any actual regret behind his friend’s eyes.
He was terrified of what he might see.
So Impulse braced himself near a wall. He stood completely still until Skizz walked through the door and the sound of it made him jump, the stinging immediately returning to his eyes. He turned his face to the floor.
“Dipple Dop! Oh..?” Skizz looked around the guest house they used for the podcast, taking in the mess that didn’t look like how it usually did. “You lose track of time there, buddy?”
Impulse looked sadly up at Skizz. “Sit down, man. I wanna talk to you about something.”
His eyebrows knitted tight together, fingers fiddling nervously. Or maybe out of habit. “Yeah, ya. Alright. What’s up?” Skizz moved slowly to his chair, sinking into it with skepticism. He was almost expecting the whole thing to be a bit for the beginning of the podcast.
Impulse tried to convince himself he wasn’t afraid anymore. “I’m sorry,” he barely whispered.
Skizz immediately started to stand again, ready to envelop his best friend in the biggest, warmest hug he could.
Impulse fliched back before Skizz could even stand to his full height.
“Please, don’t,” Impulse quickly begged, hands reaching in front of him as a shield. “That would make this even worse.”
Impulse leaned against the wall. He knew he wouldn’t be able to stand.
“Scott—?”
“Look, man. There really isn’t much we agree on right now. I’ve been a coward trying to avoid it. But I can’t do it anymore.”
Skizz only managed to blink for all of a second. “What,” he almost laughed out. “What are you talking about?”
Impulse could cry. “Honest? You need to get your priorities straight. You have friends that you can’t think about without being uncomfortable.
“You’re too closed-minded for the community you’re a part of—“
“Where the hell is this coming from, Scott?!”
“Andy—“ he could only choke out.
“No! Stop it! You’re scaring me, man!”
“I can’t pretend to be sincere anymore. I… I can’t. Not when you’re like this.” Impulse took a breath, letting his head fall back against the wall. It was cold and grounding in a way mothing else around him could be.
Usually Skizz was the person that grounded Impulse. They just fit together so well.
Skizz was about to yell again.
Impulse couldn’t stop himself as he blurted out the only though he had. “I don’t think I can be your friend. There’s not much that we agree on right now— no. Sit down, man. Let me finish.”
Skizz obliged, though a fury slunk down with him.
“I needed to say this to your face. It’s just… the way you’ve been ‘handling’ the discourse in your community has been making me feel seriously sick.
“You’re slamming the door on anyone who questions you while letting people only full of hate have a voice still. Their concerned! They’re really fucking hurt. And you’ve done nothing but dig your grave even deeper!
“Seriously… what is going on in your head? If you can’t explain it, then I’m sorry. But we can’t keep being this close.”
Impulse didn’t know what he expected. (Well, he made sure he was a whole room’s length away from Skizz so maybe he had an idea.)
What he didn’t expect, however, was silence. Skizz had never been silent. He was stubborn and reckless and impulsive.
Impulse envied him, if it wasn’t already obvious in the name he had chosen for himself. But… in the moment, it made him hate every second of looking at the man he thought he knew.
“What the fuck are you talking about.”
It wasn’t even a question and it made Impulse nearly collapse to the ground.
“You’re not serious, man. You can’t be.” Skizz’s nose flared for a moment before he laughed. He cackled before slamming his hands into the armrests of his chair. “You’re not fucking serious,” he cheered. “This is a bit. Wow, you’re good! This is hilarious!”
Impulse was terrified.
The both of them were shaking, though for very different reasons.
“Stop, Andy, please—“
“No! No! I see! Just getting my reaction here?! I’ll give you a fucking reaction.” The last part was almost calm, which was much, much worse than the yelling. “How about this..?”
Skizz turned around and grabbed the arm swing of his microphone, picking up the whole thing and causing some cords to rip out. He swung it around and cracked it over the wall. The scrape of metal was dizzying to listen to, and Impulse flinched away with one big movement. He curled in on himself.
A black scruff mark was the only evidence aside from the broken half of the stand.
“Andy! What the hell is your problem?!”
“What? I thought you wanted a reaction from me! Why else would you even say that shit to my face?!” Skizz grabbed the soft chair and threw it over to the door. It crashed but didn’t splinter. “Huh?! Give me a reason!”
“Stop—! You’re scaring me, man!” Anything would be better than what was happening now. If all Skizz did was walk out, never to be seen again, it would have been better. “Stop destroying things!”
“Well, if I’m not your friend anymore, then we won’t need this stuff anyway! What’s the point in keeping useless shit?” Skizz bee-lined for the only camera Impulse cared to set up. He ripped it from its stand and lifted it high above his head.
“Fucking stop!” Impulse all but screamed. He ran towards Skizz and held his arms out just as the camera was about to begin its descent.
The two of them connected roughly.
The camera fell to the floor anyway, along with both of them. The thud was deafening, but not final in the way it seemed almost hollow.
Impulse was on top, hands struggling to grasp Skizz’s wrists to secure him in place.
Skizz had a clear size advantage, and he was able to push Impulse to the side. He quickly and easily trapped Impulse’s wrists against the floor. “Tell me what this is about. Or you don’t want to know what I’m going to do.” He dug his fingers into Impulse’s skin, causing the shorter man to wince at the burst of pain.
It was going to bruise. His wife would ask what happened — or maybe she didn’t have to.
“You’re conservative, man. You’re transphobic while claiming to be friends with Cleo and too caught up in your own bias to say two simple words,” Impulse spat through his pain.
“Cleo doesn’t even count as trans. She’s still a woman.”
That made something unbeknownst to even Impulse stir inside of him.
“What the fuck did you just say?”
“She’s not even trans.” Skizz said slowly at first. Then he couldn’t stop his tone and pace. “She’s probably just wanting something about her to be different. Oh! It’s not hard enough being a woman— now I’m one of those queers, too!”
Something in the way Skizz said ‘queers’ like a slur snapped Impulse. He used everything in himself to push Skizz away.
He grunted loudly as Skizz went tumbling off of him. “She’s my friend,” he hissed. “And they’re supposed to be your friend, too.” He stood with a heat in his eyes.
Skizz looked up at him, pleading. He probably finally realised that Impulse wouldn’tdrop this with a couple threats. “You’re hating me just for what I believe in and it’s not fair—“ His face turned nasty. “I’m supposed to be your best friend, man!”
“You are not my fucking friend.”
“Scott,” he whined. “C’mon!”
“No! I’d rather stay in my own silence than have to sit through your crying, man!”
“But—“
“Get off of my damn property, Andy.”
“You’re not serious—“
“I am,” Impulse growled. “Get. Out.” He felt his face burning. His chest was rattling. His hands were trembling. Every other part of him was completely numb.
Skizz slowly deflated, crumbling in on himself. He stood without another word, not daring to look at Impulse.
Impulse, however, stared. He glared daggars into the side of Skizz’s head in hopes that they could actually pierce him.
Maybe it would be easier if Skizz was dead. Then Impulse wouldn’t have to know the man he was supposed to love was too selfish to care about those around him.
Skizz reached for the door handle and turned it carefully. Just before he could step outside, his feet stuttered.
“Don’t even think about it,” Impulse warned. “And do me a favour and just hang up if you feel like calling me.”
Skizz scrambled out, slamming the door behind him.
Impulse’s legs gave out as he fell loudly to the floor. Tears stung in his eyes again and he let them fall. Nothing was around him but the evidence of how awful of a person Andy was.
Guilt cascaded down his conscience. He knew it would. He knew that the moment Skizz was out of his sight he would collapse because he needed that man more than anyone else in the world.
But he couldn’t do it anymore. He couldn’t censor his life just to make someone else feel more comfortable. He had queer friends, and he couldn’t hurt them anymore to keep Skizz’s “ideals” safe. That man was just too insecure to even think he could change.
Impulse was afraid to speak out. But he did anyway. He was pulled too thin.
Impulse really wasted so much time holding the door open for someone who had every intention of burning the whole damn house down.