Page 23 of Kiss Me Honey Honey (To Love a Psycho #2)

chapter twenty-tw o

Psycho Killer

How the hell was he supposed to keep his head down?

Knowing there was someone out there—someone right here on this campus—who wanted to make Aaron pay for the sins of his parents, for the horrors he had no hand in but could never outrun, how could Kenny even think he could stay calm? Every time the shop door creaked open, his stomach twisted, and his pulse hammered. He flinched instinctively, glancing up with wide, darting eyes.

The paranoia gripping him since Taylor’s cruel, thoughtless video was already suffocating. Everyone had been watching him, whispering behind their hands, as if he was a sideshow attraction instead of a person. But this was worse. Now someone was actually after him. Someone clever. Dangerous. Evil .

A fucking psychopath!

He ground his teeth as the thought roared through his head. Psycho . Like his parents. Like the blood in his veins. Was that why this was happening? Because no matter how far he ran, no matter how hard he tried to be someone else, he was still theirs ?

“Shit.” He scrubbed a hand down his face, leaning heavily against the counter, staring at the clock as though sheer willpower could make it speed up. Each tick felt like a countdown, not to the end of his shift, but to when the madman found him. He was on display here. A fish in a bowl. The eyes of every customer burned into his skin, accusing, mocking. They knew. All knew . They were just waiting for the show. For his inevitable downfall. The grand finale.

Aaron didn’t blame them.

Who wanted a Howell on their doorstep?

The door chimed again, and his heart lurched into his throat. Lottie. Blonde. Pretty. Young. Innocent. She smiled and waved as if the world wasn’t collapsing, as if there wasn’t a fucking monster prowling the campus, hunting. Killing people exactly like her .

His stomach churned.

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

Why weren’t the police saying anything? Why weren’t they issuing a statement, telling everyone to stay inside, to lock their doors, to avoid roses, for God’s sake, and— Jesus Christ —not to kiss anyone? Nausea rolled through him and he gripped the edge of the counter until his knuckles turned white.

What the hell were the police doing, anyway? Nothing . As always. Running around in circles, chasing their own damn tails, accomplishing fuck all. They didn’t care about him. Why would they? He was nothing to them. Less than nothing. Just the legacy of a couple of infamous killers. A stain on their record. An inconvenient reminder of a case they wanted to bury. Fuck, Jack would probably shake the hand of the man who was planning to kill him! Provide him with the gun to do it, then reward him with a medal after. One more Howell erased from existence. One less problem for the world to deal with. And one less man to steal Kenny’s attention from him. He wasn’t sending him protection. There was no police officer watching him.

A sharp pang of fury spiked through Aaron’s fear. He pressed a palm to his chest, willing his heart to slow down, willing himself not to spiral.

But how could he not ?

The air in the shop felt heavy, cloying, suffocating. And the clock kept ticking. He was back to watching it count down and waiting. Always fucking waiting.

“Hey, Aaron.”

Aaron blinked himself out of his trance. “Sade, hey.” He straightened, getting himself back in check to scan his pole dancing society president’s minimal shopping of a loaf of bread and spreadable cheese through the till. Mundane tasks. That’s what Dr Riley had said too. When his feelings overloaded him, do something mundane.

“You all right?” Sade asked, shoving the groceries into her bag, and tilting her head to get in his line of sight.

“Yeah. No.” Aaron pointed at the card reader. “Two pound fifty.”

“Give us a scratch card.” She tapped her nail on the glass casing of the lottery cards. “Need some luck.”

“Don’t we all.” Aaron ripped one off, scanned it, and handed it over. “Four pound fifty. Reader’s ready.”

Sade buzzed her contactless from her phone screen. “Heard you split up with Taylor.” She gave him a sympathetic smile, as if she thought that was what had Aaron preoccupied and not some nut job trying to reclaim the power his mother had severed from him along with his dick. At aged thirteen!

“Yeah.” Aaron rubbed his returning headache. “You want a receipt?”

“Nah. What I do want is a Pole Dancing social event.” She gave him a look. “Y’know, what your committee role requires you to do?”

Aaron scrubbed a hand down his face. “Yeah, I know. I’ll get onto it. Been a bit…busy. ”

“We’ve got a bunch of first years joined, so we need to do something.”

“I know. I will.”

“Good. Just avoid next week. I’ve got lab finals.”

Aaron nodded and watched her walk to the door before a thought struck, fierce and alarming. “Sade?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re on a chemistry degree?”

“Natural sciences.”

“Yeah. Whatever. You have access to the labs here?”

“Course.”

Aaron’s heart jolted, and he checked his phone for the time. “I finish in ten minutes. Don’t suppose you can hold off until then and let me in the labs?”

“Why do you wanna go to the labs? No one will be there this time of night.”

Good . “It’s for uh…” He wracked his brains for what might get Sade to cave. What did she want from him? Then, switching on his liar mode, he winced. “A TikTok video idea. Need those benches and stuff.” God, she would not fall for that. It was ludicrous.

Sade furrowed her brow. “You want to go to the labs now to record a video ?”

“Yeah. It has that white sterile look I need.”

“I could get in trouble…”

“Just open the door, pretend you went in to get something, and I’ll sneak in behind.”

She gave him a sceptical look.

“I’ll sort out the social as soon as I’ve done this. And you said it yourself, I go on TikTok, it could bring us more members. It’s the labs or the health ward. But that’s creepy as fuck with all those dead mannequins.” Although would probably be a lot less creepy than an actual, real live murderer concocting death toxins in lip balms .

But Sade didn’t need to know that.

Sade sighed. “Fine. I’ll meet you outside.”

Aaron smiled in gratitude, then had to get through the next ten minutes of his shift whilst making a plan for why the fuck he was going to the labs. Impulsive idea. DI Bellend needed evidence. But couldn’t search for it himself without a warrant or something like that. Aaron didn’t have that problem. If he had a look around the lab and stumbled on anything that could implicate this Peter Middleton or whoever he was now, then an arrest could happen quicker than waiting for him to strike again.

Evidence. That’s what he was looking for. Proof.

Once he’d locked up the shop and shoved on his denim jacket, he met Sade outside in the biting cold.

“Can’t believe I’m doing this.” She tutted and angled her head.

Aaron could tell her it was to save any more murders on campus, but he’d explain that if and when he had Peter locked up, and so they hurried over the campus lawn toward the science buildings.

University of Ryston’s Natural Sciences loomed like a fortress in the night, tall glass panels gleaming under the glow of scattered streetlights. The structure was modern, all sharp edges and steel frames. A far cry from the Psychology building’s antiquated structure. This was where innovative research took place and Aaron felt dwarfed by it. The wide expanse of its entrance hall was eerily empty. To be expected, considering it was past eight p.m. And inside, the crisp air was sterile, carrying a faint tang of ethanol and cleaning solutions, where the soft hum of vending machines and the occasional scuff of shoes from the students hunched over the late-night study pods tucked into the far corners broke the silence.

Sade led him deeper, passing rows of locked offices and glass-walled laboratories, each one a showcase of spotless workstations and high-tech equipment. The building had an unsettling stillness, like the calm before a storm.

Or maybe that was Aaron’s mind.

“You better make it a good one.” Sade stopped in front of a set of double doors.

Aaron forced a grin. “It’ll be worth it. Trust me. We’ll win club of the year for sure.”

She swiped her card, and the doors clicked open to reveal a pristine chemistry lab. Blindingly white, with long countertops lined with neatly arranged glassware, fume hoods, and racks of chemical bottles. Everything ordered and precise.

“I can help.” Sade glanced around. “Hold the camera or something?”

“No, no. You go.” Aaron gestured toward the door. “I’m still figuring out the shot. Thanks for this, though. Seriously.”

Sade eyed him. “Just don’t touch any chemicals. Or set anything on fire.”

“Me? Never.” He splayed a hand over his chest in mock innocence.

“And don’t forget to plan the pole social.” She pointed at him as she backed out.

Aaron nodded, watching as the door clicked shut behind her. The silence following was all-consuming, the hum of the air vents magnifying in the emptiness. He inhaled, chemical-scented air stinging his nostrils, and tried to steady his nerves as he scanned the room, mind racing through what little plan he had. Especially as he had no clue what constituted as evidence. A handwritten note detailing how to kiss someone to death, perhaps?

So, he searched. Opening drawers and cupboards at random. Inside were the expected supplies. Pipettes, measuring cylinders, gloves, neatly labelled vials. He moved quickly but quietly, looking for anything. Then, at the far end of the room, a section partitioned off by a frosted glass divider caught his attention. It looked unused, forgotten, but the sign on it said, Technician . What had Kenny said? The bloke was the technician? If the bloke was using these labs to modify the lip balms, then he’d do it in the privacy of his own pod, right?

The frosted glass blurred the contents inside, but as Aaron edged closer, he could make out a bag slumped on the counter behind. A plastic carrier bag. He snuck through the partition door, the space dimly lit apart from a faint glow from the lab’s main lights filtering through, and he lifted on his heels to peer inside the bag.

Lip balms.

He was in the right place, at least.

Now he just needed to find a recipe or formula for changing whatever was in those into a deathly toxin designed to kill. That would be enough, surely?

“What are you doing in here?”

Aaron froze, fear flaring like a match inside him. Shit.

He turned slowly, and his blood ran cold. Peter stood in the doorway, hood down, revealing the full extent of the damage to his face. The scars carved jagged paths over his sunken cheeks and forehead, his nose twisted as though shattered and never healed properly. His lips—if they could even be called that—were little more than uneven strips of skin, remnants of what had once been, and his pale, watery eyes glinted with suspicion. He tilted his head, expression unreadable.

What could he say? He was cornered, unarmed, and completely out of his depth. His mind scrambled for an answer, for a way to diffuse the tension coiling in the air like a snake ready to strike. He had no lip balm left to say he’d dropped it. He’d given that to Kenny! And he wasn’t a Natural Science student. Nor chemistry. Or any other person who had the right to be in here, right now. But he hadn’t got what he’d come in here for .

He held up his hands in surrender. “Sorry, I was just…curious.”

It was horrifying. To think this man—broken and scarred—was the one orchestrating deaths so easily, so casually. To turn something as tender and intimate as a kiss into a weapon of death. Yet, despite the revulsion churning in his stomach, Aaron couldn’t stop the pang of sympathy worming its way into his chest.

He knew what Peter had been through. Knew, in excruciating detail, what his parents had done to him. Stripping him of his dignity, his autonomy, his very humanity. What if it had been him ? What if he’d had all that taken from him? How would that have affected him? What if he couldn’t kiss Kenny? Couldn’t feel Kenny’s hands on him, gripping him, stroking him, driving him to the edge of blissful ecstasy as he had last night.

“Come for me, baby.”

The thought struck like a blade to his heart. It wasn’t just about desire. It was about the power of connection. How Kenny made him feel alive. Whole . Without that, the simple, vital intimacy of touch, what would be left of him?

As Dr Lyons had pointed out in class so many times, the difference between an ordinary person and a killer was just a few twists and turns. A few broken moments, a few choices made in desperation. He wasn’t sure if that terrified him more, or if it was the haunting realisation of how close Peter’s pain mirrored his own.

Peter arched an eyebrow. “Curious?”

“Yeah. You come in the shop buying all my lip balms. Wanted to know what you did with them.”

“We experiment with them.”

“Right. Yeah. Course.” Aaron rubbed his forehead. “For what?”

“To evaluate the antibacterial or antifungal properties of lip balms infused with antimicrobial agents, such as tea tree oil, honey, or pharmaceutical compounds.” He delivered the explanation in a flat, clinical tone. As if he’d been rolling it around in his head as a response for a while.

“Sick.” Aaron nodded. “Sounds fun.” He turned back to the bag. “Do you…uh…do any other experiments?”

“Like what?”

“Like…investigate whether they could be used as a potential delivery system for active pharmaceutical ingredients?”

“Are you a student here?”

“Yes.” Aaron smiled. “Although, not of chemistry. Or Natural Sciences or whatever.”

“Then what of?”

“Forensic psychology.”

Peter blinked.

“I look into criminal behaviour.” Aaron held his gaze. “Find out what makes someone do something that maybe they shouldn’t.”

“You should leave.”

“Why?”

“Because you don’t belong in these labs.”

“Don’t I?”

Peter narrowed his eyes. “Aaron Jones?”

“Yeah.” Aaron smiled. Sweetly. Heart hammering.

Peter shook his head, then shimmied around him to the bag, opened a cupboard below, and shoved them in. “You need to go.”

Aaron wasn’t getting anywhere. But he needed something . Or this was all for nothing. How could he walk out knowing he concocted deadly toxins in here and used them on unsuspecting girls and not do anything about it?

“Lure him out. Give him what he wants.”

Aaron tugged out his phone from his pocket, unlocked it, and hit the Voice Memo app. He turned the volume down, slipping the phone back into his pocket and hoped it would record whatever happened next.

Peter snapped the cupboard shut, locked it using a key from his pocket, then stood, eyes narrowed.

“I’m sorry my mum did that to your face.” Aaron gave a brief smile, trying to let him know he was on his side. “I’d want revenge, too.”

Peter said nothing. He just stared at him. Assessing him.

“I mean, she’s in prison. For life. And dad topped himself last year, so they are paying for what they did to you. But I get you might not think it’s enough. Especially with how much they took from you. But I’m not sure killing off all blondes is ever going to make you feel better.”

“Who are you?”

“As you said, Aaron Jones. Or, if you want the real name, Child A.” Aaron held out his arms in a display of himself. “That’s who you really want, right?”

“You’re not Child A.”

Aaron laughed. “I wish I wasn’t. But sadly, as my birth certificate will attest, I am a Howell. But you probably know that already. Cause you stole those files, didn’t you?”

“You can’t be Child A.”

“Why? Cause I look normal? Not all monsters are ugly.” He winced, then held out his hands in defence. “That wasn’t a dig, by the way. I like the scars. The rough look. Some people are just too pretty, y’know?”

Peter’s jaw clenched, hands balling into fists at his side.

“Look, you want Child A, right? That’s who you’re looking for? That’s why you killed Carly Reynolds and ransacked her files.”

Peter’s eyes went rabid. “Yes, I want Child A.”

“Well, you found them.” Aaron pointed to his face and smiled. “So there’s no need to go kill a load of innocent blonde chicks.”

“Is this a prank?”

“No. Seriously. It’s not.” Aaron fished his student ID from his pocket and showed it up. “Aaron Jones. The name that was in that file, right?”

“Yes, but—”

“That’s me. Originally a Howell.”

Peter stared at him with a blank, unreadable expression. “The name in that file is wrong.”

Aaron tilted his head. “It isn’t.”

Peter inhaled sharply. “Do you have any idea what I want to do with Child A?”

“I’m guessing it ain’t to go for coffee.” Aaron pocketed his ID. “Which is fine. Can’t fucking stand the stuff. Could go for a tea, though. Have a chat?”

“I want to kill Child A.” Peter was calm, as if testing Aaron’s integrity. “ Torture them.” Then his eyes shifted, cold and callous and frightening. “Do everything to them their mother did to me !” He pounded his fist on his chest.

Aaron swallowed, seeing the transformation from an unassuming disfigured man to this and realised he was perhaps out of his depth. But he was here now. He’d got this far. If the Voice Memo had recorded at least some of Peter’s confession, then that was evidence enough to put him on the suspect list. To arrest him, hopefully. Twenty-four hours in police custody would give Jack and his team time to really search this place and wherever Peter called home. He just needed to keep him talking long enough for Kenny to hear the message and send in the cavalry.

“I totally get it,” Aaron said. “There’s probably a bunch of other men who want to yank my cock off, too. But it won’t make you feel better.”

“It will! Knowing I’ve done to her precious what she did to me!”

“Yeah, granted. Mum’ll be pissed. She’s psycho like that.” Aaron circled a finger around his head in a crazy pose. “She doesn’t like people messing with what’s hers. But she, too, is very good at getting revenge. Even behind bars. I’m going out on a limb to say she had my dad offed. So, why don’t we look at a different way of making you feel better?”

“I can see it now.” Peter edged closer.

“See what?”

“The likeness.”

Aaron’s gut wrenched at that. He knew he looked like his mother. But to be compared to a psychopathic monster wasn’t a compliment, no matter how beautiful she was.

Peter was close to him now, and Aaron fell into the frosted glass partition. “You’re conceited. Vain. Too fucking pretty. Did they use you too?”

“Use me for what?”

“To lure innocent kids to her dungeon?”

“No.” Aaron parked that worrying thought. Who did they use? “I get you’re angry. And hurt. And want to rid the world of the Howells. But why those girls?” He hoped the phone hadn’t switched off and was capturing all this. And that it was admissible in court or whatever loving fuck made it so Jack could arrest this man before anyone else got hurt. Physically and mentally.

“Because they were all like her !” Peter’s scarred face twisted into a grotesque sneer. “Thought they were God’s gift. Flaunting their beauty, thinking nothing could touch them. Too stupid to realise how dangerous it is to kiss strangers.” He let out a manic laugh, jagged and unsettling, echoing through the cold, sterile lab. “All you students are the same. Come to university, throw yourselves around, kiss a few frogs before you find your prince. Well…” He turned sharply, rifling through his things on the countertop. “The frogs get a little pissed off with being thrown back in the pond.”

Aaron used the moment Peter had his back to him to slip his hand into his pocket, fingers fumbling for his phone. He tugged part of it out, the screen illuminating to show the failed Voice Notes. Shit. His heart thudded as he clicked into the recent calls and, muting the volume, he called Kenny before shoving the phone back.

Peter twisted again, facing him, a small tube in his hand, and he unscrewed the cap, eerily calm. Calculating. Scientific . Then he dipped his fingertip into the balm, a glint of something unhinged flashing in his eyes.

“Why did you come here?” Peter asked, head cocked.

“To help you.”

Peter laughed, tossing his head back. He then halted and looked at Aaron. “Okay. You can help me.” He smeared the substance across his fingers, the oily sheen catching the fluorescent light. Then handed the tube across to Aaron. “Not kissed a boy before.”

Aaron forced a weak laugh, brain scrambling for a way out. “Probably should stick to what you like, then, eh?” He inched backward, searching blindly for an opening in the partitioned section. “Can’t force sexuality.”

“Take it.” Peter waggled the balm. “If you’re a Howell, this is the perfect thing for you. Everyone will want to kiss you. Look at you! Perfect specimen. You could commit mass murder with that face! Won’t your mummy be proud?”

“I’m long since past craving my mother’s pride.” Aaron hit the partition. “And I sort of only really like kissing the one bloke at the moment.”

“Then we’ll have to put a stop to that.” Peter tutted. “This might be too easy. You came right to me!”

Aaron’s pulse raced, and sweat slicked his palms despite the chill in the room. “Yeah. I have a knack for getting myself into sticky situations.”

Then he found it—a gap. An escape. Aaron snuck through, quick but clumsy, adrenaline surging to make his limbs jittery. He stumbled into the main lab, the sterile expanse feeling more oppressive than ever, and the counters stretched out in gleaming rows, lit harshly by the blinking overhead lights. The smell of ethanol mixed with something sharper, acrid, clawing at his senses.

“Just don’t kiss anyone who isn’t me.”

Seemed an easy enough task. Aaron never wanted another person’s lips on him except Kenny’s. Ever.

But Peter came for him.

His presence filled the room, like a predator stalking prey. “Where do you think you’re going?” he called, voice dripping with mockery. “You said you wanted to help. So help !”

Aaron hit the long central bench, the edge biting into his thighs, and he searched for anything he could use as a weapon. Beakers, pipettes, a rack of test tubes. Nothing that would give him a real chance. Back to using his wits, it was, then.

“I meant get you some help. Therapy? Know a great doctor—”

Peter lurched forward, disfigured face twisting into something feral. “Therapy?” he spat, voice a jagged growl. “You think therapy can help me ? How is talking supposed to bring back my face? How is it supposed to make me forget what your darling mummy carved out of me? Talking doesn’t stop the way people look at me! Doesn’t make me stop wanting to burn her, and everything she ever loved, to the fucking ground!”

Aaron forced himself to hold Peter’s gaze, lifting his hands, palms out in surrender. “Hey, I get it. Believe me, I get it. Therapy sucks. It’s a nightmare. They dig into your guts and drag out every single feeling you’ve been trying to bury. They don’t give a fuck that you just want to forget. No, they make you remember . Make you pick at every scab, every scar, until it bleeds all over again.”

Peter’s eyes burned with a storm of fury and despair, threatening to consume him whole.

“It makes you weak.” Aaron’s voice cracked as he pressed on. Because he did know. Understood exactly what it was like to not want to feel. “It strips you bare, takes every ounce of strength you’ve fought to hold on to, and leaves you with nothing but pain. And it reminds you that you’re still human. When all you want is to be the monster. The monster who tears down the injustice, the cruelty, the evil .”

Peter stilled, a hint of hesitation breaking through the mask of rage. Aaron saw it—the crack in the armour. It was a knife’s edge, and Aaron knew he had to tread carefully. Or he’d fall on that blade.

“You think I don’t want to scream?” Aaron punched his chest. “You think I don’t want to rip apart everything that reminds me of them? Of what they did? Of what I’ll always be because of them? But you can’t destroy yourself for them. Don’t let them win.”

Peter’s jaw clenched, balling his fists at his sides. “Easy for you to say. You weren’t the one they butchered. The one they left to crawl out of the woods like a fucking animal.”

“You’re right.” A tide of sorrow so consuming washed over Aaron, as though he were drowning, swallowed by the crushing depths of his despair. “But I’m still bleeding for them. Every single day.”

Peter stared at him, his rage faltering for a moment, replaced by an almost kinship. But it was fleeting. And the fire returned, burning brighter, fiercer, swallowing any shred of connection that might have existed.

“My mum, what she did? She’s a monster. You’re not like her. Killing me, or anyone else, won’t fix anything.”

Peter’s lips curled into a grotesque smirk. “It’s not about fixing anything. It’s about balance. The world needs balance.”

Balance? This bloke was totally off balance. Unhinged.

“You are just like her. Thinking you’re invincible. That the world revolves around your pretty little face.” Peter held up his hand, the balm glistening on his fingers. “Well, let’s see how pretty you are when you’re gasping for air.”

He then lunged.

Aaron grabbed a glass beaker from the bench and hurled it in his direction. The glass shattered on the floor, scattering shards across the tiles, and Peter flinched but didn’t stop, so Aaron scrambled around the bench, trying to put distance between them. He grabbed another object—a heavy metal Bunsen burner stand—and flailed it. Peter dodged, the stand clanging onto the counter with a deafening crash.

“You’re making this more fun than I expected,” Peter said, his voice tight with exertion, grin widening as he cornered Aaron against a cabinet. “But you can’t run from this. It’s your destiny.”

“Really fucking hate this destiny shit.”

Aaron barely registered the movement before a cold mist sprayed across his face, icy droplets clinging to his skin like venom. He staggered back, coughing violently, chest tightening as if iron bands were wrapping around his ribs. His eyes burned, watering uncontrollably, and a strange numbness spread across his lips and cheeks.

“Oh, fuck,” Aaron gasped. His skin felt wrong, tingling and alien, as if something crawled just beneath the surface. He clawed and scratched, desperate to rid himself of the sensation, but his movements were slow, disconnected, like a puppet with tangled strings.

Peter’s laugh was low and guttural, cutting through the fog in Aaron’s brain. “I’m going to enjoy this.”

Aaron’s legs buckled, and he reached blindly for something— anything —to keep upright, but he only met air. He went down hard, the impact rattling through him, though he barely felt it. His body wasn’t his own anymore. It was heavy, unresponsive, as if he was submerged in thick, freezing water. His vision blurred, shapes and shadows blending together. Somewhere above him, Peter’s voice loomed, muffled now, distorted as if filtered through layers of static.

Move! Get up! Don’t let them win!

But the fog thickened, Aaron’s thoughts unravelling. The cold tile beneath him pressed against his cheek, grounding him just enough to hear the surrounding sounds—the scrape of a stool being dragged, Peter’s heavy breathing, the soft metallic clink of tools being arranged.

Oh, God. Was this it? Was he really going to die here? The thought clawed at his mind, brutal and unrelenting. He lay on the cold, unfeeling floor of the lab, the sterile air choking him as his vision blurred and darkened. The bright, unforgiving fluorescents above burned through him, searing into the last fragments of his consciousness.

This can’t be how it ends . His heart pounded in a wild, erratic rhythm, echoing in his ears, the only sign that his body was still fighting. Still alive. But everything else was slipping away. His limbs leaden. Thoughts tangled as the fog crept over his mind.

From somewhere far away, a voice cut through the haze. Sharp. Commanding. Familiar . But Aaron couldn’t make sense of it. Couldn’t focus. Everything around him blurred together into an overwhelming cacophony. Crashes. Metallic clangs. The scrape of something heavy. It was chaos. And distant. Like a dream.

Dream a little dream of me…

“Aaron!” The voice was closer now, cutting through the noise and the desperation in it pulled deep within him, forcing him to cling to the fraying edges of reality.

A sudden jolt. Hands gripping his jacket, shaking him with enough force to rattle the fog loose for a fleeting moment. Aaron blinked, vision swimming until, finally, it cleared just enough to see.

The sight might be enough to restart his heart.

Because the most beautiful man he’d ever seen loomed above him, panic etched into his features, eyes wide and wild. Kenny . His lips moved, calling Aaron’s name, but the muffled words were coming out as though he were underwater. Aaron tried to focus, tried to pull back, but his body felt foreign, uncooperative. Even now, on the edge of something unspeakable, the sight of Kenny still sparked something in him—a fleeting, aching longing .

He blinked, mind spinning with the cruel, bitter irony. Of course it’s him. The last thing I get to see before I go and I can’t even kiss him. Life really wasn’t fair.

He opened his mouth, his voice barely more than a whisper, hoarse and broken. “Don’t kiss me, doc. Please don’t kiss me.”

Kenny crumpled above him, expression twisting between heartbreak and fury. “Stay with me, baby. You better fucking stay . With. Me .”

Aaron wanted to laugh, to say, yeah, all right , but the effort was too much and the outcome futile. He wasn’t supposed to be with Kenny. That wouldn’t balance the world. And the world tilted then, slipping further into the shadows.

The last thing he felt was Kenny’s grip tightening on him, anchoring him as everything else fell away.