Party at the End of the Universe

Two teens who realise that a billboard at bus stops in north London for adverts have been going up for a widow service they say for the one that left us .co .uk. if you go on the website it directs you to two emails, it is not what it seems and so they investigate.

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2. Chapter 2

 

The weak sun glimmered through the water frosted glass upon the two, entangles in bed sheets and blankets, Kajsa, the cat curled up in between them. A chilly breeze darted from the open window brushing against Damien’s face, he groaned as he awoke. He turned on his side, placing a hand underneath his head, and started stroking the purring ball of elated fluff that was a cat. He opened his eyes to the harsh brightness. He was beginning to wish they’d considered using the blinds. He sighed, glancing at Thorvald next to him. He was asleep. Damien watched his bare chest rise and fall slowly in time with his breaths and then mumble something in Swedish under his breath. 

 

“Dia-, I mean, Damien.” His mother shouted from downstairs, it was eight in the morning and he had to do prove he had done his homework before he could go out later. “Do you want breakfast? Can I see your homework?” 

 

“I can’t believe you are in the sixth form and your mother still asks to see your homework every night.” Thorvald murmured as Damien pulled himself out of bed. He looked back only to see Thorvald flash him a childish and sleepy grin. 

 

Damien chuckled whilst pulling on a jumper from a pile on the floor, glancing his reflection in the glass as he walked down stairs with his bag. His pyjama trousers were long and caught under his feet as he shuffled into the kitchen. His mother stood there fully dressed, having gone for a run and started working, despite it being a saturday morning and the temperature had only just nestled at four degrees two hours after she’d come back. 

Damien coughed to clear his throat.

 

“I have my homework in the bag.” He paused to cough again. He could feel the words scratching in his throat. “I couldn’t figure out the right translation of ‘rem’ in the context of this, but, I’ve done everything else.” 

 

His mothers eyes narrowed slowly, taking the folder from the bag, flipping through the section of the 

folder labelled homework, scouring the pages for incompleteness. She didn’t find any, blank inked letters were scrawled across many pages in his handwriting. 

 

“That’s good, dear.” She paused to check the oven timer, “But I want this sentence with ‘rem’ done by the end of the week, and I expect all of your work to be put into some revision note format.” 

 

Damien nodded, taking his folder back and putting it in his bag. He walked to the cupboard and grabbed to coffee mugs, swinging his bag over his shoulder and pouring coffee in both. In one, he put two sugars and in the other, cinnamon. He clasped both again and carried them upstairs, watching his mother run out the door with three bags of bread, the house shuddering slightly as she slammed the door behind her. 

 

He walked in with the two mugs in either hands, trying not to trip over his trouser legs as he walked into the room. Thorvald was still in the bed, but sitting up slightly. Kajsa had curled up on his stomach and he was resting on his forearms. His shoulder muscles where more prominent now, especially because of the angle of his arms. The duvet had fallen down to stomach and shadows of muscle creased as he was swallowed by the blanket. Damien was helplessly attracted to him. The only guy, the only person, the gray-asexual had ever been attracted to. His hair was sticking straight up and his eyes were rimmed with a pinkish red tint. He ran his fingers through his hair and yawned. 

 

“You know, you always look very smart. Even in pyjamas.” Thorvald laughed as he sat up more, Kajsa letting out a disgruntled meow as he did, only to readjust in his lap. “I mean, those pyjamas are all nice and matching and that jumper looks so nice with it. I guess that is why I enjoy drawing you.” 

 

He paused smilingly smugly as he watched Damien standing in the doorway, with two cups of coffee, blushing. His gaze surveyed him, eyes darting up and down. “Of course, you look nicer with your clothes off, but, this is good too.” 

 

Damien blushed harder staring wide-eyed at him, embarrassment burning in his cheeks. He blinked, looking away for a moment before looking back and rolling his eyes. “You are unbelievable. Making sex jokes, you, the grey-asexual, to me the asexual. Sometimes I wonder.” 

 

"There is a reason I added 'grey' you know." Thorvald wiggled his eyebrows and then smiled calmly.

 

He walked towards the bed, shaking his head in amused disappointment but also embarrassment, not the bad kind. The kind where you've been praised and everyone is smiling at you encouragingly and you just want to disappear but also not because the praise was, nice. 

 

“I get to decide what we do today.” Thorvald smiled as Damien gave him the mug of cinnamon coffee. “You did last week and we spent the day in the science museum and then on a murder tour of London.” 

“I love the science museum.” Damien took a sip, sitting down next to Thorvald in between white sheets and lent his head on his shoulder. 

 

“It is still my turn.” Thorvald laced his fingers between Damiens and gently kissed his forehead. “And, I have a great day planned.” 

 

They rose from between the sheets, clothes passed back and fourth between hands. Thorvald seemed to look attractive even with hair sticking straight up, red rimmed, sleep-deprived eyes and yesterday’s crumpled clothes. Damien put in more effort, shirt, tie -sweater vest or cardigan?- he drew a hand through his hair and checked the mirror three times like every morning until he was finally content with his appearance. He could feel Thorvald watching him from the bed as he did. 

 

It was colder than yesterday and a thick fog had settled across the streets and parks and he sky was 

grey and overcast. Lamps were still lit, their orange glow displaced by the mists. The two embarked to the Victoria and Albert Museum by bus. They sat at the front, surveying the city before them in the newly updates route masters. Thorvald was listening to podcasts, sketching, glancing around at the surroundings to check the image and the proportions. Damien was next to him, trying to profile the murderers that he had read about yesterday in the café. He was fascinated. 

 

“Definitely organised.” He muttered under his breath as he wrote. “Takes trophies and the signature is really bizarre because it’s really well done, and must take a really long time, but I don’t see how, no one was reported missing, it had been less than twenty four hours since they were last seen by anyone.” 

 

He paused to chew on the end of his pen and think about the information at hand. The bus jerked suddenly and he lost his pen and concentration, and saw it rolling across the bus floor, narrowly missing the staircase. He sighed, getting up to look for it. 

 

As he got down on hands and knees to get the pen he because very pleased that no one ever took this bus and no one other than Thorvald was on the top floor of the bus. He sighed, grabbing the pen and brushing off his trousers as he walked back to his seat. He looked to Thorvald who was desperately trying to integrate the black line across his page from where the bus had jumped. 

 

“Oh well.” He said, putting the sketchbook away. “How about, every time that I see that weird advert I give you a kiss and the same for you, and the one who wins, as in gives the most kisses, chooses lunch and the loser pays.” 

 

“But I’m profiling.” Damien whined looking to Thorvald, “So I won’t be paying attention.” 

 

Thorvald kissed him on the cheek quickly, “I just saw one.” 

 

Damien sighed, shaking his head, going back to the notebook. “There is no torture, but the incisions are, 

cult-y.” He paused to look up, noticing an advert. 

 

He kissed Thorvald on the cheek gently, “Ha.” 

 

Then he returned to writing the notes around a diagram of a canine tooth and another of a pair of antlers. “Blood drainage, all of the organs placed in jars by the body.” 

 

“Please do that quieter, it is very unpleasant to listen to.” Thorvald grimaced at him before grabbing his hand and put it in his, resting his other arm on Damien’s shoulder and pulling him closer. He ran his fingers through Damien’s hair and planted a kiss on his hairline. 

 

“Fine.” Damien grumbled, nestling his head into the crook of Thorvald’s neck. “Can I listen then?” 

 

Thorvald nodded slightly so Damien untangled himself and put his things away and resumed his position, head cradled in the crook of his boyfriends neck. Thorvald handed him one of the headphones, the sound of a radio hosts voice drowning out the sound of the bus and Damien could hear Thorvald’s heart beating and his breath, uneven and soothing and he felt calm and safe. 

 

There was no one else at the art gallery, a few people were in the gift shop when they had first walked in, 

but the further through they went, the fewer people their were until it was just them walking through great white rooms filled with magnificent painting. Camera around his neck, Thorvald was taking photograph after photograph of art installation, painting and candid shots of Damien as they walked through the gallery together. 

They laughed, playing joking games and running through corridors only to return to where they had started because they wanted to see the pieces displayed upon the walls. Brilliant rainbow hues danced upon the reflective white walls as they walked through. Brilliant glass walls displayed scenes of London in a glory rarely seen and their was an almost quiet aspect to the bustling city. 

 

They sat down to rest half way through the gallery and Thorvald began to sketch a renaissance sculpture. The white stone had an extraordinary level of detail and it was as though there was a man inside that had been coated in plaster as it seemed so bizarre that this level of accuracy could be 

attained without. Pencil lines filled the room with a scratching sound and Damien watched from over Throvalds shoulder how sharp jagged lines took form to a beautiful rendition of the statue. He leaned on his shoulder, jaw pressing down on his collar bone. 

 

“It’s amazing.” Damien muttered in Thorvald’s ear, resting his head against his shoulder. 

 

“You are amazing.” Thorvald chuckled whilst continuing to create sketchy masterpieces in an A5 journal. 

 

“You flatter me.”

 

“Mhmm.” 

 

Silence filled the room once more, as they sat there. Damien watching Thorvald sketch him, and statues and the room and anything that he could see. He could almost see the creativity seeping from his skin like ink. It felt like they were in a bubble of art. It had become peaceful and the still grey sky fell to pieces like shattered glass and cascaded downwards. The rain slammed on every surface and the room shuddered in the cold. It creeped in through he ventilation and open windows and cracks in the panes of glass and the seals. It seeped into their bones and they could feel it bite down. 

 

Damien snuggled closer, the shifting of fabrics consuming the silence as he moved, resting on Thorvald, trying to drink in the warmth from his skin. 

 

It didn’t stop raining the whole time they were on the bus to the British Library, kisses exchanged between landmarks but not a single advert. They seem to have been constrained very carefully to the perimeter of North London. The water ran down the bus, blurring the windows and the bus shuddered and screamed as it moved through treacle traffic. 

 

“How many traffic lights are there in London?” Thorvald asked sleepily as they stopped again in front of a blaring red light. 

 

“6000” 

 

“You would know that.” Thorvald chuckled, gripping Damien’s hand a little tighter in his. 

 

Damien scowled back at him and rolled his eyes, he leant on his shoulder, resting his head and closing his eyes. He could feel the nausea that accompanied city travel wash over him. They hadn’t even visited the British Library and it was only three tweet in the afternoon. He’d been out all of four and a half hours and he could feel his limbs heavy with exhaustion. 

 

“I think we’ve stopped at everyone.” Thorvald continued to laugh a bit, but under his breath, intending only 

for Damien to hear him. 

 

Damien did not. He looked over, and Damien was resting on his shoulder, his eyes were heavily lidded and tired and he appeared dazed having zoned off and was staring into space. Thorvald paused for a moment to survey him quickly. 

 

“Damien.” Thorvald said as clearly as he could and he could feel Damien jump a few moment after the words had stung the air. Damien looked up at him in astonished confusion. He was wide eyed and shaking. “Damien, you look dazed. Are you feeling shut down?” 

 

Damien blinked twice trying to assess his surroundings quickly before shaking his head and nodding. He snuggled into Thorvald’s coat, and felt Thorvald squeeze his body tightly into his own chest. The pressure was soothing and he could feel Thorvald stroking his hair, and smoothing it over. 

 

“Do you want to go home?” Thorvald tried in a hushed voice, handing Damien a pair over head headphones. 

Damien put them on and shook his head after a moment of processing. He sat up more and looked at Thorvald for a moment, searching his face for familiarity. He shuddered a little bit before leaning on Thorvald again. 

 

“No, I think the Heath would be nice.” Damien mumbled into Thorvald’s coat, his words were almost incoherent and jumbled. They were said slowly with little enunciation to anything. 

 

Damien could feel himself sinking into Thorvald’s frame and Lemmikäinen by Sibelius, the notes floating across the sound of the bus and the people talking. He could feel the pressure of Thorvald, who spoke in hushed tones slowly to make the shut down easier and he felt safe. Safer than he had in a very long time and he felt as if he could sleep. Drift amiably to sleep and so he did.

 

Thorvald sat diligently next to him, staring down passengers and onlookers alike as Damien slept upon him, occasionally mumbling something in his sleep, so soft that not even Thorvald could hear what he said, just the low murmur of his airy voice. 

 

He could feel the anxiety and excitement of love in turmoil coursing through him and it was as if he could freeze time with all the energy within him. He had no outlet for this extraordinary surge of affection and he just wanted to talk for hours about all the things that Damien did that made his breath hitch in excitement because the boy he was in love with was so beautiful. 

 

 

Damien was jolted awake at the bus stop closest to the heath, the bus stood pending as it was the final stop and a dazed Damien looked around suspiciously before sinking back into Thorvald’s chest. 

 

“Morning.” Thorvald grinned at Damien, “Did you still want to go to the heath?” 

 

“You’re too good to me, you know?” Damien sighed, stretching his hands, his words were more together now but still lacking in a kind of elegance. “Also, I like the trees so, yes.” 

 

They got off the bus, Damien still leaning on Thorvald. He felt uncoordinated and like his body wasn’t doing the right thing. He was misplacing his steps and his hands and arms felt like they were in the way. He could feel the world spinning beneath his feet and every step was a fight for balance he was unsure he could take. He put his trapezoid chewable necklace in his mouth, he could feel it on his tongue and as he bit downed he felt calmer. He could feel his feet sinking into the ground as we walked on the wet ground and grass. The blades soaking his socks and seeping between his toes but they continued to walk until they arrived in a lightly forested area. 

Trees stretched above them for miles there trunks growing as they looked further and further up. They walked between them, the leaves crunching beneath their feet and the colour and patterns whirled around them in streaks of sunlight. Damien ran around and spun in the leaves as they twirled around him in a beautiful display of spectral dancers, accompanying him in his amazement and wonder. The excitement radiated from him as he screeched with excitement by all of the colour’s around him. He spun in circles around and around beneath beams of sunlight that shone down upon his paid complexion. 

 

Thorvald laughed while running after him, getting lost between the tree’s their trunks identical in every feature and the leaves whirled where every he went. Damien’s laughter moved around and Thorvald couldn’t keep up. He walked slowly, slightly off path into between two hedges path, as he turned onto it, an antler caught his eye. Only it wasn’t a deer, an animal he had not once seen on the heath despite the many signs warning drivers about their existence. He walked closer to take a look, and regretted it instantly. 

 

“Damien!” He shouted panic riveting through him, he could feel his hands trembling and as he continued to scream for Damien over and over again he could feel his voice fading, hoarse with fear. Foot steps sprinting towards him and he could feel his heart pounding faster and faster in his chest until he saw Damien running towards him, fear stricken by Thorvald’s shouts. 

 

“Damien, is that, a-?” He couldn’t say it, he sat down on the bench two or three metres away as he could feel the world swaying beneath him, zooming in and out, and the feeling of being faint through him into waves of nausea. 

 

Damien moved closer to the antlers to reveal a boy. His hair was a black and matted with brown dry blood, he had been perched in a tree with a set of very small antlers attached to his head. His black skin was waxy and pallid and there was blood and dusted crusted onto the surface. There was an assortment of jars lined beneath the tree he sat and Damien didn’t move an closer. A red balloon had been fused into his hand, the string underneath lakers of scar tissue that spread across his grey skin. Scratched into the tree he could see 

the words “Owen 2007-2016”. 

 

“Interesting. I wonder if all of the display sights were this public-“ Damien was muttering to himself when he heard Thorvald’s shaky voice call for him. 

 

“Damien, Damien, please come back here.” Thorvald could feel his voice cracking and wavering in fear. “Please, Damien, we have to call the police.” 

 

Damien rushed back to Thorvald and sat next to him. He was rubbing his back as Throvald panicked. Thorvald was dealing the police while muttering under his breath. He put the phone to his ear. 

 

“Oh my god, oh my god, å, va fan, det här, jag klarar inte av det här, det går inte, jag-“ he paused for a moment, “Yes, yes, I need the police and I don’t know, but there is a little boy here and he is dead with antlers, and, oh my god, I feel sick.” 

 

There was only vague muttering coming from the other end of the phone, but Thorvald was rocking back and fourth, nausea suffocating. 

 

“If I throw up will I make the crime scene,” he paused searching for the word, “contaminated. I think I’m going to throw up, I just can’t do this. I can’t do this.” 

 

Thorvald stayed on the phone for twenty minutes as they waited for the police force, and Damien sat next to him, dazing off again and leaning on Thorvald for support, he could hear all that he had learnt running through his head over and over again and his curiosity was over whelming but he had to stay and help Thorvald. 

 

Organised, medical training, probably wealthy and definitely knows the area well enough that he placed the body well. He probably works at the Royal Free Hospital. If anything this person is a surgeon. However, the killer has no type and the balloon is new. 

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