xxxxx Coy’s POV xxxxx

That was so hard to do … harder than a pedophile at a daycare center. I hate lying to him, and I can only ever do it over msn. In person he can do this hurt puppy dog face, and I completely MELT. On msn, blue Times New Roman has no effect on me, and I do fine.

xxxxxxxxxxxx

Damian is nice, it’s not like he’s repulsive. A little dull at times, but not bad. We’re walking down C hall with joined hands, and I’m sure that in less than five seconds, it will be all over the school that I’ve ‘dumped Keith’. Out of the corner of my eye, I catch green ones staring back at me. I feel Damian’s grip tighten on my hand, and he leans down to whisper in my ear.

“D’you think it’s working?”

I smile, knowing that he’s seen Keith too. “Yup. Should we do anything?”

“Oh, I have an idea …” he giggles and tugs my hand away from the direction of cooking class; our original destination, and I’m worried about being late for it. We keep walking until we hit the hallway at the back of the school that’s usually reserved for druggies, and there’s a few there now, but they keep to themselves. I don’t miss the soft pat of converse sneakers behind us.

“He’s following, right?” Damian whispers again, not risking to look.

“Mmhhmm,” I murmur positively. His walk slows.

“Listen-” he hisses. “-you have to make this convincing. Pretend I’m him if you have to,” and my eyes widen for only a moment before he holds my shoulders and pushes me up against the janitor’s closet door, lips instantly on mine. I nearly push him off, but I remember what he said moments before, and I kiss him back to make it convincing, trailing tentative hands up his back. The kiss is alright, a little urgent coming from a stranger, but overall okay; I’m a teenage boy, I’m not in a position to be picky. I feel the bite of the doorjamb against my spine as he presses his chest (undeniably firm, even through layers of clothes, and I feel ashamed for liking it) against me. His hands fall to my waist and a sudden wave of fear hits me when I think he’s going to take my pants off, but I’m soothed as his fingers just drift along my belt, and slide gently along my stomach.
In the pit of my stomach, I get this horrible feeling that tells me how wrong this is. I really like Keith, and I'm so sure he can see this, so why am I doing it? I let my imagination wander so when I open my eyes a little, it's Keith's dark blissful eyes closed infront of mine, it's his spindly fingers touching my stomach, covered in rings and painted green nails. God, he's beautiful. This is pretty sick, but I wish it was his tongue in my mouth.

I break the kiss and gasp. “Fuck your hands are cold!” And he laughs softly. He doesn’t kiss me again, his head drops to my neck and bites my half-exposed shoulder hard, following with short, nipping suckles. My body instantly reacts, and I flush deep red. I keep dreaming he's Keith. His lips and hands stop moving soon after, and he pulls away. I look up at him and am shocked to see that he’s frowning.

“What?” I ask, and look to my left. No sign of Keith, so squeak of shoes.

“It worked,” he says simply and smoothes my shirt down. “Maybe too well. I could see him leave, he looked devastated.”

My heart drops as I step forward and we resume our course to Home Economics. “Devastated … Really …?” I mumble, voice laced with guilt. I shouldn't be dicking around, pretending to kiss him. I should kiss him. “That means he likes me though … right?”

“I suppose, but we have to be careful not to go over board, we don’t want him to do anything stupid,” he warns me.

“Right,” I agree, then realize we’re outside cooking. I smile up at him and he smiles back. I’m surprised, yet relieved that I’m not falling for him, I thought that this would blow up in my face, but I guess I have more morals then I’d thought. I do, however, stand on tiptoe and give him a small kiss on the cheek.

“Thanks for all your help with this.” I smile at him. “You’re oddly understanding.”

He laughs. “No problem. I’ve always known you liked him, you two should be together.”

I blush at the bluntness of the last statement, but I’ve never agreed with anyone more.


xxxxx Keith’s POV xxxxx


I don’t know whether I want to sob like a little girl or punch the shit out of someone. I feel like so many things at once, I can’t breath, and an odd sensation is still swirling in my gut, and I can’t tell what it is. I can’t focus on my footsteps, I nearly trip over my laces smacking on the ground. The bottom line is that I'm definitely going to kill him. I don’t know who ‘he’ is, either Damian or Coy, fucking horny rabbits. I knew I shouldn’t have followed them, they just looked so giggly and happy, I knew they were up to something, but I should have known better. It’s the middle of the fucking day for gods sake! That means … schoolwork and such, not ... groping-innocent-boys-in-the-druggie-hall time.

Okay, so that was a bad example, but WHATEVER, you get it. Stupid Coy. Very stupid Coy. He dare he … like stuff. Especially not stuff that Damian Beech can give him. He’s only sixteen, he’d better not be getting into stuff. Not Damian-stuff. I’m his age, and I don’t like stuff. well, I haven’t done stuff, so I don’t know. But I know I wouldn’t like Damian Beech sucking on my neck, that’s for sure. And I certainly wouldn’t tilt my head back. And I wouldn’t close my eyes, and I wouldn’t blush, letting my blood-red hair fall over my eyes …

Ohgod, I was not just thinking about him. I meant me, I did. It was just an example, just a thought. I can't stop thinking about him I can't stop thinking about him, I'm picturing it over and over again in my head, how he looked, how he was so tense and how his knuckles stood out when he grabbed Damian's arms, how out of breath he was when they stopped kissing, I -

I’m not fucking gay, I’m not gay, I’m not, I swear I’m not, I don’t think like that, I don’t like that, I don’t want him to do that to me, I never want him to do that to me …

“Keith?” A voice cuts into my brooding and I take my head out of my arms and look to the front of the class. Mr. Robertson is looking at me with his freakishly small, beady eyes, a hand on his hip and annoyance set across his face. God he’s old … he’s like a fun-house version of Chuck Norris.

“Yessir?” I mumble, my thoughts had lolled me into a half-sleep.

“Can you tell us the answer?”

I blink at the board for several seconds, trying to clear my eyesight. Right, this is math … there’s an equation on the board, something about pi and the base of a pyramid.

“Well …” I sigh and scratch the base of my neck. “… I haven't been listening” I wasn't trying to be funny there, but a few girls around the classroom titter. The guys just scoff, thinking I’m doing it to get attention. In reality, it’s just because I don’t give a shit. Maybe they even think I’m doing it to impress girls … hah.

His eyes narrow, I think. They’re so goddamn small, I can’t even tell. “What, Mr. Carnovale, is--” he says, pronouncing my last name wrong, so since I’m in trouble already …

“It’s pronounced car-no-vall-ee.” I glare right back. “Not car-no-vale.”

He clears his throat. “Well, Mr. CARNOVALEE, do you care to tell us what had you so captivated that you weren’t listening to my lesson?”

‘I’m having an inner conflict over my sexuality, I want to kiss my best friend until he fucking chokes on me, I want to slaughter his boyfriend just so I can have him to myself, so I've gotta say, the volume of triangles are not high on that list.’

“You’re a disgrace.” he says when I don’t answer, and turns around to the board, writing my name under Lux’s at the top left corner. “After school.” I just sigh and put my chin in my hand, staring blankly at the chalk-drawn equations on the board that might as well be in Chinese.

Wait … ugh. After school with Lux.

My thoughts are once again paused as I feel something push against my arm, followed by the crinkle of paper. I lift my arm to see a small piece of folded grid paper embellished with a pink pencil crayon heart. With an annoyed sigh, I take it in my hands and unfold it. My eyes skim over the pink lettering in all lowercase scrawl:

just the 2 of us alone dosen't that sound fun?

I groan. This level of whore has Lux written all over it. I look further down.

~ love luxy <3

Oh good lord. She’s ‘Luxy’ now. And no, that doesn’t sound fun. Maybe I should be a bitch about this … Hm. Since she’s chosen to be ‘cute’ and use a pencil crayon instead of a pen like a normal person, I lean over and grab my pencil box out from under a textbook and fish out a blue one.

I can name a few things I’d rather be doing. -KLMC.

I hope my punctuation and two secret middle initials annoy her as I pass the note to Allison, who hands it to Lux with a giggle. I hate both of them, and their stupid tie-up shirts, and I practically want to kill them as Allison leans over Lux’s shoulder to read along with her. I watch in mild amusement as Lux opens the letter with a smile, but her face falls once she’s read it. She turns to me with what I can only assume is a sexy pout, and gets her pink crayon out again, but the bell rings, and Mr. Robertsons’s class comes to an end. Luckily and unluckily, it’s my last class of the day. I pack the few things I had out into my messenger back and pull out my book to sit here silently for detention.

After five seconds of reading I get bored; I’ve read a lot today. I sigh and look out the window next to me because my desk is near the edge of the class. People are walking by, filing and crowding into a hoard near the bus stop. I hear Lux cough from several desks away, a classy attempt to get my attention. I keep staring, and suddenly a flash of red appears in my vision. Good god, his hair’s bright. He’s close enough to hear me, so I knock on the window. His head turns and he stops walking, searching and finally finding me. He grins and walks to the window with a wave.

I dive into my backpack and grab my notebook, scrawling out a word and a little smiley.

Detention, followed by an unhappy little smiley face.

With a little giggle, he takes his backpack off his shoulder, then grabs his book, writing something on the page as I had done. He presses it against the window with a single hand to the center and my eyes light up.

Rekindling over kraft dinner once you’re out?

I nod so many times my neck hurts. He smiles and lowers the paper, balling it up and throwing it back into his bag. I expect him to walk away, but he raises the same hand to the glass, and his two rings clink against the surface. I smile and unthinkingly raise my own hand and press it to his, blushing when I do so. I don’t move it, though I probably should … Only now do I see how much bigger his hands are than mine, my fingertips barely reach his first knuckle joint. We stay like that for a while before he blushes as well (for the trillionth time in his life) and takes his hand down, shoving it into the pocket of his dark navy coat. his free hand waves me bye, and I just laugh.

As much as I don’t want to admit it … he is seriously adorable.


xxxxx Coy’s POV xxxxx


This was not, not, not a good idea.

What if I kiss him? What if I do something equally stupid? Or worse? I pace through the kitchen, glancing at the clock every half minute. I can hear the TV going in the other room, Sasha’s watching Friends. She pokes her head through the doorway from the living room to the kitchen.

“You’re even more twitchier than normal. Someone coming over~?” she coos. I pick up a spatula and hurl it at her, but, unlike me, she’s annoyingly good at sports and has quick reflexes, so she snatches it before it hits her.

“Who is it? Daaaamian?”

“No, he- How do you know about him?” I pause in denying it and ask.

“Everyone at my school’s talking about it. My popularity has skyrocketed because you’re gay,” she shrugs.

I roll my eyes. “Of course it is. Now go upstairs and leave me the fuck alone, go play with your Barbies or whatever the hell you do.”

“Tsk, hostile. Who could be -” she’s cut off again when four knocks sound at the door. I make a bad dash out of the kitchen, but just as I’m opening the door Sasha’s next to me and she shoves me out of the way, leaving me sprawled on the ground as she steps over me.

“Hel- Keith? Hi!” she says in shock, expecting to see Damian, seeing as I’m going out with him. I watch from my seat on the floor as his gaze flits from her to me, then third to Trixie as she pads up behind me and begins chewing on my hair. Keith smiles and steps in, shooing the dog away and holding out his hand to me. I blink up at him several times, realizing that he’s trying to help me up. I take his hand and haul up, and he nearly tips over at our significant weight difference. This horribly lovely rush of heat runs through me as we’re surprisingly close again, and I think I’m blushing again. His hand is still covered by mine, so small and fragile when I squeeze my fingers. It’s cute, even a bit dainty.

“You two need a counsellor,” Sasha comments dryly, rolling her eyes to go back to the living room.

I instantly drop Keith’s hand and I go silent, turning into the kitchen and motioning for him to follow. He takes off his shoes and bounds along next to me happily, sitting down on one of the stools around the island. He swings his feet childishly with a smile, staying silent as well. I stand on the other side of the counter, just looking at him … The word 'fag' is still etched into his poor cheek, fading with time. I feel kind of bad for him, y’know? He’ll have that for the rest of his life, no matter how faded it gets. He’ll get married and have kids, and the constant reminder of abuse will still be right there.

“Well?” he says, his voice finally breaking the silence. I don’t respond right away, I’m still gaping dumbly at him like he’s a circus attraction. When I snap out of it, he rubs his cheek.

“Well what?” I finally say back.

“You’re the amazing chef, can we eat something?”

If I’d been a cat, my ears would have flattened against my head. “I’m not an 'amazing chef,' I can make macaroni.”

“You cook for your mom and Sasha,” he points out, and it’s true. Mom works late a lot of the time, so I usually make something. Never anything fancy, but it works.

“Fine, fine, what do you want then?” I ask, walking the length of the kitchen to the fridge.

“Just macaroni or something easy like that, I don’t want to be a bother.” He bats his eyelashes at me, and I mock-grimace in return, even though my stomach jumps.

“You’re always a bother, why are you worrying about it now?” But I lean over into the cupboard and get a box of macaroni anyways.

“Thanks.” He grins as I boil water. “You’re my knight in shining Kraft Dinner.”

I don’t know why that makes me blush, but it does.


xxxxx Keith’s POV xxxxx


Hm. This is … odd. This isn’t all hostile like we’ve been lately. This is cheery, light and fun, and we talk mildly about random subjects, bantering back and forth. This is almost like things were before, other than some … uh, impure thoughts that cross into my brain every so often, which is definitely not like before. It’s odd on so many levels, it’s like I’m noticing new things about him though I’ve known him for so long, you’d think I’d already have seen them. He plays with his lip ring a lot, I guess I never noticed because I’ve been looking at his lips a bit more lately, though I don’t want to admit it, but it’s true: he bites his lip and pushes it with the tip of his tongue. Whenever I catch him doing it, the back of my neck gets hot and I shift from one foot to the other and look away; I can’t stand seeing his tongue.

Plus, he has a fairly noticeable gap in his top row of teeth, between his second one in and his third one in on the left side. It’s kind of cute, I’m just glad it’s not between his two front teeth, or he’d look like a hick. I begin to wonder if I play with my lip ring a lot when he finally talks, and I realize I’ve been staring at him.

“How’re things with Lux?” he mumbles, back to me at the stove. I hesitate.

“She’s the most boring person I’ve ever met.” What's he gonna say to that? It's the truth, and I figure I've been lying enough lately.

“So, bad?”

“She’s just boring. I don’t wanna talk about it.” I mutter, not sure what else I could say without blurting too much, and not really sure why I said that in the first place. Why did he ask, for that matter? I fidget. “So how's Damian?”

“What do you mean ‘how is he’?” he says in a very cautious tone.

“Is he any good?” I ask, almost amazed at my own ability to change my mood that quickly. I think I need a shrink. How I said that was all angry again, irritated, like a wife who's been cheated on.

“At what?” he replies, but I’m pretty sure it’s sarcastic, because we both know what I’m talking about. When someone asks if your boyfriend is GOOD, it’s a bit obvious we’re not talking about good at origami.

“The fun stuff.” I humour him and answer, leaning back on the stool and bracing my feet against the counter. He finally turns around, fire-red hair swirling as he does so quite quickly, then it settles back on his shoulders with a flounce. A wooden spoon covered in cheese is in his right hand. He looks pissed a moment before he speaks, but then it contorts into a smirk.

I raise an eyebrow … What’s he’s thinking now?

“He’s amazing,” he tells me with a little shrug before turning back to the stove. “Macaroni’s done,” he adds and strides to the cupboard to get bowls.

“He … he what?” Whoa. Wasn’t expecting that.

He turns back to me with two swirl-printed bowls in his hands, face laced with innocence.

“Well, I’m assuming we both mean the same thing by ‘fun stuff.’” He motions for me to get macaroni so I walk over, standing behind him and trying not to breathe in too much.

“So, you’ve done … stuff … with him?” I ask tentatively, gripping the edge of the bowl he hands me with white knuckles as I follow him to his room after getting the food. I really don't want to know this, why did I ask? I'm a fucking wreck.

“Hmm … Maybe. Why do you care?” he says, voice full of amusement.

“B-because, you’re my friend, I don’t want you, um … getting pregnant.” Smooth excuse, Keith.

He smiles happily and sits and the end of his bed, cross legged with the bowl on his knee, spoon in his other hand.

“Oh, it’s alright. We’re both guys, so he can fuck me over and over and over again for like hours, and neither of us can get pregnant! Plus he’s clean, so that means no condoms, and trust me, it’s better.”

My mouth falls open and all in the same second I think of Coy naked, Coy having sex, Coy getting fucked, Coy with Damian, screaming, calling his name, panting, grabbing the headboard, because hearing that out of his mouth was too much and it's like some sick nightmare of a dream and I just shut down. The last thing I hear before I pass out is the shatter of china against hardwood flooring.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

=Ka-thump=

I open my eyes slowly, blinking several times but they refuse to un-blur. I hear music softly playing, followed by a different voice, slightly off key but there none the less. I recognize the song.

What am I lying on?”

=Ka-thump=

I nuzzle my nose against my pillow, and something beneath me shifts.

=Ka-thump=

“You okay?” A voice sounds in my ear and I leap up as best as I can, my eyes have suddenly un-blurred. Coy’s sitting on his bed, still cross legged, smiling at me. The music filters in front his open laptop.

“You’re up,” he states simply, smile unwavering.

“What the hell just happened?” I ask shakily, on the verge of a complete spaz attack. I try not to think of anything, I keep my mind clean because I don't want to fucking faint again.

“Nothing bad. You passed out for some reason,” he informs me, tapping his fingers on his knee to the tune of the song. He’s taking this so nonchalantly, I can’t believe it.

“Was I … on top of you?”

“Mmhmm.” He nods, totally not paying attention to me. It’s like he’s high, he's so peaceful.

“Uh, WHY?”

“Because I wanted to make sure you were okay.”

“So you put me in your LAP?!!”

He finally looks at me, just out of the corner of his eye. He looks a bit tired, and definitely drugged up. I know he isn’t, because he doesn’t do that, but that doesn’t mean it isn’t a possibility.

“You look cute when you sleep y’know.”

I get flustered and back up a bit, thumping down onto the window-seat, and I curl a blue tasselled pillow over my chest. Way to be manly, right?

“Just because you’re gay now doesn’t mean you can get all flirty.” I scoff and stare at the pillow, pressing my back against the window, wishing it was open so I could lean back and roll into the bushes, then sprint home. Something’s odd about this atmosphere now, it’s not cheery like before. It changed the minute I woke up and heard his heartbeat in my ear and felt his fingers around my thigh. Just like that, we’re back to where we were. He stays silent for several minutes, as do I.

“I think I’ve always been gay,” he murmurs. “So shut the fuck up about it being recent. Plus, you’ve slept in my bed with me, so aren’t you a little gay too?”

“Am not!” I squeak indignantly. “I have a girlfriend!”

“That you never talk to. Are you sure you aren't? You dress a bit girly.”

“S-so? Tons of guys do! Girls like it!”

“But you’ve kissed me.”

“No, you kissed me … a-and it was for science, the first time … and um, the last time you … we’ve been over this, shut up.” I grumble and try to end this, but he goes on.

“Ah, so you’re one of those. You’re worried that you’re gay, aren’t you?” he muses, giving me a sideways look and a crooked grin that makes my face flush and my palms sweat. Just like that, he’s pinned me with an arrow and took a guess at everything I was thinking, and got it right. It's like he can tell, I swear. He knows just how much this scares me.

“I’m not scared of being gay, Coy.” I add his name on the end by accident, and feel like a twat for it. I say that but it's one of the biggest lies I've ever told. “Why would I be scared of something like … that?”

He turns to face me, still looking much too relaxed and comfortable with all this, conversations like this aren’t something to be taking lightly. He’s deciding my sexuality right now, in his head. I can just tell he’s thinking about it, deciding I’m gay, deciding I’m not. When he breaks out into a grin, I know he’s chosen. I don’t want to know what his outcome is.

“Why won’t you sleep in my bed? Do you think I’ll rape you?”

“N-no!”

“Then what is it? You were okay with it until a few months ago.”

“Oh, FINE.” I give in, resolve crumbling away very quickly just to get out of talking about this. I take two steps until I reach the bed and perch on the edge, spine straight and tense. The bedsprings creak beneath us, and I take a few deep breaths, irrationally afraid. “What time is it?”

He looks to the strip of ceiling above his closet at his clock from Orisinal. “Seven thirty.”

“Okay … Uh, what do you want to do until then …?” I ask timidly, voice as small and thin as a little girl’s. I hope that sentence didn't seem like an invitation.

“Hrm … Smash Bros?” he tries, and I nod.


xxxxx Coy’s POV xxxxx


I can hear him breathing beside me, slightly snuffling deep breaths laden with sleep, the telltale rise and fall of his chest. Everything utterly Keith is less than a foot away from me and I don’t do a thing. The curtains are drawn, no light from the street is filtering through the window tonight and my room is nearly pitch black, I can’t see him, I wish I could. I’ve forgotten what he looks like when he’s asleep, it’s been too long. He must look gorgeous right now, hell, I know he does. It’s insane how close he is right now, I think his hand’s on my thigh and I can’t do a thing, NOTHING or else he’ll never trust me again. However, my brain isn’t listening to me, and I want nothing more than to pin him to the bed and fuck him absolutely senseless, fuck him 'till he's hollering my name.

I begin contemplating using a chain of socks to tie myself to the bed so I don't rape him.


xxxxx Keith’s POV xxxxx

Nnnh … warm. Darkness … nice. Sleep … eminent.

It takes a few seconds for me to realize that I’m not in my own home … This mattress is nicer than mine, the quilt is a different color, and the ceiling isn’t orange, it’s blue. Oh fuck, I’m at Coy’s. I’m on the verge of panicking as I slowly sit up, but something’s stopping me. I don’t want to look, but I do.

I officially panic.

His arm’s around my waist. My emotions cross over and twist, I want to either cling to him and cry or punch him in the mouth and scream. He’s so warm … I hate always being cold, or maybe it’s just his room. Without jostling him, I reach across his body and tug his quilt over us a little more. I pause, hand hanging suspended in the air; there’s nowhere I can put it that isn’t Coy. I glance up at him. His hair is splayed out on the pillow, knotted and tangled, but still … pretty. I’ve almost forgotten what his original color is, and it’s been so long that he’d look odd with any other shade now. I can’t believe I used to be blonde … I’d look stupid now, wouldn’t I?

When things have been a certain way for a long time, you can’t imagine what it’d be like any other way. Maybe that’s Coy … What if he stays with Damian? I’ll slowly get phased out, especially if he’s good at ‘the fun stuff.’ (God, I feel sick thinking about the fact that they've fucked, that Damian defiled him. It's disgusting.)

Coy can’t forget about me! We’ve been friends for almost ten years! Damian can’t ruin that, can he? Coy does apparently like him a lot … and love always comes before friends.

The corner of my eyes sting, and I use the suspended hand to rub furiously at them. Don’t, don’t, don’t cry, don’t be stupid, I tell myself. Coy wouldn’t ditch you, he said he wouldn’t. Albeit he told you that at a sixth grade dance, but it still applies, I think. He’s never left you before! Girls have asked him out in the past, and nothing has changed. But … it’s never been a boy before. Does that make it different? Is Damian more important than me?

For reasons I don’t think I’ll never know, I begin crying. It’s not the bawling, heaving kind of crying, but the heart-wrenching silent tears. My chest hurts from the inside out like it never has before, it burns. I stop trying to wipe tears away and just let my hand settle on my own side. My tears slide down my cheeks, dripping into my mouth and down my chin, falling onto Coy’s bare shoulder. I focus on the feel of them on my face, thinking that maybe if I take my mind off Damian and Coy, I’ll stop crying.

“Shh, my love …” A whisper cuts thought the air and I freeze and look up at him. His eyebrows are angled slightly down, but his voice makes me sure that he's asleep. “… Just sleep, Kei …”

My heart stops, and so do my tears. He’s really still asleep? He called me love, and Kei. He stopped calling me Kei when we were ten, but I still like it. I smile a little and raise my hand again, placing it gingerly on his chest. It’s soft and smooth even through his shirt, but hard in a good way. When the arm around me tightens, I burrow my face into his shoulder with a big smile.

Damian isn’t taking this.





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