chapter seven ~ <3 breaking point




xxx Keith’s POV xxx

Morning comes too quickly for my liking. Less than and hour later, he begins to stir. I never fell back asleep after waking up, I spent the next sixty minutes trailing my fingers over his chest and doing some serious soul-searching. His chest is nicer than mine by quite a bit, I’m almost jealous. I look like an un-cooked, plucked chicken but he’s actually got a bit of tone. It’s perfect.

Hm. Perfect. I guess you can’t get any better than that, and I guess that means I like him. I’m not as scared of that thought as I used to be … I wonder what made me change my mind. Maybe the fact that I’m not stupid, and I know that if I don’t do something, he’ll leave me. I hear a deep inhale from behind me, and I know he’s awake after a muffled yawn.

“Nnnh … what time is it?” he mumbles, fingers brushing my side as he cracks his knuckles. I blink to focus my eyes and attempt to look across his room to his clock in the dim light.

“Eight-thirty.” I reply quietly after a moment, scared at first, but then I realize it’s Saturday and we don’t have school. My toes brush against his calf, and I don’t pull away. If anything, I scootch in closer. His silence is beginning to bug me. God Coy, get out of bed, talk, do something! I feel his fingers smooth the fabric of my shirt against my ribcage.

“Did you sleep well?” he asks in an insanely quiet voice, cutting through the silence like a hot knife through butter. I have to strain to hear him, but I do, and simply stare at the ceiling with a smile.

“Amazingly well.” I reply just as quietly, but I still feel and hear him inhale sharply through his nose. He shifts his arm, and my head moves on his shoulder. Things are getting more awkward, we both know we’re in a very compromising position, and he’s touching me, and I’m touching him, and we’re in a bed, and I can’t breathe anymore, and I‘m starting to spaz again. “Y-you?” I manage to ask.

“Pretty good.” he mumbles and finally begins to sit up. Half of me wants to scream ‘DON’T!’ and the other half is so relieved it feels I should cry. I quickly shuffle back before I’m thrown off as he swings his legs over the edge of the bed, bare feet making a ‘thwap’ noise on the hardwood floor. The first half of me wins the battle and disappointment wrenches in my chest.

“I had a weird dream though …” he continues in an odd, somewhat choked voice.

“Again? Are you alright?” I ask nervously, sitting up next to him as I scratch the back of my head and try to flatten out my hair. He said his dreams hadn’t been bugging him lately, but I’m worried anyways. He leans forwards and rests his elbows on his knees, hair drawing around his face so I can’t see him.

“Yeah, yeah I’m fine … it’s just …” he turns his head to look at me with an expression I can’t quite place. “… you know … you’re-”

=Knock knock knock=

“Hey Coy? You up?” I hear Sasha’s voice on the other side of the door.

“Yeah, what do you want?”

“Can I have your breakfast?” she asks.

“Sure.” he says back and stands up, bedsprings creaking as he walks over to his closet, rifling through his things. I want so badly to ask him what he was going to say, but I’ve waited too long and the moment’s passed.

I’m such a wuss.

xxx Coy’s POV xxx

After grabbing clothes and heading to the safety of the bathroom, I dig my nail hard enough into my forearm to draw blood. Three little half-moon marks are left in my skin, and just the very tips of my nails are crimson.

So it actually was a dream.

I lean over the sink and nearly dry-heave as a wave of nausea knocks me on my ass. God, it was a dream. It was, Keith had woken up in the night saying he’d had a nightmare (a nightmare inside a nightmare then) and he hugged me. I hugged him back for obvious reasons (growing infatuation), but when I kissed the top of his head, he shoved me. He told me he loved Lux, and that I had to stop coming onto him, otherwise he’d stop talking to me altogether. I remember laughing and telling him that I wasn’t coming onto him, but he’d just wrinkled his nose and told me he was disgusted at how fucking gay I was.

Even thinking about it is making me depressed. I angrily strip off the tank top I’d slept in and crinkle it into a ball before tossing it into the hamper thing in the corner. I step out of my boxers and rest my head on the shower curtain pole and let out a deep exhale. I couldn’t handle it if he reacted like that, I’d fucking die. I’d use my own intestine as a noose. With my luck, if I told him how I felt right now, he’d do exactly that.

I know he likes me though, I think, because it seems like it sometimes. Whenever I mention Damian, he gets this look on his face that’s an interesting mix between horror and kicked puppy, and that mean’s he’s jealous, right? So it’s working. And he did pass out when I mentioned me having sex with Damian, which was funny.

I’ll tell him I like him eventually. Like when we’re both fifty and married and too old to do anything about it. That’ll work, maybe he won’t be so aggressive when he’s old, possibly out of fear of breaking a hip. Maybe he won’t throw scissors at me if I confess, like he might now. I don’t think I can handle faking with Damian any more, Keith is getting too pissed at me, and the whole kissing thing is making me uncomfortable. I’ll be fine for a while longer though.

xxx Keith’s POV xxx

Lauren, despite being a tomboy, loves shopping. Never for herself, because the only place she shops is EB Games. Coy and I are, and always have been, her Barbie dolls, and I blame her for why I dress so girly. A few times a month she drags us to the mall and runs to different stores with heaps of clothes for us to try on. It’ll be a cold day in hell before I admit that I like it.

“C’mon! We’ve only got a few hours~!! God, could you walk any slower?”

I groan and follow her into Bootlegger. I hate this place, it smells like cheap perfume, and all the attendants are whores. Some song is playing overhead, either Hilary Duff or Lindsay Lohan, I can never tell, they’re the exact bloody same.

Jesus Christ, we’ve barely been here for two minutes and she’s got five pairs of jeans over her arm. Coy’s walking next to me, too close for comfort so he can avoid bumping into people … I’m not thinking very well, I never can when he’s this damn close.

“Keith~! Do you like this?” Lauren calls out, she’s holding out a blue tank top that I know for a fact came from the girls section. I wrinkle my nose and stare at it as if it started the plague.

“NO.” I say firmly, and I glare when she puts it on her pile anyways. I look up at Coy “Oh my god … we’re not going to make it out of here alive …”

He smiles down at me all sparkles and gorgeousness, and I think my kidneys get in a fight.

“It’s alright, you’d look cu-”

“Coy~!!” for the second time today, he gets cut off at a possibly critical moment, and it’s getting pretty fucking annoying. Oh god. It’s … HIM. Damian’s here, does he stalk us?

Before I can even glare at him, he’s on Coy, and he actually KISSES HIM, right in fucking front of me. It’s not short either. His hands are in Coy’s hair, and Coy’s are pressing against his chest, a huge blush evident on his cheeks. I turn around abruptly, not wanting to look, but I can feel the sleeve of my hoodie tear a bit under my nails when I claw at it, trying to take my mind off that. Lauren’s suddenly next to me, and she puts her hand on my shoulder, but all I do is stare at my feet, wanting more than anything to rip out their over-active tongues and throw them at the giggling pre-teen girls that are staring at them. I rarely ever get this pissed off, but I mean come ON. They’re in a public place, surrounded by people, making out like they’re gonna fuck.

They pull back, after an eternity, and Damian’s smiling. Coy, however, is freakin grinning. Slut. I should kill him … his eyes flicker to mine for only a half second before he turns back to his whore.

“What’re you doing here?” he asks him happily, and Damian looks at me too, which is becoming unnerving.

“I’m here with my sister, she--”

As if on cue, little miss Beech walks up behind him with three bags labelled Bootlegger. She looks a lot like him (so naturally, I hate her too) but she has curly ringlets dyed black at the tips.

“Damian? C’mon, haul ass. I’ve still gotta get to Hot Topic.” and she trots out, trying to tug him along unsuccessfully. He lets her pull him a step before he locks his knees and halts just close enough to kiss Coy again. Coy moves his hand and holds the back of his neck while he kisses him back, so loving that I want to puke.

“Bye love.”

I almost physically jerk forwards; I’m going to fucking choke him. I stop when Lauren pinches me, and I turn around to glower.

“What was that for?”

She shakes her head. “Killing him won’t make him love you.”

My eyes widen what seems more than humanly possible. “What did you just say?!”

She grins and dumps the load of jeans and shirts into my arms wordlessly.

“Lauren?” I try again, but she just whisks off.

“What’s going on?” Coy’s obviously done with his beloved. I don’t answer, and just follow Lauren.

xxxxx

Out of the corner of my eye, I see a pair of frayed, light blue jeans … in the girls section. I resist the urge to try them on.

xxxxx

Five minutes later, Lauren’s off dressing up the adulterous man-whore of the west coast. I walk over to the jeans and turn the tag over in my hand. Dorhina, Monroe style, size 26, 33 inseam, frayed at the hems … Hm …

I get scared and shove them back on the rack.

xxxxx

Another five minutes and I give up. Those jeans have been staring me down. I stalk across the store and snatch three different sizes off the rack and put them on Lauren’s pile. She raises an eyebrow.

“Dorhina? Those are girls jeans, Keith.”

I give her a look that I hope conveys ‘Shut up and drop it’. It must have, because she runs off to get us changing rooms. Coy keeps looking at me, but when I look back at him, he looks away. God, I thought we were past this … why do the two of them keep looking at me? Fuck, what if they know I … like … Coy, and they’re mocking me? I’m screwed.

Also, I’m standing in a tiny cubicle with mirrored walls and a bench piled chest high with clothes. I start rifling through them, picking off the ones I’m not even trying on. I kick those (shorts, a lime green polo, a SKIRT, and something that looks German) out until the door and Lauren takes them, complaining. I sigh in my own hopelessness as I choose to try on the blue tank top and jeans that were staring at me first. I take off my hoodie, then t-shirt, and I look at myself in the mirror; I can’t help it, I’m vain. When I pull the top over my head, my face flushes when I see myself. Dammit.

It’s really blue, long but tight with beaded-embroidery-ness at the bottom and top hems. The straps are thin-thin and a little too long, so they drape over my shoulders a bit. Jesus, why do I look so good? I take my pants off, but admire less (less to admire, trust me) and struggle into the jeans. Fuck, I may as well get a goddamn sex change right now. Between the new clothes and the necklaces and eyeliner I was already wearing, I look about two years younger and at least ninety percent woman. The only difference is my complete lack of boobs. When I spin in front of the mirror, I’m happy to note that you can see my wings. They look great.

“Keeeeith are you doone?” Lauren’s voice comes in through the door.

“Uh … yes, kind of …” I reply hesitantly and cross my arms over my chest … she’s been known to look over stalls.

“Well, lets see! Do you like any of it?”

“… Yeah … um, is Coy out there?”

I hear the shifting of one of the beanbags outside the door. “Yeah I’m here!” his voice calls out. “C’mon, show us!” he says happily, and I get nervous. After a few more seconds of chanting ‘um, um, um’ quietly, I open the door and only stick my head out, they’re sitting on beanbags.

“Uh … guys, don’t laugh … kay?” I tell them. As he’d done so long ago, Coy’s not looking at me, but his gaze is dropped to my bare shoulder poking out from behind the open door. But this time, I’m not mad. When I finally swing the door open, he blushes a LOT … I’m assuming it’s either suppressed giggles or pity.

“You look fuckin’ hot!”

Unfortunately, that’s not Coy’s voice, it’s Lauren’s. I fold my arms over my chest. The strap falls down and catches Coy’s attention yet again.

“You should totally get those!” she says happily, clapping her hands together.

“No way, I look like a hermaphrodite!” I say stubbornly. I might like girls clothes, but I refuse to like liking them.

“You do not! You look adorable!” she coos at me. “Doesn’t he, Coy?” and she turns to look at him expectantly. He blinks at me a few times, then clasps his hands and stares at them.

“Yeah.” he murmurs, and I have to stop myself from grinning. I instantly want to get the shirt, just because it makes him look at me. I try to twist around to check the price tag, but it’s on the back at the nape of my neck, and Lauren whistles at me and says I have a nice ass. I get flustered when I can’t reach, and I freeze when there’s warm, blunt fingertips on my shoulder blades.

Waaaay too big to be Lauren’s.

“Fourty dollars.” his voice confirms that its really him, really his fingers touching my bare skin. As expected, I spaz.

“OkaythanksuhIshouldchangenowprobablyyeah …” I mumble quickly and spin around, I’ve pulled my arms tight against my chest like a damsel, which worries me, but the gesture makes me a little more secure. He nods happily, oblivious to my discomfort. I back away into the change room. After locking the door, I groan quietly into my hands. I can’t stand it anymore, I want him. I know it’s not right, I know that Jesus must want to smite me on the spot, and I’ll end up getting lynch mobbed on the streets. I’m also painfully aware that we’re only sixteen (but then again, some people have had sex when they were fourteen, which I think is way wrong), but I want him so much.

After taking several deep, long breaths that may or may not be audible from outside the door, I pry off my girly clothes and stamp in annoyance when I decide to buy them. I suppose that kind of thing comes hand in hand with being gay … wow, it sounds weird to even hear myself say that. I open the door, leaving all the other jeans and clothes piled on the bench.

I have to stop myself from literally gasping when I step out. Damian’s back. He’s sitting next to my Coy, and his hand’s on his thigh. God I hate him, I hate him so much. I don’t care if he’s Coy’s boyfriend, I’m not one of those people who go ‘Oh well, as long as he’s happy’, I want him to be miserable, or happy with me. I could kill Damian and not care.

“Hi Keith!” Jesus, it has the balls to talk to me.

“Hi …” I grind out with a forced smile.

“Hey,” That’s Coy, so I listen. “Is it okay if Damian comes to your house too?” and I realize he’s asking Lauren … how dare he.

“Um, maybe that’s not …” Lauren looks at me nervously, but I just look away and shrug. She’d better not pity me.

“It’s fine.” I say icily. “I’ll call Brandon and tell him I’m not coming home.”

“Okay, I’ll pay for your stuff.” Lauren smiles, and I thank her as I get my heavy, old cell phone out of the pocket of my hoodie and walk out of the store. I lean on the wooden and glass railing that separates the top walkways from the first floor of the mall. I beep my number into my cell phone and wait while it rings, looking down at the stands of merchandise beneath me. They sell everything here, honestly …

“Nnh … hello?” the ringing ceases and a groggy voice sounds into my ear, and I shift my fingers on the plastic back of the phone.

“Why the hell do you always sound so sleepy?”

“Because I’m always sleeping …?” he ventures with a yawn. “So are you coming home now? I’ll give you a ride if you want.”

“Yeah that’d be good, Damian and Coy are going to Lauren’s, but I can’t stand it.”

“Isn’t Coy your boyfriend? Who’s Damian?” he pries, and I sigh angrily.

“Coy is not my boyfriend because he’s Damian’s boyfriend.” I explain.

“Oh. So you want him to be your boyfriend?” he says, sounding very amused.

“Sure.” I reply offhandedly. “Anyways, come pick me up.”

“You’re leaving him alone with a guy that wants to bone him?”

Fuck …

“You didn’t think of that, did you?” he cackles and I just swear at him and hang up. I rest my elbows on the railing and huff, running a hand through my hair and fingering my bangs. This is stuck between a rock and a hard place … if I go to Lauren’s, I’ll have to see them kiss and stuff, and I can’t stand the thought of that … but if I don’t go, they might go even farther than that, and I don’t even know how far they’ve gotten already, what if they’ve fucked?

“Keith come on! We’ve gotta walk home, hurry up!” Lauren calls out, and I spin around to face the three of them standing outside the store, Lauren holding a Bootlegger bag, and Coy with only his backpack over his shoulder; he didn’t mention getting anything, so I guess he didn’t like it. I don’t blame him, that was some pretty girly stuff … normal guys wouldn’t like it.

“Alright.” and I walk over, smiling at Lauren as I take the bag from her. This is going to be fun…

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

It’s freezing outside when we leave the mall, and getting dark too. Coy kept looking at me which was still making me nervous, but it was kind of good too, because … well, he was looking at me, and that’s always good. Yet on the other hand, he was also looking at Damian a lot, and shoving his tongue down his fucking throat, which means he was definitely was winning his attention, because he certainly wasn’t doing that to me … It was like they only kissed whenever I was looking, those bastards, but I just have bad timing.

We were walking down a stretch of hill leading from the commercial to the residential area of our city (towards Laur‘s house), and the wind was whipping my bangs across my face, so I grabbed bobby pins I’d hooked onto the hem of my jeans (Haha, how can I not be gay …) and pinned them back behind my ears. Coy just kept looking, which made me think it look stupid, but I’d rather look stupid because it stung when my hair whipped me. I’m walking beside Lauren, behind Coy, who has his arm wrapped around whore and is whispering on happily about something or other. Lauren is whispering to me too, but I’m not really as happy as them.

“So do you?” she screeches quietly, almost in my ear. I shove her back a little and she almost pitches into the ditch on the other side of the road.

“Do I what?” I growl. She tugs on my black and white scarf (The one I borrowed from Coy several weeks ago, I haven’t exactly ‘gotten around’ to returning it, mainly because it still smells all spicy and yummy and manly and sweet like him … god, I have to stop doing this.)

“Do you like Coy? Like, LIKE like?”

“Christ Laur, say the word ‘like’ a little more why don’t you …” I grumble out through my teeth, but she doesn't shut up. On one hand, I’m annoyed because of it, but on the other it’s nice to finally talk to someone about it.

“Is that a yes?” she pressures and finally I look over at her with a furious face.

“YES, it’s a goddamn yes, okay? More than a friend, way more, alright? I can’t stop thinking about him, I fucking want him.” I hiss.

She blinks with wiiiiiide eyes and stares at me.

“Seriously?” is all she can manage to say. I take slight satisfaction in seeing how shocked she is. I’m also a little worried, because she loves to pry. “You want him?”

I sigh and stare at my shoes, the white tips are scuffed with dirt and scratches. “Yup.”

“Well … are you going to do anything about it?” she asks quietly, staring at her shoes as well.

“I might. I don’t know, he has a … boyfriend, but …” I pause, adding a malicious tone to the word ‘boyfriend’. “… fuck, I just want to-” I realize what I was saying, and shut up immediately.

“….C’mon, finish that sentence!” she says in a singsong voice, poking my shoulder.

“NO.”

“Pleeeease, Keith! I’ll shut up if you do!” she laughs childishly.

FINE, I wanna suck on his lip ring … There, I said it.” I stare at my feet so hard I think I’m burning holes through them.

“Wow. Hot.” she laughs and I shove her again. Other than that, we’re silent for the rest of the walk home. I’m caught in my own thoughts, half of Coy doing things to me, and half of me brutally murdering Damian, who hasn’t moved from his oh-so-comfortable position.

The hill we’re on slopes back down, and sitting at the bottom is our section of town (well I don’t know where Damian lives, but I don’t give a shit, he doesn’t count). I can just barely make out my house, long and narrow like a hallway, nestled between two other houses that are far bigger. Down the street I can see Coy’s, annoyingly bigger than mine, but I’m not mad at him because his mom earns that money; she’s barely ever home.

A lot like YOUR mom. The annoying voice pinpricks in my brain, and I’m suddenly wringing my hands angrily. Not for the same reason as Ms. Russel though. I heave a deep breath and scan over to the left to Lauren’s house, which is where we’re heading. Don’t think about it, don’t think about it.

Damian speaks. “So Lauren, where do you live?”

I shoot Lauren a malicious look and basically snarl at her. She shrinks into her shoulders. “Uh, just over … there …” she points in the general direction of her house.

“Really?” he beams. “Me too!”

“Yeah … okay …” she says, afraid to say anymore, because I’m still glaring daggers into her temples. He turns back around and continues prattling to my Coy. Lauren keeps talking quietly, her tone has changed a little.

“You know, just because he’s doing inappropriate things with the love of your life, it doesn’t mean you have to hate him, he‘s not that bad.” Laur’s a little bit tri-polar: sometimes she’s Gossipy-Horny-Prying-Laur, sometimes she’s Nerdish-STFU-Gaming-Laur, and sometimes she’s Motherly-Careful-Lovey-Laur. She’s undergone a quick transition from the first one to the last one here.

“Of course I’m going to hate him.” I tell her. “Why the hell shouldn’t I? He’s a stupid bastard, and I know he knows that I like Coy, and he’s still going out with him!”

She sighs. “How can you be sure that he knows?”

“Because!” I flail my arms desperately. “I’ve made it a little obvious haven’t I?”

“You’re kidding!” Laur snorts. “YOU’VE been obvious?”

I wrap my arms around myself; fuck it‘s cold out here. You could freeze salt water. “Um … I haven’t?” I ask, confused.

“Hell no you haven’t! I barely knew, you’re pretty discreet. So maybe Damian doesn’t know either.”

“I was discreet?” I laugh at myself, thinking I’d stared enough for them to get it. “Fun. Well … I still don’t like him, and I won’t ever because he’s had his tongue where his tongue should never be.”

“Hmm … I suppose you’re right. But, uh … Coy really does like him quite a bit.”

I deflate like a pool raft. “He does?” I croak out.

She nods solemnly. “Yup. Sorry …”

“Did he tell you he did?” I pry, but she just stares at the back of Damian’s head without answering me. What was that about …

xxx Coy’s POV xxx

Aaaahh, Laur’s house is waaarm. It was so goddamn cold out there, it has to snow soon, doesn’t it? Well, that’s not going to happen, because it never ever snows here. Frost, maybe, but it hasn’t snowed since I’ve been here, and people tell me that it never has. Thank Buddha for heaters.

Damian is still here, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. While Keith was changing back from the clothes he’d bought (Oh my god he looks too good in those damn jeans) Damian, Laur and I talked for a bit. Actually, Damian and I talked, Laur was unsettlingly quiet. Damian says it’s working, because Keith is glaring at him non-stop. I, however, don’t think that totally means he’s jealous because he likes me, maybe it’s jealous because Damian’s taking all my attention. I want to hug Keith like a little teddy bear and tell him I still like him better, but I can’t because then he’d know I was using Damian just to piss him off, and that would piss him off, which I don’t want. But jeez, I can’t do this for much longer. Not only do I want Keith beyond all coherent thought, but Damian is getting on my nerves, saying we need to keep kissing and stuff. I’m getting a little uncomfortable with it, because I’m not completely gay I suppose. I don’t like other guys, just Keith.

“You guys want hot chocolate or something?” Lauren’s voice cuts through my thoughts. She’s standing just inside the front door as we all take off our shoes and coats, piling them into a heap near the closet. I smile and look around her house: it’s nice. The walls are a toffee color, with high ceilings and a spiral staircase; way better than my house. Her mom’s a lawyer and her dad’s a dentist, so they really rake in the bucks. Still, like my mom, they’re not home much. Laur tells us their not home now either.

“Yeah sure, sounds good.” Keith smiles at her, and I wish it was at me, because my knees go jelly when he grins … he hasn’t been doing it much lately. We pad in our socked feet into the kitchen. Damian’s hand is laced in mine, and I want to shove him off, but I don’t. Our plan has to work, I have no plan B or second choice if it doesn’t. We have to break Keith, for his own good. I know that sounds conceited and boneheaded, but I just don’t think I have the courage to just come out and tell him I like him.

“Heeeeyyy Laur.” I hear a shrill, pre-pubescent voice from somewhere in front of us. At first I don’t see anyone, so I’m puzzled. A second later, a little boy who I recognize as Cam Fath darts out from behind the island in her kitchen, followed by another tiny boy. They slide around us in their socks on the hardwood floor.

“What do you guys want? Get out of here!” she tells them. Cam’s in grade … three now, I think, and he’s quite possibly the most annoying little boy I’ve ever had the displeasure of meeting. His hair is black (while Lauren’s is brown) and it’s too short and too greasy and too curly to be cute on any level.

They, being boys, don’t listen. “Whatcha guys doing?” Cam says in his permanently whiny voice, plodding up to the counter where Laur’s taken out four mugs.

“Eating, screw off, retard.” she sneers. Cam starts yelling at her, and she yells back. Keith, Damian and I have taken refuge near the pantry, out of the line of fire. Keith’s arm brushes against mine and I get all fuzzy and warm again. Cam’s little friend walks up in front of us silently: he doesn’t look as threatening as Cam, he’s got tousled khaki hair and big eyes that remind me of Keith’s, but these ones are speckled with hazel, grey and blue; they stand out against his darkened skin and thick eyelashes. He almost looks like he’s wearing eyeliner (again, reminds me of Keith, because he does wear eyeliner from time to time, though he doesn’t admit it) because his eyes are a little dark ringed. His detailed eyes are just looking at us, expressionless, if not a little shocked. His attention drifts to each of our faces, and he lingers on Keith’s for a second longer. He cocks his tiny head at Keith, who sighs.

“I’m a boy, if that’s what you’re wondering.” he tells the little boy in an upset tone, and the boy nods, looking at him a moment longer. After that, he looks straight at my right hand, which is still twined in Damian’s. His piercing diminutive gaze looks up to our faces. He cocks his head again.

I can’t seem to get an answer out, but I know what he’s asking. Damian obviously can’t either, because he stays silent. The boy walks away from us, over to Cam, who pauses in mid shout when the other boy whispers something in his ear. Cam smirks evilly (for a little kid) and diverts his attention from his sister, allowing her to get back to the drinks. He walks up to us, standing where the other boy had been a second before.

“What’s up with you two?” he asks, gesturing to Damian and I, voice holding not a single ounce of innocence or kindness that a child his age is supposed to have.

“What do you mean?” I reply nervously, twisting out of Damian’s grip and inadvertently moving closer to Keith. The nameless little boy looks at me now, wide eyes shining with what I see as all the innocence Cam’s lost.

Cam laughs in that giddy way little kids have, loud and annoying enough so you can hear it for miles around.

“You’re fags!!”

My eyes widen, my throat lurches. That’s the first time I’ve been called that. I should have seen it coming, it’s the price I pay, but this kid is in third grade! He shouldn’t even know that word, right? Ick. It hurts being called that, even by a little kid. I can’t speak. The intriguing little brunette boy changes his expression ever so slightly, eyebrows angled up in worry. He looks almost sorry … what is it with this kid? There’s something about him I can’t quite place.

“Don’t say that.” he finally talks, three tiny words said in a higher pitched voice than Cam’s, more gentle, less whiny. His teeth are a little big and overlapped, not unlike a rabbits. Cam looks at him incredulously.

“What?”

“Don’t say that word. I don’t like it.” he clarifies, standing up a little straighter, as if he wanted to scare Cam into listening to him. They’re about the same height, so it does no good.

“You don’t like the word fag? What’s wrong with you?” Cam asks him, but the little boy just grabs his sleeve and tugs him out of the kitchen after giving me a small smile that makes me like all little kids a bit more. That’s what kids his age should be like, not brats like Cam.

All three of us let out deep breaths and walk back over to Lauren, who’s sitting on an island stood over a kettle.

“Sorry about the retard …” she says, apparently talking about her brother. “He’s always like that, I can’t help it.”

“S’okay.” Keith says, leaning next to her on the marble counter edge and I take a stool across from them. “Who was that other little boy?” he continues. My eyes widen and I look at him, but he doesn’t notice; he’s watching the kettle.

“Oh, Cam’s friend?” she asks. “That’s Phil.”

“Phil?” he tries out the name. “He’s … I kind of got a weird vibe from him …”

He did? The same kind of thing I got? “Yeah, I did too.” I put in. Keith looks up at me with a shocked look for a second, and I try to smile at him, but he looks back at his friend the kettle.

“A vibe? That’s weird. He’s over here a lot. I don’t know why the hell he’s friends with Cam though. He’s so quiet and cute, he seems like the kid that’d be friends with girls or something.”

“Yeah …” I reply absent-mindedly. Maybe he’ll be gay when he’s older. The kettle clicks and Laur pours the hot water into the cups, handing us each a packet of mix. “… he does, doesn’t he?”

“I didn’t feel anything from him.” Damian chimes, and I want to throw the kettle at him. “He was creepy, staring at us and all!”

I spin in my chair. “Well, maybe he was trying to figure something out.” My eyes narrow a little, he has no right to call the Phil kid creepy. He didn’t do anything to him!

“Like what?”

“… I don’t know.” I grumble, not having any argument here, I can’t say I felt connected to a third grader, I’d get sent to an asylum. But I really did, there was just something about him. Stupid Damian, he’s actually acting like my boyfriend now, but not a nice one. Not like Keith would be … he’d be the perfect boyfriend, so tiny and cute like he is. Almost girlish, but not the same at all, because he isn’t manipulative and whorish like all the other girls we know, and he doesn’t have irritating boobs that would just get in the way. I like the stuff he has now …

“You coming?”

I look up from my stirred drink, Lauren and Damian are standing at the doorway of the kitchen that leads to the living room, looking at me expectantly. Keith is standing next to my stool, unsettlingly close, staring at me. When I’m sitting down, he’s my height … it’s odd not to have to look down at him. It takes me a second to realize. that it’s him who talked, and I quickly regain my senses and stand, holding my Christmas mug full of hot chocolate with near-shaking hands. He’s too close to me and he’s not moving, he’s just looking up at me with those goddamn eyes that make me go nuts. He’s so adorable … I don’t know what to do, I swear my throat’s closing up, I want to kiss him until he can‘t breathe, but I’m not going to.

I look down and push past him wordlessly.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

I’ve made a decision.

My entire plan is stupid. I’m sure you’ve realized that by now, because you’re smarter than me, aren’t you? I bet you are, and I bet this whole thing is beginning to annoy you.

I’ve given up. We’re sitting in the Fath’s living room on their couch watching Saw II, and he’s touching me. Not in a sexual way, not in an intimate way, and not even in a friendly way. His foot in nestled inside mine (I’m a size 11, he’s a size 7). Every inch of him is warm, even his foot. He’s wearing a pink and green striped sock … his toes are tiny, so slightly curled. The back of his foot his pressed against the arch of mine, and every few seconds he cracks his toes and moves against me just a little. I think I’m obsessed for relishing in even the tiniest part of him touching me. I still have Damian’s arm across my shoulders, but I’m not even thinking about him or the movie, just Keith. I’ve realized how stupid the plan is now, because if he’s really worth it, he wouldn’t need bribing and jealousy to like me. He just would. So I’ve decided that I’ll bake him a cake tonight and confess tomorrow, whether he likes it or not. The cake part is to make him happy first, because he eats like a pig and he loves that cheap Betty Crocker cherry bit cake mix more than anything. Then, just when he thinks I’m the best friend in the entire world, I’ll tell him I’m desperately obsessed with him to ruin it. Nothing can go wrong.

I hear Lauren’s front door unlock, and she shoots bolt upright from her position (she was leaning against Keith on the other side of the couch) and waves her hands frantically at us.

“Damian, get off him right now!” she hisses as the four of us hear her mom call out from the entry way.

“What? Why?” Damian asks like a moron, but I don’t question, I just rip his arm off me and scootch closer to Laur (We’re sitting: Damian, Me, Laur, then Keith, who has his legs across Lauren’s lap, hence the touching mine). Laur snatches the remote off the floor and pauses the TV.

Mrs. Fath walks through the threshold into the living room. She looks a lot like Lauren, but older and more weathered. Her hair is just as long and it’s twined up into a tight bun at the back, streaked with grey. She has thin silver glasses and small judgemental eyes; overall very professional looking. Mrs. Fath has always scared me to a certain degree, because she seems like she knows everything and always questions things I say and assumes I’m lying unless I can prove it. I suppose it comes with being a lawyer.

“Hey kids!” she smiles down at us, but if I’m not mistaken, she glares at Keith. “What’s going on?” she asks.

“Not much mom, we’re watching Saw II.” Lauren replies cheerily, but it seems a tad false.

“Oh, I can’t stand these horror movies!” she says and goes to walk by us into the kitchen, but she pauses. Her eyes fall on Damian. “And who are you?”

He smiles his ‘award-winning’ smile. “Damian Beech.” he says simply. “I’m Coy’s b-”

“-Friend!” Lauren finishes for him, giving him a dirty look out of the corner of her eye. “He’s Coy’s friend from school.”

“Ah.” Mrs. Fath says, nodding. “Well, nice to meet you.” she dismisses him and turns back to Laur. “Is Cam home?”

“Yeah, him and Phil are upstairs somewhere.” she says and un-pauses the movie, a silent sign to her mother that the conversation is over. Her mother takes the hint and goes into the kitchen wordlessly. I look over at Lauren as soon as she’s left.

“What was that about?” I ask sceptically. She turns her head ever so slightly to look at me, but then looks back.

“Which part?”

“You told Damian to get off me, and I’m pretty sure she just glared at Keith.”

“Aah.” she mumbles. “My mom’s kind of … well, she doesn’t like … gays.” she tells us. I’m not offended, because it’s understandable, a lot of older people don’t. I’m just grateful Laur didn’t call me a fag.

“So? Why doesn’t she like me?” Keith asks, putting his arm against the arm of the couch and pushing himself to sit up (His foot nudges further into mine, I freak out).

Lauren snorts in that unfeminine way she has. “She thinks you’re dating me.”

Keith LAUGHS. Loudly too. After a second he covers his mouth with his hand, but is still obviously smiling underneath.

“I know! isn’t that stupid?” Lauren smiles at the dying girl on the TV screen. “Like you’d date me, you’re --” she cuts off abruptly and doesn’t explain.

Keith’s foot pokes me, either by accident or by design.

xxxxxxxxxxxxx

The movie ends soon, and I stretch and yawn. Damian tried to put his arm back around me a few times, but I shrugged him off now that I’ve given up the plan, and besides, Keith isn’t even looking at us.

Laur checks her watch. “It’s after ten, you guys should go …” she tells us, looking at each of us in turn.

“Kay …” Damian yawns and stands up. “Can I use your phone? My dad can pick me up.”

“Yeah sure, it’s just in here …” she gets up and walks with Damian into the kitchen. If I want to escape giving him a goodbye kiss, I should leave soon too. I go to get up, then I realize that even after Laur moved, Keith’s foot is still tucked against mine. If my life is going to end after cake tomorrow, I may as well make today count. I move my hand down from my own leg, over my foot and gently onto his. He doesn’t move this time, he doesn’t jerk away. I hold his itty bitty tiny cute foot in my grip and move my thumb back and forth over the ball of his foot, then across his toes, which curl against me. He flexes a little and rolls his heel, pressing it into my hand, so I keep massaging.

After a few seconds, I get the courage to look over at him. To my surprise, this time he’s looking back at me; there’s no kettle to ‘divert his attention’. His eyes are a little wide, and maybe it’s because he hasn’t looked at me in a while, but his eyes seem even greener than they were last week. I can tell now, he’s definitely wearing eyeliner this time … it looks nice, a little emo and girlish, but that’s just pretty on him. A light blush is tinting his cheeks, adding to the overall feminine aura. He’s wearing a relatively tight shirt, it’s dark blue and cap sleeved. Like most things he wears, it looks good on him. I realize I’m staring, and I blush and look back down at his foot, moving my thumb over it again.

I’m not sure how he does it, but he manages to scootch closer to me without moving my hand off his foot, and now his leg is against his chest and he’s right next to me. I make a noise in my throat that sounds a little like a strangled ‘what‘. He’s still just looking at me questioningly, like he’s asking something. I don’t know what he’s asking, so I can’t answer, I stay silent. He’s so close … his breath smells like chocolate.

“Um … I just …” he whispers almost silently, and I watch his lips move as he does. His shin presses against my knee as he leans in closer. Realization slaps me upside the head like a slippery fish … Jesus Christ, he‘s going to kiss me … I can only hear my heartbeat in my head, and I’m suddenly self conscious … what if my lips are chapped, what if I have bad breath? My skin must look bad from this close up, what if I’ve gone cross eyed too?!

“Guys? Are you going to … Oh! Sorry!” Lauren walks through from the kitchen, and sees us. I’m not worried, but I feel like crying when he pulls back. I don’t know why I don’t just yank him on top of me, even with Lauren there … I guess I’m still self conscious.

“S’okay, I’m leaving.” I smile at Keith, who looks up at me with frantic wide eyes. I’ll do this again tomorrow, when I have cake, and when there isn’t a fifty year old homophobe somewhere in the vicinity (Wait, does my mom count?!! I don’t know if she’s a homophobe, and I don’t know if she’ll be home … oh whatever).

“Okay!” Lauren grins back and I stand up, letting Keith’s foot drop. She walks me to the door and we pause for a moment.

“What was that about?” she asks in a hushed tone, in case Keith can hear us.

“H-he …” I choke on my words, I can barely believe he was going to … I almost want to strangle Laur right now for coming into the room. “… he almost kissed me.”

She grins. “You’re kidding! Oh my god I’m so sorry for coming in!”

“It's alright, I’m going to talk to him tomorrow anyways.” I run a hand through my hair after I get my scarf and coat on.

“You’re telling him!!??!”

“Yeah. I’ll see you tomorrow …” I give her a weak smile and she opens her door, so I step out into the freezing night.

xxx Keith’s POV xxx

I scream.

Lauren runs in. I’m buried face first in her couch cushions, hands furiously trying to rip out my own hair.

“What?! What is it!!?” she shrieks and crouches next to me.

“I didn’t kiss him.” I mumble. “I fucking didn’t, I was going to and he got up.”

“B-but you’re going to kiss him eventually though, right?!!” she says frantically and pulls me out of the couch, shaking me by my shoulders.

“I guess so, I just can’t take this anymore.” I say in a weary tone, rubbing my eyes.

Before I know it, I’m being hauled off the couch and am propelled to the front door.

“GO!!” she shouts at me, and I’m wide awake now.

“Wha huh?! What are you doing!?”

“GO AFTER HIM! He’s not very far down the street now, hurry you can still catch him!” she gets my hoodie and throws it on me.

“Why? He doesn’t like me! You said so yourself, he likes Damian!” I protest.

“I WAS LYING! HE SAID HE LIKED YOU, NOT TWO MINUTES AGO!!”

“WHHHHHHHAAAAAATTT??!!!” I scream, not caring if everyone else in this house (that isn’t mine) can hear. “AND YOU DIDN’T TELL ME?? YOU SON OF A BITCH!!!”

I barely have time to grab my backpack before I’m vaulting down her front steps in the glacial darkness, my shoes are only half on and I’m just wearing a T-shirt. I’m not cold yet, my burning blush is keeping me warm, but I know I will be, and I don’t care, I have to catch up to him.

xxx Coy’s POV xxx

Someone grabs me when I get to the junction between the two halves of my street.

Before I even have a chance to swear, I’m not walking anymore, and none other than Keith Carnovale is staring up at me. His face is bright red and he’s panting like mad. Why the fuck isn’t he wearing a coat? What’s in his hair … SNOW? I look up: sure enough, tiny white flakes are spiralling down towards us. We’re under a street lamp and I can see them perfectly swirling around us, but when I look past to the neighbouring houses in the pitch black, they’re invisible.

“C-Coy …” he pants out my name and goes to say more, but he coughs. Has he ran this entire way?!

“What is it? Why aren’t you wearing a coat, it’s snow ---”

“Shut up …” he chokes out. “Just for a second, let me talk …”

I go wide eyed but stay silent. He looks gorgeous like this, all flushed and panting, so I’m content with just looking. He wrings his hands as he talks, and I find myself watching his lips again.

“Okay, um, first … I hate Damian Beech.”

What?

“I know you love him, and he’s your boyfriend and everything, but I hate his guts …”

I don’t miss the malicious tone he adds to the word love.

“E-every time he’s near you, and every time he’s near me, I want to kill him. Every time he kisses you, I want to kill myself.”

If I were a cat, my ears would have perked up at his tone.

“Because … he doesn’t deserve you. No one does really, you’re too good for everyone, and I think you kind of know it. You’re too good for me too, but …”

Fireworks start going off in my head.

“… err, I’ve always been okay with you being gay, it never bothered me … it’s your choice isn’t it … and uh … I …”

His words are breaking up but I know what he’s saying. I want to laugh and scream and grin.

“… I have … feelings for you. Not … friend feelings either, a little … more than that. It fucking kills me to see Damian kiss you, I want to rip his intestine out his throat and choke him with it … and I know that whatever you say when I’m done talking won’t matter, because I … really hope you like me too, and I … um, think you do. I’m fucking obsessed with you Coy, I can’t sleep, I can’t think, so even if you don’t feel the same way, just shut up for a second and close your eyes--”

He kisses me.

He stands on his very tip toes, puts his hands on my cheeks and places his lips on mine. My heartbeat is so erratic and painful in my head that I feel dizzy, but this is amazing. It’s not a dream this time, it’s real ... His tiny little hands move over my cheeks (his nails are blue this time) and one laces in my hair. The kiss is warm and gentle, our noses bump for a moment until he tilts his head, and I can taste the hot chocolate ever so faintly on him even though his mouth isn’t open. I can almost hear the soft clink of metal as our lip rings bump gently … it’s heavenly. My frozen hands fall softly on his waist, I can feel his girlish hips though his dark jeans, and my thumb brushes back and forth over the rough material. Even then I can still feel the heat seeping though. I open my eyes a fraction and watch snowflakes catch on his eyelashes, then on mine. I love the look of bliss on his face. The kiss is relatively short, but my knees go weak and my vision blurs. He pulls back slowly and our lips make a muffled ‘mwah’ noise as he falls back onto his heels and I straighten back up to my full height. He doesn’t talk. He looks worried and anxious, his midnight hair is dotted with snowflakes but he doesn’t brush them out. He’s shivering in the night, he’s wrapped his arms around himself in a futile attempt for warmth, his hands fisted in the strap of his messenger bag. I want to hug him and keep him warm, but all I do is slowly take off my scarf and wrap it around his neck. I have over a dozen, this one is green and grey, thick and woollen with tassles at the bottom.

“Stay warm.” I whisper. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

My hands are curled around the scarf, resting on his lithe shoulders. His fingers come up reflexively to cover mine. I let him touch me for a second before brushing the flakes out of his hair and trotting silently down my half of the street, boots leaving a trail in the quickly falling snow.





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