It sounds like something from one of those gang-war movies, but I couldn’t let him come down to my territory -- my turf -- and mouth off and push me around. He can pull that shit at St. James and there’s fuck-all I can do about it, but not here. Not on Liberty Avenue. Not among my family.

So I shouted to the rooftops about our little extracurricular hand-job in the equipment room to everyone who’d listen. And there turned out to be quite a lot of interest in Chris Hobbes. I watched his mouth drop open when he realized what I was going to do. Watched the fury rise in his eyes and the pink tinge grow on his cheeks. Saw his hands clench into fists and I knew that if I was anywhere but on Liberty Avenue, surrounded by a cheering pack of queers, he would not hesitate to start swinging.

But here... here, he didn’t dare. Here, I held the power. And I was flush with the thrill of that knowledge.

So Chris ran off with his tail between his legs, just like I’d hoped. And Emmett kissed my cheek and cheered me on. But the one person I wanted to hear from kept silent... even though he’d leapt back down the steps and between me and Chris when he thought things were going to get physical.

I look up at him and I can’t keep the hopeful look off my face. It’s been so fucking hard the past few weeks. I’ve been putting up with so much shit from Hobbes and his minions; Brian doesn’t know the half of it. The constant needling in the hallways, the pushing and shoving in the locker room after gym class. Whispered threats. I’ve been putting up with it, just trying to count down the days until I can leave St. James behind. I know that in the grand scheme of things, Chris Hobbes is just a minor annoyance in my life. His harassment is the kind of thing that I’ll look back on when I’m a rich and famous artist with my own animation studio, and I’ll think that he made me stronger or some such shit.

But right now, I’m tired of it. And I just want Brian to recognize that... that I’m brave. That I’m strong and brave and not going to put up with bullshit.

“Congratulations,” Brian finally drawls out, his voice dripping with disappointment. “You’ve just made yourself a real enemy.” He spares a glance down the street at Chris’s still retreating back before loping up the steps to Woody’s.

I hate that he’s disappointed in me. His displeasure sits like a rock in my gut. But I stand on the sidewalk outside the bar and can’t find it in myself to regret what I just did.