Steve’s mother was the black sheep of her family.

Stella hated the snow, and the isolation of the small town she grew up in. Hated the bright colors, and sheer friendliness of the neighbors. How everyone was always involved in each other’s business, at all times--and how getting involved meant sharing.

Giving up your time for the greater good.

‘We’re one big family!’ Her father had told her, and hadn’t understood why she found the concept utterly revolting.

Just like she couldn’t understand why they never agreed with her ideas. Things would run so much more smoothly with more rules, better regulations. They didn’t need to rely on magic when they had spreadsheets.

Who cared if some people were upset? If some of the workers where put out of jobs, or “hurt” by her changes?

That was how evolution worked.

The strongest survived, and the business world demanded only the strongest of leaders.

She didn’t regret leaving.

Didn’t look behind her for a second, all too happy to go to college and find herself a rich man to make miserable.

Even had a child, though they were never her favorite things. Her Steven of course, would be so much different from the children she’d grown up among or the ones she helped oversee for her father's work.

He wouldn’t cry. He wouldn’t shriek or scream or make demands of busy adults. Steven would know his place, and he would stay in it until he had grown into a reasonable adult.

No unrealistic expectations, not from her son.

And absolutely, 100%, no magic.

(Unfortunately for Stella Harrington and her relationship with her son, magic does not obey the whims of one person.

Particularly not that kind of magic, one far older than Stella could comprehend.)

See: Steve knew where he came from. Would never say it of course, outright refused to put a name to it.

Knew better, even when he was young, than to speak it aloud.

Though his mother had long abandoned any powers given to her, Steve was still born with his. When lonely, he often found he could wander into a different kind of woods. 

One absolutely covered in snow.

Steve should have been cold in those woods, but he never was, not even the first time he stumbled into them at the tender age of seven.

These trees never scared him. Not like the ones in his backyard sometimes did.

The whole place felt rather welcoming in a way his own house had never been, and as Steve had stumbled along following the faint glow of lights, he found himself feeling more relaxed.

Happy.

Even at seven, Steve was smart enough to know he needed to turn back, after a while. That his mother would be furious with him if he caused her to miss the meeting she needed to go to.

That he had a responsibility to be where she put him.

He hadn’t crested the hill yet. Hadn’t quite figured out where the glow was coming from, when he realized he needed to go home--but his trip wasn’t wasted.

A baby reindeer distracted him.

It peeked around a tree, and upon seeing him, came dashing his way.

Steve should be scared, would have been scared, but something in him told him this creature was his friend. He held out his hands and greeted it as such.

He was right.

A few more little reindeer came up over the hill, running around him, and together he played what felt like a game as he walked back in the direction he thought his house lay.

Said his goodbyes when the snow started to wane and made promises to return.

Found, sadly, that he wouldn’t get another chance too for almost a full year. He was too busy, signed up for multiple sports, handed over to tutors and taught life skills by a parade of nannies, none of whom ever stayed for long.

He dreamed of the snow.

The gentle way the woods felt.

It was what made him tell the lie that let him go back.

Steve was eight by then, and smart to how his parents and nannies worked. That some of them overlapped their stays when his parents went away.

So it was easy to tell Mary that she could go.

That it was okay, really. Carla had just called, she was on her way.

Just like it was easy to tell Carla that his parents' plans had changed. Let her know she wasn’t needed after all.

What harm would it do if he was alone for a night? His father kept telling him he was a big boy. Soon he’d be on his own anyway.

The snow found him faster this time, when he went for his walk in the woods.

Delighted, Steve kept an eye out for the reindeer, fingers skittering across tree bark as he looked around, once again tracking the soft glow that came up over the hill.

It was a long walk to that light, but Steve didn’t mind.

Not until he heard the crying.

“Hello?” Steve called, voice prim and proper as always. It was a little high--Tommy teased him endlessly about it, but he had been assured it would deepen.

The crying didn’t stop, but things got quiet for a moment, in the way that happens when someone was trying hard not to be found.

(Steve knew exactly how that felt, not wanting to be found. Wanting to cry for a moment, without someone telling you to toughen up, be a man, ‘God Steven you’re too old for all this--’)

“It’s okay!” Steve rushed out, trying to locate where the muffled sounds were coming from before they ran away. “I won’t tell anyone, I promise!”

Which is right about when he almost tripped over the other kid.

He was hunched against a tree, knees drawn into his chest with brown hair hanging into his eyes. His clothes were a odd--a little like how his teacher had made Steve dress when they’d done a play about the middle ages.

“Who’re you?” The boy asked defensively, wiping his nose with his sleeve.

“I’m Steve.” He said, before kneeling down himself. “Did you get hurt?”

“No.” The boy sniffled. After a moment he added; “M’ Eddie.”

His eyes were large, and reminded Steve of a puppy he once saw. All cute and round and shiny.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen you before.” The boy said and it wasn’t an accusation, but it wasn’t friendly.

“I’m not from around here.” Steve told him. “At least, I don’t think I am.”

It was kind of hard to know, given Steve wasn’t sure where here was, exactly--and absolutely knew better than to ask his parents.

“Well then you should go home.” The boy sniffled again.

Steve wasn't put off by it. Tommy had been a lot meaner than this after all, when they'd first met. 

Given their parents made them play together anyways, Steve felt he he could get this kid to like him too. 

"I'm gonna, later. I'm looking for something right now though--you wanna come?" 

Which he felt was a pretty nice offer. Might distract Eddie from whatever was bothering him.

(Steve liked distractions, when he was upset. It made it a lot easier to swallow down the bad feelings.) 

“You shouldn’t hang around me.” Eddie said suddenly. His nose was as red as his eyes, and he refused to look Steve in the eye as he hunched further into himself. “I’m bad.”

“You’re not bad.” Steve told him. 

He got a glare for it.

“How would you know?”

“I dunno.” Steve stopped, brows furrowing in thought. “I just--kinda do. I always have.”

Which was true. Steve was awfully good at identifying who was good and who was bad, from adults to his fellow classmates. It had gotten him in trouble before his mother had sat him down, and told him he just had a good business sense.

That he needed to keep to himself who was good and who was bad, especially the adults, because it wasn’t his place to say such things.

(‘But it’ll serve you well in the future.’ His mother told him, tucking an errant strand of hair back behind his ear. ‘Particularly for business deals.’)

“Well you’re wrong then, because I was born bad.” Eddie scoffed, arms crossing over his chest. “Everyone says so!”

It was dramatic as hell, and Steve couldn’t help the giggle that escaped him.

“I’m sorry!” He said immediately, when Eddie’s face flushed angrily. “I’m sorry it’s just--you look kinda silly.”

He mimed Eddie’s stance for a moment, including a dramatic little huff of breath. It unbalanced him, and Steve ended up dropping on his butt, which made him to laugh even louder.

“No one who does that can be bad.” He said finally, through the giggles. 

“That’s--stupid. You’re stupid.” Eddie said, except he was clearly trying to hide his own laugh at Steve’s antics.

“I’m not stupid--and you’re not bad. I promise.” Steve said, before reaching out a hand, one pinkie extended. “I’ll swear on it.”

“What’re you doing?” Eddie asked him, but he didn’t sound sad now. More curious. 

Curious Steve knew, was a lot better than sad. 

“You wrap your pinkie finger with mine. Then it’s a pinkie swear, which is like--unbreakable!”

That’s what Carol had told him at least, and so far it had held true. Steve figured it must work doubly so, in a place like this.

Cautiously, Eddie reached out, entwining his pinkie with Steve’s. Like any minute Steve would snatch his hand back, and tell him it was all a joke.

Instead, Steve bobbed their hands up and down once, before letting go and asking; “Do you wanna go find that light with me? I wanna see what it is.”

He pointed up the hill, toward the glow that had haunted his dreams.”

“Oh that’s boring.“ Eddie told him, but he had a grin on his face that felt infectious. “It’s just the town. I’ll show you something way better!”

“Yeah?” Steve asked, and let Eddie snatch his wrist, launching to his feet and bringing Steve with him.

In doing so his hair blew, revealing that he had pointed ears.

Steve stared at them in awe as Eddie tugged him further into the trees, until they burst into a clearing filled with gingerbread houses. They ranged from teeny tiny, to large enough that Steve and Eddie could walk in them, and it wasn’t long before the two started a game of tag, broken only by laughter. 

In retrospect, this was his downfall.

Because the little gingerbread houses were really cool, and Eddie was a lot of fun. It was easy to play with him--like the two of them had been made for each other.

Steve had never connected like this with a person before. Never had so much fun with someone before.

Not even with Tommy and Carol, his very best friends.

Eddie seemed to feel the same way, and not even an hour into meeting him, Steve knew he would remember this for the rest of his life.

Remember Eddie.

Steve ended up losing track of time. Stayed so long that his lie was discovered.

The person who came looking for him wasn’t his parents, but looked weirdly like his mom--if his mom were a boy.

He introduced himself as Steve’s Uncle Nick after he called the two boys to him, hands on his hips in a way Steve kind of wanted to mimic.

Steve knew it to be true, in the same way he knew how to find the forest, and if someone was good or bad. A feeling inside him he could tap into, warm and fuzzy in a way that, should he ever be pressed, he might admit to feeling like magic.

“Now how did you get here?” Uncle Nick asked him, like Steve's presence was a surprising little puzzle.

Knowing better than to lie, sensing that his Uncle would be able to tell if he did anyways, Steve told him the truth.

It got him exactly what he expected, which was an upset adult.

Unlike his mom or dad however, his Uncle didn’t yell at him, or grab Steve’s hand in a punishing grip. No nails dug into his skin, no harsh words were hissed. Uncle Nick simply pinched the tip of his nose, before giving a sigh that shook his massive frame.

“Your mom is going to be very upset.” He said finally.

Like Steve didn't know. 

“I just wanted to see the lights.”

“The lights--oh.” Uncle Nick glanced over his shoulder. “Could you see them from your house?”

Steve shook his head.

“No but I could feel them.”

Like a pulse in his chest. A compass, or--a guide.

“He says he can tell who's naughty or nice.” Eddie chimed in, oddly quiet for how loud he had been. “He says I’m good.”

This was said as a challenge, and Steve eyed his new friend out of the corner of his eye. He’d never dared speak to an adult like that, and was both a little in awe of Eddie doing it, and afraid for him.

Something his Uncle seemed to sense.

“Edward, go home.” He said, firm but kind.  Not like how Steve's mom was when she was mad, or his dad when he had a bad day at work.“I’ll come talk to you later. Come on Steve, let me walk you back. I best explain this in person.”

Then he took Steve’s hand in his, while Steve called out a goodbye to Eddie over his shoulder.

“You’ll come back and visit, right!?” Eddie yelled back. 

Steve shouted an affirmative, even knowing it wasn’t likely he’d be allowed.

(Wished with all his heart, that he'd be allowed.) 

“Eddie is really good, you know.” Steve said once he no longer could see his new friend, because it felt important to tell his Uncle that. Necessary, for some reason.

“I know.” Uncle Nick replied gently. “But let’s not worry about him right now, okay?”

“Okay.”

Then they were back in Steve’s woods, the ones that were sometimes unfriendly. In his backyard, and up to the door, and even from here Steve could hear his mother and father screaming at each other, in a tone that made his stomach curl.

“Come on kiddo. Time to face the music.” Uncle Nick told him, and Steve found he really didn’t want to let go of his Uncle’s hand.

He did though.

He was a big boy, and well trained. He didn’t flinch from his parents. Didn’t disobey when his mother demanded he tell her exactly how he got to the fun place, with all the snow--and listened further still when she demanded Uncle Nick take it out of him.

Take what Steve didn’t know--not until his Uncle lost the argument.

Reached into Steve’s chest and did something to him, something that killed that warm and fuzzy thing that had always lived inside Steve.

He cried harder than he ever had before that night. Cried and begged for Uncle Nick to put it back, that he was sorry and he wouldn’t ever use it again if they just let him keep it.

(He promised, he promised, he promised-!)

Sank to his knees and told his parents that it hurt.

They didn't listen, and they didn't put it back.

His father told him to get up off the floor, and then pulled him up when Steve found he couldn’t.

Hauled him to his room, even as his Uncle warned his mother that he couldn’t get rid of it. That he could only suppress it, the same way she suppressed hers, but those words didn’t really matter to Steve just then.

Not when he was hurting, and tired, and found himself wishing for his new friend.

(His mother told him he’d feel better in time.

Steve never did.)

xXx

The hole in Steve’s chest had never filled.

It kept him up at night. The yearning for something just out of reach, tormenting him with a feeling of being hollow.

He didn’t know how his mother could stand it.

Steve stopped fussing about it though--or rather, he stopped the first time his father had slapped him over his complaining.

“Enough, Steven! You’re perfectly fine. Now start acting like it, for fucks sake!” He’d roared, and shocked as he was, Steve had still done what he’d been taught to do.

Toughed it out. Sucked it up. Got over it.

Dumped his entire life into basketball and swimming and other parent-approved activities, even if he felt empty.

He was eight, then ten, then fourteen and soon Steve wasn’t healed, but he'd adjusted. 

Got aloof to the pain as his popularity skyrocketed, and his parents left him on his own while they chased the almighty dollar.

(Secretly, Steve tried to fill the void in his heart with parties and people, alcohol and even the occasional drug, though most just left him feeling worse than before.

It was perhaps how he ended up acting as he did.

Turning from the sweet boy who was always helping others, to someone who was fast with their insults. Popularity was a sharks game, and though he refused to participate in the bullying his friends enjoyed, he made sure everyone knew who the biggest fish in the pond was.

Because the hole was always there, in the back of his mind. The thing inside him that was missing, that made him crave the snow, and the lights, and the boy with pointy ears. 

He might be able to force himself to forget about all of that, if only the hole in his heart would allow him.)

xXx

Five days before his fifteenth birthday, some random guy showed up in Steve’s yard.

This wasn’t unusual--Steve invited a lot of people over.

Tommy and Carol both had a standing invitation to use his pool and Steve often used it to curry favor with the upperclassmen--but even underwater, Steve didn’t recognize the teenager leaning over to watch him swim.

Plus it was a little weird for someone to pop up on a Sunday.

Refusing to be intimidated, Steve surfaced right under the guy, head whipping up to make sure he splashed him in the face.

Laughed as the other guy sputtered.

“Can I help you man?” Steve drawled, hooking his arms on the lip of the pool.

“I’m looking for someone. Steve Harrington?” The guy told him, glaring as he wiped water off his face.

His hair just touched his shoulders, in that awkward stage of growing out that made him look like a pageboy.

Steve tucked that little observation away for later, in case he needed it.

“Congratulations, you found me.” He said, eyeing him over.

Black jeans with holes in the knees, wallet chain and a black shirt with a faded logo of some band Steve had never heard of proudly displayed. A checkered plaid shirt topped the whole outfit, with a red guitar pick dangling around his neck from a chain.

Like the guy thought he was some kind of rockstar, and not in bumfuck Indiana.

Steve raised an eyebrow.

“Though I think you’re in the wrong place. The audition for the new town jester is being held at the high school.”

He got a frown, like the guy knew he was being insulted but didn’t quite want to believe it. “I’m not here for an audition.”

“You sure? Cause you’re definitely dressed the part.”

“Okay, you are definitely not Steve.” He said, arms crossing his chest. He had a ring on each hand, catching the light as he clutched at his arms. “Steve wasn’t this much of a dick.”

Which wasn’t the first time Steve had been called out for his behavior--but it had never been by the people he was supposed to care about.

Those people, the people his parents liked?

They loved it.

“Times change.” Steve told the stranger. Kept his tone light and playful, the way that always made girls giggle at him and guy’s listen.

Well the ones he wasn’t making fun of, anyways.

“People do too.”

He rearranged himself, planting both palms flat against the concrete, bouncing once to build energy before rocketing out of the water.

Stood, and watched with interest as the new guy’s eyes raked over his naked torso, before his whole face flushed red.

How he looked away, like he suddenly couldn’t bare to look at Steve.

“You shouldn't have changed that much.” He muttered, but Steve already had his number.

"Why were you looking for me anyway?” Steve asked as he went and grabbed a towel. Wrapped it around his waist, but kept his upper body shirtless.

Idly scratched at his hip and watched as the guy acted like Steve had practically stripped naked in front of him.

Weirdly enjoyed the little spark it gave him, to watch this guy appear so affected by his bare chest.

Defensive, the stranger bit out; “We were friends. I haven’t seen him in a long time, I was just checking up on him.”

That made Steve pause.

Really look over the guy standing before him.

The fidgeting, the blushing, the way he avoided Steve’s gaze.

He opened his mouth, an odd urge to draw this out guiding him when the hole in his chest pulsed.

Like a convulsion, a miniature seizure that took Steve entirely by surprise.

It had been a long time since it had done that, long enough to throw Steve off his game.

Make him feel unsafe, unmoored.

Abandoned.

“Yeah?” He wheezed, before covering himself and the flood of wrong/want/need with a harsh cough. “Well now I know you’re definitely barking up the wrong tree. I’d never be friends with a fucking queer.”

At that, the guy’s mouth dropped open, head whipping around to stare at Steve in shock.

"Don’t deny it, I can tell. You’re practically drooling over there.” Steve smiled with all his teeth, even as he struggled to keep his breath even. “It’s disgusting.”

“You know what, fuck you. I thought you were different and you’re not.” The stranger spat, with far more venom than Steve was prepared for. “You’re the same as all the rest.”

He scoffed, before whirling on his heel, middle finger high in the air as he stormed off into the woods.

“Have fun with your sad, beige fucking life!” He yelled, voice a little choked up.

“I will!” Steve yelled back at him, oddly heated.

Rubbed his chest when he was gone, before sitting down to try and figure out what the hell just happened--and why the hell his chest hurt so much.

xXx

Steve’s life remained completely and painfully normal--until Nancy Wheeler.

Nancy and her smile, Nancy and her reminder of what it felt like to be loved. 

She didn’t fill the void inside him, but what she did came close.

Felt similar.

Steve found he’d do anything for her, looking at life once again through the lens he had back when he was seven.

It was great.

Better than great--it was the best he’d ever been.

Then Barb went missing.

Shit hit the fan so fast that in retrospect, Steve still doesn’t understand it. There was Jonathan and his camera, with the background of his missing little brother. Tommy and his insults, grabbing Steve up by the collar. Nancy being weird, Nancy ducking him to hang out with the guy who took photographs of them having sex.

Steve's brain tracks it all in little snapshots. The way he realized that maybe Nancy was right--he was way more of an asshole than he thought. How he decided to clean the theater, and then apologize to Jonathan.

(Creepy shit or not, Jonathan’s brother was gone. Steve had never had a brother, but he understood how it felt when something important was taken from you.

How it made you act after.)

There was a shift inside him. Not coming from the void, but from how Steve dealt with it.

And then there was a fucking monster coming out of the ceiling.

This is how Steve learns the magic he once had wasn’t special. That it’s not the only supernatural thing that exists in the world.

Only unlike the snow and gingerbread house and boy with pointed ears and an Uncle that looked a hell of a lot like Santa Clause, this version came with evil government laboratories, the Upside Down and his girlfriend holding a gun.

It was kind of a lot, really.

Particularly because his parents weren’t home.

(They still came home of course, but it wasn’t with the same frequency as it used to be.

The business trips went from once a month, to every other week, to long stretches of away periods. Long enough that Steve spoke to them over the phone more than he did in person, and knew more about business mergers than he ever cared too.

Also his fathers love life, courtesy of his drunk mother.)

Steve didn’t exactly handle it well.

Doesn’t think any of them handled it well, really, even if Nancy blamed him for trying to pretend he was okay. But right as their relationship blew up in Steve’s face, shit started happening again.

Flickering lights and freaky monsters. A group of kids Steve found himself in charge of, who were doing their level best to commit suicide.

(“We’re helping El and Will, idiot!” Mike Wheeler protested in the back of Billy Hargrove’s Camaro when Steve brought up that this was not what being benched meant, and Steve let him have that one given the way the world was spinning.

God that asshole hit like a train.)

Another snapshot, full of fear and fury, and things were over once again. 

Steve was telling Nancy it was okay. She could go with Jonathan, that he could tell it was what she wanted.

It hurt him to do it, but he wasn’t going to be like his own parents.

Realized with a weird amount of clarity, that he wanted to be the very opposite of his parents.

Late in the night, feeling every ache and pain in his body but knowing everyone was safe, Steve finally started the long trek home. 

He didn’t have his car (he hoped that was still at the Byers place) and he didn’t have his keys (no clue where those went but he was praying it wasn’t in the freaky tunnels) and was well into the middle of his walk when his chest started acting weird. Really weird. 

Steve ignored it.

He kept ignoring it, focused on getting back to his bed, and his bed alone.

(Maybe he had been thinking more than that. About how the last time he had truly been happy wasn’t with Nancy, but with Eddie. That he’d give anything to go play in the gingerbread houses again.

Maybe he was even thinking of how warm his Uncle had been, the way he was so gentle when he held Steve’s hand.

How he’d argued against Steve’s parents, when no one else ever did.

It was probably just the head injury.)

Unfortunately--or fortunately, depending on who you asked later--the weird feeling didn't stop.

It grew and grew, until it felt like something was breaking out of him.

Like a cough you’d long suppressed that crawled forcefully up and out of your throat, it both hurt and felt amazing, a pang echoing out through his very core--

Then suddenly there was snow on the trees and Steve was stumbling into a teenager with fluffy hair.

“Sorry.” He muttered, right before he went down on his knees.

“What the hell---” Fluffy haired guy said, spinning around and looking at Steve like he was a ghost. “Oh shit, are you okay!?”

“I’m fine.” Steve lied, even as he gave in and laid down.

Man, this snow was nice.

Comfy and soft, and cold on his face.

There was a string of curses coming from above him, and Steve made the effort to twist his head so he could watch fluffy hair kneel frantically next to him.

“ What happened!? How did you get here!?”

“S’long story man.” Steve slurred, feeling bad and looking worse. His head fucking hurt.

“Don’t suppose there’s a guy named Eddie around? He has uh,” Steve fumbled, hands trying to point to his ears. “Pointed. You know.”

He gestured to his own ear again.

(Figured he might as well ask, given all the snow.)

The Fluffy Hair pulled said hair back at that, revealing his very own pointy ear. “Dude you’re in the North Pole, all us elves have pointy ears.”

The North Pole.

The words Steve had only ever dared to think, and never said out loud.

“Cool.” He said instead, not really feeling like he was inside his own body.

“Just--stay there, okay? My name's Gareth I’m gonna go get someone.” Gareth the elf (an elf, wasn’t that a trip. Did that mean Eddie was also an elf?) said, hands hovering awkwardly in the air, before he darted off, out of Steve’s sight.

“Can you get Eddie?” The question came out in a whine, the hurt in Steve’s chest overtaken by the pain in his head.

He didn’t get an answer.

Which was okay, he thought.

He didn’t really need one.

He had the snow, and the woods that weren’t straight out of a fucking nightmare, and, he could just sleep right here…

“Steve!”

He blinked, and found he must have passed out.

“There you are. Stay with me.” A blurry face was saying. A couple more blinks brought it into focus, and Steve knew this person, even if he couldn't put a name to a face.

The hair was longer, and there were more rings on his fingers, ones Steve could both see and feel as a hand ran along the back of his head.

Worried doe eyes met Steve's own, and just through the curtain of curls, he caught the outline of a pointed ear.

“Ed--ie?” He croaked, unsure.

“Yeah Stevie, it's me. You're okay, we brought you back to my place. Gareth is getting help.”

He was trying to sound reassuring but he mostly just sounded worried.

Not that Steve cared, because he finally figured out why older Eddie was familiar.

“Oh.” He managed, the words feeling like he had to push out. “It was you. By the--pool.”

“What?”

It felt like eons ago. The weird guy, asking after him. Back when Steve had been doing anything he could to fill the void his magic had left behind, and turned into a raging shithead as a result.

“M sorry.” Steve slurred, voice cracking in its honesty. “I was--asshole. M'sorry.”

The look Eddie gave him was wild. Like he couldn’t believe Steve was here, and definitely couldn’t believe Steve was apologizing.

Which was fair. Until last year Steve wouldn’t have ever apologized, to anyone, ever. 

“Yeah you were, but we can talk about it later. Right now I just need you to stay awake.” Eddie said instead. It was gentle, a lot more gentle than Steve felt he deserved.

It made him want to explain, more than anything, what had happened.

“I was tryin to fix…the hole. Inside.” Steve needed Eddie to understand. Needed it more than breathing, just then.

“I know, big boy.” Eddie soothed, and his hands were back in Steve’s hair.

It felt nice.

“S’not an excuse, promise it's not. I was hurt--hurting, and--I was mean.” Steve continued. It was getting harder to think, the world swimming in and out of focus, but this was important.

Perhaps the most important thing he’d done in a long time, sans saving the kids from the demodogs.

“It’s okay, Stevie. I didn’t get it back then but I understand better now and…”

He might have said something more. Steve thinks he was, but then Eddie was shaking him harshly, and Steve realized he might have tried to pass back out.

“Come on Stevie, sweetheart, you can’t sleep right now. You have to stay awake for me, okay? Steve?”

Steve tried to shake his head and hissed when he found out how much that hurt. Breathed in and out through the pain, before his brain connected back to what he’d been trying to say.

“Not jus’ to you.” He panted. “Wasn’t mean just to you.”

That was important too. That Eddie knew he hadn't been targeted. That Steve was a dick to pretty much anyone he came across.

“I know. I've uh, been watching you, from here."

“Yeah?”

“We have this giant globe. Like a crystal ball, but it’s set deep into the floor so you can only really see half of it. It can also connect to snow globes, and it can let you see places. Watch people.”

Eddie’s voice was soothing, the deep timber of it echoing through Steve’s chest. Belatedly he realized his head was in Eddie’s lap.

That felt nice too.

“I was real mad at you but the Bossman--uh, your Uncle, he kinda showed me you once or twice and then I started watching you myself. Sorry I know that’s weird--”

“Least you didn’t take pictures.” Steve wheezed and then tried to grin because that was very much supposed to be a joke.

(He definitely had felt more put together when he dropped the kids off in Billy's Camaro--so what the hell was happening? Had the shock worn off? Adrenaline?

Fuck maybe he should have just driven Billy’s stupid car back to his house, instead of leaving it at Max's house.

Asshole deserved to not know where his car was anyway.)

Then suddenly there was a lot of noise and light and fuck did that all make his head hurt. Hands went all over him, people barking orders, and a girl Steve was pretty sure was his age was peering at him.

“Steve?” She asked, but it sounded distant. Echoey and unclear.

“I can’t keep him awake!”

That from Eddie, who sounded much clearer, if not utterly panicked. 

“It’s okay, I’ve got him.” The girl said, tight but professional in a way that typically belonged to someone used to medical emergencies. “You can let him go now.”

“Are you kidding me, Buckley you’re an apprentice medmage-!”

Steve frowned at that, but found something was drifting over him. A weight, like an invisible blanket pressed down gently, and he had a second to recognize that this too, was some kind of magic before sleep tried to take him.

He fought it for a moment as a thought occurred.

One last thing he needed to say.

“You’re still good. Eddie. You’ve always been--”

The magic took him away.

xXx

It smelled like cinnamon.

Cinnamon and sharp hints of peppermint, the kind that tickled at Steve’s nose as he slowly rose back into consciousness.

Steve winced as he sat up, head itching like ants were crawling all over it. Idly he tried to scratch at his forehead and found himself touching a thick bandage, at about the same time his body seemed to catch on that he was awake.

It reminded him that he had had a hell of a night in the form of an onslaught of aches and pains.

His fingers traced the edge of the bandage as he took in the cheerful red walls surrounding him. The room was the exact kind of kitschy his mom hated, little twirls of white here and there making the place look like the inside of a candy cane.

The center piece was the full size window, taller than Steve was and twice as wide. Fat, fluffy flakes of snow drifted lazily outside it, some sticking to the window panes as they floated on by.

It was a little like being knocked out and waking up in the Wonka factory, but given all the shit that he had been through the past twenty four hours, Steve didn’t mind it.

Snow was infinitely preferable to the weird ash that came out of the Upside Down.

As if sensing he was awake, the door opposite the window swung open. A tray came through, positively stacked with a stupid amount of pancakes and oozing with maple syrup, the type Steve could smell.

“I,” Eddie announced, head just visible above the good, “had a very embarrassing meltdown when they tried to take you away from me. So suck it up Harrington, because you’re stuck with me now.”

Steve stared at him, mildly concerned he was a hallucination.

“I brought you pancakes.” Eddie added, pausing as he approached the bed like he hadn’t actually thought through to this point.

“I see that.” Steve said, just to fill the sudden, awkward silence. “There’s…kinda a lot there, man.”

So much so it was threatening to escape the confines of the tray and drip down onto the carpet.

“You play sports things don’t you?” Eddie defended, making the executive decision to put the tray down on the bed. “Kinda thought you’d need like, a lot, especially if you're healing." 

Steve snorted, but didn’t bother to hide the smile that crept onto his face.

Even if it hurt.

Dragged his gaze from the pile of pancakes now laid before him, to the man fidgeting awkwardly by his bedside.

Realized belatedly, that Eddie hadn’t changed much.

Not since Steve had last seen him, though he never in his life would have thought one of Santa’s elves would wear so much black.

(Frankly Eddie looked just like every other teenage metalhead Steve had ever met, sans the pointed ears. One of which was now pierced and had little metal hoops threaded through it.)

Eddie realized Steve was looking, and bashfully twist a strand of his hair in front of his face.

It was cute.

It made him look cute.

“You might as well sit and help me with this, it’s way too much.” Steve told him.

Which was the truth--Eddie had brought him a shit load of pancakes and Steve wasn’t exactly sure he could chew all that well right now, considering his left cheek was so puffed out it felt like a chipmunks.

Didn’t want to turn down a gift though--or rather, turn down a gift from Eddie.

Who he absolutely still needed to apologize properly too.

“I guess I should start off with a thank you.” Steve began, as Eddie dropped onto the bed. “I think you might have saved my life, though I swear I wasn’t doing that bad off before I got here.”

“Robin said the shock wore off.” Eddie told him. He didn’t wait for Steve to dig in, grabbing a pancake and rolling it up like a sausage before stabbing one end in syrup. “She also said you had a hell of a concussion, two cracked ribs and a literal boatload of scratches,”

Which sounded about right, considering.

“Still though.” Steve frowned, looking at his hands. “I mostly just fought off Billy, the demodogs never got me.”

Something he was incredibly thankful for, given the sheer amount of teeth.

“I think you’re downplaying your injuries here, handsome, you gave Robin a hell of a fright. She cursed in four languages." Eddie talked fast, just like the little boy Steve remembered him as.

It made him grin. 

“Handsome, huh?” Steve teased, and regretted it the second it slipped out of his mouth.

He hadn’t meant to call attention to it. Not just yet anyway. Wanted to work his way up to his apology and then the things he had kind of realized on his walk home (and possibly before that, though he thinks he might have…repressed it.)

Given the way Eddie froze, Steve figures he’s got about two seconds to talk himself out of it, before Eddie rightfully shut him out.

“I like it. The nicknames.” He said, which is also not what he intended to come out of his mouth and God he was really blowing this, wasn’t he?

“Steve,” Eddie started, sounding a little strangled and nope, no, he was going to fix this dammit!

“I’m sorry.” He said honestly. “I know I was an ass when you came to check up on me, and I know I said some terrible things to you. I regret it. I regret it a lot, and I shouldn’t have treated you like that.”

“You weren't wrong.” Eddie cut in, twirling a ring on his finger, eyes firmly on it. “I am gay. I am flamingly gay. And I understand if after today, you don't want me here.”

Which apparently answered the question about whether or not elves gave a shit about such things.

(Or maybe they did, and it was humans who cared, and Eddie was giving him an out for it.

Steve figured he’d ask later.

After he had finished groveling.)

“I want you here.” He said, as seriously as he’d ever said anything. “I think the real question is why you would want to help me?”

It was the one thing that didn’t add up. Why Eddie had been so nice, when he’d shown up.

Sure it was one thing to be a good citizen or whatever, help out a guy who was passed out on the ground, but Eddie hadn’t just gotten help.

He’d stroked Steve’s hair. He’d kept him awake.

Hell he called Steve sweetheart.

And now he was here again, right by Steve's bedside, checking up on him.

You didn’t do that for the guy who was a downright douchebag too you, even if it had been a few years.

Eddie bit his lip, before he chanced a look back at Steve, up through his bangs. “Because you said I was good Steve. You were the first person who ever said I was good.”

Quieter he added “And because we were friends once.”

“I'd like to still be friends.”

“Even if I'm gay?”

Steve took a deep breath, and let out a truth that he’d maybe been ignoring for almost as long as he’d tried to forget about the hole in his heart.

“Cards on the table Eddie, I’m not sure I’m not gay Or whatever both is." 

He'd heard the word once from Chrissy, but hadn't cared to remember it.

(Regretted that a little bit.) 

He got a mighty frown in response.

“Don’t do that. Don’t--joke, like that.”

“It’s not a joke.” Steve said slowly, feeling the words as he spoke them. “I think this is part of the stuff I always just--ignored. Didn’t want to deal with it, because my--”

Steve couldn’t bring himself to say magic, and so, aborted the sentence entirely. “I couldn’t deal. So everything connected to this place, to the rest of my family, to you, I just pushed aside. Pretended it didn’t exist.”

Pretended that he was normal.

Just like his parents wanted.

Then he’d met Nancy.

Realized what he felt about her, he’d always felt about Eddie. That the way she looked at Jonathan wasn’t the way she looked at him--and even then, in the love he had for her, Steve hadn’t looked at her like that either.

Steve had been attracted to her for her yes--but initially, maybe, because she’d looked a little like someone else.

Admitted to himself that he the reason he could clock Eddie so fast back when he was fourteen, wasn't because he was that good at reading people, but because he recognized what it looked like to get caught checking out a guy.

“But I could never forget about you.” Steve added because well. “I’ve never been able to forget about you.”

He’d already said cards on the table, hadn’t he?

Might as well reveal his whole hand.

“You were the last thing I thought of, when I was trying to get home. I wasn’t thinking about my house, or my parents. I was thinking about you. I’ve never been able to come back here, not after Uncle Nick,” He cut himself off again, frustrated that he couldn’t just fucking it, but made himself take a breath.

Continue.

“--but I could, last night. I could get to you.”

Technically he’d gotten to Gareth, who Steve probably also owed a thank you too, but hey, beggars can’t be choosers.

Gareth had found Eddie anyway, in the end.

“I absolutely get if you want nothing to do with that, considering I think I’m just now accepting this about myself but. I wanted you to know. You’re important to me, Eddie. You always have been.”

It was weird--Steve should have felt laid bare. Vulnerable now that he’d laid out all these things he’d suppressed, that he thought taken away alongside his magic.

Instead he felt lighter than air.

Like the weight had finally been lifted and he could breathe deep once again.

For a long moment no one said anything and Steve figured this was it, he’d gone too far, when Eddie darted in, pressing a quick kiss to Steve’s cheek.

He pulled away just as fast. Wide eyes searched Steve’s face, as though expecting Steve to change his mind. 

If anything, it just solidified it.

Steve reached out slowly, gently grabbing on of Eddie’s hands. Brought it up to his mouth and kissed the back of it, while maintaining eye contact.

Enjoyed the way Eddie’s face went bright red.

“You’re important to me too.” He managed, voice awed. “You’ve always been important to me. Stevie.”

Finally feeling like he knew where he belonged, Steve grinned back. 

xXx

Bonus

“When I said let him sleep Munson, I didn’t mean with you!” Someone screeched a few hours later, jolting Steve awake.

“He was awake when I came in!” Eddie protested, shoving himself up onto his elbows when the women from yesterday--Robin, Steve thought her name was--stormed in. “We fell asleep together after Robbie, I swear!”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Hi.” Steve said with a little wave, before the two of them could screech some more. “I’m Steve.”

“I know, Dingus.” Robin told him, eyes narrowed in fury. “You’re a member of the Clause family, everyone knows who you are.”

“Oh.” Steve said, though it felt less cool and more weird that someone had finally said it out loud.

That he, Steven Harrington, had an Uncle, and that Uncle was Santa Clause.

‘Dustin is gonna freak.’

“I’m sure Mega-Idiotson here hasn’t told you, but I’m the medmage that saw you last night. Or kinda--see I’m an apprentice medmage, but my teacher was kinda out with the Boss seeing someone a town over and time was tight and we couldn’t exactly wait--”

“Breath, Buckley. In,” Eddie teased, before demonstrating a deep breath on himself, hand sweeping into his chest before he loudly exhaled. “and out.”

“Shut up, Eddie, I’m working up to something here!”

“What is it?” Steve said, feeling like if he didn’t interject Robin would take a while to get to the point.

“I might have accidentally undid whatever was on your magic?” Robin rushed out, so fast Steve nearly didn’t catch it. “Like I can tell that’s the Boss’s magic, and that he did--whatever that was, but I couldn't figure out how to heal you with it there and it was kinda already leaking out so I just--took it off?”

Steve gaped at her.

“You fixed me?” He managed after a moment, hand darting out to squeeze at one of Eddie’s.

“Um. Yes?” Robin cautioned, like she wasn’t exactly sure that’s what she did.

“Oh my god. Oh my god!” Steve laughed, then felt absolutely stupid for not checking in with himself.

Because Robin was right.

The hole was gone--and his magic was back.

How had he not noticed that his magic was back!?

“Eddie, Eddie she’s right--I have it back!”

He turned in bed, dropping Eddie’s hand so he could cup his face and kiss him instead.

“Okay, I don’t need to see this--” Robin complained, but Steve didn’t care.

Could only laugh delighted into Eddie’s mouth, before Eddie deepened the kiss.

(“Guys seriously I am still right here! Can’t you at least wait until I’m gone!?”

“No. Now get out Robin, you’re ruining my moment!”

“It’s okay, Eds. I’ll give you as many moments as you want.”

“Ew, ew, ew-!” )

This whole ass thing on A03 if you'd rather read it there!

Introducing Me!

TW: Homophobia

Hello, my name is Andrea! I am a 17 year old closeted lesbian in the Philippines. For those of you who may not know, we have been in quarantine for a little over 4 months now and I glad to be privileged enough to reside in the safety of our home away from the virus. I live with my Grandmother, Mom, Dad, two older brothers, one younger sister, and two puppies. It’s a fairly loaded household and most of us haven’t seen anyone for the last 4 months except ourselves. 

For some, this extended quarantine may be an avenue to strengthen the family bond or to finally make time to focus on one’s own mental health. But for me, a closeted lesbian in a traditional Christian Filipino family, it’s been a test. A test to see how long I can suffer under the indirect slurs, criticisms, and judgement of my family members while I remain under the same roof for an extended period of time.

And because I take solace in the LGBTQIA side of Tumblr where I met a lot of people who I can relate to more than the people who I share the same blood with, I’ve decided to share my experiences with you. Whether it is to educate or comfort you or so you can finally find someone you identify with, I’m here to tell you that you are not alone. 

We will get through this together. 

The Odyssey

Day 11 of 12 Days of Prompts

TW: bullying, homophobic slurs, language, drinking

Summary: High school au where Phil is bullied for being gay and Dan thinks he should have just stayed in the closet. But it just so happens Phil has a big family and can't get any studying done, and Dan’s house is the perfect place to study.

Length: 12k

Themes: highschool au, enemies to friends to lovers, bullying, boxer!dan, studious!phan, Homophobia, family/sibling drama

 "Stupid baby," Phil muttered under his breath. "Why can't they just move back again? I finished studying at one last night, and she didn't stop screaming until at least three." 

 "Stop whining," Greyson suggested, speed walking over to the fridge. "Naomi can stay as long as she wants, she's family. OJ?"  "Toss it." He did, and Phil caught it easily, his clumsiness forgotten when it came to food. "Family's overrated."  "Feel lucky. I tried for kids with Myrel for six years with no luck. Marrying your mother was the best thing I ever did. Five kids, just like that, and I didn't have to do anything!"  Phil grunted into his cereal. "Six, if you include the rodent."  "She's not a rodent, she's a baby. She's going to cry, you'd better get used to it."  "Who's going to cry?" Asked Tucker, hurrying into the kitchen and grabbing the cereal from the counter. "Amanda?"  "The rat," Phil explained.  "Amanda cries a lot too. I think her baby makes her sad."  "She's just tired," Greyson explained. "Hey, didn't you need a permission slip signed? Something for school?"  "Rocket museum field trip. I already turned it in."  Greyson leaned against the counter. "Really? Who signed it?"  "Mum did."  "That means he did," Phil explained to his bowl of cereal. He stared into it like it was trying to communicate with him, tell him the answers to his Calculus test or his problem with the baby. "He's getting good at faking signatures. You should see him do mine."  "Snitch. Greyson, would you like some eggs sir?"  "Yes please. But you're still grounded."  Tucker came up behind Phil and gave him a light smack on the back of the head.  "I need formula," Amanda declared, stepping into the already crowded kitchen. "Janie's crying again."  They all strained their ears to hear. Sure enough, the baby's wail sounded through the house from the upstairs, loud enough to hear but not loud enough to be bothersome. None of them had noticed yet; it had become a familiar background noise.  Greyson frowned in worry. "I thought you were still breastfeeding?"  "If I breastfed her every time she was hungry I wouldn't have time to do anything else. She's a hungry little baby. Lots of growing to do."  "She's fat," Phil corrected.  "Your mum."  "She's your mum too."  "Is mum up yet?" Sandy asked, coming into the kitchen and grabbing a bowl from the cupboard. Her old purple bathrobe that was two sizes too big dragged on the floor, her tangled brown hair falling in messy waves down her back. She sidestepped Tucker with ease, sliding in between the crowd of people trying to navigate the too small kitchen all at once.  A few of them shook their head. Phil continued to stare into his cereal bowl, not even eating anymore.  "She's sleeping," Greyson explained. "She had the graveyard shift."  "She did animal surgery at a graveyard?" Sandy asked, eyes wide.  "It's an expression. It means the late shift."  "And it wasn't animal surgery," Greyson explained patiently. "The clinic your mom works at has someone on site 24 hours a day, in case anyone's pet gets sick and needs help right away."  Phil's phone beeped, and he got up quickly, grabbing his backpack that was slung over the other chair.  "Have fun at school!" Greyson called out.  "Have fun selling used cars," Phil called back unenthusiastically. He walked right out the door without looking back, letting it slam shut behind him.  "He's a great kid," Greyson muttered. "Works hard. We shouldn't be too hard on him."  "School makes him boring," Tucker half agreed. "I like him better in the summer." --------  He wasn't wrong.  Phil rode the bus in silence, putting his backpack on the seat next to him so no one would sit with him. Headphones in, he pulled out his homework and started to review for his A-levels physics class.  Getting to school, he went throughout the day in silence. He talked to a few friends along the way, but all in all it was uneventful. He took a test and got another test back. B+. He'd have to do corrections.   When he got home, he went up to his room and started studying. He only had an hour until Tucker got back, and then the house would get progressively noisier and noisier until ten that night when it would simmer down, and he'd be able to study in silence again. Tucker had the top bunk, so he didn't mind Phil keeping his lamp on for most of the night, as long as the overhead light was turned off. However, sometimes his snoring distracted Phil.  After half an hour of reviewing, the rat started crying again and Phil was ready to stab someone. He changed out of his school uniform and into grass-stained jeans and a t-shirt and started going around the neighborhood, going through his checklist. Mrs.Henderson needed the hedges outside her house pruned every Thursday, and it was also the day he mowed the Howell's lawn.  An hour and a whole lot of sweat later- it was far too hot for November- Phil was knocking on the Howell's door.  It swung open after a full minute, revealing not Mr.Howell, but his son, Dan. "Hey Phil."  "Hey Dan. Is your dad here, I finished-"  The boy turned around, calling into the house, "Dad! Phil's here!"  They waited a few beats. Dan turned back to him. "How much do we owe you?"  "25 pounds."  "Jesus, you're ripping us off."  "Better your dad pays me to mow the lawn than make you."  Dan shrugged. "Probably."  His dad came running down the stairs, panting a little. "Phil! Good to see you!" He was a mess, almond brown hair sticking up almost at random. He stepped forwards and almost stepped on his son's foot if Dan hadn't stepped back.

 He scanned the front yard quickly then the boy in front of him. "How much is it again?"  "30 quid," Dan answered for Phil.  They both watched as his father emptied out his pockets, turning each one inside out hurriedly before finding the one with his wallet in it. "Ah ha! Here we go!" He pulled out a fat stack of cash, pulled off a few bills, and handed them over. "There you go. Payment for the week. Have any more leaves fallen?"  "No. That tree's been bare since the beginning of October."  He nodded quickly, stuffing his wallet into a different pocket than he'd pulled it out from. "That's great. And the lawn looks great, thanks for doing such a great job. I have to keep working now, but um, have a nice Thanksgiving!" He turned and hurried back up the stairs, skipping a few steps.  Dan and Phil watched him go. "It's two more weeks until Thanksgiving," Phil observed. "I'll see him at least two more times until then."  Dan snorted, still looking at the stairs where his father had sprinted up. "Yeah, he's a clutter-brain. Everyone tells me he's a genius, but... well, I have my doubts." He looked back at Phil. "He works in his office upstairs. All day. Sometimes doesn't even come down for meals."  Phil nodded, not really relating but at least understanding. "He's loud at night?"

 "Nah." He looked up, not really looking at anything in particular. "He hardly makes any noise in there. Sometimes I hear a crash, but that's just his clumsiness. He knocks down stuff every once in a while, but besides that, our house is usually dead."  "Must be nice. My house is always too loud to study in. You taking any A levels?"

 "Yeah, I'm in a few of your classes. Calc, and Lit. And forensic science, but that's not A levels."  Phil nodded, his cheeks a little warmer. "Sorry. I don't really talk much in class."  "I don't either. But I still look up every once in a while." He sighed. "I'm just procrastinating by talking to you. Have to write an essay. I'd rather throw myself into oncoming traffic."  "While I'll let you get to it then."  "Which one, studying or throwing myself into oncoming traffic?"  He shrugged. "Either or. But if you do decide to end it all, let me know so I can have your room. I'd be able to get stuff done so much quicker if I had some quiet."  Dan smiled. "Okay. I'll give you a heads up, put your name in my will maybe?"  "Definitely. See you around, Howell."  "See ya Lester."  As Phil walked home, he counted the money Mr.Howell had given him. Thirty pounds. Phil had been working for the Howells for at least a year now, and every single time he got paid he was asked how much it cost. Mr.Howell was clearly a cluster-head, and that was a nice term for it. ---  Phil knew he'd made a mistake the second the words came out his mouth.  The teacher was out for the period in general health and nutrition class, and no sub had shown up, so they got their desks all in a circle and decided to play a game of never have I ever. Phil didn't have any friends in this class, and he hadn't really talked to anyone in it recently, besides Dan, but that one time a week ago on his porch had hardly counted. Apparently, Dan and him had four classes together total. Phil had looked up in each class long enough to check.  The game was going fine for a few minutes. Phil, who never went out or did anything especially stupid, had most of his fingers up still. And then it got to the next person.  A girl, who smiled and proudly declared "Never have I ever kissed a girl."  Laughing, some people making noises and their friends put fingers down until someone noticed Phil didn't put any down. "Phil, did you put a finger down?"  He could feel his heart jump a little. "No."  All eyes were on him. "You've never kissed a girl?"  "I'm gay."  The reaction was immediate. Wide-eyes-open-mouths-chairs-scooted-back-worst-case-scenario "I didn't know there were any fags at our school!"  A few football players looked mortified. "We had gym together! Were you checking us out?"  "What? No!"  "Oh my God, he's kissed a dude!"  "That's disgusting!"  "I can't believe-"  "I'm sorry I'm late, class," the nutrition teacher stated, hurrying in through the front door of the classroom, coat and bag in hand. "My car had a problem and had to be towed, and my phone ran out of battery so I couldn't call anyone. Please arrange your desks back in their proper order, and we'll get started."  Everyone hurried to do as she said, doing their best not to touch Phil. They acted as if he had the plague, like his gay was contagious.  After a few minutes, they were all in their seats. Phil looked around and realized that there was a ring of empty desks around his seat. ---  Word traveled like wildfire.  After that class, he was afraid no one in the hallway would want to touch him. But to his surprise, only a few people seemed to know what had happened.  He practically ran to his next class. He sat down and put his head in his arms, mouthing the words it's going to be alright, it's going to blow over, no one will care, no one will care...  And no one in that class did care. Or so it seemed. Phil did his best not to look up.  He ate lunch in that class. Hopefully, already everyone in that God forsaken class had forgotten.  But by the time it was passing period again, it seemed like everyone knew. During lunch, everyone had been able to go on their phones and talk to their friends, and people stared at him in the hallway like he'd grown a tail.  "Gay."  "Homo."  "Lester, yeah, the boy with the black hair and the pasty skin-"  Phil put his headphones in at that point, drowning them out in music. He'd fucked up. ---  Dan answered the door that afternoon. As soon as he saw Phil, he scowled. "Dad! He's back!"  Phil leant up against the doorway, his breath shaky. Dan's expression made him want to curl in a ball on the floor. "Do you hate me too?"  "I'd be stupid not to."  "Because I'm a fag," Phil clarified.  Dan looked back, making sure his father hadn't appeared yet. "Because you can't keep your big mouth shut. Didn't you know that it'd ruin everything?"  Everything? "Everything?"  "I'm here!" Dan's dad appeared on the stairs, running down so fast it was a miracle he didn't trip. "How much?"  "25," Phil said quickly, daring Dan to correct him. He didn't need his help.  "25," Dan's dad agreed, quickly pulling out the bills. "Such a great thing you're doing, I'm sure everyone in the neighborhood appreciates it. I've always hated mowing the lawn."  "I've never minded it," said Phil, trying for an upbeat tone. "Good exercise."  "You kids need lots of exercise," the man agreed. "Daniel here does boxing. Great full body workout, keeps you healthy. Sorry, I've got to-"  "-get back to work," Dan agreed, glaring daggers his way. His dad didn't notice, just turned and left, back up to his office.  Phil turned to Dan. "I didn't know you boxed."  "I didn't know you were a fag," he sneered, turning and slamming the door in Phil's face.  He blinked. "Um, okay. Well... I guess I'll see you later too then." ---  "Anything interesting happen at school?" Phil's mum asked.  They went around, all of Phil's younger siblings sharing. Tucker got an A on his blah blah blah, Sandy got asked out by blah blah blah, and Phil's youngest sister, Anna, got made fun of for wearing her hair in a side braid when all the other kids wore theirs in a french braid.  "Kids can be cruel," Greyson advised, his paternal wisdom straight from a parenting book. "You can't let them get to you. The only people who are bullied are people who let themselves get bullied. You have to stand up for yourself..."  Blah blah blah. Blah blah. Blah. Phil was amazing at toning his family out at the dinner table. Now if only he could tone them out as efficiently when studying...  "And Philip? How was your day?" His mum asked brightly.  "Fine."  "Anything interesting happen?"  "No."  "How'd you do on that Lit exam?" Greyson offered with a smile.  "Fine."  ---  It was ten at night. Amanda was on her phone in the next room, the paper thin walls barely muffling her voice. On the top bunk, Tucker snored obnoxiously.  Phil closed his eyes and tried to think about Moby Dick. He had to study. He could not fail A-levels Literacy.  He was smart enough for this.  Would he have any friends when he went to school tomorrow? -------  Cereal. Backpack. Bus. School.  Yes, he still had friends. Yes, they accepted that he was gay. No, they didn't want to talk in the hallway. Yes, they were still his friends. You're right, you should have kept it to yourself, they said. You just royally screwed yourself over.  Class. Class class. Bus. Home. Study. Change. A note was stuck in the back pocket of his navy, school-issued trousers.  Faggot.  He threw it away, then thought better of it and tore it up, then threw it away.  By then Tucker was home, and soon Sandy and Anna were too. The house got louder and louder, and Phil's focus became less and less.  Finally, he gave up, tossing his folders and notebooks into his backpack, and heading out the door. ---  The bagel shop also sold coffee. However, it tasted horrible. Phil bought a small cup.  He chose a corner table and dropped his backpack, digging through it to find his materials, and sat down, immediately starting to write. He had to write a five-page report on the first half of Moby Dick, and he wrote without thinking.  Phil felt the presence next to him before he saw it. "Moby Dick? Interesting. You liking it?"  Phil looked up. "Hardly. What are you doing here Dan?"  He waved his bagel, making a duh expression. "I'm actually just leaving now. Enjoy the Dick book. But knowing you, I'm sure you will." He bit down on his bagel, reached out and knocking Phil's half empty coffee over, spilling all over the paper and his lap. "Oops."  He left, and Phil was left staring at the mess. Only half aware, he pushed his backpack and the book aside before the coffee could stain them. The pages he'd written so far were already ruined. He looked over them, trying to read what was written.  It didn't matter. Nothing he'd written had any sort of meaning or rhythm, and he'd used the same example at least three times. He balled the papers up and threw them away. ---   People pinched him in the hallway. He didn't know who it was but knew from the snickers it was the same people. He didn't react.  "Ooh, I think he likes it," a voice giggled. "Maybe he wants you to do it again."  "I bet he'd like it more if there weren't so many people here," another voice remarked quietly. "He'd be on his knees before you could snap your fingers, so desperate to get-"  Phil stuffed the headphones in his ears, turning his music on quickly. The louder the better. He tried to walk faster, ignore the looks. He really tried. ---  "Phil, anything new and excited happen at school today?"  "No."  "You've been giving the same answer all week! Surely something must have happened."  "No, nothing has. I presented that Health and Nutrition thing."  "Oh! That's nice, how'd it go?"  "Fine," he lied. "Can I be excused? I'm meeting with a friend."  He was exused, and as quickly as possible got his backpack and got over to the bagel shop. A cup of coffee in hand, he made his way to a table more out of the way than the first one, plugging in his music.  Peace and quiet, he thought, because music doesn't count as noise. My closest friend. ---  He couldn't afford to go to the bagel place every day. He was saving his money for uni, and mowing lawns didn't make that much.  The next Thursday, when he went to the Howell's house to collect his money for that week, Mr.Howell answered the door for once. "How much?"  "25 pounds. Is Dan at boxing?"  "Hmm? No, he's upstairs studying."  It took longer than normal for Mr.Howell to find and count the money. Phil shifted uncomfortably on the porch. "Dan's pretty lucky. I have to study at the Bagel shop by Main, my families so loud."  "Oh, you could always study here," Dan's dad said easily, counting out the pound notes. "Downstairs on the dining room table. Plenty of room, my wife works until nine most nights, and Dan studies upstairs, so there's plenty of room."  Phil blinked. "Are you serious?"  "Of course! You seem like a nice boy, I trust you. And you wouldn't be bothering either of us. Come over tomorrow with your study stuff, and you can just go at it. You seem like a nice boy."  On one hand, Dan hated his guts. On the other...  "Okay. Yeah, thanks Mr.Howell, I really appreciate it." ---  It took three days for Dan to notice him.  Phil let himself in after the first day, when Mr.Howell said it was easier for everyone. Then he studied at the dining room table, the house so quiet he questioned whether anyone was home at all.  He came back the next day, and the same happened. And the next day was shaping up to be the same, when Dan came downstairs to get a snack and stopped in his tracks. "What are you doing in my house?"  "Reconsidering my life choices," Phil answered immediately. "I should've taken easier classes. School is whooping my ass."  Dan walked over, surveying the mess of school supplied splayed across the table. "I bet you like that though."  Phil attempted a smile. It didn't work. "Just because I'm gay doesn't mean I'm kinky."  "You didn't deny it," Dan noted. Before Phil could defend himself, he was talking again, saying "But actually, what are you doing in my house?"  Phil rubbed his temples painfually. "Your dad said I could. I needed a quiet place to study."  "And you can't study at your house because...?"  Phil looked at him like he was an idiot. "Because I need a quiet place to study," he repeated, slower, as if to help Dan process it. "I have four siblings, not to mention the rodent."  "The rodent?"  "My sister had a baby. She never shuts up."  "The sister or the baby?"  "Both." Phil tilted his head to the side, considering. "Mostly the baby though."  "Cool," Dan deadpanned. "I'm going upstairs."  "Have fun."  He didn't respond. ----  Across Phil's locker, the word 'Twink' was spray painted, bright green. He tried to wipe it off with a wet paper towel, but it did nothing. ----  Beep. "The number you are calling is not available. Please leave a message, after the tone." Beep.   "Hey Peej, it's Phil, I was just wondering if you wanted to go the new movie theater sometime, check it out. I don't care what we see, um, you can choose. So... yeah. Call me back." Beep.  Beep. "The number you are calling is not available. Please leave a message, after the tone." Beep.   Beep. "Hey Mark, it's Phil! Do you wanna hang out sometime? It feels like it's been forever. So, uh, yeah, call me back!" Beep.  Beep. "The number you are calling is not available. Please leave a message, after the tone." Beep.   Beep. "It's Phil, I heard you and Julie broke up? Just wondering if you wanted to rant or talk about it or whatever. We could grab lunch or something. Um... yeah. Call me back." Beep.  Beep. "The number you are calling has been disconnected and is no longer available." Beep.   Beep.  ----  "I'm going to die," Tucker was saying, laying on his bed with his head hanging off the end. "I'm actually going to die."  "It's only report cards," Phil reassured. "You're smart. You'll be fine."  "I did horrible in Science this quarter. I didn't even turn in my notebook, I forgot. Mum's going to kill me!" He rolled over, staring at his older brother miserably. "I wish I was like you and actually liked school."  "I don't like school."  "That's all you ever do though. You go to school, then you get home and study. How could you not like school?"  Phil shrugged. "Guess I don't really like the people there. We don't really see eye to eye." ----  "Dunk! Dunk! Dunk! Dunk!"  "Better close your eyes, bum-chum!" Phil's head was dunked under, water pouring onto his face as they flushed the toilet. He sputtered for breath, the chanting and cheering being literally drowned out by water.  They let him go and he threw himself forwards on the disgusting bathroom tile, coughing and spitting, desperate for air.  "Funny. I always thought that you'd swallow."  More laughter. Phil wanted to cry, or die, or kill them or all three.  The bell rang, and everyone dispersed, leaving him in a wet pile of tears and toilet water. ---  Dan was staring at him.  Phil had done his best to dry off, but he could only do so much. He refused to let the bullies make him miss class though, especially Calculus. He already hardly understood the class, he couldn't afford to miss a full day of instructions.  Phil tried to ignore the other boy's gaze on him, instead listening to the teacher. "...I'm sorry, but I don't let anyone take home the textbooks. We have a class set of 30, and that's all the district will provide for us for the next 20 years, basically. However, if you'd like you can stay after school..."  Dan was still staring at him. What happened? He mouthed from across the class.  I'm gay Phil mouthed back. He didn't know if Dan understood or not, but the boy's eyes widened, and Phil could tell that he'd made sense on at least some level.  After school that day, Phil was studying where he always did when Dan sat next to him. "Finish Moby Dick yet?"  "Last night. It was amazing, a fine piece of literature, blah blah blah."  Dan nodded. "I hated it. I still have twelve pages left to go."  "The last bit isn't so bad. It's better with the end in sight."  Dan nodded thoughtfully. "Makes sense. On a scale of one to ten, how gay exactly are you?"  Phil almost got whiplash from how fast Dan had turned the conversation around. "Um... I don't know. I'm not that gay."  "You're lying," Dan observed. "I'm not going to hit you or anything. Or make you go swimming like your friends from earlier did."  "They weren't my friends."  "I didn't think so. Now come on, scale of one to ten, one being straight and ten being so gay that you-"  "Ten." Phil cut him off, not sure if he wanted to hear the rest.  Dan's eyes widened. "Seriously? So you'd-"  "I'm very gay," Phil agreed. "So gay that I've never kissed a girl and never want to. So gay that I can't even imagine dating a girl, or marrying one, ever."  Dan leaned forward, interested. "So you'd like, suck dick?"  Phil winced. "In theory."  "And you would like, take it up the ass, and-"  "God Dan, please shut up. Maybe. I don't know, are you offering?"  Dan's eyes got wide.  "It's... it's a figure of speech," Phil explained, backing up. "Not a real question. Now, can I get back to studying, or-"  "Yeah, yeah!" Dan stood up so quickly he almost knocked the chair over. "Yeah, I was just curious. You can go back to studying, you're just like... the only gay person I know."  "There's more of us," Phil said, trying to hide the annoyance in his voice. "Other gay people at our school, in fact. There have to be, the stats don't lie."  "Not that any of us would know it. After everything happening with you, you'd have to be stupid to come out at our school."  Phil scratched the back of his neck. "Yeah. I guess you're right."  "Yeah!" Dan took a step back, then shuffled forwards, bumping against the chair unceremoniously. "I'm going to go... study!"  "Okay," Phil responded with slight amusement. "Have fun."  "I- I will!" He turned around and almost ran straight into a wall. He quickly sidestepped, then was up the stairs, turning into what was assumably his room.  Phil shook his head, smiling only a little bit. ---  "The game's coming out in the New Year, but I want to preorder it now. Then I can get it as soon as possible. It has these super amazing graphics, honestly, I want to a design class or a graphic art class or something like that so I can learn how to do that sort of animation, because have you seen it? It's so cool! It's too expensive, but I'll get it anyways, I have some money saved up..." Phil trailed off, looking around. "Why are you all looking at me like that?"  Greyson was the first to clear his throat. "Um, it's just you've been so quiet lately. Is there anything new, or anything? You've been spending a lot of time away from home. New friends?"  Phil shrugged. "Not really. Just... the game I guess." His shoulders slumped forwards slightly.  "Tell us more about it!" His mum prompted quickly. It was the first time in a long time that she'd seen her son so vibrant, and she wasn't about to let him go back to sulking so fast.  Phil perked up. "Yeah, it's got these controllers..." ---  "No you spoon, it all goes back to the limit definition of the derivative. You have to define the variables, see, here..." Dan underlined a few numbers, gesturing with his pencil. "And then.... multiply here...." He was completely entranced in the work, marking and drawing lines connecting the dots, getting wrapped up in the math of it.  Phil didn't really remember how they got in this position, with Dan sitting at the table with him, showing him how to do the homework. Phil had had no idea, and he still didn't fully understand it, but it was becoming easier.  "Like this," Phil muttered, taking out another pencil and adding onto the equation Dan was writing. "You square it." 

 Dan stared at it for a long moment, blinking. "Um, no. You don't square anything. If you wanted, you could root it... actually, you probably wouldn't want to do that. Here, look." ---  It made more sense for them to work on their homework together. Phil didn't remember when it was decided, but one day Dan started bringing his work downstairs and working at the table with Phil, going over problems together and complaining back and forth. Dan was good at calc. Phil was better at Lit. Neither of them liked forensics. And both of them thought that generally, government class was stupid and signing up was a mistake.  They were talking one day when one of their phones went off in the pile of papers and notebooks scattered across the desk. "Get it," Dan suggested, nodding to the pile.  "Well it's not my phone."  "That's not my ringtone. You probably just usually have it on mute."  "Who would be calling me?"  Dan shrugged. "Well answer it!"  Phil jumped up, digging through the pile and flipping over his near-empty backpack, grabbing the phone and answering at the last second. "Mushi Mushi?"  There was some crackling at the end of the line.  Phil caught his breath. "Hello?"  Silence. Then, after a beat, a low deep voice growled "you have seven days to live."  "Dan, it's for you." Phil handed the phone over to the very confused Dan.  "Hullo." He paused, listening to the voice. Phil could barely hear it.  "Seven days..." it whispered guterally.  "Thank God," Dan mumbled in reply. "But can we speed up the process a bit? I have a test before that. Could you just kill me now?"  The voice seemed to consider this. "Not now. Tonight."  Dan clicked flirtily. "I'll light some candles. See you at 7." He closed the phone, hanging up with a grin. "Friend of yours?"  Phil shook his head, smiling lightly. "Nah, little brother. He got his own phone last week and has been prank calling people ever since. I'm actually kind surprised it's taken him this long to try it with me."  Dan laughed. "Amazing. I always wanted to have a little brother."  "I don't know. Tucker's all right, but I'd prefer to have my own room. Then I wouldn't have to come over and invade your space every day."  "You're not invading my space." The air seemed to crackle with electricity, or maybe something a little more dangerous. Then it disappeared. "Have you seen my room yet?"  "No. Wanna give me the grand tour?" ---  Phil had never had his own room. Dan practically had his own floor.  "There's Dad's office, which he spends about 23 out of 24 hours in, so it doesn't really count. But they technically sleep in their room downstairs, so I have loads of space."  Dan's room was at least twice the size of Phil's, and it looked even bigger with a double bed instead of the bunk beds that took up most of Phil's space. The bed had hidden storage under it for Dan's clothes, and next to it sat a nightstand crowded with figurines from animes, little mementos, and a few condoms.  "Nice," Phil said dryly, staring at the latter, which was out in plain sight.  "Um, ignore that!" Dan opened the drawer and swept the condoms and a bottle into it, closing it quickly. "No one ever comes in here, so it's not like I need to hide them."  "No one ever comes in here," Phil repeated, picking up an empty wrapper from the floor. "Yeah, I believe you."  Dan snatched the wrapper out of his hand, stuffing it in the drawer with the others. "Shut up." His cheeks had turned a bright pink.  "Why do you have two desks?" Upon further inspection of the room, Phil realized there were two desks inside of one, one in each corner opposite the bed. Only one had a chair by it, and that was the only one with papers on it. The other had a stack of discarded clothing on it, like it had been downgraded to a laundry hamper.  Dan looked where he was staring. "Oh, that's dad's old one. He gave it to me, like I'd have use for two."  Phil shrugged, glancing around. Nothing else was of much interest to him, unless he was willing to ask Dan more about the condom wrappers, which he wasn't.  "Wanna get a snack? I'm hungry." ----  The coffee tasted much better at the Bagel shop when he was sat at a table for two. It turned out, Dan was actually quite funny, though most of his jokes were horrible and caused Phil to snort so hard he almost directly inhaled his coffee.  Other new information learned: the bagels at the bagel shop taste about as bad as the coffee. Dan got one, and it was so stale he could tap it against the table and make a noise like horses galloping on pavement. Dan ate it anyways.  The whole building was so warm. Phil felt like he was wearing a woolen jumper. How long had it been since he'd felt so warm? Too long.  Dan smiled wide and laughed loud. And Phil did too. His cheek muscles ached from so much exercise after so much disuse. ---  Phil was just setting his stuff down on the Howell's dining room table when Dan called him upstairs. When Phil got to the top of the steps and peeked in his room, Dan was sitting in his rolling chair, the end of a pencil between his teeth. "Do you want to bring a chair up here? I don't get the Lit assignment." ---  There were few things that felt better than leaving school for holiday break. Actually, two, to be exact: leaving school for Summer Vacation and leaving school for good.  Dan whooped, tilting his face up to the starry sky and leaning back, stumbling only slightly. The brown paper bag he clutched in one hand sloshed around with his movement, the drink inside it still half full.  Phil's drink was half full too. It was strange- earlier that school year, he would've called it half empty. But lately, a lot of things were looking half full.  "I'm gonna to be an astronaut when I grow up," Dan slurred, stalking forwards, eyes trained on the stars. "'m gonna see the stars up close, and personal. Get all up in their space." He squinted, daring the stars to disagree.  "Is that what you're studying at uni-"  "Don't say that word!" Dan commanded quickly, cutting him off. "Evil. I'm in a good mood, satyr, don't ruin it with your talk of the future."  Dan's insults had been getting more and more interesting ever since they did the unit on The Odyssey in A-levels Lit. Dan had done an essay on the various ways mythology was ingrained in the culture of the time, and needless to say, he'd gotten a bit into it.  Phil took a big swig from his bottle, letting the liquor pour down his throat like molten lava, stinging and burning his tongue. They walked in curved lines, words slurred but brains still mostly aware. The empty space in their bottles wasn't enough to get someone drunk, but luckily for them, it wasn't all they'd been drinking that night.  "I hate parties," Dan mumbled. Most of his filters had been strewn on the floor, sloshed around and discarded like bad mouthwash. "Too many stupid people."  "It was your idea to go," Phil reminded him.  "Stupid," he repeated. "I don't even like dancing."  Phil raised the bottle to his lips and gulped, doing his best to wash the memory away. Dan had danced with a girl, some stupid brunette who was significantly smaller than him. They'd danced, and then made out, before Dan pulled away and spat on the floor. No one cared. It was too late and the air smelled too much like vomit and beer for anyone to care.  Phil wished he didn't care. "You like her?"  Dan didn't need to ask who he was talking about. "Not really. Just someone to dance with, someone to kiss." He sipped from his bottle, stopping to giggle lightly. "Not that you'd know anything about that."  "In my defense, I can't kiss people. Nobody around who'd want to."  "Oblivious potato you are." He cackled up to the sky, eyes gazing around as if waiting for Zeus to appear and pluck him from the ground. "'My name is nobody'," he quoted, smiling vaguely.  Phil shook his head, trying not to think about The Odyssey any more. Dan was referring to the passage where the brave Odysseus was face to face with the monstrous cyclops, Polyphemus. When asked his name, Odysseus replies 'My name is nobody'. Later, he stabs the cyclops in his one eye and escapes with his men, and Polyphemus chases him blindly out to the shore screaming bloody murder. When the other cyclopes on the island hear him and ask what's wrong, he screams 'Nobody stabbed me! Nobody stabbed me!' and Odysseus is able to escape.  He stared at the boy next to him, face illuminated solely by the thin scrap of moon that was visible. Phil wondered if he was thinking about the Odyssey too.  "She was a horrible kisser," Dan mumbled. "Tasted like cigarettes." He turned and looked at Phil sincerely, voice scratching out, "Don't smoke. I don't want any campfire kisses."   Then he stumbled forwards, continuing to walk, quoting: "'Of all creatures that breathe and move upon the earth, nothing is bred that is weaker than a man.'"  Phil giggled. "You should probably head home now. Sleep it off."  Dan nodded tiredly. His shoulders were weighed down visibly, as if he still carried his backpack jammed full of expectations and textbooks. "'There is a time for many words,'" hiccup "'...and there is also a time for sleep.'" ---  Phil awoke with a pounding headache and a light blush across his cheeks. ---  "Your friends can't come over on Christmas," their mum insisted. "Christmas day is for family only."  "Sweetie, let's not be unreasonable. They just want to have fun! What about Christmas Eve?" Greyson suggested, ever the mediator. Sandy stared at them from across the dinner table, her puppy dog face on maximum level.  She frowned, thinking it over. "Fine. But Sandy, only bring one or two friends over, we hardly have enough room for everyone in the house as it is. Phil, could you go to the store sometime this week and get hot coco and eggnog?"  "And whipped cream!" Sandy added excitedly.  "Probably need two cans," Greyson agreed.  Phil nodded, making a mental note. "And, um, if Sandy is having friends over, do you think I could invite someone too?" ---  Phil sat on the carpeted floor, leaning against the maroon couch. His hands were wrapped around the warm mug of eggnog, and he sipped it slowly, trying to savor it. He was only allowed one glass, as Greyson insisted that it was important not to start drinking too young. Needless to say, Phil wasn't about to tell him about his and Dan's activities the week prior.  Dan sat closely nestled next to Phil, also with a single mug of eggnog and an overly festive jumper. The main difference was, Dan's was black with a reindeer on it, while Phil's was covered in reds, greens and whites. When Dan first saw it he claimed Phil looked like an 'obnoxious candy cane', to which Phil replied with something that wasn't supposed to be sexual, but of course Dan ended up taking it that way.  Dan was very warm, and their arms pressed against each other, though Phil reminded himself that it was because there was so little space. Sandy and Anna had friends over, meaning that there were currently around a dozen people in the sitting area and kitchen, which were made even smaller by the almost invasive presence of the plastic Christmas tree. "We should get a real one this year!" Phil had suggested upon seeing Greyson carrying the box down from the attic.  "No can do," he'd replied easily. "Real Christmas trees are a potential fire hazard. Do you know how many people get electrocuted watering Christmas trees naked, a year?"  No, Phil had not know, and no, he did not enjoy that mental image.  Dan was quieter than normal, sipping his eggnog and observing the goings on of the family and extras.  Finally, Phil spoke up. "I'm glad you could come. Are your parents celebrating with friends?"  Dan shook his head. "Mum might be. But Dad's spending the night in his office. Hopefully he'll get up and go to bed before it's time to open presents."  Dan's father was an extremely intelligent man, with a spattering of fancy degrees and an extremely prestigious job. But Dan talked about him like he was a deadbeat.  "It's weird being here," Dan admitted. "I've never had siblings."  "I've never not had siblings. I used to hate it, middle child syndrome and all that. Now... I don't mind it as much."  "I bet not. Especially since you don't have to study at home anymore."  Across the room, Phil's younger sisters and their friends laughed loudly, talking in quiet, fast voices among themselves. In the background, the song 'Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree' played, and Amanda and Tucker danced to it on the small stretch of floor in between the kitchen and living room. Amanda looked happier than normal, probably since Janie finally managed to go to sleep and hadn't woken up since the party started. Tucker smiled too, though he looked a little embarressed to be seen dancing with his big sister.  "Come on," Phil urged, feeling a sudden impulse. "Let's dance."  He got up and pulled Dan to his feet, ignoring his complaints. "But I have two left feet!"  "I have four!" Phil retaliated, yanking Dan over to the tile floor and grabbing his other hand, spinning him.  "How is that even possible?" Dan complained, spinning and catching himself on Phil's hand. "Now I know why you're failing Calculus. You can't count!"  They swayed, doing something that almost resembled dancing.  "Everyone dancing merrily, in a new old-fashioned way,” The music played.  More people moved over, starting to dance along. Phil tried not to cringe as he saw his mum being tugged over to the floor, Greyson pulling her over to dance.  "I'm not failing Calc," Phil defended, intertwining his hands with Dan's more comfortably. "I have a B minus!"  "Potato po-tat-o." Dan spun him, and Phil only stumbled slightly. "You're right, you have no coordination."  "What's that quote?" Phil recalled. "'The gods don't give out all gifts at once..."'  "'Not build and brains and flowing speech to all. One man may fail to impress us with his looks but a god can crown his words with beauty, charm, and men look on with delight when he speaks out.'" Dan looked like he was somewhere else, reciting the quote easily. "'Never faltering, filled with winning self-control, he shines forth at assembly grounds and people gaze at him like a god when he… when he walks through the streets. Another man may look like a deathless one on high but there's not a bit of grace to crown his words. Just like you, my fine, handsome friend.'"  "Wow."  ‘Rockin' Around The Christmas Tree’ ended. Dan didn't seem to notice that there was no more music. He seemed to be staring at Phil's lips, his own lips parted slightly.  "Wow," Phil repeated again. "I'm genuinely impressed. I can't remember quotes for the life of me."  "They spoke to me," Dan replied with a shrug, trying to start swaying again to the beat of the new song playing, Let It Snow.  The weather outside is frightful. But the fire is so delightful. And since there's no place to go. Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow. ---  Christmas day was exciting, but not like it usually was. They each got a few small presents from their Mum and Greyson, and Amanda, Phil, and Tucker each had a present for each family member. Sandy and Anna couldn't be bothered to buy presents, but they were young enough that it was excusable.  After all the presents had been opened, the adults went into the kitchen and started preparing lunch, and Phil and Tucker wrestled around a bit. Phil may be 18, but he would never be an adult to his parents, just as Amanda had a job and a kid, but she still sat at the kids' table at family gatherings.  Tucker was small for someone his age, still in early high school, but he was a decent wrestler. Phil had the size advantage, but it was a pretty even match.  "I wanna do karate," Tucker said later, after they were done. "Or boxing. Or wrestling, I guess. Something like that."  A memory tugged at the back of Phil's mind. "Dan does boxing, I think."  "You think?"  "His dad mentioned it once," Phil explained. "I don't know if he still does, actually. He never talks about it."  "That's a weird thing not to talk about," Tucker observed. "If I did boxing, I'd probably never shut up about it." ---   "It's never come up in conversation, I guess," Dan explained, kicking off his snow boots. It was still Christmas Day, just a little later, and Dan had walked over to Phil's house to collect him. 'My house is quiet and I'm bored,' he'd explained, shivering in the cold. 'Come over?'  Phil had taken his first opportunity to ask about Dan's boxing, and sure enough, he boxed. "I go to practice three times a week, compete most Sundays, and train most nights before bed."  "And you've never thought to mention it?"  He shrugged. "It's not something I talk about. It's... weird, you know? I have like... a personality, that everyone knows, you know? And boxing just doesn't fit into it."  The two boys walked upstairs to Dan's room automatically. Phil sat on his bed. "Why not? Boxing is cool."  "And obviously I'm so cool," Dan muttered sarcastically. "I have like, negative two friends."  "You have me."  "Yes, there is that. But as you are the only openly gay student in our school, that doesn't score me much points." He winced. "Sorry."  Phil tried not to be offended. "Well, you're not wrong."  "If you wanted, you could use my locker at school," Dan offered quickly, desperately. "I don't use it. And then, you wouldn't have to see... you know..."  He was referring of course, to Phil's locker, which still had the word 'twink' spray painted across it. Phil had tried to scrub it away, but nothing worked. He'd reported it to the office, but to his knowledge, they hadn't even bothered to try to get rid of it.  Phil exhaled shakily. He hadn't thought about the bullies ever since the break started. He shook his head, changing the topic of conversation back to boxing. "You said you trained? Where?" ---  Phil had never realized that Dan's mom never parked her car in their garage. He also never realized that Dan's dad didn't even have a car.  "He's too much of a social recluse to have a car," Dan explained, leaning against the wall of the garage. Instead of being a space for parking cars, it had been converted into a gym of sorts, with a tattered old punching bag in the middle of the room. Pushed against the walls were boxes, some filing cabinets, and a new looking bench press covered in clothes and gloves.  "I don't use that," Dan explained, seeing Phil's eyes train on the press. "It's too boring."  Phil walked around the punching bag, observing where the material was faded or torn. A few spots were patched up with duct tape, and a few spots looked like it was about time they be patched up.  Phil noticed something out of the corner of his eye and walked over to where an open cardboard box sat again the wall. Dan realized what he was doing too late, and by the time he shouted "Wait!" Phil was already leaning down.  "Trophies?"  "I'm not any good," Dan promised. "Most of them are just participation!"  Phil pulled one of the medium-sized ones out. It was covered in a layer of dust, which he brushed aside. "Second place?"  "It was a small event!" Phil looked up, and for the first time noticed how panicked Dan looked. "Could you please put it back? Hey, I got the new Zelda game, do you want to try it out?"  Phil wanted to ask more about boxing. Obviously Dan was being modest; the box was stuffed full of trophies, and there were other boxes in the room. Did they contain the same things?  But when he saw Dan's expression, he knew there was no way he could push him any further. For whatever reason, Dan was ashamed of boxing, or something like that. Phil wanted to know why.  But now was not the time to ask. "Yeah, cool. Show me the game?" ----  Phil didn't not welcome school back with open arms.    Something had happened over the break. What, he didn't know, but everyone was glaring at him which such malice he wondered if he'd killed someone without realizing.  He pulled his headphones out, allowing himself to hear the chatter. His next class was on the other side of the school, and after he'd been walking a few minutes, he'd heard a shred of conversation that made him keep listening.  "....grounded. Chuck was caught sleeping with him-"  "With Lester?"  "Yeah! I mean, who else would he sleep with? It was a dude, and his dad got so pissed he beat him."  "Dude. How'd the fucking fag get Chuck to sleep with him in the first place?"  "I dunno, but now he won't be able to play in the game on Friday. We really need a win if we want to make it to regionals..."  Phil put his headphones back in his ears. Apparently, there were at least two other gays going to his school: Chuck, and another boy who'd been caught sucking him off. -----  "What happened?"  "Got in a fight."  "With who?"  "This guy at school." Correction: these guys at school. "We had a difference in opinion." ---- ��Dan prepared him an ice pack. "I heard the news. About, you know, you and Chuck."  "I didn't do anything with Chuck. I don't even know him that well."  "I know you didn't." Dan zipped up the bag of ice, handing it over with a towel. "Hold this over your eye, it should help the swelling."  "Doctor Daniel," Phil teased, taking the ice thankfully. His eye was beginning to swell shut, and his chest ached. At least he could hide bruised ribs. It wasn't so easy with the eye.  "You caught me at a bad time," Dan admitted. "I was going to practice now."  "Sorry. You want me to go, or... can I watch?"  Dan almost considered it. Phil could see the gears turning, but the awkward smile made his answer clear. "Sorry, I think you'd better go. I think it'll be a rougher workout today, I've got some... stuff to get out."  "Stuff to get out," Phil repeated. "Yeah, I can go. See you tomorrow?"  "Yeah, sure. And stop getting in fights, bruising doesn't suit you."  "That, we can agree on." ----  The rumors kept swirling. Chuck was not gay, it seemed, he'd just been put in an awkward situation and took advantage of it. "A mouth is a mouth," he laughed with his friends. "Trust me, I didn't want the fag to touch me but he wanted it so bad, you should've seen him. So wrecked." When his friends asked more about it, he replied quickly "No, I didn't like it! If he was a girl it would have been so hot though. He was so sweaty his hair got really curly- yeah, like that. Don't worry though, he'll pay for it. Trust me on that." ----  Dan was so sweaty his hair got even curlier than normal.  "Woah," Phil said as soon as he saw him. "Boxing practice?"  "Yeah. I'm getting ready for a big meet, have to be prepared." He took the strap of one of the gloves in his teeth, ripping it off easily. Phil tried not to stare too much. "Anyone else give you crap today?"  "Anyone not give me crap? It's fine, school's over. I don't have to see any of them again until tomorrow." He willed his voice not to crack, his hand not to shake. His head hurt from being slammed against the lockers.  Dan nodded, not making eye contact as he took the other glove off. "How's Calc going? I wish that he just let us take the book home, it'd be so much easier."  "It would." Phil didn't really know what else to say.  "I'm going to... erm, I'm going to do my homework in my room again. Come with?"  Phil's head throbbed. "Yeah. Sure." ----  Phil didn't know when he snapped. But if I had to say a moment in the altogether miserable week, it'd probably be when he was laying on the floor of the boys' bathroom, sopping wet from the swirly. After they'd dunked him in the toilet, they'd used him as a mop, swinging him around by his legs and splashing water on the ground for the back of his favorite hoodie to clean up.  Then they left him, far more interested in getting out of the school than they were in beating up the fag.  Phil laid there, not bothering to get up. His favorite hoodie was filthy, with dirt and toilet water and he didn't even want to know what else. And he was all alone on the bathroom floor, his bus having already left.  And something snapped.  Phil stood. He tore off his jacket and stuffed it in the trash can, hefted his backpack, and only made one stop before marching out of the school and walking all the way home. ---  Phil went home and changed out of his stupid school uniform into comfortable work clothes and went around, doing his yard work for the day. Then he went home, got his backpack, and marched to Dan's house, going straight up to Dan's room without knocking.  Dan wasn't wearing pants. "Phil! I didn't-"  "I stole something."  Dan blinked. "Um, what?"  Phil opened his backpack on Dan's bed, dumping half of it out and pulling out a Calculus textbook. "I was angry- I'm still kinda angry- and I'm failing the class." He paused. "And I'm not giving it back."  Dan blinked. It took him a little too long to process. "I'm not wearing pants." He repeated.  "You mentioned that already. I just stole a textbook."  "Yeah, you said that too."  They both were frozen.  Phil cleared his throat. "You can put on pants now. If you want."  "If I want," Dan repeated.  "I mean, I don't care."  "No, you'd probably actually prefer I don't put my pants on."  Phil scowled, messing with his backpack. "Don't put words in my mouth."  They were quiet for a few more moments.  "I'm going to put pants on."  "Okay." ----  Studying was a lot easier with the calc textbook. ----  "We could just sit on the floor," Phil suggested, eying the small couch wearily.  "Nah, this is better. Come on, hop up." Dan sat down, bowl of popcorn in hand, and patted the small space next to him.  Phil sat, the couch so small there was no way for them to sit without touching. "It's a good movie," Dan said, "so don't you dare fall asleep."  "I promise I won't," Phil laughed, snuggling up to his friend, albeit still cautiously.  Dan started the movie and leaned against Phil, his head on his shoulder. ----  Phil fell asleep during the movie.  But it was okay.  Because so did Dan. ----  "Oh, hello boys."  Phil had been half awake for a few minutes, not wanting to move. He was too warm, too tired, and besides, Dan was still asleep. "Hi Mr.Howell. We watched a movie last night, and fell asleep."  Dan snored, snuggling closer to Phil.  "I promise it's not as bad as it looks-" Phil started, but Mr.Howell cut him off quickly.  "Oh no, don't worry about it. I know about you two, Dan has boys over all the time. He didn't tell me specifically, but I notice things."  Phil blinked, still only half awake. "He has boys over all the time? What do you mean?"  "Well, not since you've been dating I'm sure. We've never talked about it, but I know he's homosexual, or bisexual, or whatever the kids call it these days. I'm not as oblivious as all that."  Phil blinked again. Apparently, Dan's dad wasn't that oblivious, but Phil certainly was. ----  Dan woke up a few minutes later.  "Crap, I fell asleep," he said as if that weren't already obvious. "Wait... don't tell it's morning already?"  "We both fell asleep," Phil admitted. He observed Dan as he stretched, pulling himself up. The words you're gay? got clogged in his throat, refusing to come out.  Just like Dan. Funny how that works. ————

They were in Dan’s bed. It was late, and they were both just a little drunk on exhaustion and booze. Not drunk enough for their thoughts to be incoherent or their voices to slur, just drunk enough for Dan to quote "The Odyssey" every other minute.  "You know you’re my best friend, right?" Dan said quietly. He was staring at Phil, his eyes slightly lowered. Phil sighed contentedly, his eyes trained on his 'best friend's lips.  "Yeah, I know. You’re my best friend too." Phil shuffled slightly, wondering if it’d be too gay to cuddle up closer to Dan. Then again, it sounded like Dan was also gay, at least partially. Maybe it’d be okay.  He was stuck. He was stuck, right in between wanting to kiss Dan and not wanting to lose him, because he knew that out of the two options, he could likely only choose one. And he couldn’t loose Dan.  Shoveling the sidewalks as quickly as he could just so he could be paid by the neighbors and get to Dan's house as fast as possible, just to study. Going to the bagel shop for a special treat and eating the almost indigestible bagels and coffee, because it was convenient and it was quiet and he’d go anywhere with Dan, really. He like being around him a bit too much, and eventually it’d probably screw him over, but for now, it was worth it.  They liked going drinking Friday nights. Always some party, and if there wasn't, there was always booze for sale. They didn’t drink every week, but they did when they could. When Dan was tipsy he often lost track of personal space, and he’d bump into Phil or stand so close that Phil would wonder if he was going to kiss him. But then he’d pull away, saying something about why the government had set them up for failure, or ramble on about textual themes. He loved quoting the Odyssey. They walked through an empty field to get home most times, and it was just out of the way enough that they could see the stars, and Dan would say something about how "It is the wine that leads me on, the wild wine, that sets the wisest man to sing, at the top of his lungs, laugh like a fool – it drives the man to dancing... it even tempts him to blurt out stories better never told." And Phil just listens and smiles and wonders if Dan somehow managed to memorize the entire Odyssey, or if perhaps, he recites it in the shower.  He loved Dan. That much was clear. He loved him like a best friend. He loved him a little more than that maybe, loved him like he was angry, loved him in spite and loved him in secret. And it seemed as though Dan loved him as a best friend too. And there was that love, that love that Phil had no idea what to do with, so they could drown it out with booze and homework and chit chat and stale bagels and complaining about their families/classes/experiences/lives, but you can never truly drown love, love can swim.  Phil wonders if there’s a quote about that somewhere in The Odyssey. The entire story is about a man, Odysseus, trying to get back home to his wife Penelope. The journey is painful and long, but when he comes home, it was almost as if he’d never left. Phil supposed that the love between Odysseus and Penelope was buoyant too.

———— "Because of you, Chuck wasn’t there for the game. Because of you, we lost."  Phil backed up, the three boys stalking towards him until he was flush against the lockers, banging against them with a little clanging noise from the cheap metal. He knew where this was going. Chuck stood to the side, cracking his knuckles. In front of him, Trevor was the one leading the assault, his dirty brown hair falling in front of his eyes. Caleb stood to the other side of him, dumping his backpack on the ground as if he didn’t want it holding him back.  "It wasn’t me," Phil insisted again like maybe this time they’d listen. They didn’t, just continued pressing forwards until Phil had pressed himself so closely against the locker he could feel its hinges digging into his back. Phil’s gaze fluttered from one boy to the next, looking for any signs of hesitation, some sort of human emotion. He found nothing.  He swallowed. "I have standards. I wouldn’t get anywhere near his dick."  The first punch came before he’d finished his sentence, a sharp pain across his face that made him slam back against the lockers. The rest came in rapid succession, his ribs, his face, his stomach. He doubled over, gripping his stomach and desperately trying to protect his head as fingers dug into his head and shoved him to ground.  "This is for being a fag!" Phil’s breathe was torn from his throat, forcefully expelled by a harsh kick to the lungs.  "And this is for costing us regionals!" Chuck's voice, and a swift kick to the head. Phil wondered if he knew that it wasn’t him who he slept with, and was caught by his father. Phil wondered if he cared.  Phil tasted blood. His body twitched away from every blow until he was curled up in the fetal position on the dirty school floor, and as he was being attacked on every side all he could think about was how stupid it was for him not to book it out of school as soon as he’d had the chance.  A filthy shoe made contact with his face, and he tasted blood. Phil covered his head with his hands, just wishing them to go away.  "What the fuck are you doing? Hey, get off of him!"  The kicking stopped temporarily, but Phil didn’t dare try to get up. There was a scuffle, and then a body was slammed against the locker.  Phil looked around quickly then scrambled to his feet, his assailants more busy with someone else. A new person had appeared, his body shoved up against the locker as he yelled back and forth at the bullies.  A balding teacher left his classroom, coffee mug in hand. He watched the fight for a moment, then retreated back into his room, locking the door behind him.  Phil was frozen in shock as Trevor was kicked backward, stumbling a meter then falling on his ass. The person was still shoving the other two away but somehow managed to rear his arm back and punch Caleb so hard he crumpled against the lockers.  Dan grabbed Chuck by his greasy blonde hair and yanked his head down, making contact with his knee. Phil flinched, taking a step back so he was leant against the wall, still catching his breath but in too much shock to move. Dan spun Chuck around and slammed him into the lockers with so much force Phil’s back ached in sympathy.  Dan was bleeding, a long scratch right under his eye from a nail or something. He had a split lip. But he didn’t look any weaker from it, hardly even seemed fazed.  He held Chuck against the locker, holding an elbow directly under his chin, but then adjusted his hands so he was holding Chuck still by his neck. Dan panted and wiped some of the blood on his face away. Chuck's hand came up to cup his own bleeding nose, but Dan slapped it away, pulling Chuck back and slamming his head against the locker easily.  "I hear you’ve been spreading rumors," Dan muttered. His voice was deep and gravelly, but he stared at Chuck easily, not intimidated in the least. "People seem to think that Phil was the one you were caught with."  To his side, Travis started getting up, but before he could Dan kicked him in the stomach so hard he fell back down. "Shh, listen." Dan brought his attention back to Chuck, who wouldn’t look at him. "Who was it?"  "It was you," he admitted. "You were the fag. You think you’re so special Howell, thought you could keep it a secret-"  Dan slammed him against the locker again, and Chuck shut up, his hands flying up to Dan’s hands still wrapped around his neck, trying to get him to loosen his grip.  Dan licked his lips. "Listen up, all three of you. Stop screwing with my boyfriend. Or they’ll be hell to pay."  He let go of Chuck, shoving him down onto his knees as he stepped back. "Feels familiar, doesn’t it? You on your knees. All we need now is a broken lock on your door and your raging father, isn’t that right?"  He took another step back, glancing over his shoulder and grabbing Phil’s collar, pulling him into a kiss. It was sloppy and tasted like blood, and Phil could still hardly catch his breath, and nothing was processing, because was Dan really kissing him?  Dan pulled away, but still held onto his collar. They stayed there a moment, eyes interlocked, when the next impact came.  Dan was thrust against the wall, stumbling to get up. Travis stood over him. "Cocksucker," he snarled, raising his foot to stomp Dans lights out. But Dan was too fast, grabbing his leg and yanking him down. They wrestled on the floor for a moment until Dan came up on top, muttering something about Travis being 'surrounded by cocksuckers' before landing another punch.  They started brawling for real, hitting and punching and clawing and before Phil knew it, he and Chuck were locking eyes and running over to pull them apart before they could kill each other.  Finally, a few teachers ran down the hallways, shouting something about stopping, and all five boys had just enough time to stand, regard each other harshly, and glance down one last time. "Fuck you," Phil spat, before balling his fist and punching Chuck square in the jaw before turning and sprinting away, Dan right on his heels.  He hit the door with so much force that it actually hurt, but everything hurt at this point and Phil was bleeding and so was Dan and they had to get away before anyone spotted them. They sprinted around the side of school, panting turned into exhausted laughter as they turned the corner and collapsed against the brick wall. It was that type of pained laughter that physically hurt, because Phil’s ribs were definitely bruised and maybe worse, and his hands were stained with blood, and he was definitely imagining things because Dan was there too, the area right under his right eye splotchy and red.  "I can’t believe-" Phil started, but they didn’t have all day for him to say everything he didn’t believe had happened, but somehow, through the pain in his knuckles in the ache of every breath, he knew it was real, it was very real. "You kissed me," he said finally, looking up at Dan with a look of respect. "You actually kissed me."  "After all that just happened, that’s what you’re thinking about?" Dan’s entire face was contorted by the smile, and he looked like such a wreck but Phil couldn’t care because there was no way he looked any better. "Sorry about that, by the way," Dan added, wiping some of the blood on his lips away. "I thought it’d be dramatic. Scare them off. Didn’t work that great."  "Yeah, no shit." Phil tugged on Dan's collar, pulling him close but stopping him before they actually collided. "Thanks. I appreciate it." He eyed Dan, the cut on his cheek, the split lip. "You look like a mess."  "You do too," Dan agreed. "I want to kiss you again."  Phil yanked him into another kiss, tasting of blood and exertion and sweat and a little bit like hot chocolate. "I’m not going to be able to stop," he admitted, halfway through the kiss.  "Its fine," Dan mumbled against his lips, not even bothering to pull apart. "I won't either."  They kissed for what could have been hours before Phil mumbled "My hand hurts," and they finally pulled away. ————-  "You’re doing so good!" Phil handed Dan his water bottle as he took his mouth guard out, wiping his sweat away from his forehead.  "Only a few more matches." Dan’s eyes had this far away look to them. He never had so much pride in anything but his competitions. It was one of the reasons why Phil insisted on coming every week.  Dan drank from the water bottle as someone jogged over, patting him on the back roughly. "Hey champ, nice match! Who’s this?"  Dan’s eyes sparkled as he looked at Phil. His lip had heeled, and the cut under his eye had faded, but he looked the same as he did the day they first kissed. Sweaty, with his hair plastered back away from his forehead, but so proud and happy Phil couldn’t help but smile.  "This is Phil. My boyfriend."  Phil’s heart literally fluttered in his chest.  "Oh yeah? Phil, do you box too? Bet I could find you a decent instructor, huh?" He nudged Dan’s side playfully.  Dan laughed. "Nah, Phil doesn’t box. The last time he punched someone, he broke his thumb. It’s a pretty good story though."  Dan’s friend's eyes widened with interest. He looked to Phil. "Oh yeah? Tell me."  "I don’t know, it’s a little crude. I doubt you can handle it," Phil teased.  "Oh come on, try me!"  "Well..." Phil tugged his bottom lip in between his teeth, looking at Dan as he tried to decide how mean he wanted to be. "It all started when Dan got sucked off by the most popular boy in school..."

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