Hey, it's ScaryBones. This is my new account, so I'll be posting my fics here from now on. You can still message me on my old account, but no more stories on that one.
I'm reposting this fic on here and will be updating it here as well.
:)
xxx
Gregory first met Christophe two weeks before the blond was to start his first year at Yardale school. He had just gotten home with his mother after a long day of shopping for new school clothes. Gregory had complained all ay that he didn't want to buy new clothes, his old clothes fit just fine, but his mother had insisted.
"That shirt's threatening to pop a button, Gregory; we're getting you new clothes."
Five-year-old Gregory had sighed and contemplated throwing a fit, but decided it would he best to just get the day over with. It wasn't like he could stay home, anyway. His dad was back in London on some sort of company business, and Gregory's mother didn't much like babysitters. Especially not in this redneck town.
They'd gotten way too much clothes in Gregory's opinion, and half of them made him itchy, but his mother said a good washing would take care of that.
It was when he was helping carry in the multiple bags of clothes that he saw a movement in the bush that sat at the end of his front yard. Curious as to whether or not it was an animal, he set down the bag of trousers he was carrying and went to investigate.
The nearer he got to the bush, the more it started shaking. He wondered vaguely if it was the neighbor's cat; his mother had taken a liking to the animal, and it sometimes came over to scratch continuously at the front door. Gregory didn't really care for the beast, whose favorite pasttime was clawing Gregory's arms.
He reached out a small hand to clear away a branch and was startled when fingers suddenly gripped his wrist tightly. He let out a little yell and jumped back, ripping his arm away from the bush and staring with wide-eyes.
"Ha!" A boy about Gregory's age crawled out of the bush and started yelling in some language the blond didn't understand. Gregory frowned, inspecting the boy. He had wild brown hair that would drive the Brit's mother crazy if she'd seen it. He had a faint bruise on his cheek, and a dark mark around one of his eyes, which were strikingly green, Gregory thought. After a few seconds of listening to the brunet jabber, he interrupted.
"You shouldn't scare people like that; my mum's aunt died from a heart attack once because someone scared her." He crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the other boy, waiting for any sort of reaction.
The other boy furrowed his eyebrows, obviously confused. He opened his mouth to say something again, but Gregory's mother cut him off. "Gregory, don't just leave that bag there, honey. Pick it up and come inside."
He turned toward her and nodded obediently. "Coming, mum." He turned back to say goodbye to the strange boy - but he had gone. He took a few seconds to scan the bush before shrugging and running off toward his mother.
xxx
He saw the boy again two days later. He had almost forgotten about him, preoccupied with his own busy schedule of playing and school-shopping with his mother. He had just gotten back from buying a new set of crayons and was drawing at his desk up in his room when he glanced out his window and saw the dark-haired boy attempting to catch the neighbor cat in his front lawn. After a few minutes of watching many failed attempts, Gregory sighed and climbed down from his desk, moving to the window and leaning out of it. "You have to wait for the cat to come to you," he called, smiling in amusement when the boy jumped and glared up at him, startled. "She'll scratch if she doesn't know you." As if on cue, the cat started hissing, arching her back.
The boy glared up at him and raised his palms, signalling to Gregory that he had no idea what he was talking about. The blond sighed and stepped away from the window, figuring he should help the poor kid before he got hurt. He walked down stairs and opened the front door, half expecting for the kid to be gone, but to his surprise, the boy was still there, hissing back at the cat.
"No, no, no, don't do that." The brunet frowned, seeming to actually understand that sentence. He gave Gregory a withering look before glancing back at the cat, who had calmed down slightly upon Gregory's arrival. "Just sit down and hold out your hand...like this." Gregory demonstrated the instruction, and the cat hesitated a second before coming up and nuzzling his arm. "You have to be careful, though. She'll sometimes scratch for no reason at all. I'll never understand cats...Now you try." He motioned for the boy to sit down and, after an unsure glare at the blond, he did. "Hold out your hand." Gregory tapped his own with a finger, and held it out for the cat again.
The brunet nodded slowly and followed the instruction. The cat tensed for a second, and Gregory bit his lip in worried anticipation. But then the feline carefully sniffed the other's hand and seemed to decide that he was alright, rubbing her head against the dirty fingers and purring a little. The boy smiled in triumph.
"You did it!" Gregory grinned. Then, remembering his manners: "I'm Gregory, by the way. Pleased to meet you." He held out his hand for the other to shake but was met with a blank stare. "Dad says it's important to shake hands when you meet someone new. It shows good...character, I think." He thrust his arm forward again, frowning when the other did nothing to reciprocate the act. "Well." He let his arm drop into his lap, sighing out of his nose. "So what's your name?"
The boy seemed to perk up at this, and furrowed his brows again, as if trying to remembering something. "Name?" he asked, and Gregory almost cried out in joy. At least the kid understood a little English.
"Yes, your name," the blond repeated, slowly pronouncing each word. "What is your name? My name is Gregory."
"Mon...my name..."
"Good so far. My. Name. Is..."
"My name eez Christophe."
"Christophe? That's a funny name. But very good, Christophe!" Gregory clapped his hands, scaring the neighbor cat, who hissed and ran off across the street. The blond smiled proudly at Christophe, feeling accomplished. "Hey, why don't you speak English anyway? Where're you from?"
The look of confusion on Christophe's face was enough for Gregory to change the subject. He noticed the yellowing bruises from the other day and frowned.
"Where'd you get those bruises from? It's quite odd you'd get them on your face. I don't think I've ever had a bruise on my face."
Christophe's frown deepened and he turned away, shrugging and muttering something in that strange language again.
"Do you understand me?" Gregory asked, reverting back to speaking slowly. Christophe replied with a scowl and more angry muttering, which Gregory took as a 'no'. The Brit sighed and rested his head in his right hand. "Welp, you're a lost cause, then." He shrugged with his other shoulder. "That's what Mum says when I can't tie my shoes. It means you're hard to teach. But I know I can tie my shoes, if only she'd teach me a dfferent way." Christophe sat there, listening but not understanding, looking as if he was trying to decipher a secret code. Gregory shouted as an idea suddenly came to him. "Hey, I've got an idea!" He grabbed Christophe's wrist and the boy flinched, ripping his arm away and looking offended as he held it against his chest.
"Non!" the boy shouted, and Gregory understood perfectly well what that meant. He gave Christophe a leery look, but then remembered what his mother was always saying about personal space.
"Oh, I'm sorry, Christophe. I'm still trying to keep my hands to myself." He put his hands behind his back to prove this, and the brunet relaxed a bit. "Anyway, what I was about to say was...what if I taught you English? Hmm? Would you like to learn English?"
Christophe opened his mouth to say something, then closed it, looking unsure.
Gregory thought for a bit before pointing to his own mouth. "Speak. English." He pointed to Christophe. "Do you want to learn?"
A look of understanding washed over the dirty face, and the green eyes brightened up. Christophe nodded and said something again in his foreign tongue. It sounded like he was saying, "wee", which Gregory figured meant he was excited to learn.
The blond grinned and began to plan what he should first teach Christophe when suddenly what reminded him of a cat's yowl sounded across the yard. Gregory jumped and glanced around for the source of the noise, surprised when he found it not to be a feline, but a woman. She had the same fierce green eyes as the boy sitting beside him, and the same scowl set upon her face. "Christophe!" she hissed, storming over and pulling him up, pointing her finger in his face and chastizing him in that soft language Gregory had started taking a liking to. He watched as Christophe bowed his head submissively and muttered what Gregory was sure was an apology. His mother shook her head and gave Gregory a quick look-over before muttering something and tugging Christophe down the street. Gregory watched them until they entered a house four houses down on the other side of the street. He saved that information and retreated back into his house.
That night at dinner, Gregory chattered animatedly about Christophe to his mother, who seemed happy and somewhat relieved at the prospect of him making a friend. Gregory didn't really play outside with the other children - they made fun of him for the way he talked. He had always mostly kept to himself, venturing only as far as the end of the front lawn when he played outside.
"He doesn't speak English, though," Gregory explained after finishing a mouthful of peas. "He speaks some weird, pretty language. Maybe he could come over and speak it to you. You'd like it. Or maybe he could teach it to me...I promised I'd teach him English, but then his mum came and dragged him away. She seemed really angry for some reason."
His mother hummed and shrugged. "Well, I think it's great you've made a friend, dear."
"Me, too. I think we'll be best friends." Gregory beamed. He whispered the words under his breath again and nodded.
Later, while brushing his teeth, he began planning out what he'd teach Christophe. Gregory himself had just learned most of the colors, so maybe that'd be a great place to start. And maybe Christophe could teach him a few, as well. After his mother read him a story and tucked him into bed, he whispered Christophe's name and tried to speak in that quiet language, making up words that sounded pretty to his ears before drifting off.
xxx
He didn't see Christophe the next day. He spent the morning playing with his trucks out on the front step, glancing down the street every couple minutes to see if his new friend was coming. He reluctant to go inside when his mother called him for lunch, and ate his tuna sandwich so fast he got a severe case of the hiccups. He stayed outside for another hour after eating, waiting, before giving up and going back inside.
He stayed by the window in his room, drawing things that were different colors. He would show these to Christophe to help him learn. On one page he drew red things: an apple, a firetruck, and a cup. On another he drew a purple dinosaur and some grapes. His favorite color was orange, so the page dedicated to that color had a bunch of items squished together. He wondered what Christophe's favorite color was. He had seen him wearing a green shirt both times he'd met him, and figured that must be it. He stroked a green crayon along a new sheet of paper, filling it just as much as he had with the orange. He couldn't name very many items that had that hue, so the page was mostly grass and trees.
Gregory spent the rest of the afternoon outside on the front lawn, trying to gather enough courage to cross the street and walk the four houses down to the boy's house. But Christophe's mother frightened him. She didn't seem like a very nice lady, and besides, she was a stranger, and Gregory wasn't allowed to talk to strangers, let alone knock on their doors. But Christophe wasn't a stranger. He was his friend, just as his mother had said. But still, crossing the street was dangerous, and he didn't want that lady to yell at him like she had with Christophe.
He went back inside when the sun went down, sighing and moping through his dinner, while his mother reassured him he'd see his friend the next day. He went to sleep feeling only slightly comforted, and decided that he'd go to Christophe's house tomorrow for sure.
xxx
He didn't need to go to Christophe's house the next day; when he woke up, the brunet was sitting outside on the front lawn, stroking the cat absently. Gregory smiled and quickly got dressed before running downstairs. His mother greeted him with a kiss on the cheek. "Morning, honey. You're up early; I haven't even made breakfast yet."
"That's alright, Mum, I'm going to play outside for a bit." He rushed out the door without waiting for an answer and skipped over to Christophe.
"Good morning, Christophe!" he said loudly, making the other boy start. The cat lifted her head and twitched one of her ears, giving Gregory a blank look. "Good morning, Cat." He plopped down next to the boy and flashed his baby teeth at him. "How are you today, Chris-" He stopped as he noticed a dark purple mark just above the fading bruise he'd seen when he first met the boy "Christophe, where'd you get that?" He pointed his finger at the mark and the brunet scowled and turned red.
He growled something Gregory couldn't catch and slapped the Brit's hand away. The blond gasped in pain and drew his hand back, outrages and shocked that his friend would do such a thing.
"Hey, don't hit! Hitting people is naughty, Christophe. Didn't your mum teach you to keep your hands to yourself?" Gregory snarled and shook his head, rubbing his arm. His anger melted away when he remembered why he had been so excited to see the other boy. "Hey, Christophe, are you ready to learn English?"
The bruised boy perked up at Gregory's words and he nodded, seeming to forget he was upset with the blond. He said the word that sounded like "wee" again, and Gregory smiled.
"Alright, stay right here, I've got to get something from my room. Stay." He pointed at Christophe and hoped he understood as much. He dashed back inside, past his mother who was cooking breakfast, and up to his room. He dug the papers he'd worked on yesterday and took the steps back down two at a time. "Please dont be gone, please don't be gone." He pushed the front door open again and beamed when he saw both Christophe and the cat had stayed. "Very good."
He sat next to Chrisophe again, their knees touching, and held up the paper covered in apples and firetrucks. The brunet's eyes opened wide and he gingerly took the paper from Gregory, holding it in his lap and studying it. He ran his fingers over the lines, smearing them a little, and Gregory decided he would forgive him for that. The look of wonder in Christophe's eyes was amazing and strange to see, like he'd never seen a drawing before in his life.
"That color is red." Gregory pointed to the smeared mark. "Red." To the apple. "Red." To the firetruck. "Red. And the shirt's also red."
"Red," Christophe whispered under his breath. Gregory gave him a delighted look and Christophe smiled back, showing his baby teeth at the blond.
"Good job, now I'll show you green." They worked like this for an hour, Gregory showing Christophe colors and saying them multiple times until Christophe had mastered them. He still had trouble saying 'purple', but that had always been hard for Gregory, too.
Soon Christophe glanced down at a watch he was wearing - Gregory hadn't noticed it before - and stood up. He waved goodbye to the blond and started walking home.
"Wait! Why're you going?" Gregory chased his friend, stopping him before he crossed the street. Christophe scowled and pulled away from him, his eyes softening as he pointed to his watch. Gregory didn't know how to tell time, but remembered the times when his mother had told him that dinner would be ready when the little hand was at six and the long hand was at twelve. On Christophe's watch, the little hand was at three, and the big hand was at five. "You have to go home now?"
Christophe shrugged, not understanding.
"Oh, well then, goodbye." He patted the brunet on the shoulder gently so he wouldn't scare him, and smiled. "Come over tomorrow, okay?"
Christophe thought for a moment and then nodded. "Okay." He patted Gregory's hand and turned to walk home. The blond grinned and skipped back into his own house, taking his papers with him and stashing them neatly in his desk drawer.
He chatted more with his mother about Christophe, and with his father when he called from London. That night he went to bed feeling happier than he'd felt in a long time. Knowing that he had a friend, that he was helping someone, made him feel like his life had meaning. Before he fell asleep, he had a small, worried thought about the bruise he'd seen on the boy, but before he could fully think about it, he drifted off to sleep.
xxx
With just a week left until he started school, Gregory started cramming in English lessons with Christophe whenever he could. All day until Christophe had to go home he would show the brunet more colors, name simple items like trees, the sun, leaves, and started teaching him greetings. Christophe was an exceptionally good student, Gregory thought. He kept still, his eyes always on Gregory, and would only speak when Gregory asked him to repeat a word or sentence. And he was learning fast. They were already having short conversations, and Christophe seemed to understand much more of what the blond was saying, though he himself had trouble speaking. Gregory had finally found out what Christophe's native tongue was: French. When he told his mother this fact, she lit up and said something about vacationing in France once. "It is a beautiful language, darling." And she sang him French songs that were nice, but nowhere near as beautiful as when Christophe would mutter the language under his breath when he had to go home.
Gregory was pleased with Christophe's progress, but was becoming increasingly worried about the marks that seemed to keep appearing on him. The day before Gregory was to go to school, Christophe came out of his house late, wiping his eyes. He had a bright red handprint on the left side of his face, which was quickly darkening.
"What happened, Christophe?" he asked, watching with concern as the other plopped down next to him sorely.
"I am fine," he spat, the words slurred by his accent and his anger.
"But...but your face." Gregory reached forward to stroke the bruise, but Christophe swatted his hand away and snarled.
"Non!" The French boy stared daggers at the Brit, signaling for him to change the subject. There was a long pause before Christophe sighed and relaxed, leaning back on his hands and nodding slowly at Gregory. "I am fine. Sorry."
"It's okay..." And he went on as usual, giving Christophe a piece of paper and pulling crayons out of his pocket. He'd name some of the items he'd been teaching the boy that week, and Christophe would grab the crayons with his dirty fingers and draw the object said, repeating it after Gregory each time.
When the sun started to get low in the sky, Christophe looked at his watch and muttered in French. Then he sighed and met Gregory's eyes. "I must go. Goodbye, Gregory. See you tomorrow." Just as Gregory had taught him to say.
"Wait, Christophe. I have school tomorrow." The Brit bit his lip. He'd been putting it off all day: The fact that he wouldn't be able to spend as much time with the boy anymore. Christophe frowned, confused. Gregory repeated himself. "School. Do you know what that means? I won't be here tomorrow." He shook his head and pointed to their spot. "I have to go to school. Do you understand?"
Christophe gave him a long, withering look before bidding him goodbye again and crossing the street. Gregory hoped he understood that he wouldn't be able to teach Christophe until later in the afternoon.
But then he remembered. "Oh, of course! He must be going to school tomorrow as well! Maybe that's why he gave me that look." He smiled and wondered if Christophe would be going to the same school as him. His mother said that there was a public school in town, which was where all the other kids went. But she didn't want him going there, it wasn't challenging enough, and there had been bad reviews for the teachers. So she enrolled him in Yardale, a private school that was about forty-five minutes away, but had very good reviews.
"Do you think Christophe will go to school there with me?" he asked that night after dinner. His mother sighed.
"I don't think so, sweetheart. His family...well, they don't seem like the type to want to spend that much money on education." She turned and started washing the dishes.
"What does that mean?" Gregory tugged at her skirt, looking up with a suspicious glance.
"I just think he's more likely to go to the public elementary, dear. But who knows? He might end up at Yardale after all." She shrugged and patted the top of his head. "Go take a bath, Gregory. You're a lot filthier now you've started playing outside all day."
He giggled and nodded, hugging her around the waist before trodding up to the bathroom to bathe. He went to bed thinking about Christophe; his eyes, his accent, but most of all, his bruises. They seemed too frequent to be accidents, but then again, Gregory didn't know what Christophe did at home. Maybe he jumped off the couch a lot. Gregory had once cracked his open on the coffee table doing that, so it wasn't so far-fetched. But still, those dark marks made Gregory's stomach tighten everytime he saw them, and he was determined to figure out their cause.