Disclaimer: I own nothing but my brain.

Buck Up Son

Isaac

"Did you just come over to tell me that?" His volume matches mine and he pushes his face even closer to mine. Now all that's between us is the breath that we keep sharing.

"Yep. I just came over to tell you to eat something." I start to pull away from him, but before I can blink he's got his warm hand on the back of my neck.

"You know I haven't seen you for a while." He tips his head back a little more so his face is now parallel with mine.

"Yeah." I force myself to swallow. "I've been busy."

"Oh. Cause you know, last time we saw each other, you said some things." His pinkie starts tracing circles in my hairline. I have to close my eyes and tilt my head away from him just to hold myself back.

"Yeah, I know that last time I saw you I said some things that you weren't ready for." That's when his lips press against my throat and my eyes snap open.

"Who said I wasn't ready for it?" He runs his fingers up into my hair and pulls gently on the back of my head. His lips move against my throat as he continues to whisper. "You would never guess this, but I've liked you for a long time. I even got Mark to tell me some things about you."

"Ye-yeah?" My voice cracks and he chuckles against me.

"Yep." He pops the p and I let out an involuntary groan.

"What did Mark tell you?"

"Little things."

"Like what?"

"Like how you like it when a guy pulls on your hair." He tugs harder at that and I groan again. "and how you like it when a guy sucks on your pulse." At that he starts sucking at my neck. "and how you like it when…" His other hand snakes down my body to grab my belt buckle and at that I just lose it.

I grab him by the back of his head and press my lips against his firmly. I take my other hand and run it through his hair. Oh, god how I've wanted this.

"I will murder you!" He yells at me as I fend off his weak fists with my arms.

"You're not tough enough to even try Tommy."

"But- but I hate this version of you!"

"The version of me that's trying to help you get back in school? The version that carts you around? But no, you must really hate how I fuel your Big Mac addiction." He stops hitting me and I lower my arms.

He falls into my line of sight and I look at him, I really look at him. No I didn't look at him, I studied him, and I memorized him. Giggling and happy, looking at me like he used to in the old days and I remember. I remember all the reasons he's great and all the reasons why I love him. Suddenly I'm blinking, fighting all my tears that I've left unshed.

I never cried about it. I didn't stop and think about how I lost my best friend, I just kept going. Like how after my dad died, I didn't cry then. I was six, I had been living in upstate London when the accident happened. A car crash. My mum was riding shotgun, I was in the backseat, and my dad was driving. A drunk driver plowed into us from the side.

My dad died before the ambulance got there. My mum and I ended up okay but after that day she decided she didn't want me. So she shipped me off to her little brother. He's a middle school teacher with no girlfriend and no social life but he's alright.

I don't think that my uncle knew what to do with me when I first got here. There were a few awkward conversations about how Oregon was cool and that I'd make friends soon but that was it. We don't talk about my dad. We don't talk about my mum. We just keep going, we just keep coexisting.

If anything really bad happens my grandparents show up. My grandma cooks everything she can get her hands on and then at the end of the day, my grandpa claps one hand on the back of my shoulder and just says "Buck up son, it could be worse."

That's what he told me when I was six and I got moved to a different country, right after my dad died. That's what he told me when I was thirteen and I came out to my mum, only to have her tell me that I was a disgrace and that I should just go die. That's what he told me when I was fifteen and mum finally hung herself. But last year, when Thomas went under only three months after my grandma and his wife of forty years died to heart failure, he looked at me, all sad in his eyes and said "Son, sometimes these things just happen."

That's it. That's the Wilkinson's entire view on life. When bad things happen we don't stop, we don't cry, we just push on. And that's how I act, I don't bother to stop I just keep going. Everyone needs me to.

Only Thomas didn't, he never did. We met when we were eleven, on the first day of sixth grade. I was alone, I didn't have any friends in elementary school, just bullies. That's how we met actually, some of the old bullies from fifth grade thought it'd be fun to push me down on the ground and start kicking me. Thomas wasn't like anyone else. Most kids just looked away and kept on going, there were a few who stopped to stand and watch. I remember the first time I looked at Tom. The bullies were taking a temporary break to congratulate each other and switch kickers and Thomas slid up next to me, poked me in the arm and asked the one question no one else had the courage to. "Do you need help?" I nodded, half expecting him to jump up and try to beat the bullies but then the logistics started running through my head. There were at least five of them and one of him and hell, he was skinny and short while they were burly and big. But he didn't fight them he turned around and started running down the hallway yelling "Teacher! I need a teacher!" at the top of his lungs. It was the best day of my life. It was the only day since moving to America that I saw kindness out of another child and it was truly uplifting.

But as I sit here and look at him I know he doesn't remember that day. He doesn't remember how he saved me and that kills me. I can look at him in a thousand different ways and he will always be Thomas, the boy that stood up for everyone and never knew when to stop being kind. The one person in the world who I know that I could trust entirely.

When my grandfather would say "Buck up son" Thomas would look at me with those stupidly big blue eyes and ask "You want to talk about it?" He got me through the hell that was my life. He introduced me to Mark and later to both Bert and Charlie. Thomas is the reason we're all friends, he's that magic glue that holds us all together and he doesn't remember doing any of it.

Before I notice my eyes get all watery and the image of Thomas I see blurs. I blink like always, trying to suppress it but I can't. I turn away from Thomas, putting him to my back.

"Newt?" He tests. I shake my head. He attempts again "Newt what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I sniffled back.

"You want to talk about it?" He suggests and I turn to look at him again. He's got his look on his face, his patented "I'm here for you" look that only he, Thomas Alexander Boyd can pull off. I know that expression, that exact arrangement of his wide eyes and the slight cock of his head has made me spill my guts to him many times before.

I shake my head at him.

"Well that's alright, you know we don't have to talk, we can just sit here in mutual silence for a while, that works too." I know he's pressing me, he wants information.

I swallow, take a big gulp of air, then set my jaw and face him. "I love you Thomas. I love you not in the way that one loves one's best friend and certainly not in the way one loves one's brother. But there's this problem see, where I love you as you were and as I hope you still are, but the thing is, you don't remember who that is. And it's not like I can't handle you not remembering me or your life, because I can. But I can't handle how you don't remember how you saved me, how you saved all of us. I can't handle how I know the expressions on your face better than I know my own, but you don't. And I don't know how to be in the same room as you without feeling this way and wanting you. Oh god, how I want you." He tries to say something but I keep talking successfully hushing him.

"But I understand how you are confused and scared and you don't know what's going on. So for that reason I will let you be and withdraw myself from your life until you can remember. Because in truth it is bad for me to sit here and look at you, wanting you to be something that you're not. I don't want to pressure you at all to remember and I hope that you understand why I'm going to walk away now and let you be. So, goodbye Thomas." His mouth hangs slightly open as I stand up and gather my things. His eyes follow me and the astounded expression remains pinned to his face. Before I leave though, I walk over and press a kiss onto his hairline. "I'll miss you." I whisper, wrapping my hand around his neck and pressing my face against his forehead. I place another kiss to his temple before pulling away and leaving his house, possibly for the last time.