What's this, a consistent update schedule? Yeah! How about that Doomstar, huh? Now all my fluff is completely justified. Should I stop asking questions and answering them? Yes. Thanks to my beta reader, Misty Day, for fixing my horrible typos and generally being a great beta, and thanks to you guys for reading and reviewing and (hopefully) enjoying. Somebody else has drawn fanart for this story, which is arguably better than Christmas for me, and I've linked to it on my profile. I have, like, nothing to say about this chapter, so I'll shut up now.

Going back to school sucked. Not because he was going back to school—Toki was all for ending the two weeks of punishments his parents had inflicted upon him—but because of his diminished free time and thus diminished time with Skwisgaar. Things hadn't changed much since the scars talk except for the part where Toki found himself shirtless with increasing frequency, which he considered a good thing. Skwisgaar liked Toki's muscles, which he knew had existed beforehand but not been exposed to in full, and he had spent lengthy amounts of time just tracing his fingers along them, dipping in the crevices between Toki's abs, and Toki was going to have to stop thinking about that now lest he wanted a boner.

"Dis sucks," Toki said. He put his head down on his desk.

"You talk like him all the time now," Murderface said.

"You mentions Skwisgaar and now it ams sucks worse," Toki moaned. He groaned and pulled his head back up, eyes lolling around his English classroom. "Chem wasn't too bad but I likes to go home now."

"Oh, schut up, you crybaby," Murderface said. He waved his hand around and leaned back in his desk, propping his boots up on it. It left him at an awkward angle and let the smell of his feet leak into the air. Toki dropped his head to the desk and moaned once more, not even bothering to respond to Murderface's insults. Murderface took Toki's guttural response as a reason to keep talking. "I like school, you know, I love learning, I think it fullfilsch a man."

"Stops trying to impress dem," Toki said into the sleeve of his hoodie. He was referring to the girls that sat in front of them. He knew Murderface was glaring at their backs, talking loud enough so they could hear every word they said. "Dey amns't listenings to us, and if they was, they ams would be grossed out by yous."

"What do you know about girlsch? You're gay."

Toki rolled his head so his cheek was on his arm and he could see Murderface. He kicked his desk, causing Murderface to jostle and his legs to fall off and over the bar on the side. He yowled in pain and Toki laughed as Murderface readjusted himself. "Ams being with another boy doesn't makes me gay," Toki said. He straightened up, his teacher taking the helm of the classroom and the final bell ringing. "And besides, I thinks I knows more about goils den you, Moidaface."

Murderface glared at Toki and opened his mouth to speak but was cut off by their teacher, launching into a lesson about symbolism in the short story Toki had reread four times over the break for lack of better things to do. Toki and Murderface scribbled notes back and forth to each other while their teacher droned on about sunrises and sunsets, a motif of the color red. It started with Murderface passing a note, sloppy handwriting asking if Toki wanted to go skating after school today; Toki said yes and doodled a little man on a skateboard beneath his answer; Murderface stabbed the man in the head with an intricate drawing of a knife; Toki turned it into a hat; so on and so forth, a friendly back-and-forth that covered the entire page by the time they were done, little comments like this bitch needs to shut up and why does school even exist in the margins.

Toki went through the motions of school. 3D Art; Algebra II; lunch; German; World History; Home Ec. First semester exams were in a week, Toki ineligible for exemption due to insufficient grades and apathy, his classes stuck in premature review. He worked on a sculpture representing the emotion mirth in 3D Art that would substitute his examination grade, played with Pickles's dreads while he slept through a lesson in Algebra II, translated a poem in German, passed notes between the guys in World History while they were supposed to be learning about religions, made scrambled eggs in Home Ec. An average, boring Monday. He was itching to get the fuck out by the time the final bell rang, darting through the hallways and courtyards until he reached Murderface's locker. Murderface was already there, pulling the shitty skateboard out and handing it to Toki, his phone pressed against the side of his head.

Murderface carried on a conversation with Dick for a few minutes then hung up and slid the phone in his pocket. Toki tapped his fingers against the face of the board, thought about lying in bed with Skwisgaar last night, talking about music, Skwisgaar smelling of ash and sweat from practice, biting a callus on his thumb as Toki sucked his way down his body. Murderface and Toki were outside the school, on the way to the skate park, the air crisp and Toki had come up with an idea. He looked at Murderface, decided that he didn't seem to be in too foul of a mood, and announced, "I'ms gonna calls Skwisgaar and asks him to come to de skate park."

Murderface sighed. "Toki, Toki, Toki," he said, adopting an air of wisdom. He made clucking noises with his tongue, shook his head. "Don't you think you guysch schpend too much time together?"

"We's not togethers nearlies as much as yous and Dicks am," Toki pointed out, using one hand to literally point. Murderface blanched and shut up; Toki smiled, smug, and fished his phone from his pocket.

Skwisgaar picked up on the second ring. "Amns't yous supposeds to be in school?" he asked. Toki could hear the sounds of people eating over the phone, which made sense, as it was two in the afternoon, a good time to eat lunch.

"Just gets out," Toki chirped, mood heightened already. "Goingks to de skate park on thirty-third wit Moidaface. Yous should comes!"

"Ja, ja, I knows where dats ams, I cans does dat," Skwisgaar said. Toki imagined him waving his hand around, swatting at imaginary things in the air, and smiled. "I sees yous there." Toki nodded, though Skwisgaar couldn't see him, and hung up the phone.

"God, you're scho gay," Murderface said, watching as Toki put his phone in his pocket. Toki shrugged and smiled, not even caring about whatever came out of Murderface's mouth. "Do you have to be scho gay in public? It'sch offenschive to old ladiesch and babiesch."

"Moidaface," Toki said, more amused than anything else, "nothings about dat conversation was dat gays. I can gets reallies gay if you'd likes, doe."

"Pleasche don't."

Toki took that as incentive to, indeed, get really gay. "You's never kisses anybody, Moidaface," he began, making these elaborate hand gestures as if he was telling a grand story. "Much lessons gets yous dicks touched. But I has. By a man." It felt weird to call Skwisgaar a man, though he was certainly more man than boy. The noise of disgust followed by gagging that it elicited from Murderface was beautiful. Toki laughed so hard he cried.

Murderface collected himself as they stood outside of the skatepark, one hand clawing the chain-link fence. Toki had one foot in the gate, waiting for Murderface, who dry-heaved with his other hand clutching his stomach, until he looked up and at Toki. "If you're gonna bring Schkwischgaar," Murderface panted. He choked before he said the next sentence, body lurching. "I'm gonna call Dick."

Toki shrugged. "Doesn't care," he said. He ran his fingers over the skateboard, itching to actually get in and ride. He hadn't in so long, his free time occupied by Skwisgaar, and he missed it so much. "De more de marrieders."

Married sit Murderface into another fit of gagging before he collapsed to the ground, his hand slipping down the chain-link fence. Toki waited for him to say something and walked off when he got no response, placing the skateboard on the ground and propelling himself forward with it.

The air was fresh against his face, cold and sharp in his eyes. It reminded him of the mild Norwegian storms, but here he was without the scent of snow, replaced by simmering asphalt and the smell of teenagers, of stale weed, blood, sweat. He warmed up inside of his clothes, his HUF hoodie and a pair of jeans with holes in the knees, as the sun beat on him without the blockage of a cloudy sky and he started to shed calories. His hair ran out behind him and came around to smack him in the face but he didn't care, not really. He loved it. He took the railing with a flourish, his hand gripping it while his body swung around, the board slamming into the ground. It groaned beneath his weight and Toki knew it was close to cracking but he'd ride it until it died.

He was poised to slide down a bowl, nose of the board in his hand and hair a mangled birds nest framing his head, when he noticed Skwisgaar approaching the park, flanked by the other members of Fuckface Academy. Toki swatted the hair out of his face and grinned, catching Skwisgaar's eye. Skwisgaar raised an eyebrow in response, pursed his lips, and Toki took off towards him. Murderface and Dick joined him on either side, surging forward from some back corner of the park where Dick was probably doing coke and Murderface scratching his initials into a nearby tree with the pocket knife he kept on his person. Toki wanted to roll his eyes.

"Heys," Skwisgaar said, bemusement thick in his voice and his face. His eyes flicked between the skateboard in Toki's hand and Toki himself.

"Heys," Toki said. "I's justs skatings." He wiped sweat from his forehead and blew air from his mouth. He opened his mouth to say something—what, he didn't know—but he was cut off by Dick, who had his sunglasses on top of his head and pushing his hair back in a most unattractive manner.

"The band's all here!" Dick said. He jammed his hands towards Mark, opposite him on Skwisgaar's right side and Toki's left. Mark took it and shook it, tilted his head at Dick. "I'm Dick Knubbler, aspiring producer and manager, and I just love you guys. Skwisgaar, here, especially. If you're looking—"

Mark raised a hand to quiet Dick and turned towards Ritchie, nudging him. Ritchie nodded and they went off to the side, George trailing behind them and looking distressed. Skwisgaar sighed and rolled his eyes. "Dis fuckingks band," he said, and Toki nodded in agreement.

"I am so excited," Dick said. He clapped his hands together, rubbed them up and down. "I am also very high. I am excited and high."

"Highcited," Murderface said, nodding in agreement to a point Dick hadn't made.

Skwisgaar and Toki looked back and forth between Dick and Murderface in unison before looking at each other, sharing a short nod, and taking off. Toki took Skwisgaar's hand with the one that wasn't holding the skateboard and they walked around the perimeter of the skate park, towards a corner in the chain link fence, sitting on the grass. Toki put the skateboard in front of them and they used it as a footrest, rolling it back and forth in a mindless and playful competition of who could get it the farthest in their direction while they talked. They sat shoulder-to-shoulder, looking across the street at a convenience store with caged windows.

"You thinks Marks signs with Dick?" Toki asked. Skwisgaar was rubbing circles with his thumb on the top of Toki's hand, resting on Skwisgaar's knee.

Skwisgaar nodded. "Mark thinks we's much better than whats we ams," Skwisgaar said. "I means, I's good, ja? De other guys, doe, dey am dildos. Huge dildos." He leaned back, resting his head against a pole in the fence, and closed his eyes. Toki leaned over to run a hand down his neck while he talked, feeling the vibrations of his voice through his skin. "It ams whatevers."

"Dick ams kinds of like dat, too," Toki said. He took the hand that had been on Skwisgaar's neck and started to pluck grass from the ground. "Thinkingks he ams better than whats he actuallies ams."

"A perfects matches," Skwisgaar said, cracking his eyes open to look at Toki, and they both laughed. A pause, and then Skwisgaar leaned over to kiss Toki, tucking a strand of Toki's flyaway hair behind his ear. Toki nested his body into Skwisgaar's, took his feet off the skateboard to draw his knees in out of instinct. They began kissing slow and lazy, the wet heat of each other's mouths a contrast to the cool air that made Toki sleepy in a vague way, began working up a rhythm, getting into it. Kissing in the cold was as comfortable as hot chocolate and blankets around a campfire, songs from an acoustic guitar and a shroud of stars in the night sky.

They were interrupted fifteen minutes later by the sound of combat boots crunching grass and the feeling of combat boots nudging them. They separated, Skwisgaar pissed off and pursing his lips and Toki guilty and smiling, to see Ritchie standing in front of him.

"Hey, Skwisgaar," he said, toeing Skwisgaar's shin again. When he retracted his foot he rested it on top of the skateboard, laying forgotten by their feet. "We're, like, signed now. So. Yeah."

"Reallies?" Skwisgaar popped an eyebrow and stood. Toki stood as well, stretching his arms above his head, his back crackling with relief. "Wells, ams not surprisingks."

"Whatever," Ritchie said. He kicked the skateboard out from under his foot, sending it a few feet down across the grass in their opposite direction. "Mark says we have to go and get started on the album, like, right away. This Knubbler guy's gonna come back to the building with us. Mark sent me to get you and he said that, like, the kid isn't allowed to come with." He tossed a thumb in Toki's direction.

"I'll bes dere in a few minutes, okay? Tells Mark dat if he doesn't like dat, he can tries and finds a better lead." Skwisgaar snorted at the thought and turned towards Toki, effectively cutting Ritchie off.

Ritchie's shoulders twitched in what may have been a shrug and he walked off, limbs loose and languid as his speaking style. He reminded Toki of Pickles in the faintest way, like if Pickles and Ritchie were to ever interact they would completely and undeniably hate each other. Toki was going to say something about this to Skwisgaar but found his mouth otherwise occupied before he could do so. Skwisgaar kissed him with both hands on his face, cold skin on cold skin, and Toki couldn't help but giggle.

"We has a show dis weekend," Skwisgaar said as he pulled back from Toki, his forehead pressing into Toki's. "Holidays breaks ams over. I's texts you de address. Brings you's friends, tells dem to brings their friends, too. Now dat we has a producers we ams a little bits more serious."

Toki nodded and bit his lip. He nudged his hips towards Skwisgaar, needy and horny, not willing to part so soon. Skwisgaar rolled his eyes but indulged Toki, bringing him closer to him, moving his head to nip at Toki's ear and move along his jawline and back to his lips. Toki could've sworn he felt Skwisgaar mouth I loves you against the corner of Toki's, but without vocal confirmation he couldn't be sure. He said it back with words regardless as they separated for the last time that day, Skwisgaar nodding and rubbing Toki's shoulders before walking off.

Toki collected his skateboard from the ground and tucked it under one arm as he made his way back to Murderface, who was sitting on the pavement by the entrance and looking grumpy. Toki kicked him in the shin to get his attention and Murderface grunted in response, Toki laughing. Murderface furrowed his eyebrows at him and flicked him off. Toki stuck his tongue out at him in return.

"Fuckin' Dick," Murderface said as they started walking, hands thrust deep in the pockets of his jeans and kicking the ground. "Goesch off with that gay-assch band and leavesch me no ride home."

"Dey has a show dis weekends," Toki said. "We should goes."

"I'll go for Dick," Murderface said.

"Mes too," Toki said. He laughed to himself, but the pun was lost on Murderface.

The rest of the week drizzled by. Skwisgaar came by twice, once right as Toki was about to go to bed on Wednesday and again on Thursday, waking Toki from his sleep. Both times Skwisgaar had been in a bad mood, laying in Toki's bed with his boots on and talking in a fast voice with accompanying angry hand motions. Toki drew sleepy patterns on the fabric of Skwisgaar's muscle shirts as he ranted about Mark and the rest of the band, openly yawning but making an effort to not fall asleep. Both times Skwisgaar had talked for well into an hour, looked at his phone for some reason and left after a quick apology and kiss to Toki's face. Toki let Skwisgaar let himself out, falling asleep as soon as he was out of bed.

His parents stockpiled chores for him, a punishment for Toki's developing social life. He worked every day after school until sundown, mowing the yard, trimming the trees, tending the garden, planting shrubs, deep-cleaning the house. He stood on the second floor landing and scrubbed the walls, up and down and all around, vague rage boiling inside of him. He bent down and rung the rag out in the pail of water, dipped it in the other one, spreading suds along the stucco. His parents kept the house cold when Toki was home, colder than it was outside but not as cold as it had been in Norway, and he was wearing two shirts under his hoodie, two pairs of socks on his feet. It pissed him off even more and he wasn't quite sure why.

The week closed with teachers in frantic stages of preparation for the semester exams beginning on Monday. Toki didn't really give a fuck about them, nor any of his friends, passing notes and throwing things to each other across the room. They were rambunctious at lunch on Friday, pouring themselves into and over the table as usual.

"Do we really have to go to the Fuckface Academy show?" Nathan asked. He had a leg propped up on the bench, his arm folded over his knee, shaking an empty can of soda.

"Guys, we have to support Toki's boyfriend," Pickles said, smiling with one side of his mouth. He'd skipped fourth period and gone down the street to smoke with his other friends, his eyes rimmed red. Murderface rolled his eyes and tutted.

"I guess he's kind of, like, our friend now, or whatever," Nathan said. He said with insolence but it nonetheless made Toki smile around the granola bar he was eating. Fucking raisin; his hatred for them hadn't dissipated.

Nathan drove Toki home that day, sending him away with a promise that he'd be there tomorrow evening to pick him up and they'd have a kickass time even if they had to force one. Toki assumed the last part of that comment was meant more for Nathan than for himself and set off to work on his Friday chores before crawling into bed, sleeping with extra layers of clothes because it was so cold in his room and he had only a single blanket, his arms wrapped underneath him. Though he felt some of the same irritable restlessness that had gripped him so strongly before there was something closer to happiness worming itself way into him, a permanent something, and Toki fell asleep with a smile on his face.

Saturday chores and no special punishment and Toki was surprised but not about to question it. He was scrubbing dishes clean, hands encased in thick yellow gloves he'd nicked from his mother's stash and hair tied behind his back, when there was a knock on the door. Toki finished the last of the dishes and put them on the rack, peeled off the gloves and undid his hair, hurrying to open the door. He unearthed Nathan standing between Murderface and Pickles, Pickles with his fingers around the neck of a bottle and Murderface standing with his arms crossed over his chest. Toki smiled at them and told them to wait while he got his shoes and his phone and then they were gone.

Fuckface Academy were playing at a bar two towns over, the place they had listed as their origin on their outdated MySpace page. They had migrated from MySpace to Bandcamp, had an album up for five bucks that they were actually sort of making money on and a small but loyal underground following. Toki didn't think Skwisgaar was as happy about this as he should be but Toki didn't know a lot about how bands worked, only which ones sounded best to his ears. The drive to the bar they were playing at—some placed called Verbarhistolysis—was long and mostly over the highway, the sun sinking in the horizon, their windows rolled down and loud music combating the rush of the road. Toki kept receiving texts from Skwisgaar, his phone vibrating with paragraph rants half in Swedish about how horrible Mark and Ritchie were both being, how much Skwisgaar wished Toki was there. Toki could barely figure out how to respond on my way.

He did call Skwisgaar when they turned onto the street containing Verbarhistolysis. Skwisgaar picked up immediately, probably in the middle of another paragraph when Toki called. "Ja, Tokis?" he asked, annoyance and expectation clipping his voice.

"We's here," Toki said, because they were, Nathan pulling into the parking lot of the place.

"Thanks God," Skwisgaar muttered. "I's goingks to gets you, holds on, you's coming backstage with me." He hung up before Toki could answer; Toki shrugged at Pickles when he turned around and gave him a strange look. Toki slid his phone back in his pocket and slinked out of the truck, not quite sure if he should wait out there for Skwisgaar or follow the other guys into the bar, where they would get in with their fake IDs and probably start getting drunk as soon as possible. His uncertainty was cut short by the sight of Skwisgaar marching towards him, scowling so hard it looked like it hurt.

Skwisgaar put a hand on Toki's shoulder and turned him away from the rest of the guys, though they exchanged pleasantries and smiles. The hand slid down Toki's side until it found Toki's and their fingers interlocked, Skwisgaar's skin unusually hot. Skwisgaar led Toki around the back and through a door propped open with what looked to be a music stand.

Toki had never been backstage of anything before and he hadn't been expecting anything much. Skwisgaar led him through a small and compacted area until they reached a slightly more spacious one in which Fuckface Academy were crowded around an ashtray. Ritchie was standing with his back against the wall, shirtless as he appeared to be for all of their gigs, hair frizzing and falling down his shoulders so that it brushed the tips of his angel wing tattoos. Mark was sitting on an amp with a bottle of beer in his hands, drinking and holding his jaw tense. The rhythm guitarist—George, Toki was pretty sure his name was—seemed to be the one doing the actual set-up, carrying another amp in both of his arms and disappearing through the curtains and out toward the main stage.

"You brought your boyfriend backstage," Ritchie said, flicking the end of his cigarette so ash fluttered towards the floor.

"Ja, whats of it?" Skwisgaar dropped Toki's hand and pulled a pack of his cigarettes from his own pocket, lit one and brought it to his mouth.

"That's just not a thing that you should, like, do." It took Ritchie ages to get through this sentence, drawing every word out, smoking between punctuation. "Kinda weird Skwisgaar behavior, too." He let the cigarette fall through his fingers and stubbed it out with the toe of his boots in one long maneuver.

"Has I hads a boyfriends before?" Skwisgaar asked. His hand gravitated towards the small of Toki's back where it rested, his fingers moving in circles, subconsciously tracing the length of a scar.

"Guess not," Ritchie said. He folded his arms over his chest. He had that skinny guy abs thing going on, was long and lean in all the wrong places, tall yet unappealing.

"Then doesn't talk shit, ja?" Skwisgaar asked. He sucked on the end of his cigarette and leaned over to deposit it in the ashtray, coming into Mark's line of vision.

Mark startled and looked up. "I have to agree with Ritchie," he said, some sheepishness slipping into his face. "It's just not cool to bring your S.O. backstage. I wouldn't if I had a girlfriend."

"If you could get a girlfriend," was George's contribution as he passed by them again, this time carrying some wires. Toki caught his eyes and gave him the most appreciative look he could manage.

"Fine, den he cans bes a groupie," Skwisgaar said. He turned to Toki. "You's ours first groupie, conscratchuleasons." He patted Toki on the shoulder and leaned in like he was going to kiss him but decided against it.

"Go do groupie shit, then," Ritchie said. "Help George out." He tossed a thumb over his shoulder in the direction of the depths of the bar though George had just gone through the curtains again.

Toki started to walk in the direction that Ritchie gestured before Skwisgaar stopped him, his hand tightening around Toki's forearm, and pulled him back. "Fucks dat, you's a groupie, not a roadie," Skwisgaar said. "Show's in fifteen minutes, sees you guys den." Still with Toki's hand on his forearm he turned around, walking in the opposite direction.

"Uh, Skwisgaar?" Toki asked as they went through a door and into a small storage room with only a few overstuffed boxes in a corner and a naked light hanging above them that Skwisgaar turned on. "De fucks ams goin' on with yous band?"

Skwisgaar waved his hand. "Ignores dat," he said. He snaked a finger from each hand into Toki's belt loops, tugging him forward by the hips and connecting their mouths. Toki shed his hoodie—it was hot backstage anyway—and Skwisgaar pushed a hand up underneath Toki's shirt, up to his collarbones, circling the protruding muscles. Toki curled his hands up in Skwisgaar's hair and had to stop himself from lunging at him—even five days of none of this was too much, too long. He ended up on his knees, Skwisgaar's back pressed into a wall, rolling Skwisgaar's jeans down and taking his dick in his mouth like a proper groupie slut would. Skwisgaar came in minutes, one of his hands tangled in Toki's hair and the other gripping his shoulder, and Toki smiled up from his position on the ground, happy to please.

"Can'ts does you," Skwisgaar said, buttoning his jeans as Toki came up. "Gots a show."

"Bes late," Toki said, clawing at Skwisgaar's chest, much too horny to go without. "Comes on, yous de best, dey has no options but to accommodate yous."

Skwisgaar was silent for a moment, eyes fixed over Toki's head, and then he shrugged his shoulders almost violently. "Ja, makes sense," he said, surging forward and slamming his mouth into Toki's. His hands worked as fast as they could, sneaking into the front of Toki's pants and pawing at him through his boxers before making contact, and Toki whined and gasped, unconcerned with making noise. He came in his pants, which made Skwisgaar curl his lip and laugh as Toki scrubbed furiously and futilely at the fabric.

"Yous dick," Toki said, pushing Skwisgaar back as he continued to laugh.

"Whatsever," Skwisgaar said, waving a hand over his shoulder as he exited the room. "Gots a show. Gets out in front and bes a good groupies slut, ja?"

Toki stuck his tongue out at Skwisgaar, which was sort of useless because Skwisgaar didn't see it, readjusted himself and walked out behind him. He went down some stairs to his right and entered the crowd, searching for his friends. He found them towards the front of the stage, Pickles drunk and swaying against Nathan, Murderface engaged in conversation with Dick. Dick had a clipboard in one hand and the other was pushing sunglasses off his head and into his overly gelled hair with the other; he was wearing a fitted dress shirt and an ascot, looking the epitome of lame manager/producer. As far as Toki could tell Murderface was into it, talking nonsense about labels and record deals and residuals with Dick.

"Hey guys," Toki said, sliding into place on Pickles's other sides.

"Where were you?" Nathan asked, talking over Pickles's head. As time went on it had become less weird that Toki was now taller than Pickles and capable of holding conversations over him but it still struck him as strange sometimes, the height difference. With Pickles's posture poorer due to his intoxication, this was one of those times.

"Backstage," Toki said. He tugged at the hem of his shirt, feeling uncomfortable and sticky. "Ams a groupie now."

"'Course you are," Pickles said. He slung an arm around Toki's shoulders and brought him down to his level, causing Toki's back to twinge in discomfort. "Don't get pregnant now, you here?"

"I—Pickle, what? Ams a man, doesn't get pregnants," Toki said, pulling himself up. He looked at Nathan, who was staring straight ahead at the band but chuckling to himself.

Pickles did not get a chance to justify his claim as Mark took the microphone onstage, clearing his throat into it. The dull buzz of conversation around the bar dimmed and people congregated towards the center, pushing Toki more towards the front. He caught Skwisgaar's eyes and smiled at him, his smile growing larger when he saw Skwisgaar's lips quirk and then turn downwards as he suppressed the expression. Toki heard some girl to his left talking about how hot the lead guitarist was and he stifled the urge to turn to her and tell her that that was his boyfriend.

"Hey, all," Mark said. He readjusted the strap of his bass. He was wearing that shirt with the intricate depiction of the anatomy of the human torso that he'd been wearing at the first gig, his hair longer and styled into a fringe. "We're Fuckface Academy and we're gonna rock your world." Toki, along with the majority of the crowd, cheered. A grin flickered across Mark's face; Skwisgaar rolled his eyes. Ritchie and George were both spaced, Ritchie staring into the distance and George at his feet.

They launched into their first song, Skwisgaar shredding with all the speed and skill Toki had come to know and love, Mark leaning into his bass and singing much better than Toki thought he could. The band had improved beyond the point of shitty grunge, finding their unique style and their individual rhythm, sounding like they could actually be something and go somewhere. Toki was cut off from the rest of his friends, could only see the top of Nathan's head above the crowd if he turned around, but it didn't bother him. He got a mosh pit going as he always did and elbowed some guy in the face, getting blood all over his hoodie, but he sort of liked it. Fuckface Academy played for an hour, mostly songs that Toki hadn't heard before with clipped one-word titles like Vacancy and Cocaine. They finished with applause and screams, coated in sweat and smiling at the crowd, Toki whooping and hollering along with the rest of them. He scrambled towards Skwisgaar after the crowd began to thin, hoisting himself onstage and shedding his hoodie, hot from the physical exertion.

"Wowee," Toki panted. He swayed into Skwisgaar for support, adrenaline in his veins making him feel a little woozy. "You guys ams so good."

Skwisgaar shrugged, jostling Toki from his side. "We's better," he said. He set his guitar down on the stage and gestured for George to come take care of it. George didn't seem to notice. "What's yous plans after de show?"

"Stayin' over at Nathan's house," Toki said. He folded his hoodie and draped it over his arm, moved a piece of hair stuck to his face out of his eyes.

Skwisgaar nodded. "Mark ams all bitchy about de bands now more den before," Skwisgaar said. He crossed his arms over his chest and looked off to the side. His eyes followed Mark until he disappeared behind the curtain and then Skwisgaar turned back to Toki and uncrossed his arms, relaxing. "I guess it ams because we have a manager and a producer now but we's not allowed to goes out and has fun like before. Everything ams all serious and work."

Toki frowned. "No funs?" he asked. The idea was a reality he had faced before, back in dead Norwegian winters deep in a hole in the ground, and was not something he wanted to face again. He put a hand on Skwisgaar's arm.

"No funs," Skwisgaar said. He looked off to the side again. "But I thinks I can gets away during de daytimes. I has an idea."

"Oh?" Toki said.

"We could meets someplace during de day. I know you has school—"

"Fucks dat!" Toki's eyes went wide and he bounced, hitting Skwisgaar in the arm in the friendliest way he could manage. "Fucks schools, I hates it, I'd much rather be spending my times with you."

Skwisgaar smiled this little smile and put a hand on Toki's shoulder. "Goods, dat's settled. Come on backstage and bes a good groupies now." His hand slid down until he was holding Toki's and they started walking in that direction, Toki stepping over Skwisgaar's guitar.

Fuckface Academy were milling around in the same area they had been earlier, though now Dick was there, standing with his sunglasses in his hair and his face twisted in a sour expression. Mark was sitting on the amp with his elbows on his knees and his hand in his hair, Ritchie leaning against the wall again and George moving in and out while he packed away their stuff.

"I cans helps," Toki offered to George as he walked by, carrying one of Ritchie's symbols. Dick was talking about boring music shit that had Skwisgaar and the rest of them captivated.

"Nah, man," George said, though he stopped. He rustled the back of his hair with a hand. "I'm used to it."

"Noes, reallies," Toki said. He broke his hold with Skwisgaar, who looked at Toki and propped an eyebrow. "I'm gonna helps George," Toki said. "Bes a proper groupies." He stood up and pecked Skwisgaar on the lips; George averted his eyes. He walked off from Skwisgaar alongside George. "What does I do?"

"Well, this, really," George said. They walked out of the backstage area and into the alley, where Mark's van was, the back doors propped open. George secured the cymbal inside of the van. "Go get Skwisgaar's guitar. The case is just around the corner backstage."

Toki nodded and took off, walking back out onto the stage to get Skwisgaar's guitar. He saw Nathan, Pickles and Murderface hanging out at the back, Pickles and Murderface knocking back shots while Nathan loitered about, looking pissed. Toki caught his eyes and smiled; Nathan gave half of an attempt at a wave, which was good enough for Toki. He bent over and scooped Skwisgaar's guitar up in his arms.

The feeling was immediate. Toki had never handled an instrument before this, exempting the forced piano lessons that came with attendance of his father's church, and the intimate relation to Skwisgaar made it all the more special. It was a gorgeous guitar, shining and well groomed, strings supple and body strong. Toki resisted the urge to sling the strap over his shoulder and pluck. He unplugged it from the amp and carried it as preciously as he would a human infant around the back of the stage, finding the case and securing it inside. He felt this strange emptiness inside of him as he packaged it away, as if the ghost of the guitar was still cradled in his arms. He picked the case up and slid an arm through the strap, walking back out into the alleyway. When he passed Skwisgaar, who was listening to Dick and Mark talk about possibly getting a little tour set up, he brushed his shoulder and smiled.

"Gots de guitar," Toki announced to George as he put it in the back of the van. George nodded at him. "Whats next?"

"The amps, and I have to finish Ritchie's drum kit, and then we're done. The amps are sort of heavy, sorry."

Toki shook his head, his hair whipping his face. "I can handles it," he said, chipper as ever.

"'Kay," George said. He took a piece of gum from his pocket and took a piece, plopping it in his mouth. He offered it to Toki, who declined with a shake of his head. They went back to the stage together, George not really speaking. He was about the same height as Toki and quiet in a way that wasn't awkward or disconcerting, just sort of his personality. He took the rest of Ritchie's drum kit while Toki went for the amps. They were heavy but it wasn't anything he couldn't handle, muscles strong after years of physical labor, and he took the remaining three back to the van with ease.

George closed the doors of the van and leaned against it with a sigh. He rustled the back of his hair with his hand again and produced a joint from the pocket of his cargo shorts, lighting it. He offered it to Toki who this time accepted it, inhaling hard.

"What ams it like to works with dem?" Toki asked, passing the joint back and positioning himself so he was leaning against the van beside George. The door to the bar was still open, faint sounds of conversation leaking into the night sky. The temperature had dropped—it was probably around ten o'clock or so—and the alley was unlit, almost scary, the only brightness coming in pools of yellow at either end of the alley from streetlights. Toki had this strange sentimental feeling spurring inside of him, almost a sense of nostalgia, but sucking on the end of the joint was helping to dull that.

"It's okay," George said after he took a hit, handing the joint back to Toki. "They're all, you know, pretty dominant personalities, so I'm just like, whatever."

Toki nodded. "I totally gets dat," he said. He took a hit and passed the joint back. "It ams de same way with my friends. Pickle and Moidaface ams loud and den Nathan and I are sorts of quiet."

Mark shook his head. "Nah, we're not friends," he said. He was staring into the open door of the bar, kind of like he was waiting for somebody to appear, holding the joint between two fingers as he talked. "I met 'em through an audition. Ritchie and Mark know each other from high school or something, I don't know." He dropped his head to take a long hit off the joint, sighing more than exhaling when he lifted it back up.

"Oh," Toki said. He held his hand out for the joint. He hated it when people hogged them. "And Skwisgaar?" he asked.

"We had another lead guitarist before him, a chick that Mark knew from high school—uh, Ex-Knife is about her, if you remember from the first show—but they had this really nasty break up. It was sort of funny, really." He laughed, this humorless chuckle thing that was more of an approximation of a laugh than an actual expression of humor. "Anyway. Mark kicked her out and held auditions and, well. Once you hear Skwisgaar, you want Skwisgaar."

"Tells me about it," Toki said.

"Yeah, that was sort of stupid. You guys are fucking, you get it." George laughed and took the joint back from Toki after Toki took another hit. Toki didn't bother to correct him. They weren't fucking, not really, not yet, but the idea made him happy, proud.

Toki and George passed the rest of the time in relative silence, getting high. Toki looked up into the night sky, seeing maybe one or two scattered stars but mostly just black. That was one thing he missed about Norway—an hour away from civilization the sky held many stars, and it made the labor that sometimes pushed into the early hours of the morning a little better. He would make wishes on them or try to count them as he chopped firewood and collected fish. They provided some light, lessening the fear of the dark and all that lurked within some. Here in Florida, in this weird mix of urban and suburban, there were very few stars, none at all more often than not. It wasn't like he was about to trade this much better life he was leading in America for some stars, but he was really high, and he would've liked to have been picking out constellations at the moment instead of craning his head and imagining being sucked up by the vacuum that was space.

The rest of Fuckface Academy, Dick, and Toki's friends spilled out of the back door after a while. Skwisgaar went to Toki, standing close to him and crossing his arms over his chest. Toki's friends hovered on the fringe, Nathan slapping his keys against his thigh, making a weird sound that echoed in the empty alleyway and made Toki's eye twitch.

"Well, guys, this is where we part," Mark said. George nodded and lifted himself off the van, walking around to get inside. Ritchie went to the passenger's seat.

"Sees you soon," Skwisgaar said, leaning down to speak into Toki's ear. Toki was not going to get sick of that anytime soon. Skwisgaar pressed his lips to Toki's earlobe, not quite a kiss or a bite, and put a hand on the small of his back as he rotated out and walked around. Toki shrugged and walked to his own friends.

"I'm gonna stay with Dick," Murderface announced. He seemed to be speaking to Nathan but was looking in the opposite direction, swaying back and forth.

"Good, 'cause you're drunk as shit. You always do this when you start drinking again," Nathan said, groaning. Pickles, not looking too sober himself, nodded in agreement.

"Ams high," Toki said, raising a hand to his mouth and giggling into it.

"Good for you, kid," Pickles said. He made a movement like he was going to put his arm around Toki's shoulder and stopped, most likely remembering that he was too short to do that now. He shrugged instead. Nathan rolled his eyes and started walking around to the parking lot; Pickles and Toki scrambled to catch up with him.

They drove back to Nathan's house and Toki was starting to sort of feel like a third wheel, wishing he had Skwisgaar with him. Or Murderface, but he'd much rather have Skwisgaar. When they got back to Nathan's they did the usual, amassing a large quantity of unhealthy food and heading for Nathan's basement. Toki laid on Nathan's couch and put a bowl of chips on his chest, eating and watching the slasher flick Nathan had put on. Nathan and Pickles were laying on the floor, Nathan drinking from one of his father's six packs and Pickles from some of Nathan's mother's wine. Toki felt himself starting to drift off to sleep, the bowl of chips empty and sliding off his chest, his body worn out from the work of the day, but jolted awake when he felt his phone vibrate deep in his pockets. He dug it out and saw a text from Skwisgaar, which he had figured it was. Fryday at 11 meats out side scul. Serpryse. Toki smiled at the dismal English and put his phone back in his pocket, rolling over and curling up against the couch, letting sleep take ahold of him.

He woke in the morning to an empty room and a blanket draped over him. Like so many times before he felt sticky and gross, anxious to get home only to bathe, dreading the actual return home. He raised off the couch and stretched, twisting around, his back popping and crackling. He wandered up from the basement and to the main floor of the house, finding a bathroom and rinsing his face, before going into to the kitchen for some breakfast. Nathan's parents, probably at church or something, had left two boxes of donuts on the counter. Toki grabbed one and a glass of milk, eating at the table and waiting for Nathan to wake up so he could go home.

Nathan came down the stairs a short time later, still in boxers and the t-shirt he'd been wearing last night, his hair ruffled from sleep. "Donuts, sweet," he grumbled, heading for the boxes and proceeding to eat four donuts one after the other. Toki watched him absently. Nathan turned around, licked his fingers and said, "Pickles is still asleep. Probably gonna be for a while, he went fuckin' hard last night. I can take you home." Toki nodded. Nathan left and returned a few minutes later, this time in jeans and boots, his keys in his hand. The clock on the stove in the kitchen read eleven in the morning; Toki was surprised he'd slept so late.

When he arrived home Toki went about his usual Sunday chores. He briefly considered studying for exams, which started on Monday with Chemistry and English, and decided against it. He, instead, dawdled outside and called Skwisgaar, talking to him as he tended the garden. He mentioned exams; Skwisgaar laughed and said that he hadn't even finished school in Sweden. "Ams a guitars god," he said. Unlike most of Skwisgaar's phone calls there was no noise in the background, and Toki kept meaning to ask him where he was but was failing to find a good point in the conversation. "What's de point?"

"Speakings of dat," Toki said. He scrunched his shoulder up to keep the phone situated while he used both hands to pull potatoes from the earth. He grunted and ripped one up, running his ungloved (he wasn't allowed to have any) hands over it. "I holds yous guitar yesterday when I was helpin' George and I felt…weirds."

"Oh?" Skwisgaar asked, sounding genuinely intrigued.

"Yeah," Toki said. He dug into the dirt again, wrapping his hands around another potato.

"Well, hows did you feels weird?"

Toki readjusted his phone to keep it from slipping out into the garden among turnips and carrots and crouched down again, still working with the potatoes. "Kinds of likes…dis is going to sounds really gay, sorries. I felt like it was meants to be."

"Like a spirituals connections?" Skwisgaar asked, continuing to sound generally interested.

"Yeah, likes dat," Toki said. He tugged the last potato from the ground and put it in the basket, moving on to work with the carrots. "A spirituals connections."

"Ams you sures it just amns't because it ams my guitar?" Skwisgaar asked, chuckling into the phone. Toki rolled his eyes as he tended to the leaves on the carrot plants, spraying them with pesticide. It pained him that his parents didn't buy the environmentally friendly type.

"I's sure," Toki said. He picked up the gardening fork beside him and dug into the soil around the carrots. "It ams was different from how I feels when I touches you. For ones, didn't feel anything in my dick."

"I feels things in my dick when I plays de guitar," Skwisgaar said. The tone of his voice, like it was weird to him that other people didn't, made Toki laugh.

"But it amsn't the same as when you touches me, right?" Toki said. He deposited the carrot in his basket and went to pick another one.

"I guesses not," Skwisgaar mused. There was a pause; Toki took the time to readjust the phone again. "So's what's you tryingks to says, Toki? You thinks you's meant to be a guitarist?"

"Maybes," Toki said. "I'll thinks about it. Hey, where ams you, by de way? There amsn't any noises in de background."

"Oh, ja, ams alone in the apartment. Marks and Ritchies and Georges ams out grocery shoppingks or somethingks, doesn't know, doesn't care."

"Oh, okays," Toki said. He furrowed his eyebrows and stood up with the basket. He was finished in the garden, which meant he had no reason to linger outside, but he didn't want to hang up on Skwisgaar. "Wishes we could bes together."

Skwisgaar groaned, but added a quiet, "Mes, too" onto the end of the noise. Toki smiled, feeling that was sufficient enough, and immediately dropped his smile when he saw the backdoor to his house begin to open.

"Gots to go," he whispered, quick and quiet, into the phone before slamming it into his pocket. He bent over and picked the basket up from the ground; when he came up he was face-to-face with his father.

Just for being outside a few seconds longer than required Toki was forced into the house by his father brandishing a whip at his heels; Toki could feel the snap of pain even through the ragged ends of his jeans. He bit on his lip and clenched his jaw together, squeezing his eyes shut and curling his fingers tight around the basket of vegetables. He left them on the kitchen counter, his mother withdrawing one to wash and ignoring the sound of the whip against the back of Toki's legs. His father steered him up the stairs and into his study, which was not a good sign, and had Toki put his hands on the back of his father's chair, drop his pants and raise his shirt. The whip moved up at a steady pace, against Toki's calves, against his thighs, against his ass, and stopping at his upper back. Toki wanted to scream loud and long, pain hot and fresh against his skin, but bit his lip hard enough that his mouth filled with blood instead. He swallowed it down, which might make him sick later—that had happened before—and turned to face his father. No words, just that look, and he dismissed Toki with a wave of the hand, gliding over to the shelf where he kept the whip hidden in a long box with a lock and key.

It was not yet dinnertime which meant that Toki had no option but to stew in his bedroom and wait for dinner before he could go to sleep and attempt to heal. His heels were bleeding, but the rest of the whip wounds weren't, which was good. The back of his body was striped with welts, hot to touch and raised off his skin in a garish red tone. He took an old t-shirt and ripped it in half, tying it around his heels so that he wouldn't soil his bedroom and have to clean it later, than lay on his bed. He dug his cell phone out of his pocket and checked it—no texts or missed calls—then stashed it inside of his pillow case, underneath the actual pillow. He swallowed back tears and laid on his stomach, staring into the sheets of his bed and feeling dizzy and nauseated from the swirling of negative emotions inside of his body. Guilt, shame, embarrassment, anger, it was all there, all twisting inside of his stomach. He was certain that if he were to eat dinner he would be sick, between everything he'd swallowed and his emotional state, but he still rose and wiped away whatever tears had managed to spill onto his cheeks despite his best efforts when his mother came to his door.

Dinner was stew made from the vegetables Toki had spent too long picking, carrots and potatoes floating in a thick broth, chunks of meat thrown in. Toki chewed slowly and carefully, swallowed painfully. His back stung, his face was swollen and hot, his stomach was flipping over itself every few seconds. After dinner he went to the bathroom and threw up, his father passing by and looking in with no interest. Toki cleaned the bathroom and went to bed.

The pain from that lashing lasted all week, everything from his backpack slapping against his back when he walked to the material of his jeans rubbing against his ankles agitating the pain. He was his usual self, maybe a little quieter, and the other guys didn't notice it. His head swam through his first four exams, the pain too great to do anything but Christmas tree the answer sheet and then drop his head to the desk and let himself pass out. By Wednesday it was a little bit better and he actually put effort into his German exam. He found the processes of translation and writing in another language calming, which allowed him to actually try at the World History exam before succumbing to making faces and communicating in a botched version of sign language that only he and his friends understood. His last exam was first thing in the morning on Thursday, making brownies in Home Ec, and the pain had subsided enough that he made brownies worthy of an A. He left with Murderface after that exam and headed to the skate park, though his back hurt too much to do anything else but sit by the fence and make fun of all the other shitty skaters with Murderface. Nathan and Pickles went to hang out with Charles and Abigail, Toki was pretty sure.

Friday was a regular school day and the first that Toki switched to 2D Art as opposed to Home Ec, though he wouldn't be there to actually attend the class. Ten minutes into lunch he said goodbye to Nathan, Pickles and Murderface, leaving his backpack in Pickles's care, and walked out the front doors of his school. He was surprised by how easy it was to just leave, and exhilarated, forgetting about the pain that sprung up every time he took a step. He hadn't spoken to Skwisgaar since Sunday, not willing to chance any more lashings by getting caught on the phone and Skwisgaar presumably too tied up with Fuckface Academy to visit him in the night, but he saw Skwisgaar standing off to the side, his hands on his hips and his neck craned to observe the school.

"Heys," Toki said, walking to join Skwisgaar. Skwisgaar dropped a hand to grab ahold of Toki's and then started walking.

"Heys," Skwisgaar said. He looked around and then raised Toki's hand to his lips to kiss the back of it, which made Toki flush in quite the pleasant way.

"So what ams we goin' to do?" Toki asked. It was cold outside and windy, his hair lifting from his shoulders. Skwisgaar's had his tied back and was wearing a thin flannel shirt over one of his usual muscle shirts, had both holes in his ears filled with small, diamond studs. Toki reached up to touch them with the hand that wasn't holding Skwisgaar's.

"Figureds we goes down to de waterfront since yous school ams kind of nears it," Skwisgaar said. "You's okay with walking?" He stopped, as they had reached a crosswalk, and looked at Toki.

"Ye—" Toki started, and then he stopped, his eyes falling. He sighed. "Noes, not really," he mumbled, looking at their shoes instead of at Skwisgaar's face. A dull happiness flared inside of him at the fact that they were both wearing Converse, though Skwisgaar's were white high-tops and Toki's were black low-tops. "Noes, I's not. I's kind of…hurts…really badly." He forced himself through the sentence.

Skwisgaar squeezed Toki's hand, prompting him to look up. Skwisgaar cocked his head and peered at Toki, his mouth tight. "Whys?" he asked, tentative.

Toki pressed the button on the crosswalk as an excuse to break eye contact as he said, "Parents," and that was enough. They crossed the street and walked a block down the nearest bus stop, Toki falling into the bench, mood dampened and sour.

"Heys," Skwisgaar said. With their hands still connected and held between their thighs he leaned over Toki and brushed a flyaway strand of hair behind his ears, left a kiss on his cheek. He scowled briefly, then shook it away, murmuring something negative and directed towards Toki's parents under his breath. He smiled and spoke up. "It ams okay. Doesn't bes sad, dat's no fun."

"Okays," Toki said. He smiled at Skwisgaar, still a little sad around the edges but willing to put in an effort.

They took the city bus to the waterfront and sat themselves on the seawall, legs drawn up between each other. It was cold by the water, cold even by Toki's standards, wind fierce, but he didn't think either of them cared. The park was relatively empty, what with it being before lunchtime on a Friday, and so they made out a bit, nothing too serious or heavy. Mostly they talked and they laughed and invented games to play with each other's hands, increasing the volume of everything they said and did over the sounds of the waves and the wind.

"Dis ams so much better den school," Toki said at one point, leaning into Skwisgaar and putting his forehead on his shoulder. He felt the muscles in Skwisgaar's neck ripple as he nodded and put his head on top of Toki's, his arms around Toki's back light enough not to cause any pain but tight enough to keep him close.

"School ams sucks," Skwisgaar said, sagely. Toki nodded as if this was a profound and groundbreaking statement.

When it got too cold for even Skwisgaar to bear and he had to admit it they migrated from the park to the nearest coffee shop, Skwisgaar buying them foaming mugs of hot chocolate with thick, sodden marshmallows, putting a shot of espresso in his own. They sat in a booth by a window, realized that the window radiated cold and then moved to a table towards the back. They watched the lunch crowd trickle in and buy thick sandwiches and warm cups of coffee, making fun of the patrons. "Look at dat dildo," Skwisgaar would say, raising his mug to his lip. "Leading a regulars jack-offs life. What a sheeps." Toki would nod in agreement, then point out a business lady and say something like,"Look at dat goils, her tits probably as wrinklies as lemons." Skwisgaar would laugh in appreciation.

They ebbed closer to the time when Toki would normally get out of school and left the coffee shop. It was less cold out away from the water and with the sun peeking out overhead, now tolerable, but Skwisgaar slung an arm around Toki's shoulders and pulled him close nonetheless. They waited for the bus and discussed music, and then they were on the bus, heading back towards Toki's school. Skwisgaar walked with Toki as far as he could go without infringing upon his school and slid his arms around Toki's waist, kissed him goodbye. Toki put his forehead against Skwisgaar and sighed.

"Dat was so much fun," Toki said, because it was, and he was starting to feel a little depressed at the thought of departing. He didn't have any plans for that weekend, was nervous about spending it with his parents.

"Ja," Skwisgaar said. He pulled Toki closer to him. "We does that again sometime." He let go of Toki and smiled at him; Toki nodded. They exchanged I love you's, Skwisgaar's under his breath and half intelligible, and parted.

Nathan drove Toki home along with Pickles and Murderface, Toki eager to get there to erase any phone messages the school might've left in his absence. He was pretty sure his mother didn't know the school's number and wouldn't have picked up and she didn't know how to listen to messages. His father would be out, working with church stuff, so Toki should be safe. He crossed his fingers in the backseat of the truck, forced fake laughter out at the usual hijinks.

He lost all hope the second he walked through the door. He had one arm holding his backpack, prepared to go into his room, drop it on the floor and get to his Friday afternoon chores. He was prepared to suffer through a weekend of monotony and possible punishment. He was not prepared for his father standing before him, seeming taller than usual, his frown deep and eyes dark. He wasn't holding the whip as far as Toki could see, which made him even more nervous. The only thing in Norway worse than the whip had been the punishment hole, but there was no punishment hole in America, and he hadn't yet been subjected to something worse. The way his heart and his gut fell through his body and to his feet, cracking and spilling their contents in a slimy feeling, told him he was about to be.

He flinched when his father spoke. He couldn't help it, his voice was just so rare. "Your school called," his father said, in that raspy Norwegian Toki had come to associate with dark, dark things. "You were not there, and yet I saw you leave. Where did you go? Don't you understand how important education is?"

Toki opened his mouth to answer these questions, but his father reached out and smacked him hard across the face before he could do so.

"Don't even answer me!" his father said, retracting his hand only to reach out and slap Toki again, this time in the opposite direction. "I do not want to hear your voice. Go to your room. You are not permitted to leave this house unless you are going to school and if the school calls again, there will be further consequences."

Toki started to walk off, but was stopped by a forceful hand to his shoulder. His father pushed him back; Toki hit the door, his backpack falling from his arm and hitting the floor with a dull noise that made Toki cringe.

"Look at how much you made me speak," Toki's father said, his voice low and quiet, burrowing inside of Toki's head. Toki wanted to shut his eyes and clamp his hands over his ear and curl up and die. "You devil child." Toki's father advanced on him and slapped him again, harder than the last two, bringing tears to Toki's eyes. "Go now." He backed off and left room for Toki to walk. Toki picked his backpack up with one arm and went to his room.

It might have been melodramatic to call it a new punishment hole, but for all intents and purposes, that's what it was. He put his backpack on his desk chair and curled up on the bed. He wasn't feeling anything, completely hollowed, his brain empty. Soon the thoughts, ramifications, hypotheticals and all else would crash down on him, make him want to scream and kick and kill somebody, but for now all he felt was nothing but pain flaring up on his back, his heels, his face, emotions blunted. It took ten, maybe fifteen, minutes for negativity to start seeping in, surging forward like bile, making him lurch. No friends—no concerts, no movies, no mall, no downtown—no escape—no Skwisgaar—for an indefinite, but definitely long, amount of time. His thoughts wavered back to the idea of further consequences, but as far as Toki was concerned there was nothing worse than this hell shoved onto him.