A/N: Thank you everyone for your support! After this chapter we only have four chapters left! I love reading all of y'all comments. Really keeps me motivated! I can't believe we are almost done D: Enjoy this chapter!

Chapter Thirty-Eight: The Storm Clouds Shift

Reno silently fell apart in my arms, for only several devastating minutes. Then picked himself off me, told me he was done and declared he was moving on with his life. He pushed himself to start rebuilding what he's lost. And I admired his strength, but worried he was overcompensating to bury the hurt he felt so viscerally, lock it away somewhere and forget to deal with it. Become cold. Resentful. Seek out dangerous outlets.

But maybe I'm projecting.

He decided he would take over the spare bedroom next to mine, despite the balcony overlooking his former yard- giving him a perfect view of his family dismantling his old life. And he waved off my mother's protests and my offerings to switch. And refused to continue the argument. Mother recruited Veld one last time to negotiate the acquisition of Reno's personal items. He couldn't wear my clothes forever as apparently, according to him, I lack style. And while Mr. Numura discussed the release of Reno's items, my mother insisted on giving him money to decorate his new living quarters to his liking.

Something he rejected immediately.

And in private lamented he had no idea, at all, how he would even begin to set up his new living space.

I don't even know what I like anymore.

Hinting his wounds run deep.

Veld came through with half a garbage bag of clothes. And just as my mother was going to argue, Reno confirmed all he owned existed in this black plastic sack. And that admission kicked my mother into high gear, shoving material items in his face in an effort to heal those internal bruises with money. A learned behavior. One I recalled manifesting in a two week trip to Disney World the weekend I got out of the hospital. And the happiest place on earth was no match for a depressed fourteen-year-old still struggling with a near death experience and being on so many meds I felt like detached from reality. And now, like then, my mother remains willfully oblivious that her attempts were not working.

But Reno's polite about it at least. Weak smiles everytime she "finds something" in the garage: like a T.V free of scratches, and a computer that looks suspiciously as the one in the basement, or the see-through telephone, and the lava lamp obviously from the late seventies and not from Spencers. He gave up on pushing back everytime she appeared. She's a force. But I saw the way his cheeks burned with every gift. How he tried to hide his clenched fits in the pockets of his sweatpants. The charity adding insult. And she only paused when I begged her in private to stop.

The spare room became his, but I still found him in my bed the following night. Eyes still red and shot. The silence only broken by his breathing and Lost on the television screen. We made small talk during the commercials. He growled at how he needed to get back to school to get his working papers. He needs a job. He can't rely on people the rest of his life. He'll probably have to drop out of school- and that's when I stopped the conversation with a scathing:

No you aren't.

And his glare didn't go unnoticed. Says who?

I returned the tense look while my mother's story cascades through my mind. And how, despite her efforts coming off strong, she's trying to keep him from falling into the same hole she spent decades trying to crawl from. You have an opportunity to change your life. Live it the way you want it. Does dropping out of school fall into that plan?

And he bit his tongue with a grunt.

Discussion concluded. And I know I don't exactly have the right to tell him how to live his life.

I'm not even sure where our relationship stands.

I figured he was pissed and would leave once the episode concluded, but he remained in my bed. Fell asleep with me to Aqua Teen Hunger Force, lights on, door open. And I guess my mom decided to give us a break for another night. I was becoming spoiled with waking up next to him. I savored this last morning with me roused awake still in his arms, knowing my father would be home tomorrow. These shared moments coming to an end, for now.

All my friends have called. Concerned for my well being after the rumors spread through the hallways of the school that Reno and I had been caught fucking in the bathroom. Then tried to kill Kadaj, Yazoo, and Loz who happened to discover our transgressions. I denounced the rumors, of course. Cid suggested we should have done it for shits and giggles while Barret, on the three way call, yelled at him to stop talking about my sex life. I didn't tell them about my new house guest; not my place…

That didn't stop Tifa from reaching out on behalf of Rude, who inquired about his cousin's whereabouts. And when I told Reno about Rude's concern, he scoffed, unable to believe anyone in his family actually cared.

Tifa and I attempted a conversation. Strained. She expressed remorse for what happened. But her wounds still pulse. And these following events further confirm the vulgar truth; I used her. The simple statement sharp as a knife. And I tried to say I missed her without using those words, all attempts to avoid giving her a sliver of hope. I told her I wish we could hang out soon. Maybe she should come over with Rude, it might make Reno happy to see his cousin's loyalty in person.

She fed me well practiced lies.

And let her hang up the phone.

I have bigger issues I need to settle.

We continue to put the finishing touches to his room. He folds his clothes and places them neatly in the drawers. While mocking me for not knowing how to do my own laundry. A hot blush warms my cheeks, only saved when I spot his smile. A real one. That I've missed for weeks. I lean against the wall next to him, opening up an envelope of pictures I found buried on my desk, under papers from school I hardly gave a second glance.

"What's that?" Reno asks.

"I think Aerith left these for me a while ago, I just noticed them."

"Mhm," he sighs and I notice there's a pause in his movements. I pull my attention from the pictures to him. He's holding up a Tom Brady jersey.

And I'm brought back to Super Bowl Sunday this year. Patriots vs Eagles. Another weekend Reno and I spent playing house, waking up in each other's arms, without interruption. And despite not even close to being sick of each other, Reno debated on whether or not he should stay for the game. We throw a huge party every year with a bunch of my dad's high school friends, some of their younger kids show up, and all my friends come over. The New Dorp crew a definite yes, while Cid, Barret, and Aerith were only allowed to come over because their parents trusted mine for some reason. And Reno didn't think it would be smart for him to still be here; that's how rumors get started. But just when he was about to leave through the sliding door, my father intercepted us, holding a bag decorated with sparkling Happy Birthdays.

A little birdie told me it's your birthday next week!" He handed Reno the bag and then looked at us confused. You aren't leaving before the game right? This is a very special holiday in the Strife house! You can't leave!?

And Reno had opened the gift. The same jersey he holds currently in his hands. And when he tried to protest the offering, my father brushed him off. Everyone wears a jersey during the Superbowl and you told me you were thinking of jumping ship to the Patriots anyway.

My father acted like it was nothing. But I saw the way Reno scanned the lining of the navy shirt, the red threading in the shape of the number 12. Every Sunday, the occasional Mondays, and post-season Saturdays, the three of us watched football. Made small bets. Ate our weight in wings and pizza. Reno wasn't a guest, but an expected part of the trio. My father's gift became more than just a birthday present; but acceptance into a boys club, even if he wore a different team. And Reno couldn't deny the invitation, and threw the jersey on over his white long sleeve. And when Aerith came over she took a picture of us leaning on opposite sides of the threshold in the kitchen, trying desperately to look as nonchalant as possible.

Now, as he holds Tom Brady's number in his hand, I pull out the photo of us- stealing a look with cautious smiles in our jerseys. A shared moment of bliss in a sea of wandering eyes.

"I'm a Pats fan," he declares, "that I know…"

I walk over to his new desk and put the picture of us on the cork board with a tac. "So, Pats fan and Yankee fan, huh? Seems almost contradictory."

"What can I say? I like winners…" he hangs up the jersey in the closet, next to my hoodie and plaid shirt. He comes up next to me, leaning over as I move through the rest of the photos. Nights that seemed decades ago. Both groups of friends partying together at Vinnys, sitting around the fire pit mid-laughter. Or outside 7-11, or in Tifa's basement. A great picture of the two of us chugging beer before the Saint Patrick's Day Parade- and I make a mental note to frame this one. A picture of us playing Beer Pong at Halloween, our eyes giving us away as we stare hopelessly into each other. And I can't believe no one caught on then…

"None of this is normal," he says suddenly. And I knit my brows together before looking over at him. He's staring at the pictures in my hand, but his expression is tense and far. And I try to make sense of his statement before he brings his eyes to me. Close enough I could feel his breath. "You know…"

"What do you mean?" I counter.

"This," he turns to face the rest of the room. Across from us, the black rod iron bed with pale green sheets and too many throw pillows, dressed up for guests who never visit. Matching wooden nightstands on each side, one with the lava lamp and unplugged telephone. A dresser with mirror, cleared of abandoned papers and picture frames of family we no longer speak to. The grey walls bare. Untouched. There's a white door that leads to his own private bathroom, current home of a fresh toothbrush and set of towels, and a glass one hidden by black curtains that opens up to the small balcony

Reno leans against his desk, my mother made us bring up from the basement. The computer with an empty screen saver. Never used.

And I want to ask if he has another option. But that would just twist the knife.

He never felt close enough to Tseng and Reeve to reach out. And Rude must fall in line with the rest of the family, or end up in the same precarious situation.

And I don't want him to feel he's forced to live here…

He's not trapped. The situation dire but not unbearable; he can make this work.

"Okay, it's not...normal." I reluctantly agree, he takes a seat next to him. He folds his arms over his chest with a huff, but I run my nails up and down his back. He doesn't pull away. He doesn't push me off. He moves into my touch. And I continue with forced conviction. "We don't have to pretend that it is. But it's going to be okay…"

Reno nods, trying to hide the sadness in his eyes with a weak smile. "You sure you're cool with me stayin' here?"

"Yeah...of course I am," I stop rubbing his back, "I told you no matter what, you could come here."

We share a look. One that feels like the spring wind, even with all the uncertainty hanging in the air. And my heart jumps when I see the smirk as he runs his fingers through my hair. His eyes falling over the lines of my face like he's memorizing every curve, and flaw, and scattered freckles. He battles against his desire to relax. I see it written in the sparkles of blue that shine against the orange artificial light. His shoulders tense, but lips twitch to a soft smile. One I mimic. Drawn close as he caresses blond locks.

I feel suspended in the air.

And all I can remember is the first time I battled with these eyes. How I pretended to be so concerned with how he grazed them along my body, as if I wasn't also taking in every eccentric feature.

The way I shut down at the intrusion; so unfamiliar. Almost dangerous.

And now, all I want is to look at him like this all the time.

How far we've come in such a short time- how my memories before him fade like watercolors out in the sun. He's clear. As clear as the photographs I rest on the desk which thankfully document the beginning of our time together.

The stolen glances. Drench with a need.

"Heh," Reno exhales, his breath tickling my lips and pulling me like a magnetic. "Who would have thought?"

An unstoppable force.

And an immovable object.

Collided and burst into dust.

And the gravity from mutual attraction pulled us back together.

We almost close the space between us- something we haven't done in a week- but the sound of approaching footsteps halts our advances. And we take a few strained steps away, his hand falling to his side after ensuring he touched every inch of skin on the way down.

My mother announces herself with a dramatic, "knock knock," as she pushes the half open door completely ajar. I sigh in relief when I see she comes bearing no gifts. Instead, she skips inside with a sly smirk on her face as if she caught us in some scandalous position. Taking a look around at the bare room with a nod of approval.

"Things coming together, huh?" She asks.

"Gettin' there," Reno shrugs, "got all I really need anyway." He drops his gaze to his shoes and I see the guard built back up. "Thank you again for lettin' me stay for a bit."

We all know that a bit is more ambiguous than he would like, but my mother offers him a kind look as she takes a seat on the bed. "Oh, it's no problem at all! It's nice having someone else in the house."

"What about your husband? Still gotta run it by him, right?"

She scoffs, "He has no choice in the matter. The house is in my name. If he has objections to anything," she throws me a look, "then he can find another place to live."

"Savage," Reno remarks.

My mother puts her hands on her lap with a pleased smile on her face. And I admire her dedication to her son's boy...friend, over her husband. And maybe that's the experience talking. But this brings up another issue, one I have completely forgotten about in the chaos over the last few days. My dad is literally the only one left who doesn't know I'm gay. And there's really no way to hide it anymore

"What are we going to tell dad?" I grumble, now with my arms over my chest as my stomach sinks to the floor. "About everything…"

"Oh don't worry!" She responds in a sugar sweet tone that makes me gag. "I'll handle your father about Reno. We don't have to tell him everything. Just the basics. Reno got kicked out and he's going to stay with us." She huffs when she sees how my face crumbles into doubt. "Sweety, your father isn't going to throw a kid out on the street. And he won't ask any more questions than is necessary."

I shift, "Okay…"

She frowns, "you don't have to tell him anything you aren't comfortable with…"

"Do I have a choice?"

I'm suspended from school. My apparent best friend has been kicked out of his place. There's so many why's that follow those statements, there's no way we'd be able to hide it from him. And doesn't he deserve an explanation? How am I supposed to heal that broken relationship if I don't give him at least the whole story. I know my mother feels the same, even if she won't vocalize it, and when I throw Reno a look he bites his lip- like he's also struggling with his own words.

"I'm sorry," she whispers, "you both have been robbed of something very special in your lives. But you have a choice here- this can be your choice. I will support the both of you in anything you decide."

I appreciate her words. The kindness in her voice lulls me into a tentative sense of security. And I feel almost selfish for having any doubt in my parents. But when I look at Reno, expecting a perturbed glint in his eyes, he's features are soft and understanding. It doesn't matter how accepting my parents may come off, there's always a possibility my father wouldn't be able to look past this...disappointment.

"It's gonna be fine," my mother continues, "we don't have to decide anything now. He isn't coming home un-"

The front door being thrown open with a resounding quake cuts my mother off. And she groans out loud when my father's "Honey, I'm home!" echoes throughout the empty halls. Reno and I snap at eyes to Claudia: she rubs her face, lamenting that she knew he was up to something and he sucks at surprises and fuck his timing is fucking perfect. And I know my eyes grow into round saucers, my heart starts ripping at my chest- times up.

She rises from the bed, holding her hands up to try to calm the rising storm. "Everything's chill," she assures us with a forced smile as she slowly backs out of the room, "It's all gonna be alright. I'll just explain to your father the new situation and we'll just...take it from there!" She exclaims with a deranged nod. Without waiting for our response, she charges downstairs, screaming at my father that she'll be right there.

Their voices fade into the distance.

And I wish I could evaporate.

But Reno reminds me of my physical existence when he moves in front of me with a curious expression on his face.

"Yo, you good?" He asks, "don't know how it's possible, but you got paler." I narrow my eyes at him. "Like you're fucking pale as shit to begin with. But now you're translucent, Casper."

I grunt in response and look away. My mind racing through the dialog I would spill to my father.

"Your ma's right," he continues, "you don't have to say anything-"

"He's going to want to know why I'm suspended." I respond blankly.

"Cause our school is full of fucking assholes?"

I clench my fists and grit my teeth at his tone.

"You're calm…" I observe mockingly and he shrugs in response.

"Because your dad's a chill dude…and I really don't think he's gonna care."

I want to argue. But compared to his situation, I can't imagine my father- even if this is not the route he expected for his son- reacting so cold. And I try to remember that as I wait for my mother to call us down. But my mind rushes to the worst case scenario-

Like foul balls crashing through windows.

Bashing against my head.

"I could, you know, tell your dad about me," Reno continues, "see how he reacts to that news."

"He'll know right away then…" I murmur as my chest twists.

The snicker that escapes his lips snaps my eyes to his form. "Your dad ain't that quick." And I know he isn't trying to be an asshole, when I see his amused smirk. His fingers graze mine. And he takes a step closer. "Whatever you decide, you know got your back, pretty boy."

I shake my head but my fingers move against his- meeting his touch with sparks of lightning. He looks so relaxed..."You're...concerningly well adjusted…" I inquire.

"Ha!" He exclaims with a dramatic laugh that bellows in his throat, "Nah, all this trauma is going to manifest in an epic quarter life crisis meltdown that I am definitely looking forward to."

"Shit...good to know…?

He entangles our fingers, "Figure I'll give you a heads up so you're prepared."

I fall silent and just enjoy the thought of making it to twenty-five.

And I wonder if he knew we were destined to break all those fruitless rules he established. And if I really wanted to dwell on whether I was worth it or not, I could. But I feel at ease. When his skin brushes against mine. I ride this wave, especially when our foreheads meet; his eyes drill into mine.

"We got this," he smirks.

I push forth a small smile. That I try to hold onto when my mother's voice leaks through the crack in the door: Boys, can you come down. And before Reno breaks the contact, he flicks his nose against mine as one more reminder; I'm not walking through this alone either.

Downstairs, my parents stand in the kitchen- the designated conference area. Mom next to her husband, throwing the two of us the most reassuring looks she could muster through these circumstances. Dad has jet lag splashed across his face. Heavy bags under his usual bright eyes. His unkempt blonde hair glistening in the warm white light drenching the room. His arms are folded over his chest, hiding the Fordham University logo; but his brows are creased with confusion- not aggression- as he looks before then two of us before stopping on Reno.

"Nevada," and my father's voice is flushed with concern, "How are you doing buddy?"

"Swell," Reno rests his body against the threshold with another tense shrug.

My parents frown as a few minutes of silence ticks by. My mother had relayed the bulk of the information; Reno's been kicked out of his house, the reason vague enough that my dad doesn't question it further with the red-head. And I guess he wouldn't; from day one, Reno's been dropping hints like breadcrumbs that his home was a toxic pool of neglectful parenting. Over our house every weekend, rarely returning to the mansion on the opposite side of the fence. Dinners on weeknights sitting on counters. My dad had eventually stopped asking if Reno's parents were missing him at dinner, when Reno bit back that they didn't miss him at all.

My dad lets out a huff. "What else do you need us to do?"

And those aren't just words without weight. The kind of empty sentiments people spew when they run out of things to say- or they want to feel better about themselves. My father means them. His swirl of blue-green eyes ignited. Rigid from the injustice that befallen one of his own. And Reno blushes before dropping his eyes to the floor.

"I'm good," he mutters.

"Anything you need," my dad reaffirms, "We're here for you. You can stay here as long as you want…"

Reno whispers a thank you like it strains his jaw muscles until they snap. I know this can't be easy, needing help from basically strangers- and I can't ignore the juxtaposition of non-biological parents showing more genuine concern than his birth givers. The sting, like a bitter poison, curls his lips. And the seriousness in my father; voice is jarring. Almost alien. The usual facetious tone missing and it drapes the kitchen in an awkward silence. And it makes me miss normal.

"And I'm hearing you're both suspended?" He inquires, his tone neutral and I can't decide if that's worse than obvious anger.

"I told him what happened already," my mother interjects quickly, "Some jackass kids tried attacking Cloud and Reno stepped in; but of course the school is too concerned with their image and don't want to deal with the three scumbags."

Way to make me sound pathetic, I think with a grimace.

"Yeah, I get that Cee," my dad grumbles, "I just don't get why they went after him for no reason."

I kind of resent the implication in his tone- like I would do something to warrant a three on one fight- but I swallow back the truth gathering in the back of my throat. The words taste like the metal of a knife. Like hot iron on my tongue. And I found my lips are sealed shut despite my father looking at me for some kind of explanation I can't give. Even...even if a part of me wants to dump the whole story onto the kitchen floor.

"Cause he talks so much shit!" Reno jumps in with a laugh that could be considered genuine. "He runs his mouth like he has steel balls."

I roll my eyes. "Ass," I whisper, though I'm almost grateful for his outburst.

My dad considers that truth.

And nods. "Fair enough."

Reno and I look at each other. He winks...but I don't feel the rush of relief I desire. Maybe we dodged this one conversation, but there's still so much unanswered. And even if my mother currently points a tense glare at my father, silently telling him to shut his mouth, and with Reno offering sympathetic smiles which offer solace while I feel selfish, I'm wired shut.

"Have you spoken to the school?" dad asks, jumping when he sees my mother's stare.

"Yes," she mumbles with a shift in her hips. "The boys can come back after Easter break. Apparently there's been...protests about their suspension."

I perk up, my lips unhook. "What protests?"

"They called today," she continues with a softer look in gray eyes. "Apparently Aerith staged a walkout during homeroom with Cid, Barret and a few other students. What's his name," she snaps her fingers, "Who's Elias Shinra's son again? He apparently negotiated everything."

"Rufus!" Reno shouts, "No fucking way."

"Language, Utah!" My father chides before returning to my mother, "All of that because they were suspended?"

"Wait," I continue, while I shift through my pocket for my phone, "no one told us that."

"I'm not 100 percent on the details," she waves us off, "I just know most of the junior class ended up outside and refused to come back inside until expulsion was taken off the table. It looks like you are both clear to finish out your high school career there...if you want to that is…"

"You think my parents are gonna pay for another year at that shit hole?" Reno scoffs, "Fuck that...I'll just drop out-"

"Absolutely not, sir," my dad snaps, cutting Reno off, "We will pay for your final year-"

"Absolutely not, B-Money," Reno counters, "I ain't takin' charity."

"Who says I want to stay anyway," I add and I swallow the earthquake that forms in my throat. But a crack in the foundation slips through chapped lips, and luckily my mother jumps in and squashes the conversation.

"No decisions have to be made now," she interjects, "let's just take it one day at a time. Right?" She stares down my dad, who's dark circles around his eyes pulse with exhaustion and he shrugs his shoulders weakly.

"Alright alright, we can discuss Arizona's and Cloud's future later I guess."

Satisfied, for now, my mother allows a sweeter, calmer, smile grace her lips. Looking like a spoilt child who got her away before placing a soft kiss on his cheek. And my chest slowly unwinds, for now, as I look at the phone and see a missed call from the aforementioned brunette who almost started a riot on my behalf. Thinking I need to call her and tell her to stop destroying her own future for me. She doesn't need to put a spotlight on herself; she worked too damn hard for her academics to squander them on principle. Especially when I never did a damn thing to deserve such a reaction.

"You know," Reno starts and I hear the inflection in his tone. He's going to say something stupid. "If you're gonna call me by any state, you should go with Texas."

Dad arches an eyebrow, "Why's that?"

"Cause everything is bigger in Tex-"

I yank him by the collar and drag him towards the stairs. "You're a fucking idiot, Jesus Christ."

My mother snorts but dad is still trying to wrap his wrecked brain around the joke, as Reno laughs at my reaction. But I'm not amused.

I struggle to find the humor in any of this. And I'm sure in ten years, I'll look back on this moment with a chuckle; but ten years feels like another lifetime away. And suddenly one with a road paved black. Dark. Untouched. And I'm no longer sure how to take my next steps.


I snapped at Reno as soon as I shut the door to my room. But he brushed me off without another word and the slight shake of his head. Like a silent reminder that I'm not mad at him for cracking jokes but mad at an ever evolving situation I have zero control over. But he doesn't say anything else and I expect him to fuck off to his room. But he just gets comfortable on the edge of my bed with the controller in his hand, and continues playing the Super Mario 64 game he started the other night. While I flop on my bed, close to the window, letting the hot afternoon sun hit my face.

I pull out the guitar, lay it against my body, and pluck away at strings while eyes are glued to the shadows dancing across the ceiling as the sun moves about the sky. My phone rings a few more times but I don't even bring my eyes to rest on the caller ID. And I feel like a shitty friend. Most of all. That people I've treated like disposable friends stood up for me in the face of injustice. I close my eyes and feel unworthy. And that drops my stomach as I strum the saddest G-chord I could muster.

I remember when Reno asked me what depression felt like and I compared it to being lost at sea without a beacon of light to signal hope and legs growing tired from threading water. And today, it feels like I'm on a lifeboat under the blaring hot sun that evaporates any water from my skin. And everytime a wave rocks the boat, my stomach does a somersault, and nausea springs up my throat. And I press my fingers onto the neck of my guitar until I feel flesh begin to separate as I strum a B-minor chord.

Into the flood again.

I sit up suddenly and pull my hand from the guitar. My fingers calloused over from years of practice, yet angry red indents pulse at the tips. And I frown so loud, Reno turns to look at me with a curious expression. And I know he's darting his eyes from my fingers to my face, and wondering if he can translate the crushed lines of my lips into a language he understands. But I rather he didn't. And the voice beats in my head like a rising migraine: when you feel you've lost control-

The last time I felt this way, I held everything in- all the pain crushing my bones, all the words against me acting like arrows and piercing my brain- and I sewed my lips shut. And everytime I thought about telling my parents:

About how their fighting made me feel unworthy of being alive…

About the group of boys waiting for me to show up to camp to jump me…

How the overwhelming fear of death rendered me completely unable to function

That I took to throwing up in the toilet instead of speaking. And when that stopped working, I tore my skin again to alleviate the pressure in my chest. And when that stopped working, I took control of the only thing I had left.

"I'm going to go take a ride with my dad," my lips move frantically.

"Uh, okay…" he utters bewildered by my sudden shift.

"You think you'll be cool alone?" I slide off my bed and grab a Korn hoody from the closet, throwing him one more look as I zip it over my black shirt.

He shrugs, "I'll just go bother your mother if I get bored."

I nod, "I...think I'm going to tell him…" I shake, my resolve slowing building and collapsing.

His eyes move along my body, "Okay. Good luck…."

"Once he knows about me...he'll probably figure you out and then-"

"I said it's cool," he turns back towards the T.V, "It's going to be okay, yo. Trust me."

I try to hold on to that sentiment, and leave the room before I could change my mind again. Time felt like a fog. And when I jogged downstairs the light has waned and my father sits on the couch, eyes half open, watching the four o'clock news. He's changed his flight outfit; now wearing blue jeans and a white polo. Short hair combed. I recall the night I met Rufus and Reno in the backyard, and the quick moment of consideration rushed through my head; but the uncertainty rendered me silent. And not much has changed in terms of clarity. I don't know my father's opinion on the matter. He is a registered democrat. Highly critical of George W. Bush's presidency, but voted for his second term on superficial grounds. And this is a president actively trying to erase homosexuals from the conversation. And if my dad could shrug that off, could he really be that progressive? I've never met anyone in his group of guy friends that have identified as gay, but I did hear them throw around the f word with such flippant disregard my entire life. They use gay as a punchline to a joke I don't get. And my dad never corrected them-

He never laughed either.

I try to recall a time he used gay to mean stupid, or scrunched his face when the fab five flashed on his screen, or anything that would justify my hesitant approach. And I"m drawing a blank.

But not that it makes a difference either. He doesn't have to hate homosexuals to not want his son to identify as one-

Pots and pans crashing onto the floor jarr both dad and I- followed by a string of curses from my mother in both English and German. My dad calls for her status and she lets out soft fine, then laments her decision to cook in her mother tongue.

Dad and I look at each other and he shrugs with a smile. "How's Iowa State Fair doing?"

I snort, "That's gonna be your thing, now?"

"I'll call him Reno when he calls me Bastian instead of, what is it now? B-money?"

We share a laugh and some of the rocks that gather in the back of my throat start to shift. "Hey, so, I was wondering if we could take a ride around the island?" my dad's eyes perk up. "Like we used to do?"

"Really?" he sits up, "Yeah, sure. That sounds great!"

The crack in his voice, the sheer genuine excitement, is almost too corny for me to accept. But I resist the urge to roll my teenage eyes out of my skull. He scrambles to his feet, slapping his pockets for his phone and looking for his keys, asking if it's warm enough to go without a jacket, even though he was the only one who left the house today. And my mother pokes her head from the kitchen with a sly smirk on her face.

"Oh! Are you going out?" She asks with a suspicious tone, "You wanna stop at Killmeyers and pick up some dinner?"

My dad stops, "I thought you were going to try cooking?"

"Right," she cringes and tries to flash my father an innocent look, "I...don't think that's gonna work out today?"

He waves her off with a fine as he grabs his keys from the key ring. My mom throws me a proud look when his back is turned and I feel the heat rise in my cheeks. And at least I know, no matter which way this conversation goes, at least she has my back. She bids us goodbye and a quick be careful as the door closes behind us.

We're in the white 2004 Infiniti my dad continues to tempt me with as a reward for completing drivers ed; except this time, he suggests we practice sometime this weekend before he signs me up so I have more of a shot. He tells me to pick the tunes, and lays a new CD case on my lap I thumb through- remembering mine is somewhere in Reno's car and wondering if his parents snapped those in half. I think of telling my dad, who might actually roll up on the Sinclair's house and demand the return of the CDs, but I figure I'll hold off until after this initial conversation.

I pick Alice in Chains. My dad reminds me how he cried when he found out Layne Stanely had died. What a waste and why do the talented ones always die he repeated. I remember when he passed, my dad played them everyday. For months. And then stopped...three months later when he picked me up from the hospital.

Nerves rock me as he pulls onto the expressway; Rooster leaking through the speakers. The sun hiding behind a sudden rush of clouds tumbling along the blue sky- melting together into a sea of light gray. Not many people share the road as we drive towards the often vacant Arthur Kill Road- the middle of nowhere on Staten Island.

"So," he starts, "guess I missed a lot, huh?"

I play with the sleeves of my hoody, "Yeah."

"How's mom been?" I note the tension in his voice.

"Fine," and it's the truth, "She's going to meetings and her therapist. She's been focused on making sure Reno feels comfortable at the house so I guess it's a...healthy distraction."

He curls his lips and flattens his brows, "How about you? Are you comfortable with all of this…?"

I almost laugh, because...obviously I'm fucking ecstatic that my boyfriend lives in the next room. But I'm nervous telling my father the truth. He may rescind his previous offer of allowing him to stay. My stomach turns and I bite my lip. I didn't even consider that possibility.

"Yeah, of course," I confirm, "he has no one so…"

"I know," he agrees with a hint of sadness in his voice, "I'm glad you're lookin' out for him. I just need to look out for you, okay?"

And I appreciate his concern for me. I've been neglecting the obvious added pressure of having Reno living with us. On paper, it was a no brainer.

But the trouble with adolescence is short sightedness. And I don't think anyone has thought about the future. I see how my dad scans the outside scenery as if he's already analyzing the situation. The several different outcomes. And coming up to only half baked conclusions because he doesn't know the full story. We've been hiding things from him; and locked him out of the situation brewing within the house. His house. Even if my mother tries to play it off like she's in charge.

"You are just like her," he chuckles, "your mom. Always trying to help people. It's a good trait to have. But you have to remember to help yourselves too, you know."

"I guess that's why we have you?" I quip, "Keep us in line."

He smiles, "Yeah...I'll try to at least."

We pull into the restaurant parking lot and he runs inside. And I know there's no use delaying the inevitable. And if he is the only one in the house that can keep my mother and I from spinning out of control, then he needs to know the whole story. It's only fair. And he's making promises already to always help me. And this news can't really ruin that, could it? It's not the worst thing about me.

I feel my lungs expand and contract. And I hate how I can feel those organs press against my ribcage, tightening my chest.

This isn't the first time I came close to telling him.

In the hospital bed, when I curled into a fetal position and hid under covers, and he tried to get me to tell him why I did this to myself. Sitting at the edge of the bed. I could see the shadow of his arm reach out to touch me, then retracted when I flinched. All the words piled against my throat; all me fear crushing me. I would say those words and he would pull back completely. And leave me in that hospital room to rot. That I would never be accepted by him. Or my mother. Or by anyone. I chose to lie by admitting to nothing. And instead, my parents filled in the blanks with their own truths.

The sound of the back door opening causes me to jump and I grit my teeth at my own pathetic display. But dad is joking about mom ordering the entire restaurant. And then asking if we've brought Reno here to eat yet, and maybe that's something to do over the weekend. Get out of the house. Then reminding himself of how grounded I am. Laughing at his own jokes as he takes a seat in the driver's side and goes to put the car in drive.

"D-Dad," I stutter and he freezes to look at me and I pull my eyes away. I can't look at him. I focus on the scars on my wrist that poke out from underneath my black hoodie. How close I've been to repeating the same mistakes.

"What's wrong?" he asks in a voice that shakes.

"Uhm," I take a breath, "I've been hiding something else from you and I don't really know how to say it…" I pinch my eyes shut, "I don't want you to hate me…"

"Hey, kiddo," he grabs my shoulder, gently shaking me. "There's nothing you could say that would make me hate you. Okay? I love you."

I open my eyes, he squeezes my shoulder to like an exclamation point on his sentence. Another sharp inhale that burns the back of my throat. But I've come this far; no use turning back. Take the plunge, regardless of the consequences.

"I'm gay-"

"Oh thank fucking god," he exhales so loud in drowns out the rough vocals coming from the speakers. And I dart my eyes to him, completely flabbergasted by his outburst, and he's leaning against the seat, running his palms over his face. "I thought you got a girl pregnant." Then he puts his hand over his heart, "oh my god, I was having a heart attack. I thought I was going to have some girl's dad showing up to our house with a shotgun. Oh fuck, you just took ten years off my life, kid."

"So," I start cautiously, waiting for his features to shift after he catches his breath. "You...don't care?"

"Care about what?" He looks at me, now, like I'm the one acting insane.

"Dad, I'm gay," I exasperate.

"Oh," he pauses. And I watch as he scans my face with a worried look on his face. As if he's going through all the real meanings behind that statement. "Yeah.."

"Yeah?!" I snap, "Oh, yeah."

"No no, I mean," he scrambles with a few rabid blinks, "I mean...it's fine. It's okay." His tone evens out as he starts to acknowledge the truth. What that means. And I'm still expecting him to back out of my life. Or criticize me. Or kick me out. But he just swallows as if realizing that my eyes throb from fear.

And he lets out a sigh, and places his hand back on my shoulder and pulls me so I am forced to look into his mix of blue-green eyes that swirl like the lake we went to when I was growing up. Where I learned how to swim. The same place he taught me how to ride a bike. And throw a ball. And even when I fell off and scraped my knees, or failed to catch a ball and got a black eye, or the time I swore the shark from Jaws lived in the lake and refused to go in, he never made me like I was less of his son. Or less of a man. He would tell me to not cry. To be brave. But he wouldn't lose that smile. The same one that pulls at his lips now.

"Cloud," he says, "I don't care what you like or who you like. I just want you to be happy…"

Then he does something he hasn't done since we last went to that lake. A memory I was too young to hold on to. He pulls me into a hug, and I'm too shocked at first to return the gesture at first. But he holds onto me like my mom did the night I ran from home, like I would evaporate- slip from his grasp again. And I when I close my eyes I remember the night I tried to kill myself. And how through my mother's arms, as she tried to bandage the wounds to stop the bleeding, I saw my father on the phone screaming at the 911 operator to get someone- anyone- to our house. That his son is bleeding. And I saw a man I regarded as a pinnacle of masculinity completely crumble. Hysterical until I lost consciousness.

I return the hug.

"Is...this why you…" he stops before he could finish the question. Pushing back the rest of his words.

"Part of it…" I admit. My lips tremble at the confession and he pats me on the back.

"I'm sorry I made you think, for a minute, that I wouldn't accept you…"

"I just didn't know how you would react…" I try to pull away but he has a constrictor grip around me. "Thought you'd hate me or something."

"Never," he ends the hug and tries to wipe away a few stray tears before he forces a smile. "I'm guessing mom knows, already?"

I nod, "Yeah, sorry. She kinda figured it out though."

"Don't be sorry," he shrugs, and finally puts the car into drive, "Good that she knows. No more secrets between us, right?"

And I agree to these terms and find all the tension that existed in my chest as boulders have turned to dust. And I can breathe again for the first time in forever. And no longer do I feel like I can't trust my parents. They have proven themselves. And I regret the years I spent leaving them out of my life, in the name of self-preservation. But no use living in the past. The mistakes we've all made. Now we can start anew...fresh.


We pull into the driveway. The car ride silent save for some broken conversations about concerts my dad wants to take me to in the summer. And maybe he'll even give Warped Tour a chance this year, despite not being a fan of the bands that usually play. He keeps taking credit for my taste in music, and that clearly he's raised me well. And I roll my eyes despite secretly agreeing with him.

He's not so bad.

"Hey, by the way," he puts the car in parked, "Do you have a boyfriend...or something?"

I blink several times. Stare at him. Then the house. Then back at him. And he's a hundred percent serious. "Really, Dad?"

He narrows his eyes, "Uh, yeah, I'm serious. I want to know who's in your life. You keep a lot of things from us- and I know that it's our fau-"

I wave his regrets away before we fall into a rabbit hole. "Yeah, I have a boyfriend."

Now, I am expecting him to put two and two together considering Math is his strong subject. And he's the CFO of a major company. And he really can not be this oblivious to the situation unfolding. And fuck, I was a hundred percent sure he would have figured it out the moment I told him I was gay, that the boy currently residing in our house would be real fucking important to me. But instead his face lights up and he utters, "Oh! That's...great. What's he like?"

I shake my head with a small chuckle.

"He's…" and I look at my open bedroom window, "great. Cares about my future, wants me to do better and be better. I told him about...everything that's been happening with me and he has helped me, alot. He's the reason why I even could tell you about the drugs and...being gay, and shit like that. I really don't think I would be here right now if not for him." I smile. "He saved me…"

And maybe that's a heavy admission.

But I know the road I was traveling before I met Reno had one outcome. And I've been close to losing myself; between drinking until I blacked out, abusing any drug that would hide the truth, and hanging out with people more toxic than either of those substances. With no hope for the future. I never thought about college, or living to twenty-five, or how I wanted to paint the picture of my life past this year.

I had a question burning in me at the beginning of this story, and I think I've found the answer.

"That sounds great," my dad exclaims, "I'm glad someone's been watching your back. When do I get to meet him?"

"Soon, dad. Real soon," my voice drips with sarcasm he doesn't pick up on. And all he says is he can't wait to meet the special guy.

Inside, we hear commotion in the kitchen again and two familiar voices. Reno and my mom are discussing how to use an oven. My mother apparently confused by the concept of pre-heating, and Reno laughing at her privileged expense. When I enter, he's sitting on the counter watching her cut apples while she curses at him for being annoying.

"You have no idea, just ask your son how annoying I can get," he snickers and she glares at him. "I told you I can make it for you."

"No," she argues, "I can make an apple pie!"

"Do you know which pan you have to use?" he adds and she chucks an apple slice at him.

"I see you're comfortable," I acknowledge and he smirks at me. And my heart melts seeing how relaxed he looks taking jabs at my mom, who I know is feigning frustration from the softness in her eyes when she looks at him.

"I'm about to take over this place," he winks.

"I don't know how you put up with him," she jokes, "Reno, make yourself useful and help Cloud set the table or something."

He jumps off the counter, "Shit, y'all eat together like a family. Fucking weird…"

My dad appears, holding the bag of food. All excited and before I could stop him, he places the brown paper bag wrapped in plastic on the table and proudly exclaims without even taking a second to consider his words.

"Claudia, did you know our son has a boyfriend?" He jabs, as if he's finally privy to news before her.

The knife screeches to a halt, and slowly she turns to look at him with a single arched eyebrow. "You're kidding right?"

"Nope! He just told me," he folds his arms over his chest with a satisfied smirk. "He says we'll meet him soon."

"Oh my god, you're not joking," she pinches the bridge of her nose.

"Oh word?" Reno chuckles and I shoot him a pointed stare as I take the dishes from the cabinet, "You got a boyfriend? What's he like, man."

"He's a fucking jackass," I bite.

"That's not what you said," my dad argues, "you said he is a great guy. Really special. Keeps you in check!"

"Ooh, well doesn't he sound just spectacular." Reno grabs a couple of plates from my hand playfully. And I struggle to keep a grin from replacing my frown when he gets close to me. My heart racing just from the adoration in his eyes, and I forget the other people in the kitchen for a brief moment.

"Wait," my dad pauses, "Where did you meet this kid? Why haven't you brought him around already."

"Bastian," my mother pleads, "Come on, really?"

"What!?" He shouts, looking at her, then me, then finally Reno.

And I see the little gears turn in his head.

He squints at the red-head who can't help the sinister look that flashes across his face.

And with every tick of the clock in the kitchen, another rush of realization flies through my father. How Reno suddenly entered our lives way back in October, and never seemed to leave. Staying over for dinners where the invitation became expected. Sleeping over nearly every weekend. In my room. In my bed.

"Oh...no," my dad whispers.

"What's up future father-in-law?" Reno smirks.

And my dad's eyes go wide, "Him!?"

"Yes!" My mom yells in relief, "Obviously?!"

"Well obvious to everyone but me!" he argues. "He seems so frustrating to be around."

"Facts, dad," I roll my eyes.

"Wow, I'm standing right here."

My dad rubs his temples and reiterates all the time they allowed us to share a bed, none the wiser. And my mom waves the knife dramatically around as she begs him to lament their terrible parenting, at least until after dinner. But neither of them go back on their offer for him to stay. And Reno hides a sigh of relief with a chuckle as he helps me finish setting the table. And over dinner we sit together, like a family, and my dad starts establishing rules for us to obey now that our secret relationship is no longer a secret.

I'm still grounded so no interacting after school;

and Reno counters that we have to work on homework together, obviously. And without him, I'm definitely going to fail Math and Physics.

Dad counter offers we can hang out, upstairs, in the kitchen, until after dinner then need to go into our respective rooms.

And no talking on the phone past nine p.m

And Reno reminds everyone he doesn't have a cell phone, so can we talk via AIM instead.

And the whole time my mother and I look at each other with a slow shake of our heads. Knowing full well all of this discussion would be for nothing, because we are two teenagers, living under the same roof, and we're going to find ways to sneak around. But I promise her with my eyes that I won't rock the boat too much. And she smiles and lets out a sigh. As my dad gets railroaded by a relentless houseguest.

And I know this isn't normal. Not entirely.

But what's normal ever done for us?

After dinner, my parents cuddle up on the couch to watch T.V. The two of them whispering in flirtatious tones, finally allowing themselves to unwind together after the longest week of both their lives. Reno and I made moves to go upstairs, but not before my dad reminded us of my punishment; and while he's cool with my boyfriend living with us for the foreseeable future, I'm to remain in my room after dinner until the morning until further notice. I thought about arguing, but a gentle kick from Reno rendered me quiet. No use rocking the boat when the situation is still in the sensitive early days.

I sit on my bed, criss crossed, trying to learn the song I've been teaching myself since before Halloween- that's been on the back burner for months. Trying to take my mind off the boy only one room over, staring outside that glass door that leads to the balcony, wondering what his next steps are going to be. But a knock on the door pauses my imagination. I snap my head towards the sound and Reno peers over his shoulder, making sure the coast is clear, before entering my room. Shutting the door behind him with a sly smile.

"You're not supposed to be here," I jab playfully.

"Your parents passed out on the couch, figured that could buy us a few minutes. Whatcha playin'?" he asks, taking a seat next to me.

"Like a Stone," I respond, "by Audioslave."

"Don't remember that one in the CD case," he leans into me, our arms brush together and I can't help my smile at the friction. He really shouldn't be in my room- too many risks- but I don't want him to leave just yet. I've enjoyed falling asleep to the sound of his even breathing. Hand rubbing my back. And now, that's come to an end, I want to enjoy the few minutes we have before my dad gets wise and sends Reno back to his room.

"So," he reaches over and runs his fingers through my hair again like he did earlier. "I'm your boyfriend, now? Last I checked, we couldn't be together, right?"

"I, uh," I lose myself in his eyes, that sparkle and shine as he draws us closer. And I remember that painful night a week ago when I let him go for his own safety. Thinking us not being together would be better than the alternative. I know, deep down, it had been the right decision, but I never expected he would be found out anyway and forced to leave his house. I've been wondering where we stand. And I know it's obvious from how he tangles his hand in my hair. And I sigh, "Guess we can revisit that conversation earlier than expected."

"Mmhm," he muses, "Well before this goes any further then, we should probably renegotiate the terms of our relationship."

And I smirk with a nod, "You mean those boundaries."

"Yeah." His hand falls from my tangled hair, onto my knee, "So first, I guess, it really doesn't matter who knows if we're gay anymore." he moves up my leg until my guitar blocks his advances. Tingles shoot up my body making my head feel light. Quieting all the noise that's plagued me. "And I don't have a cell phone for you to send cheesy text messages calling me babe and shit."

"That's right, honey," I chuckle and remove the guitar from my lap.

And he rolls his eyes despite the smile, "And I'm still not really into the whole PDA crap but," he takes my hand and links our fingers, "I want to be able to hold your hand whenever I want…"

I look at our joined hands, resting on my lap; the squeeze that makes my heart sprint. He leans in until our heads meet. I feel his breath on my lips coaxing them open.

"Damn," I whisper, "now that's a fucking line."

"Thought you might like it." And he doesn't wait for a witty response, or a snide comment, and closes the gap. His lips on mine, gentle at first but I feel a fire burn in me that tempts me to push my tongue past his teeth completely desperate to taste him. Everything freezes. Yet moves like a blur. And I cup his face to draw him closer. Needing him to be as near as physically possible. His arms snake around me, nails dragging along my spine, which illiciates a moan from my throat. And he pulls back, our smiles like magnets. Joined together.

"Easy there," he murmurs, "I have to walk back to my room soon."

"Fuck." I kiss him again. Overwhelmed by the rush of colors, like an eruption, in my chest that my head feels light. And I wonder if something as simple, as magical, as a kiss could stop my heart; because I feel like I'm floating in between reality.

We break for air. And he's breathless, "I have one more term to add."

And I run my thumbs over his cheeks, enjoying the smoothness of his skin under my touch. "Word? What's that?"

"We don't hide anymore. I'm with you and you're with me."

My heart thumps in my chest; and how little I anticipated this moment. Never really believing it would happen, this soon. And I know there was a lot of hurt that got us here. Pain that I still see etched across his white hot blues and trauma he hasn't even begun to process; trauma he's trying to bury. And while focusing on the rebuilding of our teenage love may pale in comparison to the struggle of rebuilding the rest of his life, at least he will know he is never alone. Again.

"I agree to the terms of our relationship as you have laid them out," and I seal that statement with my lips on his, "Always."

"God, you are shit at negotiating," he clicks his tongue, "but I love you. Always."

And while there's more that still needs to be addressed, it can wait.

And maybe I should let the adults handle the big stuff.

Let us focus on our unrelenting teenage love.

Because right now, our lips and tongues find themselves once again. Falling back onto the bed, tangled in each other's arms.

That's all that matters.