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~Chapter Fifteen~

The Birds and the Bees, Mostly the Bees

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In hindsight, playing tag in broad daylight wasn't a good idea.

It's a no brainer, really, that the paparazzi were roaming around Onett. Fucking hell, an entire horde of them had been marching around, clamoring and yelling our names, and if it hadn't been for Lucas's telepathic senses screaming PEOPLE ALERT, we would've been caught up in the sea of cameras and mikes. We hastily had to take refuge, ducking into an abandoned alleyway by the pizza store for a handful of minutes before we decided to book it.

And by book it, I meant teleport back home.

My home.

I sneak a glance at the still statue beside me. Whatever playfulness Lucas expressed earlier is gone. His eyes are a fraction too wide, his face drained of all color, his cold fingers slightly shaky in mine. I quickly let go of Lucas's hand. Shit, fuck. I've forgotten how much Lucas hates the paparazzi. It reminds me of how much hot water we're still in. If the paparazzi had snapped even one photo of us fooling around and taken it out of context...

My stomach drops.

Seriously, goddamn nosy assholes. I just want five fucking minutes to hang out with my best mate. FIVE. Is that too much to ask for?

I grab one of Lucas's cold, limp hands. "Follow me," I say, dragging him towards the front porch.

Lucas doesn't resist. He stumbles behind me like a zombie sleep walker, frozen and unaware of what the hell is going on. He must still be shell-shocked. When I haul him up the wooden porch and fumble for my keys, the door swings open to reveal my little sister.

"Good morning, asshat. I thought I heard you at the door," Tracy yawns in her pink bunny jammies and messy long pigtails. Oh, right, I've forgotten that she's home. Something about a school holiday, or some-really-old-historical-dude's birthday today.

Scowling, I brush past her. "Where's mom?"

"Still sleeping. Why?"

I kick my Nikes off and stuff them into the shoe cabinet. "Don't tell her I'm awake."

Skipping after me, Tracy breaks into a stupid smirk. "Why?" she chirps in her annoying sing-song voice.

"Because."

"Because why?"

"Because I said so, you twat." I hurriedly push her back. "Stay inside. The paparazzi are after me."

"Again?" she whines. "Ugh, what did you do now? Make another public demonstration on gay rights?" When I don't answer, Tracy stomps her foot like a child depraved of ice cream. "Ness? Ness, stop ignoring me-" Tracy finally catches sight of the person behind me, and her eyes turn round. "L-Lucas?"

"Hi, Tracy," Lucas says quietly. Even while slouching, he towers over her by a good foot.

Staring up at him like he's popped out of thin air, Tracy raises a trembling hand. "H-Hi?" she squeaks. "Ngh... How's... how are you doing?"

AhH, I don't have time for this! I impatiently shove my sister up the stairs. "Lucas doesn't need to hear about your lowkey crush on him too, so shut up and go back to sleep."

Tracy's face flushes beet red. "What? I'm not crushing on him, stupid! He's like, a totally better brother than you are- Wait..." She goes wide-eyed, turning to Lucas with an incredulous look on her face. "Are you two-"

"Leave us alone, dirtbag," I snap.

Displeased, Tracy turns her nose up with a disdainful sniff. "I'm telling mom," she says, even though I know she won't, and flounces up the stairs. As soon as she disappears into her room, pigtails and all, Lucas's shoulders visibly relax. The click of her bedroom door echoes throughout the house.

Breathing deeply, I pinch the bridge of my nose. I'm definitely going to hear an earful from her later. "Little sisters are such a pain." Then I throw a glare at the oblivious idiot beside me. "See, this is why you need to stop looking so attractive."

Lucas shoots me a skeptical Who, me? Oh, this poor soul. I grab his hand. "C'mon. Let's go upstairs."

We take the stairs two at a time. I can hear Lucas breathing behind me, hear the soft thump of his feet against the carpeted stairs before we dive into the safety of my room.

"Gimme your hand," I demand like I haven't dragged him up the past few flights of stairs, and before waiting for him to respond, lightly squeeze his palm. His fingers are a lot warmer than before, less rigid and stiff in my grip. Lucas is getting over his shock. I sigh in relief and let go of his hand. "You okay?"

"Yeah." Lucas's eyes quickly dart away, roaming over my bedroom walls before resting on the nude-shot All-Star Venus poster. A pink flush creeps up the back of his neck before he flusters and ducks his head.

I bite down on my lip. Goddammit, why does he have to be so fucking adorable?

Instantly Lucas's face turns a lobster red.

It doesn't take me long to realize that I've said that last part out loud and... I've said that last part out loud. Motherfucking shit!

My cheeks boil up. "That's what my mom said! She thinks that you're adorable."

...And I delivered the death blow. I can almost see the steam shooting out of Lucas's mortified ears. Mouth agape, he's flushing so furiously that his blush is starting to spread across his neck and down the back of his skinny arms. After what looks like an awkward internal struggle, Lucas shuffles in place and stuffs his hands into the pockets of his jeans.

"She... bakes good cookies."

If I wasn't too busy feeling mortified myself, I might have laughed at his choice of words. She bakes good cookies? Oh, Luke. Better make the best of his mortified state before he starts trolling me again.

"You mind if I turn on some tunes?" I ask, and when Lucas shakes his head, I buzz my computer on. Looking very much conflicted, Lucas lingers uncertainly by the threshold of my bedroom.

I raise my eyebrows. "You know, you can come in."

"I should go home," he says softly.

Like fucking hell I'm letting the paparazzi mob him. I kick one of my old jeans out of the way to clear out a nice spot on the floor. "Hey, wanna watch something dope?"

That's how we spend the rest of the day, with me and Lucas watching reruns of Gravity Falls and South Park, chilling on the cluttered mess of clothes strewn over my floor. With no one to bother us. With no one to peek and poke and prod.

It's a nice break from the society that wanted to eat us alive.

Halfway through another episodic rendition of Oh my God, they killed Kenny!, I take a quick glance in Lucas's direction, and snort when he's nodding off again, his head dipping into his chest. His blond hair's still a mess from the early morning work-out, and every couple of seconds or so, Lucas's head would bob lower and lower until he jerks himself out of his doze, because whoever the hell is outside is making a pretty loud racket-

"It's the paparazzi," Lucas mutters, and I jump. Straining my ears, I can hear them more clearly now through the closed blue curtains - the annoying clicks and snaps of a thousand tell-tale cameras. I smack the side of my head. Duh. There have been sightings of me around town; some of the more eager reporters would've headed to my house for a hopeful glimpse or two. Good thing my room is on the second floor.

I consider opening the window to flip them off.

"Don't," Lucas says.

I jolt in shock. Geez, it's like Lucas is psychic. I take that back - Lucas is psychic. "Did you read my-"

"No." Lucas stretches his arms. "You just had that crazy look in your eyes again."

I make a face at him and turn around. Of course. Lucas couldn't read someone's mind whenever he felt like it. Eye contact was involved, or some shit of the sort. And while my thoughts are loud, Lucas is pretty disciplined. Accidental mindreading's pretty much a thing of the past. And from what he's told me, larger crowds make it harder for Lucas to concentrate.

Besides, even if Lucas can read my mind, I know he won't. At least, not on purpose. There's an unspoken etiquette that all psychics follow. Namely, don't fuck with my mind and I won't fuck with yours.

Still, the accuracy of Lucas's sharp perception scares the piss out of me.

I flex my hands. There's so much overlap between our psychic powers - clairvoyance, elemental psychokinesis, et cetera - that it's really hard to set Lucas and me apart. But I'll do my best to spare you the time and water down the main differences.

Lucas is the lucky one. He's a telepath. A mindreader. Like the kind you see in rad X-men Marvel comics. Eye contact gives him free reign to fuck up your mind. He can read and project thoughts within a certain radius. He can literally read everyone's motherfucking mind. Like, how freaking badass is that?

Then you have me. The empath. I can sense feelings through touch. Mostly. Toss in a whole bunch of empathy links somewhere into the mix, and we're good. Oh yeah, and my telepathy's shit. The end. That's pretty much it.

Seriously, fuck empathy links. I'm already an emotional clusterfuck twenty-four seven, so adding empath on top of that... god, no wonder my life's a nuclear disaster of feelings. My whole goddamn name is a suffix for emotion, for crying out loud. Sadness, happiness... gayness. Heh.

All right, I admit that my empathy links can be pretty cool. Most of the time, I don't even realize that they're there. They chill on the side doing their own touchy-feely thing, and grow stronger the more I got to know someone. Like, new friend? BAM! Have a free empathy link!

Maybe that's why I like to socialize a lot. I like the warm, tingly sensation of the empathy links flaring up like Christmas lights. Hell whenever they flare up, I can tell that somehow, someone I know is happy, and it genuinely makes me happy, because I know they're happy. But like all mental links, my empathy links are a two way street. I can read everyone's feelings, but occasionally, I get so worked up that everyone else can feel what I'm feeling. So I guess keeping my crush a secret from Lucas for an entire year is pretty fucking impressive on its own right.

And there he goes, ruffling my hair again. I bat his hand aside with a scowl, but Lucas's lips only twitch into an approximation of a smirk.

On one end, you have me. The emotional train wreck.

Then on the other end, you have Lucas, whose empathy link flatlined like a dead fish attached to a failing heart monitor. Lucas is hard to read... because he is hard to read. Sometimes, I'm lucky to strike gold and feel subtle twinges, little jerks of feeling in our empathy link, but whenever I do, I can't tell what Lucas is feeling, much less why. Not that I expect as much. Lucas is calm and composed. He keeps his shit together, and it shows.

Weirdly enough, I kind of understand. Lucas is super awkward when it comes to talking about himself. No shit, he doesn't do feelings. He's not the type of person to sit down and open up, so really, it's the little things that show that he cares.

Like right now. He's ruffling my hair again. A part of me is tempted to scowl at his smirking face and tell him to piss off, but Lucas knows exactly how to play the game. He backs off whenever he senses that I'm not in the mood, then strikes back later when I least expect it. If I didn't know him better, I would've thought that he was acting playful.

Though in all honesty, I'm pretty sure that Lucas just likes to troll me.

Skinny bastard.

The change is subtle, really, but that's how I know it's important. Because Lucas is telling me hang in there in his own Lucas way. And while his triumphant smirk pisses the shit out of me at times, it secretly makes me feel glad that he's smirking at me. Skinny, socially-awkward Lucas is socially awkward around so many people, but I'm not one of them.

It makes my heart go fizzy inside. Like a soda pop. All fizzy, bubbly, and warm. Oh no, not again. I bite down on the corner of my lip so hard that I draw out blood.

I didn't love him.

I didn't.

Ugh, fuck my life, I still did. And it sucks because I want to get over him, but can't. I'm struggling, stuck in this horrible limbo where I'm lost and can't find the door to escape from my feelings.

"The paparazzi's gone," Lucas says, and I peek through the curtains. Sure enough, the en masse has cleared out. Probably went back to sweep Onett for more tip-offs, but I know that they'll be back to circle my house like vultures. They always do.

"Let me teleport you home-" I begin.

"It's good. I have to walk back and pick up my new phone. My model's no longer in production, so the company decided to give me a smartphone instead." For a split second, Lucas's eyes flicker back to mine. I wonder if he's going to ruffle my hair again - oh, nope, nevermind, he's just getting up. Not denying my disappointment there.

Trying not to like Lucas is easier said than done.

Uneasy, I dig my nails into my palms before I can do something stupid like hold his hand. "Use the back door," I mutter.

We traipse down the stairs. By now, it's clear that it's late afternoon. The skyline is beginning to teeter between grape and orange. I fervently hope that my mom's not back from work, or that she's taking an afternoon nap, but the hope dies with the sound of Elton John on the stereo.

My mom's awake. She's humming under her breath and washing dishes in the kitchen sink. When Lucas opens his mouth to say hello, I frantically shove him out of the house, because good god, the last thing anyone in my family needs is more ammunition to speculate on the identity of my gay crush. Thankfully, Lucas catches my drift, but still, throws me a rueful look. He seems reluctant for not greeting my mother for the gracious stay, so he puts it, so I smack him in the back and tell him to go home before he could catch another cold.

As I watch him slouch out of sight, I spot Tracy peeking through the railings of the stairs from the corner of my eye. She's wearing an evil smirk that could rival the Joker's, except hers practically sings, I've got blackmail and you don't. When Tracy catches my eye, she immediately starts making stupid kissy gestures in my direction. Scowling, I flip her the bird, and she cheerfully flips me back before retreating into her colorful cave of makeup and nail polish.

Stupid little sisters.

Despite my best efforts, my mom hears the back door click shut. I know she has, because the water stops running, and I can't hear the clink of the dishes anymore. Before I can make a dash for it, my mom materializes by the doorway.

"Ness."

Shit.

I involuntarily flinch. "Mom, I'm busy," I mutter without turning around. "Uh, have to work out. Winter Championships 're coming up-"

"You have time for five minutes. Sit down, honey."

I freeze. I recognize that tone. Sure enough, oh my god, mom's got that sad, glazed look in her eyes again.

Dad's divorce wrecked my mom. It's like the day my dad stepped out of the house for good, I lost a good part of my mom too. Most of the time, she holds it together pretty well, but other days, it feels like she isn't quite there.

The smallest emotional trigger can set it off. Or basically, anything that reminds her of dad (READ: ME). She gets these really bad episodes where she pretends that dad is still here, that dad is still home, that dad never left. One time, she prepared four plates for a meal, placed the black rotary-dial in dad's empty seat, and watched it expectantly like the fucking phone could eat dad's dinner.

In the end, I finished the extra plate.

And after every episode, my mom would get all ashamed and hide in her room to cry. It's fucking tragic, really, and it's the only time I'd ever been grateful for my empathy powers. I can make her feel happy. I can make her feel better.

My mom's super sweet. She's sweet and kind and didn't deserve the shit my dad played on her.

So when she pulls out a wooden chair from the dining table with those creepy glazed eyes, I give in and face her. Oh god, I'm so nervous, you wouldn't believe it. For the past couple of days, I felt like I was in a stranger's house. Seriously, the entire place was dead silent all the time, and if you lived with us, you'd understand why it was so fucking weird. My house is never quiet, with King constantly barking in his kennel and my sister chatting away on her phone and my mom hollering a Ness, language! or Tracy, inside voices!

So whenever my mom turns quiet, it means that some serious shit is about to go down.

"I never thought that this day would come," she says, and I feel my stomach jolt when her voice sounds unsteady, like she's already trying not to sound upset. "Honey, I want us to be honest about this. Can you do that for me?"

I grimace. "I'll try."

It must have been good enough, because clasping my hands, Mom starts off with a deep breath. "First things first. Did you or did you not have unprotected sex-"

Appalled, my cheeks flare up like a bonfire. "Mom!"

"Sorry, honey, but as your mother, I need to know-"

"Just because I'm bi doesn't mean I whore myself out!"

"Language," she says sternly, and I clamp my mouth shut. "You know what the celebrity industry is like. Child trafficking happens all the time. And you know it's a legitimate question," she continues when I open my mouth to protest. "Don't think I don't know what teens do. I was once a teen too, believe it or not."

Most people have romantic stories about how their parents met. Like you know, the time your dad sat you down and spun you a How I Met Your Mother into one glittery, G-rated Once Upon a Time fairytale, and it was just so disgustingly lovey-dovey and cheesy that you want to cringe because no one wants to think about their own parents eating each other's faces off. Since my mom grew up with pretty strict Christian parents, you'd think that she would've bought the whole rubbish talk about "protecting your virginity until marriage for jesus" and blah blah blah.

Not so much with my mom. My mom was only seventeen when she met my dad. They sort of had an unofficial fling back in highschool before Dad asked her out to senior prom. He practically swept her off her feet, driving her through the streets of Onett in his red Cadillac, and I've heard this story recounted so many times that it's pretty much ingrained into my brain. Anyways point is, during the afterparty at a friend's place, one drink led to another, and, erm, they ended up doing the nasty up in one of the empty bedrooms. Seriously, I love my mom with all my heart, but thank Holy Jesus for condoms, because I didn't want to be the result of a freak horny accident. Though I probably am. I was born the year mom and dad had gotten married, only a few years after they'd first boned.

Mom's always regretted starting a relationship early. That's probably why she's so concerned about me.

My cheeks burn even hotter. "Mom, I swear I didn't have sex."

"Hmm." Mom purses her lips. "So... this attraction you have to boys..."

"I like girls."

"Yes. That." She swallows as if forcing something sour down. "But you also like guys."

I uncomfortably shift in my seat. "Just one guy-"

"But he's not a girl."

An image of Lucas stuffed into one of Paula's pink summer dresses wildly slams into my mind, and it's so silly and ridiculous that I have to force down the hysterical giggles threatening to bubble up my throat. "No."

"How do you know you like him that way?"

"I just know, mom."

"You might see him as a close friend, Ness. Don't confuse friendship with love," Mom says gently, almost patronizingly. "I know what you're going through, sweetie. I remember having my fair share of crushes before meeting your father-"

"Right," I mutter. "Fat load of good that did."

Mom looks like I'd hit her with a sledgehammer.

Horrified by my slip of tongue, I shoot up in my seat. "Mom-"

"No, you're right," she murmurs, settling back into her seat. "Feelings don't last. Infatuation fades. That goes for everyone. Even for your father. And over time, you realize that you don't know people as well as you might want to admit."

"Not everyone's like that douchebag-"

Mom squeezes my hands. "Ness, you need to be more careful," she says, her eyes watering. "Especially now. You are underage. You are one of the Original Twelve. The paparazzi are always on the watch, and just one mistake can make your life so, so hard. You must promise me not to make it any harder than it is."

"Mom-"

"You're straight. You have to be straight."

"But I'm not," I say plaintively.

"Then lie. Tell the media that you made a mistake, tell them that you're straight-"

"It doesn't work that way, mom," I whisper, trying not to cry, because now I can feel her fucking regret, and that hurt more than anything, because she doesn't think that I'm normal.

Mom slides her hands down the sides of my face. "You're only seventeen," she says shakily, tearfully, and her fingers dig into my cheeks. "Please, Ness, don't be like me. Don't choose the hard road-"

I crack a weak smile. "It's not that hard, mom. I can handle it."

Whatever I said only made it worse. Her eyes have glazed all over again, and oh fuck, she's breaking down, she's entering another episode, fuck fuck fuck. Fighting through her waves of panic, I try to layer my words with a modicum of calm. "Mom, it's okay. It's not as bad as you think-"

"I shouldn't have let you drop out of school-"

"I wanted to drop out of school, mom."

"It was me, I raised you wrong-"

"That's not-"

"I shouldn't have divorced your father-"

"Don't bring dad into this!" That finally gets her attention, and feeling my eyes sting, I clench my teeth together. "Dad has nothing to do with this. Even if he stayed, it would've happened. I liked a guy. I liked a guy, mom, and if you have a problem with it, then I guess you'll just have to disown me because I'm a failure who can't live up to your perfect expectations!"

My mom says something, reaching for me again, but biting back a choke, I bat her hands aside and sprint out the door. All I can think about is the ache in my lungs, the ache in my heart, the cold air hitting my face, but no matter how fast I try to run, I can't escape the truth of her pointed words.

My mom is my best friend. I tell her everything. I trust her with everything.

I had trusted her with everything.

My fingers trembling madly, I fumble for my phone. Before I know it, I'm dialing a familiar number, and I almost cry with relief when the smug, sassy voice enters my ears.

"Well, hey there, Mr. Celebrity. It's been a while. I almost thought you died-" Hearing my raspy sobs, Paula's voice suddenly switches to worry. "Ness? Are you... What happened?!"

"I can't... My mom..."

"What about your mom? Is she hurt?!"

"She's not... couldn't understand..."

Paula's voice turns serious. "Ness. Where are you?"

I lift my head. Something bright blurs into my vision. "B-Bakery. Onett. Paris Baguette."

"I'm coming over. Don't you dare move."

"But you live in-"

The phone clicks off. Wiping away the tears leaking out of my swollen eyes, I trudge towards the bakery and try to catch my breath.

Within minutes, the sound of crunching snow precedes the whip of a fluttery pink dress. Cold white smoke escaping from her gasping mouth in tendrils, Paula stumbles over, three bags of Macy's merchandise on each arm. Diving forward, Paula shakes my shoulders. "Are you hurt?!"

"'M okay," I mutter, shrugging her hand off in embarrassment. "Sorry I called, you can go now-"

"Right, like I'm leaving you now, you dumbass!" Paula's voice rises higher in pitch. "You sounded like a wreck on the phone! I thought your mom died!"

What? Did I sound that bad?

Her eyes blaze with worry. "What happened, Ness?"

There's no point in lying. Paula will see through me. She's an empath, after all.

I drop my eyes. "Uh, I came out to my mom. She had another episode."

A look of understanding dawns in her eyes. Paula purses her lips into a thin line. "Let's get something hot for you to drink." Rubbing soothing circles into my back, she all but drags me into the warmth of the bakery.

There are still a good number of customers inside the cafe. Ducking our heads and walking as quickly as we can, Paula pushes me into one of the booths in the back. Colorful cartoony fruits stickers are plastered everywhere over its walls, and a happy cartoon strawberry dances along the rim of the door, saying cheesy pick-up lines to the outrageously large banana beside it.

A private booth.

A date booth.

At any other time, it might have been embarrassing, but considering that Paula found me bawling my eyes out in the street, the privacy from any unwelcome eyes is so, so welcome. The last thing I want is a headline of me crying in the front page of The Smash Daily tomorrow.

A steaming hot chocolate lands in front of my face. I stare at it in incomprehension before Paula slides into the booth across from me, her pretty stocking legs crossed in an agitated X.

"It'll help you feel better," she says, placing my hands around the cup. "Drink."

I do as she says. A sweet warmth blossoms across my taste buds. I don't feel relaxed, but my fingers have at least stopped shaking from the cold. Or if it's even because of the cold. I shiver again. "Thanks."

Paula's cheeks are dotted a faint pink from the cold. "I happened to be here for the Macy's sale. My dad's supposed to pick me up later."

"Tell him not to worry. I'll teleport you back," I mutter, curling my fingers around my cup. "And I'll pay for my cocoa-"

Paula rolls her eyes. "I don't care about the money, Ness. You paid last time."

"But-"

"Lucas helped me out last week, and now I'm helping you. Take that as thanks."

My elbow involuntary jerks into the napkin dispenser. "You saw Lucas?"

Perhaps it's my imagination, but Paula's face looks slightly redder. Embarrassment radiates through our empathy link. "I did," she admits, slowly dipping her head. "But that's not why I'm here, Ness."

I crack a weak smile and take another sip of cocoa. Has she fallen for Lucas too? Oh, the irony would be hilarious. Two of my best friends falling for each other. And Paula was a girl... it could work out. It could stand a chance. My shoulders slump over. "Did he mention me?"

"A bit," Paula says vaguely. She clearly wants to steer us away from the topic, and I let it go. I don't have the heart to ask. Her eyes hesitantly shift to my face. "Did something happen between you two?"

My stomach sinks lower. My lips turn numb. "I confessed to him. Back in the Mansion. It didn't go the way I hoped."

"Why not?"

"For starters, I might have been drunk..."

Paula winces. "Yikes."

"Yeah." I grip the mug tighter. "Lucas took it in well, but he said that he wanted to stay as friends. So I agreed."

"At least he understands-"

"Then I kissed him."

White-faced, Paula snaps her head up in shock. "H-How did he respond?"

I bury my face into my hands. "He doesn't love me back," I choke out.

"Oh, Ness...," Paula whispers, her eyes tearing up.

"I said... I said I made a mistake. I told him I was homesick instead. God, I can't tell Lucas that I like him again. We're friends, Paula. Like, he's my best friend for fuck's sake, and he's been so patient with me that respecting his decisions is the least I could do for him... But I still can't get over him and I hate myself for freaking him out-" An embarrassing broken sob escapes from my aching throat. "And m-my mom... I shouldn't have run out on her-" My arms crumple under the weight of my head and slide onto the coffee table. "Why am I such a failure."

"You are not a failure."

"Yeah, I am."

"You saved a godforsaken planet from an alien tyrant."

"That's different."

"In what way?"

"I can't smack my feelings away with a bat."

Paula lets a small smile slip at that. "Not all problems can be solved with violence."

A watery chuckle escapes from my throat, and I wipe the messy tears from my face. "Doesn't stop me from wishing I could. That's why I have you here."

"Oh, Ness," she says softly. "What will you ever do without me?"

"I'd probably be dead in a ditch," I agree.

Paula stifles a smirk behind her hand. "Then do us both a favor and stop causing scandals left and right."

"Hey!" I protest.

Her eyes twinkling with mischief, Paula nudges the cup to my hands. "Drink up. Your cocoa's getting cold-"

"How did you get over me?"

Paula looks taken aback at the sudden inquiry. "What?"

"It's just-" I slowly shifted my own embarrassed eyes to the table. "It's a lot harder than you make it seem. Like," I gesture to myself. "I'm a fucking wreck. But you... you held up really well."

Her face turns slightly pink. "I don't know. I never gave it much thought. As long as we stayed close friends, I didn't mind, I guess."

"I'm sorry I keep calling you-"

"I like calling you," Paula says quietly. "Like I said, I want to keep in touch, Ness. Even if it's over unhappy stuff. Or sappy stuff. I know it sounds weird, but I meant every word when I asked you out."

I crack a weak smile. "Well, thanks. I mean it. I really owe you one."

"Dear god, Ness..." Paula looks about ready to die, and after hanging around Lucas for so long, I have to admit that it's a nice role reversal to be the teaser instead of being teased for once.

"You're the real trooper."

"N-No!" She furiously flaps her hands in my direction. "You... You've done so many other things! Like saving me from Happy Happy Village! Th-This is the least I can do-"

"The real MVP."

"Stop it, oh god, you're going to make me laugh-"

I grin. "Then you should. No point in holding back."

And she does. It starts off as a giggle, but rises into a pleasant lilt, and my face brightens up into a wider grin when she starts to laugh for real. Her laughter lights up her eyes and gave the blonde curls of her hair life. Her laughter is also unfortunately infectious, and in no time, I find myself joining in, even though I've forgotten about why we're laughing in the first place.

Something buzzes against the table, and we glance at it at the same time - Paula's pink Hello Kitty phone. Regaining her breath, Paula checks the screen. The happy look on her face wavers. "It's getting late. My dad-"

"I'll teleport you home."

Then Paula breaks into a warm smile, and it's pretty because it's genuine. "Well, thank you, Kind Sir."

I give an exaggerated bow. "M'lady."

"Oh stop, you big flirt." Breaking into another burst of giggles, Paula reaches for her shopping bags. When I offer to carry them so I won't feel like a useless prick, she gives me a small smile, sly yet shy, before tugging my hand and sprinting out of the bakery. We run along the sidewalk like a pair of lovebirds, our shoes slipping and sliding over winter ice, and only slow down by the baseball field to watch the snow fall from the sky.

"It's snowing," she says, and reminded of Lucas's own words, my stomach gives a small lurch.

"Yeah, it is," I say softly.

The next few moments pass in a blur. I teleport Paula home. She invites me to stay the night, but I decline, saying that her dad is a racist redneck, and she rolls her eyes, pointing out that my brutally honest remarks haven't changed a bit.

I breathe out and shift in place. "I should go back home."

"Are you sure?"

"Yeah."

Her worried blue eyes flit to mine. My empathy link grows warm; her concern is so tangible, so real that I can feel it, and her reassurance is so welcome that I find myself involuntarily wanting to cling onto it.

"If anything happens-" She mimes a phone gesture. "Call me?"

I smile. "I will. Keep in touch."

"And don't get sick. The Winter Championship's in a few weeks." She places two fingers shyly to her lips. "I'll watch this time. On TV. Win a lot of matches...?"

"Fuck yeah."

Paula breaks into another warm smile. She turns around, her hair flying out into an silvery arc under the moonlight, and races to her front porch. When her mother opens the door to usher her in, I take that as the cue to teleport back.

A flurry of hot sparks. A colorful blur.

Paula's empathy link glows warm in my chest.

I breathe in. The cold air nips my nose, but somehow, I've never felt more alive. Energy thrumming through my veins, I sprint through the snowy fields homebound. Along the way, a flash of white catches my eyes, and I pause in front of the worn-down double decker mansion.

The grass in the front yard is dead. All of the windows are dark. The house reeks of abuse and neglect.

As it's been since Pokey Minch left.

The happy feeling vanishes, leaving behind an eerie, haunted feeling. My feet turns into cold lead. I shiver and quickly hurry past.

Next door, my house is much more welcome. It's the same as I left it: warm, inviting, its windows aglow with light - the way a real home should be. I debate sneaking in, but my room is on the second floor, and past experiences of crashing painfully into a lamp tell me that teleporting in the dark is a very bad idea.

And my mom...

My mom needs me.

Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I ring the doorbell.

Light streams onto the frozen porch. "Welcome back, doofus," Tracy says, her arms crossed. "Way to go, freaking mom out. I had to calm her down and make her tea while you were gone. Hope you're fucking proud of yourself."

"Shut up, Trace," I mutter, brushing past her in search of my mom.

And freeze.

Mom stands in the middle of the living room. The shadow of the lamp lighting hides her expression.

Shaking, I stare at the carpet. "I'm home."

Before I realize it, her hands have grabbed my face, her fingers frantically raking my hair as if really feeling me to make sure that I am here, present in cold skin and bone. When she is finally convinced it's me, Mom gives a breathy, hoarse whisper of relief and crumples to her knees. "Nessie, oh my sweet baby boy-" My mom hugs me tight, and I can hear her breathing hit my ear. She still smells like home-cooked meals and warm laundry. "Come in, come in, let's warm you up-"

My throat clogs up. "Mom, I don't need-"

"Don't you dare think that I won't support you," she says breathlessly, sounding like she's on the verge of crying. "I know this is... It's hard for me... for both of us... but no matter who you love, you're my son. That's enough for me."

Slowly, I raise my own arms to complete the hug. "Thanks, mom," I say quietly.

My mom squeezes me tighter. "And if you happen to like a guy... that's... well, at least I won't have to worry about you getting anyone pregnant-"

"Mom-"

"We need to give you another Talk about the birds and the bees, but with just... the bees- and no-" She wipes her eyes. "Whatever you do, absolutely no sex until you get married, do you hear me, young man?"

I crack a small grin. "Mom, it's okay. You can stop fussing over me now."

Like all good moms, she doesn't. Mom ushers me up to the stairs. I'm half-tempted to push her away, because what I want is peace and quiet, but at the look on her face, I falter.

We've already lost dad. She's afraid of losing me too.

So I let her smooth over my blankets and tuck me in without a word.

Author's Note:

*In Earthbound, Pokey is the neighbor and main (secondary) antagonist of Ness. Pokey later evades capture via time machine when Ness and co. defeat the alien menace Giygas.

*In Mother 3, Pokey (or referred to as King Porky) has taken over Nowhere Islands with his Nazi-like Pork trooper army from the very beginning of the game. This solidifies his stance as the main antagonist against Lucas.

This seems like a repetitive stress on how much Ness is struggling with his own feelings and how much Lucas loved his missing brother, but all of this detail will make more sense soon.

As of now, Lucas (a) has yet to acknowledge that he likes Ness, (b) is confused about wtf he's feeling, (c) isn't ready to come out of the closet, (d) doesn't want to cause Ness any trouble BY coming out of the closet, (e) doubts that Ness's confession holds any weight, and (f) is prioritizing other immediate things in his life over a serious relationship.

Happy reading! :)