Author's Note: Exciting news! This and "She Loves Me Not" are being made into fan comics! Not by myself (I can't draw…at all), but by two people who are apparently fans of the stories. Malchik Gay will be drawn by Teh-Drabbler, and from what I can tell, it will be in anime-esqe style. She Loves Me Not will be drawn by Mel, but in KND style. As these are the two stories that meant the most to me, I'm very happy about this. So check 'em out. Neither are up yet, but I'll be sure to post links in my profile when they are.
Can we fly, do I stay? We could lose, we could fail. In the moment it takes to make plans or mistakes - 30 minutes a blink of an eye, 30 minutes to alter our lives. 30 minutes to make up my mind. 30 minutes to finally decide. 30 minutes to whisper your name. 30 minutes to shoulder the blame. 30 minutes of bliss, 30 lies. 30 minutes to finally decide. 30 Minutes by T.A.T.U.
Timothy looked at all his possessions. His bag was lying on his bed, empty, open…waiting for him to put something inside. It was not that he could not decide on what to bring, it was that he just…wasn't sure he wanted to leave.
So…what's left for me here? He sat down on the bed beside his bag, contemplating. Mom and dad…There's Annie, but she's got that Texas Tommy guy now…There's nothing left here. He admitted it to himself, but it was just such a foreign idea to him. Leaving, not even telling his parents where he was going…just…running away.
An hour later found John Wink and Timothy Fibb at the bus station, waiting. Rain had started an hour ago, and now it was coming down in torrents, streaking the window panes outside. It made Timothy feel a lot better about being there, though. The bleak outside made the decrepit bus station actually seem warm and inviting.
"When does the bus leave?" He asked, checking his watch.
"Thirty minutes…are you coming?"
Timothy attempted to answer, but suddenly…he no longer knew. There were two choices here: he could go with John, risk everything for the person who loved him the most, or…or he could stay where he was, with his family, with the people that couldn't accept their kind.
He blinked. Our…our kind. Not John's kind anymore, He realized. It was a revelation for him. No longer was his friend completely alone in his struggle. Like it or not, for better or worse, Timothy Fibb had been pulled into this world as well. He snuck a glance at John, finally realizing something. I love him.
He opened his mouth to tell John so, but again, the words refused to come. He would have to close one part of his life before he could. He would have to make a choice…he glanced down at his knapsack. "John?"
"Yes, Timothy?"
"I can't go."
John didn't say anything for a while. He didn't react. Then, finally. "I…sort of knew that. I'm sorry, Timothy, for expecting so much of you. I guess the timing was not right."
Timothy smiled at the other boy and gave him a quick kiss before straightening the blanket over John's lap. While he was by no means happy about John being hurt, he couldn't help but feeling kind of…happy that he finally could take care of John, instead of the other way around.
Timothy waved to John as he exited, knowing full well his friend did not understand.
He had not packed his backpack. All of his possessions were at home. Now that he realized the true depth of his feelings…he knew what he had to do. He had to go back there. He had to get his things and return to John.
The moonlight shone on the paved road, lighting Timothy's way. He heard, rather than saw, the group of kids. The teenagers all standing in front of his house, some with spray paint, others with toilet paper. The window was broken.
The word 'fag' was written in huge red letters on the side of the house, still wet. It dripped down, making Timothy's mind immediately jump to blood. He stared, unable to move for a moment. His things were inside.
To get them, he would have to move past this crowd, and some part of him knew that at least one of those present had also been one of the ones to beat John on prom night. More likely, all or most had been present.
Timothy sighed. I was right to want to leave…He could get his things. Guess I'll just have to find a way to make it…some other way… He'd stolen about a hundred dollars from his mother's purse before leaving. It wasn't much, even as a teenager he knew he couldn't live off it, but he felt guilty for stealing from her. But at least it could buy him some new clothes in the meantime.
He turned, for once feeling that this time his running away was actually the brave choice.
Author's note: Nope, still not done. Still more coming. …and hopefully the next chapter won't be so short.
