This chapter was inspired by the song 'I Am Not A Robot' by Marina and the Diamonds. I believe that someone requested it, but I cannot remember who it was. Please raise your hand if it was you.

Let's be honest; every high school has a back door or stairwell for less than legal activities. At my school, it was the 'North Doors'. That was where the tobacco and marijuana enthusiasts met. And, sometimes, that was where small favours were exchanged for a couple of dollars or a bit of something harder.

Trust me; this place existed at your school too, whether or not you knew it. And fifteen dollars was the going price.

I Am Not A Robot

Matthew pushed his hands into his pockets and slinked around the east side of the high school, sidling up to the burn outs and drop outs. He kept his eyes down and his nose clean, ignoring the catcalls and whistles as he walked past. One of the students slapped him on the backside and hissed propositions in his ear.

"Fifteen bucks for a blowjob, right? Or was it twenty?"

The crowd tittered and laughed as he shook his head and weaved between them. He kept refusing but the student kept asking. Around and around and around…

He was uncomfortable, and out of his element, but it did not matter. Not really. He was not there for himself, or even for them.

He was there for him.

Matthew peeked through the fringe of his unruly blonde curls and tried not to smile when he found Gilbert leaning against the painted and crumbling brickwork, smoking cigarette after cigarette. He was frowning and still, except for his hands. His hands were nervous and shaking as he rolled the cigarettes between his fingers.

Matthew wondered if anyone else, if the geeks or freaks or tweaks surrounding him even noticed that Gilbert was drowning on dry land. That he was flailing. That he was vulnerable, and broken, and grasping at straws.

But he had noticed, Matthew had noticed, and that would have to be enough.

Matthew stepped beside him and tried to look casual as he examined his fingernails. It was a lost cause, of course; he did not belong there. He did not fit in.

But that would not stop him.

"Again?" Gilbert sighed without looking up. He offered Matthew a cigarette, which he politely refused. As always. "What'd'ya want, kid?"

He was only two years younger than Gilbert, but he would never let him forget it.

"You're not that much older than me," he pouted, petulant. Gilbert just shrugged.

"Two years is a long time," Gilbert said, wrapping his lips around the cigarette and sucking. Matthew watched his cheeks flutter and hollow, and swallowed. Hard.

He coughed and looked elsewhere.

"Not that long."

"But I know things. I've learnt things. The world is a cruel and unwelcoming place…"

"Bullshit," Matthew muttered.

"… And you're naïve."

He snorted at the choice of the words and jostled him. He was not naïve. Not in the slightest. Gilbert just blinked, surprised, and stared at him through long, pale eyelashes. Matthew thought that his heart might stop.

He could gaze into those eyes forever. They were bottomless. Fathomless. Matthew had never seen eyes like those before he met Gilbert.

Now they were all he could see.

Matthew and Gilbert had two classes together. Just two. But Matthew spent those classes watching Gilbert. Studying him. He was smitten, infatuated even, and he knew Gilbert inside out. He acted tough. He acted like he could care less, like the world owed him something, like he had nothing to prove...

But he was also raw and dispirited; aching and empty. And Matthew was worried that he would do something stupid… Something pointless. Gilbert was the type of person who took risks; who went too far; who picked fights and lost.

So, every lunch hour, Matthew navigated the seething mass of teenage hormones just to stand beside Gilbert for a few minutes… Just to let him know that he was not alone in all of this. That it would get better, eventually, and if not, well, they could always drown together.

He liked to think that Gilbert appreciated the gesture. He started offering Matthew cigarettes, and small, secret smiles in the corridors, and that was more than enough for Matthew.

"I'm not naïve," he mumbled, scrutinizing a group of approaching students. Gilbert laughed, outright, and brushed off that same student that had propositioned Matthew earlier. The one who never took 'no' for an answer. The student growled and turned around, staring longingly at Matthew even as he backed off.

"Alright," Gilbert amended, raising his middle finger at the student, "you're not naïve. But you're innocent. Pure. Pristine."

Matthew sighed in relief as the student disappeared into the crowd. He thought about arguing with Gilbert. He was not as wholesome as Gilbert insisted he was; he had his own secrets, and lies, and a gnarled, tangled web of bad decisions chasing him around.

But it did not matter. Gilbert thought that he was pure, pristine, and perfect.

And for him, Matthew would be anything he wanted.

"You say that like it's a bad thing," Matthew hummed, glancing at his hands. The trembling was worse than ever, like withdrawal mixed with an existential crisis. He reached for his hand before he could talk himself out of it. He held on tight.

It was a rash, and impetuous, and…

And Gilbert let him. He even squeezed his hand back, and his palms were slick with sweat and engine oil. His fingernails were stained with dirt and cigarette smoke and Matthew thought that he would faint.

Wow. Holding hands with Gilbert was everything that he thought it would be.

Their hands fit together like puzzle pieces. His own were splattered in paint and tied with knots of string; Gilbert's hands were calloused and covered with scars, and they brought out the best in each other.

He grinned at Gilbert. Gilbert flushed and looked anywhere else.

"You're making me look bad," he whispered, but his hands had stopped shaking. He dropped the cigarette and stamped on it, twisting his ankle.

"Impossible," Matthew laughed, and he meant it. Whether he was tough or weak, a 'bad boy' or 'shy guy', he thought that Gilbert was wonderful. Maybe even perfect.

And he hoped that they could keep holding hands forever.

Author's Notes:

In this, I see Gilbert as being that bad boy, the one who skips class and takes shops and runs the stereotypes. The one that everyone expects to end up in prison or somewhere worse. But, obviously, he is deeper than that. Matthew would be the perfect student, a little sensitive, and perhaps an artist. He would be awkward, but he would mean well.

But, really, all teenagers are awkward, and I am glad that Matthew was able to see past the mask Gilbert wears to school. (À la 'Breakfast Club'.) We all wear masks, sometimes, if only to get by.

I wrote this as a little halting, a little awkward on purpose. For obvious reasons.