Thank you all for the responses I got for the last two chapters! Your feedback is muchly appreciated.

I apologize for the large length of time between updates. My life is very busy right now, and I don't have as much time for writing as I would like. All I can say is that there is no way I will abandon this story. It is already completely planned, and I'm very excited to see it through to the conclusion.

As always, please enjoy! :)

Suggested Listening: "Ghost" - Bombay Bicycle Club

Take Your Time

~Pretense~

Cracking my knuckles, I stared at the blank page in front of me and the flashing cursor that went along with it. The flashing cursor that I perceived with my writer's-block-addled brain as saying, Hey, dumbass, if you just type something, this will go a lot faster.

The vast expanse of white glared at me, mocking me with its pristine, ineffaceable innocence.

I wanted to destroy it. I wanted to leave my mark.

My fingers moved fluidly over the keys until I was faced with a single word.

'The'.

Literary awards, here I come.

I growled in disgust and pressed backspace a few times until I was back to square one. Finally accepting that I was getting nowhere, I closed the lid on my laptop, got up from my position of lying down on my stomach, and moved into a cross-legged position, all the while pushing my too-long bangs off of my face. I picked off some nail polish that had dried on one of my cuticles as I swept my gaze over my room.

What I saw was less than inspiring.

Clothes were strewn all over the floor and were spilling out of my overly full laundry basket. You couldn't see the top of the dresser for all the clutter. My zebra-print throw was obviously living up to its name because it must have been thrown to have ended up draped over my mirror. On a pile of pillows in the corner, my cat, Jazz, was napping like a king.

It seems unreasonable to me that the cleaner Matt's room gets, the messier mine becomes.

I reached over and grabbed my cell phone. As I turned it on and saw the time, I frowned. It would be at least another hour until Halle would be here to cut my hair. On the other hand, it was also right in the middle of Matt's lunch break. When in doubt…

TO: Matt (12:15):

Talk nerdy to me.
Let's do it on your table
Periodically.

It had been about a month since we started sending funny haikus to each other. Matt had run out of ideas a while ago, but I was still on a roll. I'd have to switch to something else soon, though; there are, after all, only so many ways that you can proposition someone in seventeen syllables.

Matt (12:17):

As articulate and charming as I found your proposal, I regret to inform you that I am unable to acquiesce to your request for a booty call.

TO: Matt (12:18):

Damn. Writing prompt instead?

Matt (12:19):

Oh, I see how it is. You just want me for my mind. I feel so used :(

TO: Matt (12:19):

You'll get over it :)

Matt (12:21):

Fine. Hm… You could always write about the valiant, red-headed hero who must save his delicate, soft-spoken, golden-tressed lover from the horrors of going without chocolate for half an hour.

TO: Matt (12:22):

I could… Or I could write about the time the hero screamed like a little girl when he found a spider in the bathtub and then begged his lover to squish it with said lover's steel-toed boot.

Matt (12:22):

… Touché.

TO: Matt (12:23):

I guess I'll just write another detective story.

Matt (12:23):

That's probably best.

TO: Matt (12:24):

We're going to that lunch thing with Cotton Swab and Tinker Bell tomorrow, right?

Matt (12:25):

Near and Linda? Yeah. Remember to be nice.

TO: Matt (12:25):

Who, me? I'm always nice.

Matt (12:26):

Sure. Anyway, I have to get back to work soon. Love you, babe :)

I couldn't ignore the way that the butterflies in my stomach suddenly fluttered to life.

Must be acid reflux.

TO: Matt (12:27):

You too, Matty.

I set my phone back on the end table before turning back to my laptop. I opened it up to the blank Word document, but instead of being hesitant, I felt a spark of determination. My fingers flew over the keys as I wrote whatever came to my mind. There would be time to tear it apart later, but now was the time to force perfectionism to take a backseat and actually get something done.

'The temperature was far below the seasonal average for the time of year, and the wind stung threw the man's patchy, woolen coat like thousands of tiny, piercing daggers. Clouds were gathering ominously overhead and spinning, sucking up higher into the sky as if drawn by a vacuum, leaving no question of there being hail within the hour. Thankfully, the man saw his destination up ahead, and he ducked under the overhang that sheltered the entrance. He blew on his numb fingers before wrapping his scarf around them; all the better to clutch the metal door handle. On the other side of the street, a group of hobos gathered around a fire in a rusty drum, and he gave them a pitying glance as he opened the door and stepped into the building.

When the door shut heavily behind him, he was left in a tight corridor. Overheard, the sole light fixture in the area buzzed, the remains of countless dead moths stuck inside its cover. There was a permeating odour of rot and mold that hung like a fog in the air. Ahead of the man, there was a rickety set of steps. He took these with the confidence of someone that knew exactly where they were going.

Once he reached the top landing, he turned down the hallway to the left and stopped at the fourth door on the right. He knocked three times in quick succession, twice, and then another three times. All was still. Suddenly, a slow whine of moving, unoiled hinges started up, and the man startled. He looked down to see that a drop box in the door had opened up.

A gruff voice resonated from the other side of the door: "Drop the parcel in, and then leave."

"I was told to make the delivery in person," the man said, reaching into his coat to retrieve the 'parcel', which happened to be a Glock pistol. He flicked the safety off as quietly as he was able, bracing himself against the doorframe.

The drop box snapped shut. "That's about as personal as we do things around here."

"Can't an exception be made for an old friend?" The man did his best to keep the note of frustration from leaking into his voice.

It was quiet except for the sound of retreating footsteps. He could hear his heartbeat in his ears. Not even two minutes later, the footsteps approached again.

"State your name and business."

A sigh of relief was just barely suppressed. "My name is jjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjjhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhol;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;;–'

"Goddammit, Jazz!"

Trust Jazz to decide to curl up on top of my keyboard right in the middle of me conquering four months' worth of procrastination. Jazz, indifferent to reprimands as always, just rolled over and batted his paws at me like he was still a tiny kitten, basking in the warmth that was coming from my laptop. I grabbed him under his shoulders and moved to lie on my back, dragging him with me. Happy that he finally had my full attention, Jazz stretched out on my stomach and rested his head on his paws, looking at me expectantly.

"You're such a little brat," I sighed, scratching him between his ears. On cue, he started purring and his lips curled up into what looked like a very satisfied smile. I chuckled. "Like owner, like cat, I guess."

I leaned my head back against the headboard and allowed myself to relax. Eventually, Jazz settled down, too, until he was practically falling asleep on top of me. The entire time, I maintained the movement of my fingers through his soft fur as I stared up at the ceiling, finding patterns and meaning.

A ping sounded from my laptop.

With a groan, I sat up, bringing Jazz with me again. He settled without a complaint into the bowl that my legs made. As I moved the cursor over to the email icon on the taskbar, Jazz reached out a paw and touched wherever I allowed the cursor to stay for a few moments. I let him have his fun for a while, smiling despite myself, before I finally clicked on the flashing icon.

My jaw clenched automatically as I saw the address of the sender. I read the email once, twice, three times. Rage boiled within me and set me to shaking. It took everything I had not to throw my fist through the screen.

Unbidden, the memory of what the guidance counsellor had told me all those years ago rushed to the forefront of my mind: "If you feel angry, give yourself time to think by counting to ten. If you still feel agitated, count to ten again. Count to ten as many times as you need to bring yourself back to a centred state of mind."

I counted to one hundred.

By the time I'd finished, I could still feel my pulse jumping at my throat, but my vision had gone back to normal and I no longer felt the urge to throttle somebody.

I guess the counsellor knew what she was talking about – at least when it comes to that one thing.

A cold feeling rushed in to replace the departing rage, and if anything, it made me clench my jaw even tighter. In a slow, deliberate movement, I dragged the email to a storage folder that I had set up a long time ago. The number of messages in that folder was approaching two hundred. The frequency of messages varied over the years, but they never entirely stopped appearing in my inbox.

With that task completed, I no longer felt any desire to continue writing; I saved the document and shut down the computer. After closing the laptop and setting it on the end table, I finally noticed Jazz staring up at me, and I got the sense that he had been doing that for a while.

I scowled at him. "What are you looking at?"

The answer I received was him jumping off of me and down to the floor, where he then decided to wiggle his way under the bed. I frowned some more.

Maybe Matt's right; maybe I should work on being nicer.

I shrugged and got up.

Yeah – like that's going to happen.

Seeing as I had more time to kill before Halle would get here, I tidied my room. After that was done, I pulled out the journal that followed the one I had been reading before church the other day (this one was honest, not censored for the sake of prying eyes), and I flopped back on my now-made bed to read it. As I began to relax, Jazz came back and cuddled into my side, obviously sensing that the storm was over. I flipped to a random entry and began to read.

And down the rabbit hole I go…

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

I invited Halle to my birthday party that's coming up next week. Matt still seems a little confused about how she and I became friends, but it's complicated to explain, and besides, it's not like he ever asks. She still hasn't told me why she's been going to the guidance counsellor ever since she moved here this year, but I haven't told her why I go either. All the same, I think we've both already guessed. It's fine, though. She's alright to talk to. Also, she's started bringing bags of Hershey Kisses for us to share while we wait to go in for our appointments. For a girl, she's not that bad.

I punched another kid yesterday. It was for a really stupid reason this time, too. We were in Drama, and he put on a blond wig and started skipping around the room, saying, "I'm Mell-inda! I think I'm so pretty!" You know, just stupid things. Anyway, when he came over to me and started flipping his hair, I punched him. So, I got sent to the office again. And I had to explain to the principal why I had broken a kid's nose again. And I had to talk about my anger issues with the counsellor… Again.

At least Ms. Walsh doesn't have me writing that other journal for her anymore. I think she thought she could get more information about what was going on with me than what I felt comfortable telling to her face. Well, she was wrong. The simple truth is that it's none of her business. She finally outright asked me about Matt today, which wasn't a surprise since she's been angling towards it for the last few months. She didn't ask me if I… [The next word was scratched out with bold, angry strokes.] him. She just asked me how long we had been friends for. I told her, "Since Kindergarten." She asked me if we have a lot of fun together. I said, "No shit." She asked me what activity was our favourite to do together. I replied, "Making fun of nosey, old biddies."

I hate when she smiles at me. She's like a robot. She never gets mad.

See, Matt knows the general reason why I go to the guidance counsellor (the version of the truth that I tell everyone, but isn't even close to the full story), but he doesn't know that the incident that started me having to go had something to do with him. And I want to keep it that way. If it wasn't for me, people wouldn't be calling him gay behind his back. He already has enough to deal with because of what happened to his dad and the fact that his mom's bipolar. He shouldn't have to deal with my stuff, too. So, if anyone starts talking shit about him, I'm going to shut it up fast. He doesn't need to know about any of it. I just want him to be happy.

…

Well, I was going to end this there, but Halle just called me and told me about something that I really feel the need to vent about. She went to try out for the volleyball team a while ago (her new friend Wedy convinced her to go and told her that she would get her dad to drive them both to the practices), and she got in. So, that was all fine. However, she and Wedy went into the change room to get ready for practice today, and they saw that someone had written on the mirror in lipstick: "Halle is a WHORE." Then, there were a whole bunch of signatures under the message, showing that they agreed. And can you guess who was involved? Marcy. She's been annoyed that I've been hanging out with Halle – especially since she was convinced that the reason I didn't want to go out with her anymore was because I'm gay. Whatever… That part's not worth writing about. It just bothers me how many people have been gossiping about Halle ever since she moved here. Girls can be so fucking catty sometimes.

People need to mind their own goddamn business.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

"Knock, knock!" Cue the sound of nails tapping against my door.

I quickly shoved my journal under my pillow and sat up. "It's open."

Just like that, the door swung open and Halle breezed in. She covered the space between the entrance and my bed in a few easy strides, and then flopped down on said bed, sprawling across my lap. Halle sighed heavily before rolling her eyes up to look at me, and I had the feeling that she was about to start on a long, involved monologue.

"Sorry I'm late. My mom called me when I was about halfway to your house and asked me to pick up groceries. I told her I'd do it after, but she insisted." She threw a hand over her eyes dramatically. "She's horrible!"

Huh – perhaps not so long after all.

After she uncovered her eyes, I gave her a smirk and a shrug as if to say, What can you do? Halle poked me in the side and stuck her tongue out at me in response. With another sigh, she got up, hitting me in the face with her long hair in the process. I just frowned and leaned back.

"Your mom, on the other hand," she began, "is a delight. I could barely get through the door without her shoving fresh-baked cookies in my mouth – which, by the way, smelled and tasted heavenly."

I laughed. "Believe me, it loses its novelty after you live with her for a while."

Her jaw dropped. "Which does? The cookies or the being accosted?"

"Which do you think?"

"You're right; those cookies are pretty fattening."

I rolled my eyes. Halle winked at me before standing up.

"Why is it that every time I come to your house, your room is always freakishly clean?" she asked as she walked over to my dresser and started to examine all of my accessories, which were lined up in tidy, precise rows.

"I just cleaned it." I flopped back on the bed again. As I did so, the journal slid out from under my pillow and fell to the floor. Extending my leg over the side, I slid the journal under my bed with a socked foot.

"Yeah, so? It's just weird for a guy to be so neat, is all I'm saying." Once she'd tired of viewing what was on top of the dresser, she amused herself by peering into the drawers.

I sat up again. "Hey!"

Ignoring my exclamation, Halle turned around and held out a pair of white briefs, spread between her hands as if in accusation. She raised a dubious brow. "Tighty-whities? Seriously?"

I smiled sweetly. "Why should I buy something fancier when I hardly ever wear them?"

"Ah, yes…" She flung them back into the open drawer as if they burned her. "How could I forget?"

As she walked around my room, examining all of my things, she started rambling again. It's a part of Halle's personality that a person has to accept if they want to spend lots of time around her: she hates silences that drag on too long. "Seriously, though. I mean, I've been in Matt's room before –"

"You've been in Matt's room before?"

"Yup," she said nonchalantly. "We wrestled on his bed, and then I threatened to paint his nails… So, basically, we did the kind of stuff that you and I do on a regular basis. He has yet to invite me back… By the way, if you ever convince him to let someone paint his nails, turquoise is totally his colour."

I smiled, deeply amused by the image. "Noted."

"Anywho… As I was saying, I've been in Matt's room before, and it's a mess. I've been in many guys' rooms, actually, and they are all messy. Yours is the only one that I've always seen clean."

I shrugged. "I'm a perfectionist. What's it to you?"

Halle held up her hands in a feeble defense and smiled. "Point taken."

"Besides," I said, "Matt's room is clean all the time now that I've been having my way. However, whenever he comes over, he messes up mine. So, my room does have its moments."

"Oh?" Halle's face lit up with interest, and I felt myself become wary in response. "How often does he stay over?"

I set my jaw and narrowed my eyes. "I stay at his house more often."

"Why's that? Afraid the walls have ears?"

"No. It's just that I'm aware my sisters do."

"Matt's mom does, too."

"She's away more now that she got that promotion; she has to visit head office a lot more often. Besides, Matt's mom's room is down the hall, not right next door." I moved so that I was sitting on the edge of the bed, leaning towards her. "And before you jump to any more conclusions or start making any crude remarks, we do not have sex here. I don't want to be a bad influence on my sisters."

Halle's face went very still. It only took two seconds before the facade crumbled, and then she was doubled over, laughing so hard, it was nearly soundless.

I just watched her, not saying a word.

Finally, Halle composed herself and wiped the tears away from her eyes. "I-I'm sorry. It's just that you – " She had to take another deep breath. "You're not the best influence, anyway. No judgement intended in that statement; I'm a horrible influence, too. It was just so… cute how serious you looked there."

"If you think so," I stated icily.

"Oh, come on, Mell-Bells." She sat down beside me. "Please don't be mad. You know I was just teasing you. Besides, I'm just getting my kicks – vicarious living, and all that. Writing's totally your thing, but if I ever get tired of hair dressing – you don't have to say, 'Like everything else'; I know, I know… – but if I ever get tired of that, I can write a novel." Halle moved her hand as if she was spreading out the individual letters of the title. "I can see it now: Fifty Shades of Gay."

Thunk! I hit her in the face with a pillow.

"Wow. I feel better now," I said, smiling as I watched her slip out of her disorientation.

"That's good," she murmured, dazed. "I'm happy for you."

The room fell completely silent. I was about to get up and suggest that we go down to the kitchen, which is where she had decided was the best place to cut my hair, when she suddenly chirped, "Speaking of writing, how's yours going?"

"Oh, you know… the usual. It's like peeling my nails back with a pair of rusty pliers."

"Pleasant."

"It almost is."

To my surprise, she reached under the bed and pulled out the journal I'd just hidden there. "How about you use this for inspiration?"

"How about: 'not for you to read'?" I snatched it out of her hand and flung it onto the pile of pillows on the other side of the room. Jazz, who was now using my bookshelf as a lookout, hissed at the sudden movement.

Halle was uncharacteristically serious. "Look, I get it; there are some tough feelings in there. But it's not like it's just one journal. If I look in the back of your closet right now, I'd find a pile of them. You need to set those feelings free. What better way to do that than creating something to share with other people?"

The answer was a flat-out no.

"Mello," she started gently, "does Matt even know they exist?"

"No," I snapped. "You're the only one who does – and maybe my mom. That's only because you know about what happened in Grade Eight with my counselling. No-one else needs to know. Especially not Matt."

There that look is again: sympathy.

I jumped up and opened the door in a quick, impulsive movement. I gestured to the now-open doorway with a jab of my finger. "Can we just forget about it? I can feel my hair growing longer by the minute; let's get it cut before it reaches the floor, okay?"

Her eyes showed her wistfulness, but she still gave my bangs an affectionate tug. "Yes, Rapunzel. Wouldn't want your prince climbing into your tower and finding all the things you don't want him to see."

I swallowed a retort, rolled my eyes, and then followed her down the stairs.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

When we entered the kitchen, I saw that my mom was gone and she had left the cookies out on a cooling rack. I grabbed one to eat before pulling out one of the stools from the island and sitting down. As I swivelled around to face Halle, I saw that she had already gotten her scissors out. I eyed them with a measure of uncertainty.

"Remind me again why I'm allowing you to do this," I said.

Halle grinned. "'Cause I'm awesome, and you know it."

"Oh, Christ…" I muttered. I was already imagining myself with an unfortunate stripe shaved down the middle of my head.

Just then, Miranda walked in. "Oh, hey, Halle!" she exclaimed.

"Hey, kiddo!" Halle beamed. "Up top!" They high-fived.

Halle turned her full attention to her, then, setting the scissors down on the counter. I took a bite of my cookie and smiled when I imagined what kind of dorky name Matt would have come up with for it: 'The Cookie of Courage' or some stupid shit like that.

… I'm smitten, okay? Lay off it.

Once my little intermission in cookie heaven was finished, I tuned back into their conversation.

" – So anyway, I've decided not to talk to her anymore." Miranda was chewing on her lip, looking nervous.

Halle smiled at her kindly. "You're doing the right thing."

"I don't know…" Miranda trailed off before looking up at her, seeking reassurance. "Do you really think so?"

"Yes. You'll see." Halle gave her a pat on the arm.

I cleared my throat uncomfortably. I didn't know if Miranda would want me to say anything, but I couldn't stand not being involved when they were talking right in front of me. I hated seeing my sister look so troubled. I finally settled on: "Hey, didn't Mom tell you to get that laundry done?"

I can be an idiot sometimes; I fully admit it.

Miranda's expression turned stony as she turned to face me. "I'm doing it! Stop being such a nag!" She stormed out of the kitchen.

Halle just looked at me.

"What?" I asked waspishly.

I wasn't really mad at her; I was angry with myself.

Halle got the rest of her tools out in silence. In the meantime, I directed my glare to the tile floor. She turned back to face me, caught sight of my face, and chuckled. "If you keep frowning like that, one of these days, a little birdy's gonna come along and poop on that lip."

I jutted my chin out further in defiance. A quirk of the brow and crossed arms was her counter. At last, I cracked.

Laughing, I offered Halle a cookie. "Olive branch?"

She took it from me and enjoyed a large bite. She swallowed with a smile of satisfaction. "I wasn't mad."

"Fine. Then…" – I ran my hand through my hair – "I guess, take it as my thanks for leaving it alone."

She hummed. "Okay. Though, I think the price for that is two…" She looked at me pointedly.

"Don't push it."

As she grabbed the scissors and moved behind me, she rested her head on my shoulder and gave me a hug from behind with her free arm. "I'm not trying to take over your 'older sibling' role, you know," she murmured.

"Halle…" There was a half-hearted warning in my tone.

"Okay, okay." She backed off. "I'm leaving it alone now – I promise."

I sighed. Silence stretched out between us as she started, finally, cutting my hair. As I heard the sound of the scissors snipping start up, I closed my eyes and tried my best to trust – which was not an easy thing for me to do, as should be apparent by now.

Maybe two minutes passed before she started talking again.

"I broke up with Stephen."

"Who?" I tilted my head back to look at her.

"Don't move your head!" She guided my head back into position before continuing: "Stephen Gevanni. He's that cop I've been dating since the end of summer."

"Ah. I remember Matt telling me something about that."

She moved around to check the symmetry of the length of my hair on either side of my face, and I caught her sly grin. "That little gossip…" she said, her amusement apparent.

I chuckled. "He has his moments. So, what happened?"

"He wanted me to meet his parents."

"Oh, the horror…" My comment dripped with sarcasm. "Is that why you decided not to become a cop, too?"

"Well… The two things are sort of related, but not in the way you're thinking. I wouldn't let some guy stop me from doing something if I was sure it would be best for me. No… It's just that I'm not sure what I want right now – about anything."

"… I'm not sure any of us know what we want right now," I said quietly.

"Yeah…" She let the word trail off into silence. When she started speaking again, she was a lot more emotional. I realized with a jolt of uneasiness that she was ready to start cutting my bangs. "He was so upset, though! I mean, I told him it wasn't really because of him and everything; I told him it was because of me – but that just made it worse!" I watched with a clenched jaw as her cuts with the scissors became more frantic. "I didn't really want to get more serious with him, but it wasn't like I didn't like the guy! I just – oops!"

The both of us looked on as a large chunk of my hair wafted gently to the ground.

An annoying buzzing started in my ears, and I felt a vein throbbing in my forehead. My forearms ached from how tightly I was clenching my fists as I slowly turned around in my seat. Halle was just staring at me, the scissors still being held in one hand as both of her hands cupped her face in an expression of horror. One might have thought her to be exaggerating if the fear wasn't so obvious in her eyes.

"Halle," I informed her calmly, "I am going to kill you."

She laughed nervously. "You wouldn't… Right?"

"You have ten minutes to fix it. If I like it, you're spared."

She hopped to it faster than you can say scared shitless.

Approximately ten minutes passed by; Halle finished just in time. As she led me to the half-bath under the stairs, I noticed that she still looked a little pale. I smirked, happy that I still had the skill to intimidate. My smirk immediately disappeared when the door swung open and I saw my new haircut for the first time in the mirror.

"You gave me choppy layers," I grouched as I tried to move my side-swept bangs back to completely covering my forehead instead of just partially. No dice; there just wasn't enough hair to make it look right anymore. At least the length was still down to my shoulders.

"Sorry…" She still held the scissors in her hand as if she was ready at any moment to brandish them as a weapon. "After I slipped that one time, I had to change everything to make it blend in."

I continued to scrutinize my appearance. It was quite different than how my grandma used to cut my hair (and the lady in the salon on Main Street after her), but it didn't look so bad. It didn't look as sleek, but I had to admit the differences in lengths made the line of my cheekbones look sharper. I wouldn't say it to Halle, but she had succeeded in making it harder to mistake me for a girl.

Halle leaned against the doorframe and tilted her head. "You know, the bob made you look cute, but like this you look… dare I say, sexy."

I shot her a look as I fiddled with my bangs some more. "I always look sexy – no exceptions."

She ignored me. "This suits your look better," she said with a smile.

I looked down at what I was wearing: dark-wash jeans with a black leopard-print pattern; a purple hoodie; a light-blue t-shirt with yellow lettering that declared, "Made You Look"; and my pair of burgundy Doc Martens that I'd slipped on when we'd gotten downstairs. I raised an eyebrow at her. "Your point?"

"You look good, that's what." She wrapped her arms around my waist from behind and rested her head on my shoulder. Together, we appeared so similar that our reflection could be interpreted by someone that didn't know us as showing two siblings rather than just two friends. "So, do I get to live?" she asked.

"I'm still deciding," I mumbled. I couldn't resist reaching up and running my fingers through my hair again.

"You're such a girl." She swatted my hand away from my hair, grinning by now. "Matt will love it."

I shot her another haughty look in the mirror before shaking her off and beginning the short walk back to the kitchen. "He better," I said under my breath.

Halle must have heard me because she giggled as she followed behind me.

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

The next day at lunch, of course, found us all involved in the most civil of conversations.

"So, run this by me again: you, Nate River, are consuming an organism that subsists on the waste of other organisms – in other words, shit – just because you're trying not to offend your girlfriend?"

Linda rolled her eyes while next to me, Matt was trying not to smile and was failing.

Near primly set his Portobello burger back on his plate. "I am surprised that Mello is finding the consumption of mushrooms to be such a perplexing concept," the white-haired boy said. "However, you are mistaken if you assume that what I eat is controlled by my girlfriend's life choices. I wholeheartedly support Linda in her vegetarianism; if I also take on this lifestyle, it is due to my own desires to live a healthier life."

Matt and I shared a look. Simultaneously, our wrists cracked in a whipping motion. "Wat-chh!"

Halle openly giggled.

Near's black eyes flashed. "Says the pot to the kettle. I don't think I've seen a better demonstration of someone being whipped as the five minutes that Matt spent trying to convince Mello that he 'really, really' does find his new haircut attractive when we first sat down; by the tone, I must conclude that the conversation also lasted the duration of your car ride here. Then, there was also the fact that Mello pulled out Matt's chair for him and intentionally arranged their seating so that Matt's being left-handed would not cause any troubles when it came time to use utensils."

This time, both Linda and Halle tittered. Poor Matty couldn't help but blush; he always hated it when people paid too much attention to his actions.

Unaffected, I shrugged and smirked. "First of all, your level of observation is creepy. Second of all, you try cutting a steak when someone's elbowing you the whole time. And finally, I refuse to be shamed by a shit-eater."

"The fact that I am eating a fungus does not–"

"Oh, but Near, it does." My smile was virtually saccharine. "You are what you eat."

"Boys, that's enough." Linda's tone was taking on that schoolmarm quality again; it seemed to be a natural ability of hers.

Not even Near listened to her this time. "An interesting sentiment. Which reminds me: I read the other day that the consumption of chocolate triggers the release of the same neurotransmitters that are at peak levels during orgasm. Perhaps that explains Mello's obsession."

"That explains so much…" Matt muttered to me, low enough that the others couldn't hear. He received part of the scathing look that I was reserving for Near.

"However," Near continued, "it was observed that women are more sensitive to this phenomenon."

I raised an eyebrow. "Suck it."

Halle was in stitches by this point.

"I was under the impression that females do not have that appendage–" Near broke off and his eye twitched. By the look on Linda's face and the way that the table had just jerked, it was obvious she'd just kicked him under the table. He coughed into his hand. "I apologize. I'll be more amiable from this point forward." Near pointed a look at Linda that said, Are you happy now? Linda smiled.

Ah – so he'd gotten the talk about being nice, too.

Now that the conversation had lulled, we all went back to eating. When I looked over, I saw that Matt had finished his turkey club sandwich, but he'd ignored his vegetables. "Going to eat those?" I asked.

Matt stuck out his tongue in derision. "Rabbit food."

"Better to eat them than let them go to waste." I was thinking of all the times my mom had lectured my siblings and I about all the children in the world that would have loved to eat even a morsel of what we got to eat. Being a picky eater, I heard the lecture a lot growing up.

Fortunately, Matt was in a pretty good mood after the joking around before, so he didn't take my comments as a serious scolding. Instead, he waggled his eyebrows at me and picked up two of the carrot sticks and stuck the ends of them under his upper lip. I nearly choked on my food as I began to laugh, and I had to cover my mouth.

"What are you doing?" I inquired once I'd swallowed.

Matt grinned, and it looked absolutely ridiculous. "I'm making use of them. They make pretty good walrus tusks, don't you think?"

All I could do was grin right back and laugh. The others noticed what was going on, and then they were laughing, too. Sensing that it was a bad time in the way that only wait staff can, our waitress chose that moment to walk up and ask how we were enjoying our food. On reflex, Matt spit the carrot sticks out so forcefully that they landed on the empty table across from us. Then, he turned such a bright red that I thought his head was going to explode.

The waitress offered him a look of concern. "Was there something wrong with your carrots, sir?"

Matt shook his head violently and slouched down in his seat so far that the next step for him would have been crawling under the table.

Putting on my meanest scowl, I shoved my half-full drink under her nose. "Can I have a refill?"

Taking the hint, the waitress took my glass and scurried away. Near, Linda, and Halle were still chuckling, so I directed my expression at them, and they immediately changed the topic. Under the table, I rested my hand on Matt's knee while I offered him one of his celery sticks.

"I told you that you should've eaten them," I said, humour taking the edge off my tone. As he took the celery, I smiled just for him. He smiled back before taking a bite out of it.

Now that Matt had settled down, Halle chose her moment to zero in. "So, Matt…" She leaned in, tilting her head to the side and smiling sweetly. "I was wondering if you be more candid than our dear, sweet Mello on a certain topic of interest…"

I snorted. Sweet – me? Seriously?

Matt bit off another piece of the celery with a snap, narrowing his eyes at her. "What's your angle, Lidner?"

"Oh, it's just an itsy-bitsy thing…" Halle rested her chin on the backs of her interlocked hands and batted her eyelashes. "Who tops?"

Matt stopped chewing entirely.

"And there we go," Linda muttered. "All hopes of conversing like normal people about normal topics – right down the crapper."

Near and I shared a look, and it was one of the rare times we were actually on the same side of an issue.

Meanwhile, Matt took a drink of his water and swallowed what he'd been eating. His demeanor was stoic, a skill he'd come to perfect in the years that I'd known him, but his eyes betrayed what he was thinking; there was a reason he used to wear goggles all the time. Now, however, without his goggles, I could clearly see the plea for help in his eyes as they flicked over to me. Still, Halle spoke again before I could even say anything.

"Mail Quincey Jeevas, you brazen hussy! I saw that look you just gave him!"

Matt froze. "… How do you know my middle name?"

And just like that, the conversation devolved again.

"Interesting." Near was smiling. "Halle just called you a dated term reserved for promiscuous, amoral women, and you're more concerned about information gleaned from a source as readily accessible as our high-school yearbook."

"Oh, don't you worry," I joined in. "It'll sink in eventually, and then we'll never hear the end of it. Matt's just a little slow on the uptake."

"Oh, yeah?" Matt pulled out the bitch-face that most people would not guess he possessed. It's no wonder, because he usually reserves it for when no-one else is around and I've pushed too many buttons. "That's not what you were saying last night."

Considering that this wasn't a comment that "normal" people would find humour in, it was quite funny how hard Linda was laughing.

This definitely set Halle off. "Oh, my God! I knew it!" In her excitement, she threw her arms out to the side, and she ended up taking out Linda's drink.

Linda and Near set about mopping up the mess with our napkins, both of them giving Halle a scathing look. In Halle's defense, she at least had the sense to look embarrassed. "Sorry," she mumbled, neatly tucking her elbows in and folding her hands on the tabletop.

While the others were busy, I bumped Matt's shoulder with mine. "Well, Halle was right about one thing: you are pretty brazen."

Matt gave me a cheeky grin before sticking his tongue out at me. I quirked an eyebrow at him. "Is that a challenge?"

Before Matt could answer, Near spoke up again, obviously unaware of what we were talking about – or, perhaps, all too aware in that creepy way that he had. "After giving it some thought, I can say that hussy is an entirely inappropriate label for Matt. Instead, given the stereotypical associations between redheads and their performance in bed, I propose the term 'sex-bomb' as a more suitable replacement."

I just about lost my shit right there. Matt, meanwhile, was nearly choking on his tongue.

Linda looked at her boyfriend as if he'd just sprouted another head. Near gave her a small, impish smile and twirled his hair. "It's a joke."

Halle joined me in laughing like a couple of hyenas.

"Well, forgive me if I forgot to laugh!" Matt sputtered.

Heaving a long-suffering sigh, Linda said sarcastically, "Well, I'm glad we got that problem solved; I was afraid I was going to lose sleep over it." She plopped the pile of soiled napkins onto her plate, and then, turning to Matt, she continued: "Hey, sex-bomb, do you think you could strut yourself over to that station over there and grab us some more napkins?"

As Matt got to his feet, he wore a superior expression while he gazed around at the lot of us. "Why the hell not?" he muttered darkly.

While Matt went to retrieve the napkins from the waiting station, the rest of us amused ourselves by cat-calling to him. The other patrons of the restaurant that were sitting nearby shot us nasty looks, but we couldn't have been more annoying than the three-year-old screaming his head off in the next section over, or the group of employees singing and dancing as they made their way over to a different table to sing 'Happy Birthday' for someone.

Throwing the pile of napkins down in front of Linda, Matt flipped Halle off with the other hand before sitting back down.

Halle put a hand to her breastbone, looking scandalized. "Why, Matthew! Whatever was that for?"

"You started it, that's why."

"Well, I did tell you, Matt." Halle grinned. "You are far too easy to tease."

Ƹ̵̡Ӝ̵̨̄Ʒ

Joking aside, we then turned to more serious matters. Linda showed us pictures on her cellphone of some of the artwork she'd completed in her courses so far. Near talked about a few of the things he had been learning in his criminology classes, and he and I got into a debate that Linda and Matt quickly steered us away from. After that, Near informed us that his brother, Far, and Far's new husband, Alfred, would be coming to stay with him in his apartment for a few months. This raised a few questions for me, but, seeing the troubled look in Near's eyes (and due to the fact that Matt surreptitiously elbowed me in the gut), I decided not to voice them. He asked if Matt and I would like to visit when Far arrives, and we agreed.

After that, we all paid our share of the bill and parted ways.

Matt and I exited the restaurant and walked over to his car, a cherry-red Chevrolet 1969 Camaro; he had finished restoring it not too long ago, and now he refused to use any other form of transportation. I was surprised how quickly he'd gotten it finished after he'd told me how he'd moped around and dragged his feet during the time we hadn't been talking in the summer. Matt had teased me, on one of the days that I was sitting in the garage with him, that he found it much easier to get things done now that his cheerleading section was back. I had retaliated by pouring some of my water on him. When he'd complained, I innocently told him that I was just doing what some of the cheerleaders had done to me after I'd won a soccer match. For some reason, Matt hadn't believed my intentions could be so straightforward.

In the present day, while waiting for Matt to unlock the car (he had to unlock it with the keys, then unlock my side once he'd gotten in), I admired the paint job. It was a good thing that Matt had swallowed his pride once again and asked Watari if he could borrow an airgun spray painter. I had to admit that now that it looked all shiny and new, it was a pretty nice car. It was nothing compared to my motorcycle, though. Matt and I continued to agree to disagree.

After we both buckled up, I put my feet up on the dash. Matt frowned when he saw this, but he didn't say anything as he started the car and put it in gear. His frown disappeared momentarily as the engine purred to life, and he wore a small, self-satisfied smile as he backed the car out.

We were on the highway by the time he said something. "You really should put your feet down."

"Why?" I met his eye in the mirror.

"Gets dirt on the dash. Do what you want, though; just be prepared that if the airbag goes off, it'll probably break your legs and tear you a new one."

I glared at him, but I still did as I was told. We didn't say anything else after that. After a time, Matt cranked his window down and lit up a cigarette. He muttered around his cigarette as he pulled out and passed someone that was going much slower than the speed limit. Annoyance showed in every aspect of his expression.

I finally had enough. "Okay – what's got your panties in a twist?"

"I don't know what you're talking about." If possible, his frown became even more pronounced. He finished his cigarette and started on another.

I took a deep breath and tried a different approach. "Can you please tell me what's bothering you?"

The tension in his shoulders abated slightly. "I don't like being teased."

"Really? Is that what this is about? 'Cause what I saw was everyone getting their own piece of it. I know you didn't like that whole 'sex-bomb' thing, but we weren't insulting you. Everyone was just having fun; no-one actually meant it to be serious."

"Yeah, you're right." Matt sighed, stubbed out his cigarette, and then rolled up the window. "That's not really what's bothering me. I've… I've been thinking about moving out."

I kept my mouth shut, fully aware that more would be coming, and Matt would need his time to say it the way that he felt he wanted to. However, I was still an impatient person, and I couldn't help but start picking at my nails while I waited.

He went on: "It's not like… right away or anything. I've just been thinking about it. You know, Watari keeps encouraging me to get into computer programming or something along those lines – maybe even building my own custom computers with some of the spare hardware that he has – and I've… I've been thinking a lot about that, and I think that's really what I want to do. It feels right, you know? But… that involves getting further education, and I just can't imagine sticking around home while I do that. For whatever reason, the two things don't mesh in my head.

"And then I think about all the things that you're going to want to do… Now, listen, I know you're not jumping to do anything right away because you're helping your dad with the business still, but I know you, and when you decide you're ready to take the next thing on, you're gonna take it full-on. That's just how you are, and I really admire you for it. And then… there's the whole thing where it feels like I'm still a little kid living in my mom's house. Which, you know, can be really creepy when I'm having my boyfriend stay the night – like there's an eye peering at me out of my closet all the time even though there isn't. My mom's been pretty good about us, but it still feels awkward."

I laughed. He gave me a nervous smile in the mirror, and I smiled back reassuringly.

The car came to a stop, and I realized that we were parked outside of my dad's shop. Matt had agreed to drop me off here after lunch so that I could help my dad do inventory. Matt's eyes flicked over to me as if he was wondering if I was going to get out, but I told him to carry on. He swallowed, and then he did exactly that: "And then… and then… she's started dating this guy."

"Your mom has?"

"Yeah. She went to a party at one of her work-friends' house, and she and he were introduced there. Apparently, he's a doctor and he has two kids, but he's not married; that's what I found out from my mom. Well… I did some digging–"

"Legal digging?" I asked, amused.

"Let's just say I blurred the lines of legality a little bit," Matt said quickly. "What I found out, though, was that he wasn't lying about not being married; he's actually been married twice. His first wife, the mother of his children, died of cancer, and the second wife divorced him. According to the… um, totally legal source I found online, she got the house out of it and the car. He seems to be up to date on his taxes. He doesn't have a criminal record–"

I interrupted him again: "Sure you don't want to be a detective?"

Matt frowned at me and flushed slightly. "Yes. The thing I can't figure out, though, is why after all these years that she hasn't shown the slightest interest in dating anyone, she's decided that this guy is okay."

I shrugged and said gently, "Maybe you're being a little too over-protective, Matt."

"I know that." He sighed. "It's just… how do I turn that off? That's been my job since I was five years old. I mean, she's been really happy lately now that her job is going so well and she knows that I'm doing okay – but… I can't help but remember all the times when I was little where she was happy out of the blue and then it got really bad again. Like, she got this sudden burst of energy one day when I was in elementary school, and she decided that she wanted to paint all of the rooms in our house.

"So, she dragged me to the hardware store and we picked up all of these cans of paint. She stayed up painting the living room until four in the morning; she only went to bed when I came downstairs and asked her to. Then, a few days later, she was tired again and all she wanted to do besides going to work was sleep. She'd left the hallway upstairs halfway painted, and I'd had to finish it."

"I remember that," I murmured. "I came over after school one day to help you finish it. My mom came over later, she got your mom out of bed, and then she made all four of us supper."

Matt nodded and looked at me very seriously. "So, how do I know whether this is going to last, or if it's just her wanting to momentarily paint over her life again?"

"I guess you don't."

"Exactly."

"Though," – I cleared my throat – "I do think you should let it be."

"How do you figure that?"

"Well, if it's the former, and things work out fine, then she'll just be hurt by you meddling. But if it's the latter – well, at least you'll have spent the time taking care of yourself enough that when she needs you, you'll be strong enough to catch her as she falls."

Matt blinked. "That's… actually pretty good advice."

I sniffed. "You sound surprised."

Matt gave me that dopey grin of his – the one that made me feel warm down to my toes and like I didn't have to care for a few moments if this boy was reducing my carefully maintained reputation of being a cold-hearted prick to ashes. In fact, in that moment, I wasn't so sure why my reputation was so important to me anymore.

I looked away, suppressing my own urge to grin like an idiot. "So, what are you doing after this?"

"Probably going to go home and play a game online for a while. Between work and my demanding boyfriend, I've barely had the time to play." The look in Matt's eyes was distinctively devilish.

"Kill some noobs for me, okay? And this boyfriend of yours sounds delightful…" I smirked. "You should give me his phone number."

Matt smirked right back. "Naw – I'm the jealous type."

I leaned over and kissed him. "Yes, you are."

After that, I grabbed my coat from the backseat and got out. He waved to me after I'd shut the door, and I waved back. I stood there for some time as he drove away, watching his bright-red car become nothing more than a distant dot at the end of a very long street.