Lucky Chances

By: XPud
(© 2018-2019 by the author)

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

xpud@tickiestories.us

Author's Note: Credit goes out to NeverAnywhere for helping with formatting, editing, and suggestions.

Chapter 7  

The main thing that defines Sunday is the fight to not try to talk to Chance. It's like going hungry and staying up for 48 hours, while sitting on a bed next to a fridge. The phone is right there, but I know damn well that either he won't respond, or it will only make things worse. I guess it's worth noting that I only broke down and cried about it once, and it was only for a minute or so. So, y'know, yay. Go me.

The next day starts out okay, but turns crappy real quick when I show up at school and catch sight of Chance in the cafeteria. He takes one look at me, grabs his stuff, and heads off down the hallway somewhere, leaving me staring after him with a huge pit in my stomach.

"Hey man!" I hear from behind me as a hand claps my shoulder.

"Hey, Ty." I take a seat at a nearby table.

He follows suit, claiming another cafeteria stool with his backpack. "Man, I'm glad y'all got different haircuts, now. Way easier to deal with." He snickers at his own humor. "Hey, so, uh..."

"Yeah?" I know I sound completely hopeless right now, but I don't really care.

"What's...what's up with Chance? He's been getting weird, recently, like, I dunno, distant."

I squint, failing to stop a sneaky tear from jumping ship. I wipe it away quickly "I dunno."

He pauses a moment. "You okay, bro?"

Eyes still squinted, I shake my head. I manage to keep myself from going full-blown sobbing, but only through sheer effort. It doesn't help that I realize that I'm being a complete drama queen about this whole damn thing, but it hurts so freaking bad that I can't help it.

"Did you and Chance have a fight or something?" he asks quietly. Well, "quietly" considering that we're in a noisy, echoing cafeteria.

I cover my face with a hand and use the other to wave at him in that half- "Please stop," half- "Don't worry about it" kind of gesture.

He doesn't have any time to respond, anyway, since the bell rings right then. He leans in and assures me, "Hey, it'll blow over, whatever it is. I know Chance. He's cool."

I sigh and mutter, "I hope so." I doubt it, though.

During science class, I see Brandon and Lucas whispering to each other just as they both look over at me. When our eyes meet, they both give me the stink eye and go back to talking. What the heck? What, did Chance tell them something? He wouldn't come out to them -- that's the last thing he'd ever do. I swear to God, he better not be lying to people about me... Thankfully, they don't talk to me directly, even after class; I don't think I'm ready for that.

The rest of the day is boring and sad, for the most part; since Chance had already drifted away during lunches, Quoc and Erin don't make any comments about the whole thing, so that's good. If I could, I'd just forget about the whole thing. I know there's no damn way I'll be able to do that, but not being reminded about it is good enough for now.

Other than that, nothing exciting happens except for Chance ghosting me in speech class. Just before the bell, I see him get up and stand by the door, so I intentionally wait until everyone else has left before going to the buses. My tablemates notice; Brandi gives me a confused look, but I occupy myself looking for nothing in my backpack until she heads out.

As I'm headed to the buses, I see Chance standing back over in the same spot he was the other day, once again with his hood up in really warm weather. Yes, it's October, but it's still a jungle down here compared to Connecticut. Anyway, I'm just about to get on my bus when I see Lucas and Brandon (with their own hoodies on) join up with Chance, and they all walk off together down the sidewalk. I don't have the time -- or desire -- to stalk Chance, so I get on the bus. I bet they're all playing Call of Duty or Fortnite over at their place. ...I'm not jealous.

The next few days go by similarly -- sad and boring, with Chance ignoring my existence. Actually, I take that back. There is one good thing that happens: lunch. I sit and eat lunch with Scott, and the only words that are said are hellos and goodbyes (complete with "Goodbye, Best Friend ______"). That's it. No questions, no concern for my mood, nothing except for turning a square pizza into a circle and eating it. And yet somehow, without a single word of concern or care or anything, I know that he's...I dunno. There for me. Or, at least, he accepts me and doesn't ask why. I feel like I could be a serial killer and he'd still be okay with me.

Wednesday's game runs a little bit shorter because they finally reach the point where they get to level up! It's a big occasion -- everyone's character gets new abilities, more life, and generally better at the things they do. It takes some time to get everyone properly set up for it, though, so Scott and I do our part to make sure everyone gets it right.

Anyway, back to the beginning of the session, though, or a few minutes into it, anyway: Alan shows up late, apologizing and the like, and sits down next to Betts. Not one minute later, she barks, "What did you DO to your NAILS?!"

Everyone's attention snaps to Alan, who immediately clenches his left hand in a fist and covers it with his other hand. "God, don't make a big deal out of it!" he replies in a strained whisper.

"No no, that's not gonna work. Gimme that hand." She begins to tug at Alan's wrist as he fights back. I begin to say something to get her to stop, but she finally wrenches his fist free and turns it to where she can see Alan's nails. "Alan, this is terrible. Clearly you've never put on nail polish before." Sighing melodramatically, she shakes her head and says, "I can fix this. Hold on." She lets go so she can dig in her backpack; Alan takes his hand back and holds it protectively by the wrist, but he is clearly interested in what Betts is planning to do (and blushing furiously at the attention, I might add -- at least I'm not the only one who turns into a damn strawberry).

Betts grabs a small pack of Q-tips and a little bottle of nail polish remover from her backpack. "I don't have that color, so I can't fill in the spots you missed, but we can at least make it to where you colored in the lines. You look like a kindergartener painted your nails." She holds out her hand insistently until Alan reluctantly puts his hand palm-down into hers. Now that I can get a good look, I see what she means; Alan put on crimson-red nail polish on his left hand nails, but it's a very messy job. His right-hand nails are clear, though, so I guess he realized he was gonna run too late.

Alan snorts and giggles at Betts, at least half out of nervousness (trust me -- it takes one to know one, and I know nervous laughs), but he stops fighting as she cleans up his nails. "In my defense," he says after a little bit, "I'm left-handed, so I suck at doing things with my right hand."

"Don't worry -- you get better with practice." Betts continues her work for a second before looking at everyone else, who are all looking at her and Alan. "What? Keep playing, y'all. I'm listening. We're still here. Oh, where did you get this polish, anyway?"

Alan purses his lips and glances furtively around. "From...the junk drawer at home. It's the only place I could expect that nobody would notice it missing."

"No offense," Betts replies, "but...there was a reason it was in the junk drawer. Anyway, sit still."

Erin hides a smile and turns back to the playing mat; Connor and Paul outright laugh at the absurdity, but get back to their characters. I happen to catch a glance of the rest of the room, where there are one or two people watching what's going on at the table. I hope that doesn't cause any problems for him later, but if it does, we're gonna have to have a serious talk in this club. ...You know, now that I look at it, this place is pretty dang full. I wonder what we're supposed to do if it fills up too far.

After Betts finishes her work, I catch Alan admiring his hand multiple times throughout the rest of the session. Erin notices it, too, and shares a knowing look with me along with a small smile. I'm just glad he's found something that makes him happy.

We focus back in on the game, or at least the paperwork part. Once we're done and on the way out, though, Erin bumps his shoulder. "Hey."

"Yeah?" he asks.

"I actually have a really nice blue that I think would go well with your skin tone, if you want me to bring it on Friday. Betts and I could show you how to apply it without, well, you know."

He smiles and lets out a tiny nervous laugh, less than before. "Uh, sure, I guess."

"Cool! Luke, remind me in class tomorrow, would you?"

"Sure," I reply. "Betts! Remind me in class tomorrow to remind Erin in class tomorrow to bring the nail polish on Friday."

"No."

I blink. "Fair enough." Paul cracks up at the exchange as he heads out of the room.

I stop by Mrs. Cox's desk before I leave, Scott attached to my side as always. "Um, so it was pretty full today..."

She looks up from her computer and smiles. "I've already thought about it. I asked for us to be able to move this to the Large Group Instruction room -- you know, the big testing room across from the gym? -- starting next week, so as long as I can figure out a way to get all this stuff on carts and the like for easy movement, we can cart it on over there, no problem.

"Wow. Uh, thanks." After I recover a bit from the blindside, I add, "You really do a lot to help this out."

"It means more than you know to some people," she explains. "James, one of the kids that's always over there playing chess, has been considered for possible exiting of the behavioral program; he's been amazingly level-headed since he started this up. I think he even signed up for a local chess tournament later this semester. I've watched the choir kids in the corner, and it's pretty clear that they're loving the time to hang out and just play Uno and the like. It may not seem like much, but it really is to some people." With a smile directed at me, she continues, "And I know that I don't need to explain anything about the original participant I spoke of."

I avoid looking at Scott. "Right," I say simply. "So the Friday group can probably still stay in here, though, since we don't have a lot of people regularly."

"Right, that's what I was thinking. Anyway, I'm gonna head out soon, so you two boys run along. Have a good day!"

"You too, ma'am. Goodbye, Mrs. Cox."

"Goodbye, Mrs. Cox," Scott repeats.

Mrs. Cox pauses a moment. She breaks into a grin shortly afterward, remarking, "See what I mean?"

Outside, Scott stays silent until his ride arrives. Like last time, he looks at me and says, "Goodbye, Best Friend Looke."

"Goodbye, Best Friend Scott," I respond, holding my arms out so that they don't get crushed against my ribs. He hugs me firmly, maybe a little bit longer than the last time, and then spins so fast he almost hits me with his backpack as he dashes off to the car. I wonder what the person in the car thinks about that, if they see it. I mean, I imagine they do, unless they're just not paying attention at all, which would piss me off if they weren't looking out for his safety.

Wow, that thought makes me seriously angry. I'm sure he's fine, but still.

Anyway, the parents ask me about school when they get home and all that, blah blah. Eventually, the conversation drifts to Chance.

"So has the prodigal son returned to his senses, yet?" asks Papa Davy.

They can tell by the look on my face what my answer is.

"Just give him a week or so," Papa Chris suggests. "He'll probably grow out of his little snit and 'forgive' you; sometimes people just need time to process things."

"He doesn't need to 'forgive' me for not doing anything wrong," I point out (with more than a little spite in my voice).

"And it's good that you feel that way about it," he retorts, "but in his mind, you've committed a crime."

I snicker. "Law and Order: Uncommitted Crimes Division." Papa Chris gets a good laugh out of that.

After a pregnant pause -- I wonder why long pauses are called pregnant; do they give birth to conversation? -- Papa Davy drawls, "So..."

"Yeah?"

"You found anyone cute at school yet?"

"Papa Davy!!" I must have an incredible look of disgust on my face, because he starts cackling. "That's not your info, okay?!"

"What? I was looking at all kinds of boys by that age."

Papa Chris quips, "And he never stopped."

"Still," I insist, "I'll let you know if something comes up on that topic. When I'm ready to. When it happens. ...Maybe."

He puts his hands in front of him. "Okay, okay, geez, no biting. Just know that we're in support of it. Unless you bring someone home that rides a motorcycle; I don't want you getting attached to someone who won't keep his head attached to his body for long."

"PAPA!"

"What? I'm just saying."

"Okay, that's my cue to go now, so good night, you two."

"Hey, you ain't escapin' without a hug, young man!" Papa Davy cocks his hip and holds his hands out. I oblige with enough eyeroll to start an avalanche. He's annoying, he's obnoxious, but he's still full of love, and he's still my dad. ...Pff, who am I kidding -- I enjoy his idiocy. Sometimes. Not that I'd ever admit it out loud, or I'd never hear the end of it. Still, I have to admit that, even with the current issues, I'm still a pretty lucky kid.

*** 

Thursday starts as any other day: I feel sorry for myself as I look around the cafeteria and don't even see Chance; his asshole friends look at me like I'm the scum of the Earth during science class; and Chance pretends that I don't exist at all during gym class.

At one point between activities, Paul comes up to me and asks, "What happened to Chance?"

"Hm? Oh, nothing, really. He's just decided to be a dick."

"Ah, got it. Well, he's really good at it already."

I roll my eyes. "It's because he found out that I came out to y'all. You guys." Wow, did I really just say that?

"And...?" Paul asks, waiting for the punchline.

"And he thinks that somehow that's going to come back and get him in the butt by making people question whether he's gay."

"Please tell me you didn't mean to make that pun."

"I--what? Oh. Wow. No, no I didn't." I smack myself in an audible facepalm.

The coach blows the whistle to get our attention, and we move to the next activity, a game called Newcomb. It's basically like volleyball, except that you catch and throw the ball, and you can't move once you catch it. If it hits the ground, the closest person to it (or the last one to touch it, if someone fumbles it) is out. Oh, and no passing it to others; if you get it, you throw it to the other team. It's good because you don't have to be a pro, and honestly, it allows people an "easy out" -- some people just pretend to try and catch it so they can go to the sidelines.

We end up on the same team, so Paul continues, "But seriously, that's really stupid."

"The pun? --Oh, right. Chance. Yes." Paul gives me that "I can't tell if you're trolling me" look, to which I grin stupidly. "I'm just hoping that he comes around in a week, once he realizes that nobody has asked him if he's gay."

"Is he?"

"Not for me to say."

"So that's a yes?"

"No, it's not a yes. It's not a no, either. Don't ask again." I stare him down for emphasis.

"Right, right, got it." I hop backward to try and catch the ball, but it barely grazes my fingers on its way out. Oh, darn -- I'm out. I look across the net to see that Chance is the one that threw it; he has a stony-faced expression on. No victory pose, no gloating, just game face. I'm not sure what to think about that. For my own sake, I try not to think about it, anyway.

Only like four throws later, Paul comes and sits on the bleachers with me, wiping a trickle of sweat off his temple. "Damn, they got some tryhards over there."

"Pff, you're just saying that 'cuz they got you out."

"Well, yeah. You gotta be a tryhard to get me out."

I raise an eyebrow at him. "Sure."

Paul wipes a bit more sweat off his forehead. "You know, you can be pretty intense, sometimes."

I furrow my brow. "What do you mean?"

"I mean like when you want something, I don't wanna be in the way of it."

I laugh, more out of confusion than amusion. Amusement. Why isn't it "confusement?" Now I'm just confused -- anyway, I reply, "I didn't realize I was that way."

"Dude, like, did you see the killer game face that Chance has on right now?"

"Yeah?"

"You get at least twice as bad."

"...Huh. Sorry, I had no idea."

He shrugs, "It's not a bad thing, I guess, as long as you're trying to be intimidating."

"Dude, I'm like leprechaun-tall. How can I be intimidating?"

"Oh come on, you're taller than that. And besides, you ever seen an angry little Chinese grandma?"

I stare at him blankly. "I..can't say that I have, no."

"Well, if you do, don't get her mad."

The stupidity of his statement creeps up on me, making me go from a snicker to outright giggle fit. "I'm just imagining you running from a tiny Asian woman with a roller pin."

"Worse, they'd probably use chopsticks. Sharpened ones."

"Okay, now you're just being racist, and you need to stop." I wipe a tear out of my eye. "But seriously, dude. I don't want to be intimidating. I just want people to like me."

"I think you're doing pretty okay there, Mr. GM."

"That's fair."

We play through another full round of Newcomb; the opposing team wins both times, but nobody really cares. Okay, so like five people do, two of which were on our team and are now whining about how none of us cared, blah blah. I don't care. We head to the locker room and dress back in; Chance puts on that stupid hoodie as he walks out, waiting to be one of the first out of the gym when the bell rings. That's fine with me, really. I decide to hit up the restroom before the bell rings, giving Chance enough time to put distance between us. Not that he hasn't done that pretty damn well, already. I swear, what's it gonna take to get him to realize that nothing is wrong?

I finish up and head out about thirty seconds after the bell rings. I'm sure Chance has a comfortable head start to wherever his class is. I walk down the hallway in relative quiet, seeing as the bigger chunk of kids is way ahead of me. Suddenly, from down the hall I hear my own voice say, "What the fuck? Get the hell off me!"

Chance? Is he okay? I pick up the pace a little bit, listening for clues, which is a lot easier when everyone gets quiet all of a sudden. Oh crap, what the heck is happening?

As I squeeze through people in the sudden hallway clog, I hear a timid voice say, "Best Friend Looke?"

My heart drops out of my chest. It's Scott.

"No, you dipshit. I'm Chance, not 'Looooke' or whatever." He draws it out in slight mockery.

"Oh man. Oh man. Oh man."

"What the hell is wrong with you?" Chance asks him.

By that point, I push my way through the rest of the bystanders to see Chance with his two hood buddies Lucas and Brandon, all facing a teary-eyed and slowly shrinking Scott. I push my way directly in the center of the whole thing. "Hey hey whoa whoa whoa, what the hell is going on?"

I notice his eyes flicker wide for a moment, but he puts back on a sneer of disgust as he spits, "Your little gay-ass friend just came up and harrassed me in the hall."

Oh, you pathetic little...still, be the better man, Luke. "Pretty sure a hug isn't harassment unless you ask them to stop and they do it again." I turn around to see a surprised and shaky-lipped Scott. "That's Chance, my brother. Sorry you got confused."

"Well," Chance retorts, though he has an awkward pause while he tries to figure out how to respond, "I don't care what boys you hug in the hallways, but make sure they don't do it to me, all right?"

"Chance..." I say with a warning tone. "Don't be like this."

Brandon nods his head toward the end of the hallway. "C'mon. Leave the fags alone." He starts to walk off.

Chance looks at me, then at Brandon's back, then Lucas, who is looking back at Chance expectantly, and then finally Chance's eyes land on Scott. He stares a moment before he mutters, "Fucking faggot." The words sound forced, awkward, like they didn't fit in his mouth before they fell out.

At the sound of those words, my blood immediately ignites. "How dare you," I seethe. "How...fucking...dare you insult me and my friends like that?!" I take a step forward as he puffs himself up, though I can see that his posture doesn't match his eyes. Lucas takes a step forward as well; I can see that he means business, and I'm no fighter, so I grit my teeth and glare at Chance with all the ferocious intimidation that Paul said I had.

We stare each other down for an endless moment. Finally, I take a deep breath and slowly say, "Take a good, long look in the mirror, Chance. Maybe you'll see the asshole you've become." He begins to sneer in what looks like an incoming retort, but nothing comes out. I take advantage of the pause to take off the necklace and bracelet that he gave me, and I toss them back over to him. "Even if you don't...it's the only way you'll ever see my face again." I turn to Scott. "C'mon. Let's go."

I stalk off with Scott at my side, who is still muttering "Oh man" between sobs and sniffles. Meanwhile, the rest of the crowd of kids starts hooting, "Oooooooohhhh!" and "Burrrrrrrrn!" I don't hear anything from Chance, nor do I care right now. He can go fuck himself. As we turn the corner, I hear a teacher come out of a classroom and yell at the students to break it up and get to class.

We make it a few steps into the cafeteria before Scott crumples onto the floor, crying. I don't really care that we're in the way, or that he's being loud, or that others are staring. I sit down next to him as he pulls his knees up tight, screaming into his legs. A couple of kids complain about us being in the way, but other than a few gawkers, the stream of people curves around us.

Shortly, I see Mrs. Cox walking along the side of the cafeteria area. She doesn't see us at first, but she quickly turns her head when she hears a muffled screech from Scott; she sees us and immediately hurries over. "What happened?"

I begin to explain that Chance scared him, but something stops me. Even if I'm pissed off at him, even though I swear to God I'm going to punch his face if he does something like that again, I can't bring myself to get him in direct trouble. "Couple of bullies in the hallway scared him. They're gone."

"Come on, Scott, let's go to the room," she says soothingly to him. "You can get to your next class later." She tries to get Scott to stand up, but he won't let go of his legs.

I look around to see most of the students minding their own business, finally. "Best Friend Scott?" I ask quietly. "Hey, I'm here for you. Do you want to go to the room?" I assume she means her classroom, anyway. "I can go with you, if that's okay with Mrs. Cox." I look to her for approval.

"We can all go together, that's fine. Come on, Scott."

Scott's screaming calms down slowly, bit by bit, as we continue to try and convince him to get off the floor. Still crying, he pulls his head out of his knees and looks at me, bleary-eyed. "Why?" he asks.

"I don't know. I really don't. Come on, Best Friend Scott. Let's go." I hold out a hand. He takes it and lets me help him up, and together we head into Mrs. Cox's room.

Once we're there, Scott has already calmed down visibly (and audibly); Mrs. Cox asks, "So what happened?"

"It's no big deal. They were making fun of him for being different, is all."

Scott sniffles and says, "I was in the cafeteria and I knew that Looke comes in from that hallway and I wanted to hug him, so I went in the hallway, and when I saw Looke, I hugged him, and, but it wasn't Looke, it was his brother, Chance, and he yelled at me." He powers through the entire monologue at the same speed, but he gets quieter as he goes, until he barely mumbles the last bit.

She grunts, "Hm. I didn't mean to predict the future."

It takes a moment for her comment to settle in. "Oh yeah...I forgot about that. But--but it..." I sigh. "Chance isn't a bully. He just thinks he wants to be."

"Is there a difference?" she asks with a raised eyebrow.

Ouch. "I...guess not."

Suddenly, I guess my adrenaline finally leaves me, or the whole situation comes crashing in, or both, because I'm hit with a wave of emotion. I just stood up to bullies, including my brother, who's being a bully, who I'm still crushing on, which only makes this whole damn thing worse. I swear, why can I still be in love with someone who pisses me off so bad? And I can't believe I said that to him. Do I really mean it? I don't know. All I know is now I'm making a puddle on the desk with my tears. I'm not as loud as Scott, but I'm damn glad I'm in a classroom right now.

I feel Scott move his chair up next to mine as he presses his arm into mine like he usually does. This time, though, he places his cheek on my shoulder, just laying his head there even through my shuddering sobs. He doesn't say anything, but as usual, he doesn't need to; his silence is enough. "I'll be okay in a moment," I reassure him through my sniffles.

After we've both had our moments, Mrs. Cox says, "Once you two are good to go, I'll let your teachers know that you're on your way to class."

"Could we just...stay here a little longer? I'm all cry-faced now and don't want people to ask questions."

She thinks about it a moment. "That's fine. Take your time."

We sit in silence, Scott with his head on my shoulder. A few moments later, Mrs. Cox sits down on my other side. She mentions to me in a low voice, "Thank you." I figure I know what she means, so I don't respond. She continues, though, "For not only sticking up for him, but for sticking with him. And I hope you realize that he doesn't touch anyone else. He barely even hugs his parents."

"Wh--really?"

She shrugs. "You really have made a best friend out of him."

On one hand, I kinda knew that already. On another, though, it's still hard to really let that sink in: I'm important to someone. I mean, sure, I'm important to my parents and all that, but to think that someone needs me...it's weird. It's exciting, but weird. I dunno.

Eventually, we have to get to class, so we both get our stuff and get prepared. As we do, he takes two steps toward the door and turns around. "Goodbye, Best Friend Looke."

I can't help but grin as I put my arms out. "Goodbye, Best Friend Scott." He hugs the air out of me as always, and then leaves without another word. I follow shortly after, feeling Mrs. Cox's beaming smile on the back of my neck the whole way out.

*** 

Talk about mixed feelings: on the one hand, I miss the brother I had, y'know, for a few months, but on the other, Jesus CHRIST I want to punch the one that I see in class. The problem is, he's not the same person. Like, some jerk kidnapped my twin and somehow managed to be his doppelganger. Now there's this ass who hangs out with the wrong crowd, picks on my friends, makes gay slurs, and is going to get punched in the face. Maybe if I punch him enough, he'll tell me where the real Chance is hiding. ...Somewhere, my therapist is screaming and has no idea why.

I don't have the heart to tell my parents what happened. I know it'd break their hearts to find out the way I dealt with the whole thing, even though there's no way in Hell I'm going to just be like, "Yeah you're cool now, even though you emotionally damaged my friend and are being a complete ass." Not happening. Later that same day, by the way, Papa Chris asked me if there was any news about Chance, so I just replied, "He's keeping busy. Being a jerk. The usual." I didn't go into more detail.

So the next day, I'm still seething -- I don't hold grudges, but I also don't cool off very fast -- and I see Chance in the cafeteria. He happens to look over and meet my gaze, and I can't help but give him a look of complete disgust before I manage to turn away. It's petty, I know. I'm human. Unlike him. Okay, okay, fine, that's too far. Humans are pretty terrible people, so he can stay human. ...Yeah, that one made me cringe, too. Moving on.

After lab class, I head into the hallway to find Lucas and Brandon already leaning against the wall just outside the door. I try to take a wide circle around them, but they intercept me. "Hey," Lucas says plainly.

"What." I don't say the word as a question.

"Leave Chance the fuck alone."

Brandon adds, "He's tired of you messing up his life."

Wh--me? Messing up his life? How the heck does--you know what, no. I'm not taking the bait. I stare them down with the blankest face I can keep, given the circumstances. There are half a million things I could say in response, but no.

They wait a second or two for a response, but when I just keep staring, they finally walk off. I know it's all just fronting; they wouldn't just bust into a fight in the middle of the halls. At least, I hope they wouldn't. I try my best to convince my heart that that's the case, but it takes a minute or two to slow back down (which I spend in the restroom -- thanks, fear response).

Regardless of how I feel about them, what they said ends up sticking with me. "Messing up his life," they said. Does he really think that I'm...no, no that can't be right. We were hanging out, having a blast, doing...things that I can't think about in the middle of school...he even bought me those accessories, as if we were on a freaking date. I find myself grabbing my wrist where the bracelet was; it feels naked without it. So what the heck happened? What did I do? He says it's not about the gaming group, but that's when it happened.

I get my cello in orchestra class, tuning it as I tune out. If the group is the problem, then...if I quit the group, could I get my brother back? Would it be worth it? Would...would the group even stay together? Crap. Probably not. So the group needs me. Which means that, basically, I would have to choose between the group and my brother.

But I've already made my choice, haven't I? Quitting the group isn't going to just magically make my brother not be a massive dick anymore. At least, I doubt it would. Then again, I didn't know that starting the group would turn him into one, so there's really no telling.

I open my music and focus in on our rehearsal of the incoming Christmas concert music (for those who haven't been in a school music program, you typically start rehearsing for Christmas sometime around the beginning of October, maybe a little later if you're in a fancier orchestra). It's decent music, and for what it's worth, we sound not-too-terrible for a middle school orchestra; there's plenty of squeaks and wobbles, but you can recognize the song, at least. I'll take it.

After lunch and the rest of orchestra class, I head to speech, intentionally sitting where I won't have to look over at Chance's table. Curiously, though, I don't see him come in. Maybe he went home early; dentist's appointment or something. Ugh, speaking of which, I think mine's in November. Bleh.

So anyway, fast-forward to the interesting part of the day: I head down after class to Mrs. Cox's room, where I'm the first in. She gives me a smile and goes right back to her computer. Shortly afterward, I see Scott peer around the corner of the door, looking at me like I'm, well, like there's a chance I'll randomly bite his head off and yell at him. I swear to God, Chance...I give Scott my best smile and beckon him inside. "Hey, Best Friend Scott. Come on in."

He visibly relaxes and comes over near me, scooting a seat up next to me so that he can sit with his arm touching mine. He takes out his phone and starts playing on some puzzle game that involves a lot of numbers. I ask, "Whatcha playing?"

"I am playing Cross-Sums."

"Oh. What's that?"

"That is a game that you add up the numbers in this row, and they match up here, and you do that to all the rows. And the, um, these rows." He waves his finger up and down to indicate the columns.

"Oh. So, like crosswords, but with addition problems, kind of?" I ask, but I get no reply.

Shortly, the rest of the crew comes in, Alan bringing up the rear. They all sit down around the area; since we're the only ones in here on Fridays, we tend to take up more space. Erin pulls out a seat at a nearby table and motions Alan over, pulling out a small bottle of ice blue nail polish.

"Oh, hey Erin!" I say with a sheepish smile. "Um, er, remember yesterday to bring that nail polish you have in your hands right now today."

She laughs with this "What the heck?" look on her face for a moment before responding. "Sure thing, Yester-Luke. Thanks for having reminded me so that I would remember today like I just did right now."

"Anytime!"

Paul raises a hand. "What just happened?"

"Nothing," I reply smugly. "It all happened yesterday, according to plan." Erin nods in agreement as Alan gets himself situated. Paul, however, just stares at the two of us like we just spoke Portuguese to him. Connor just laughs and gets his own phone out to fiddle around on some game.

The conversation is generic at first, a bunch of "how was your week" and all that. Until, of course, it gets to me. I give the short version of everything; when I finish telling the story about yesterday's incident (leaving out the part where I bawled my eyes out afterward), Paul says, "Okay, first off, badass line. I almost wish I had a twin so I could be a badass and say that. Not...not that I'd want to have to, but if I did...whatever, you get me.. Secondly, what the actual fuck?"

"Language, Paul," Mrs. Cox says without looking up from her computer.

"Right, sorry ma'am."

"I dunno," I answer. "I think he...man, I dunno. I'm not a psychologist, I don't know what's going through his head right now."

Connor frowns. "You said he knows you're gay, right?"

"Yeah, I came out to him before I did to you guys."

"And he still said that?" Connor's face matches my own feelings on it.

"I know! I don't get it either. He's fine with me being gay, and then he does...that."

Paul asks, "Are you sure he's really okay with you being gay? Maybe he--"

"Trust me," I interrupt, "he's...I know him well enough to know that he's okay with it. We've--we've talked a lot about it." Smooth, Luke.

Meanwhile, Alan has his hand splayed out on the table as Betts has taken the polish and is showing him how to apply it evenly. Alan looks up and glances at Scott. "Is he...okay? After all that?"

I look at my right shoulder attachment and ask, "How are you feeling about it all? Are you okay?"

He sits silently for a moment, staring off. "I am okay. He scared me. I'm sorry, because I thought it was you."

"I know, and I'm sorry that you didn't know that I had a twin. I kinda forget that not everyone in the school knows everything."

"Yeah, but how could he not know?" Paul asks. "I mean, it was the biggest story in the school for weeks."

I shrug with my unoccupied arm. "Some people just have different priorities, I guess."

The conversation winds through different topics: the new music groups that are super popular (and which singers are hot -- either gender), discussions about the big TV series right now that I never cared about (speaking of different priorities...), that kind of thing. Betts interrupts the chatter to say, "And done!"

Alan holds his hands up to admire the work; the color sparkles even more on his fingers than it did in the bottle. It actually goes pretty well with the light blue t-shirt he decided to wear today, as well. "Nice," I comment. "It looks good on you."

He beams. "Thanks! I love it. Thank you, Betts."

"I do what I can," she says, flipping her wavy hair out of her face.

"So..." Alan says slowly, looking around the room. "I guess since I'm sitting here like this, and I already have everyone's attention...I think I realized something recently."

"Yeah?" multiple people ask.

He stares at his fingernails, moving his hands to admire the sparkle. "So I went and did some research after we talked about gender and stuff, and nonbinary and all that...and I think I might be...'gender-fluid.'"

"Well, that sounds gross," Paul comments. Connor smacks his arm, and Erin crumples up a piece of paper to chuck at him.

I'm somewhat familiar with the whole concept, but I ask, "Could you maybe go into a little more detail? I'm just curious."

I can see that he's nervous, but he shrugs and continues, "Yeah, like, there are some days where, you know, I just feel like a boy, like Alan, playful, wanna wrestle people and whatever...but some days I just want to, I guess, look pretty. Be gentle and, I dunno, delicate. ...I dunno. It's weird to put it in words, but there it is."

There's a silence afterward, just everyone thinking about it. I step in before it gets awkward, though. "Well, you're figuring out all kinds of things about yourself these days," I say with a smile. "I'm glad you could come out to us. Um, again. Or just more so. ...However that works."

There's a couple of giggles, Alan included. "Thanks."

There's another moment of pause. Then, Erin cocks her head to the side. "Wait. You said you feel like Alan some days."

"Yeah?"

"Do you not feel like Alan on the other days?"

He smiles slyly. "Dang, you're good."      

She shrugs. "Well?"

"I don't really know how I feel about it all that well yet," he admits, "but no. Like, sometimes Alan doesn't feel like it fits. Like, I don't really care that people call me that -- I know they're just trying to get my attention or whatever -- but...hm. It's like the difference between being called a 'kid' or a 'teenager.' It's like, I'm not gonna be offended if someone calls me either, even though I feel more like a 'teen' than a kid anymore." He stops to think for a moment longer. "So I guess like sometimes, when I'm feeling more...girly, I feel like Alan isn't my name. Or it is my name, it just doesn't fit me."

"Well," Erin offers, "my middle name is Jean and it never feels like it fits."

"Have you considered buying a new pair?" Paul asks.

"I--what?" she sputters before realizing the pun. "Dammit. I both love you and want to throw this table on you right now."

"Yessss!" he says, pumping a fist in victory. I gotta admit, that was a pretty good one.

Suddenly, Betts's eyes light up. "IDEA!" she announces loudly, standing up with the force of it. "How about we help Alan come up with a new name, and THEN...then we do the same for ourselves?"

At first, nobody moves to comment. Finally, Connor asks with scrunched-up brows, "You mean rename ourselves? ...Why?"

"Simple," she says. "This way you have a choice. I mean think about it: we do it all the time online, right? We do it for characters in Pathfinder, too. Why not in real life?"

"Because it's confusing and would cause a lot of trouble?" he retorts.

She rolls her eyes and waves his reason away dismissively. "No no, it doesn't have to be for everyone. Just us. And, I guess whoever else you want. But it's not like we're going to the courthouse and legally changing our names."

"You can do that?" Alan asks.

Betts stares at him for a good few seconds. "Uh, yeah."

"I never pay attention to law and stuff, don't shoot me. Geez." Alan holds up his hands defensively.

"Well, Betts," I point out, "since you had the idea, you wanna start us off?"

"Sure." She takes up a regal pose and says in her most queenly voice, "I would prefer to be called Skyler."

"Skyler?" Paul asks with a tone of complete disbelief.

Betts stares back at him with a hurt look. "Yeah. Skyler. What's wrong with that?"

"I dunno," he says with a confused laugh. "I just...but you're Betts."

"Paul, the whole purpose of this is to be who we want, not who someone else made us."

I raise a hand for attention. "Please remember that we are supportive here, even if maybe we don't agree with someone else." I don't say names, but I look at Paul pointedly.

"Fine, fine. Do I have to call you that, though?"

She sighs frustratedly. "Yes. That's the point. You don't have to change your name, but...argh! Why does everyone always fight me on my ideas?!"

"Whoa, whoa, hold on," I say, "we're not fighting you. I'm fine with it. All in favor?" I raise my hand to show my support; everyone else does. As I raise my hand, Scott looks to me and raises his own.

Paul looks around the room and raises his hand hesitantly. "Sorry, I didn't mean to...be a jerk about it. Skyler." He says the name as an afterthought, but it doesn't sound petty or anything.

"Thank you," she says with a queenly nod of her head. "Next?" she asks, looking around. Since Erin is to her right, she asks, "Erin? Any thoughts?"

"Definitely not Jean," she says wryly. "No, but seriously, I guess I've always liked my name. I will say, though, that if I had been named Crystal, I would have been okay with it."

"Do you want us to call you that?" Betts asks.

"No, I'm actually pretty good with Erin. Thanks, though."

I smile and suggest, "Maybe we should just consider that to be your new middle name, so you don't have to hate 'Jean' so much."

"Hm." She frowns thoughtfully. "I'll think about it." She looks to the next in line: Alan. "So...what do you think? Any ideas?"

He chews on his lip. "I mean, I don't want it to be crazy different, I guess, since I don't feel crazy different. Maybe something Alan-related? I dunno."

"What's the girl form of 'Alan'?" Connor asks. "Alana? Oh! Lana! How about 'Lana'?"

"Or 'Alanis'?" Paul suggests. I guess he's not as against this as he seemed. The girls both seem to like those responses and don't add any others.

"Hmm..." he thinks aloud. "Y'know, I'd go with 'Alanis' if people wouldn't think of that crazy singer with the screechy voice."

"Hey!" Skyler snaps. "I like Alanis Morissette!"

Alan laughs. "Fine, fine, but still. I kinda like 'Lana.'"

I ask, "So...with the nail polish on, should we assume that you want us to call you Lana right now? Oh, and when you are, do you want to change your pronouns?"

"Hm? Oh...I didn't think about that. Yeah, call me Lana for now, and...I think I'd like to go by 'she.'" She smiles, genuinely tickled by the idea.

"'Lana' it is," I proclaim. "She of the pretty blue nails."

Lana cups her hand slightly and waves it like the Queen of England, letting the light glint off her nails. "Thank you, thank you," she says with an ear-to-ear grin.

Erin is looking at her with this absolutely amused face, but she stands up, does a curtsy, and says in her best English accent, "Greetings and welcome to America, Lady Lana."

Lana busts out laughing at the silliness they've all fallen into. "Okay, okay, let's move on. I'm good for now." I can see that she's also started blushing hard enough to rival my own. She turns to Connor. "You wanna join in?"

"Actually, I really like my name," he says with a shrug. "It fits like a glove."

"They make gloves that don't fit, you know," Skyler points out. Man, it's hard to call her that instead of "Betts"; I just know I'm gonna slip up on these names.

"Those are for taking off and smacking people with," Connor retorts.

"You gonna take your name off and smack me with it?" she asks.

"Maybe I will." He puffs his chest up stupidly to emphasize. Skyler rolls her eyes and laughs; Connor looks to Paul and says, "Your turn. New name?"

Paul stares off in thought for a moment. "Actually..."

Skyler scoffs, "Really? After you gave me a hard time, you're gonna join in now?"

"Hey, hey," I remind them both, "be nice."

Paul takes a deep breath and says, "I've actually always felt more like a David."

Connor looks at him like he grew another head. "What? Really?"

David shrugs and looks at Connor. "Yeah. I dunno. Sorry for making fun of you by the way, Skyler. I...I feel bad for that."

She immediately assumes her regal posture again, dismissing his concern in her signature flick of the wrist. "Think nothing of it."

Connor says, "So...David. Man, it's gonna be really hard remembering all these."

Erin points out, "Same thing happened with my cousin, but you get used to it. I'm sure nobody here is gonna take it personally if you use the wrong name, unless you do it on purpose." Everyone agrees with her sentiment.

My turn is next. "So, funny enough, I've been thinking about this for a while now, anyway."

"Really?" Skyler says with a half-confused smile.

"Yeah. So, a little bit of history, first. Chance and I have...well, our original mother gave us these names. Not our last names, but the names we go by. Before you ask, no, we never met our original parents."

"Wait, so y'all are both adopted, too?!" Paul asks, wide-eyed.

"Yes, and not the point right now. More on that later. Okay, so. My real name wasn't 'Lucas.' It technically wasn't even 'Luke.'"

"But you just said--" Paul begins, but I lean forward and put my finger across his lips.

"My original name, according to my parents, was spelled 'L-U-K.' And I'm honestly thinking that that's not what my biological mother meant to put down. I also don't think it was supposed to be 'Luke,' either."

Erin looks around, thinking. "So, 'L-U-K,' but not--" Suddenly her eyes go wide. "Luck!"

"Bingo," I say with a satisfied smile. "I honestly think she meant to name me 'Luck' and him 'Chance.' I dunno why she would, but I think she meant to."

"Maybe...she felt lucky having twins?" Skyler suggests.

"Maybe." I stop myself from saying, 'If she felt lucky, why'd she give us away?' because I really don't want to visit that path right now. Instead, I continue, "Either way, my parents and some of my friends back in Connecticut used to call me 'Lucky.' So, it's not much of a stretch for me already, and considering what I have here, I think it's pretty accurate." With a smile, I conclude, "So I'd like to go by 'Lucky.'"

There are nods of approval around the room, but Scott frowns. I ask, "What's wrong?"

He continues frowning for a moment longer. "'Lucky' doesn't have any circles in it."

I can't help but laugh. "No, it doesn't. You can still call me 'Best Friend Looke.' That's your name for me."

"Best Friend Looke," he repeats with a happy little smirk.

"So," I say to him, "how do you feel about your name?"

"I feel bad about my name," he admits plainly.

His straight answer takes me a bit by surprise. "Oh. But it has a circle in it."

"My name has a circle in it, but it is too sharp. It has too many points."

His answer sets a couple of people laughing. "Like a high score?" Connor asks.

"No," I reply, "I think he means it's too pointy. Is that what you mean?"

"That is what I mean. The t's are too pointy."

Huh. Learn something new every day. Never would have expected... "Do you have any ideas what you would name yourself?"

He sits and looks at the table for a few moments. "I would name myself...'Orion.'" He pronounces it more like 'Oh-ryan' than 'or-ion,' but the name is clear.

His answer floors me. Suddenly, I realize: Scott isn't a "simple" person at all. I mean I already knew that, but deep down, I think a part of me just assumed he didn't think...well, that way. So, with a mixture of inner shame and outer amazement, I repeat, "Orion." I accent the O at the beginning, like he did.

"I like 'Orion' because it has two circles, and because it doesn't have too many points. It's not pointy. And it has a circle at the beginning." He has an unreadable expression on his face, but he seems very serious about it.

"I like it, too. Best Friend O-rion." I lean into him playfully. He responds by putting his cheek on my shoulder for just a moment. I see Erin look over at me with this face...I shoot her a death stare in return, to which she snorts and looks away.

I take out my phone to check the time, when I see that I have two text messages. From Chance. I freeze. Do I open them? Do I want to know what they say? I mean, of course I want to know, but I swear to God, if what I read makes me mad at him...

Come on, Lucky. You know he wouldn't just text you to piss you off. Would he? More importantly, he hasn't sent you anything in weeks, and he finally does now. Now, of all times. Maybe he finally figured something out.

"What's the matter?" Skyler asks me.

I look up from my phone to see her and Lana looking at me with some concern; apparently I have a terrible poker face. "Chance texted me."

That puts a silence over the room. David spits, "Screw him. If he wants to be a jerk, he can do it alone."

"Well, hold on," Erin chimes in. "What does it say?"

"I haven't looked. One sec." I open up the messages app to see two one-word texts, both sent around ten minutes ago:

 Chance: help

 Chance: plz

 I stare at them in fear and indecision until someone says, "Well?"

"He just said, 'help plz.' That's it."

"You think he's trying to prank you?" David asks.

"No, I...I really don't think so." Do I text him back? If this is some stupid homework thing or whatever, I'm gonna be pissed.

 Me: What do you need?

 That's generic enough. Hopefully I get more info and can stop panicking. A minute or so passes with some small talk before I get back a message:

 Chance: i ned help plz

 Okay, yeah, definitely panicking now.

Me: Where are you?

Chance: idk

 I stare and growl at my phone. "Guys, I gotta go. Chance needs something. It's about time to break, anyway, so I'll see you guys later?"

"Okay...I hope everything's all right," Erin says worriedly. We all hug and find our way outside. On the way, I text him back:

Me: Do you have a map app on your phone? Just tell me where you are. I'm worried.

I don't get anything back until I'm outside, sitting on the bench next to Orion. I look again to find a picture from Chance, or more accurately, a screenshot of his location on Google Maps. It has him pinpointed in...the forest near school. Like, deep in the freaking forest. Jesus Christ, what the hell is going on?

Me: Hold on, I'm on my way. 

I turn to Orion, who is, for the first time I think ever, rocking back and forth on the bench with a big smile on his face. "Hey, Orion."

He looks at me expectantly.

"I have to leave early. Sorry." I stand up and hold my arms out. "So, goodbye, Best Friend O-rion."

He stands up and responds, "Goodbye, Best Friend Lucky-Looke," and hugs me tightly. When he finally lets go -- a considerable amount of time longer than usual -- I look down at my phone to see no more responses. Well, I suppose let's get going.

I plug in coordinates on my own phone that are roughly similar to his screenshot and start walking quickly in that direction. The path takes me through an open field on the side of the school, down alongside the sidewalk of a nearby neighborhood, and finally into the tree line at the end of a cul-de-sac. It's not a terribly dense forest or anything, mostly pines and the like with some other leafy trees, but it's thick enough to block out a good bit of sunlight, making the shadows that waver along the ground look kinda creepy. I adjust my backpack on my shoulders anxiously and keep heading in what I hope is the right direction. I occasionally call out, "Chance?" to see if he'll respond.

I'm a couple of minutes into the forest, working my way through low branches and uneven ground, calling Chance's name, when I finally hear back, "Luuuuuke!" over to the left a bit.

"Hold on, I'm almost there!" I pick up the pace, jogging toward the voice. On my way there, though, I come across a spot that looks like some people were partying: there are long beer cans crushed and tossed about, and I catch the shine of something glassy in the leaves. I take a closer look: the long cans are labeled "Four Loko," with some Red Bull cans crunched up nearby. It smells like a Sweet Tart got drunk and threw up on itself. The glassy thing I do recognize, though I've never seen one in person: it's definitely a pipe for smoking weed. It stinks like a burnt skunk, too. Is that what weed smells like? God, that's terrible.

And suddenly it all clicks into place. I run the rest of the way, calling out for Chance and following his voice. I finally find him braced up against a tree, and it's...it's not pretty. I stop myself from gagging at the smell; I can see at least two places where Chance threw up, and part of it is on his sleeve. He clearly peed himself, too; I can see the wetness down his groin and under to where he's sitting, and to make things worse, there are dirt and grass stains all down the legs. Oh dear God, what have you done?

First things first. I squat down next to him, breathing through my mouth. "Chance, look at me."

Chance looks at me through heavy-lidded eyes, bleary with tears. "They aban' me."

He's talking, so that's good, right? Ugh, this place reeks! "Chance, can you get up?"

"I tho' they were my fren's, but they aban' me." A fresh stream of tears wells up and falls out of his eyes.

It breaks my heart to see him like this, but we have to get out of here before I add to the stench. "Come on, let's see if we can get you up." I offer a hand, which he accepts with a little strength behind it, which makes me feel...somewhat better. I pull him up and he stands up, immediately toppling forward onto me. I stagger backward, thankfully managing to plant a foot behind me...directly in a puddle of -- no, don't think about it. I'm already retching. Nope. La la la rainbows and unicorns, pretty forest.

Chance apologizes, "Sorry, Luke. I'm so sorry." He pulls himself off me and stands upright, if shaky. "I'm so sorry." His face scrunches up in the telltale signs of an oncoming sob fit.

"It's okay. It's fine. Come on, bro." I realize that he's really not safe to walk a straight line on his own, much less on uneven ground, so I put my arm under his and start leading him away from his disgusting little hidey hole. I notice that he's limping on his left leg pretty harshly, too.

Just as we're getting back to the "party spot," my phone starts to ring in my pocket. I pull it out to see Papa Chris. Shit, right, they came to pick me up. Shit, shit. Do I  let them know about this? Will Chance ever forgive me if they find out?

Dude, what am I saying? He asked for my help, he gets my help. The way I want to give it. I pick up the phone and waste no time. "Papa Chris? Hi, sorry I'm not at the school at the moment. I really need you to come down to the nearby cul-de-sac and pick me and Chance up."

"What? What are you doing down there? What's going on?"

"I'll explain when you get here. Let me text you the address -- it's right down the street, but still."

"Okay. I'm on my way..." I can hear the suspicion in his voice, but he hangs up anyway. I share the location of one of the houses on the cul-de-sac, since it's easiest to send an actual address via text.

Chance and I begin to make our way out to the tree line. Along the way, Chance just keeps repeating the same things, how he's sorry and how they "aban'" him. "Who abandoned you?" I ask. "Was it Lucas and Brandon?"

His squinting cry-face is answer enough.

"So, what all was it? Beer and weed?"

"'An Re'Bull."

"How many did you drink?"

"I'onno."

I sigh. I'm definitely gonna have a crick in my neck tomorrow. I finally ask, "So...what happened?"

"We skipped class. Got drunk. Got high. P'lice came 'n they aband' me. Ran away. Hid 'n th' forest."

"They did, or you did?"

"Me."

"So you hid from the police?"

He nods.

There's not really much more to say, so we carefully walk the rest of the way in silence. Papa Chris calls once, but I tell him that we're almost there and to wait just a bit longer. When we finally get there, he immediately gets out of the car with a deeply concerned look on his face. "What happened?" he asks quickly.

"Chance decided to be really stupid." I help him over to the passenger side of the car, where he braces himself with a shaky arm against the car itself.

"Is he drunk?" Papa Chris asks.

"And then some," I add. "He texted me for help, so I came and found him."

Papa Chris gets down to where he can see in Chance's eyes. "Follow my finger," he commands, moving his index finger around in Chance's field of vision. "What's your name?"

"Chance Lock'ert."

He stares at him for a moment longer, looks down at Chance's wet pants, and purses his lips. "I think he'll be fine. I've seen Papa Davy far worse than this."

I snort at the comment. "But he's only 13."

"I realize that," he says with a bit of sharpness to it. "Chance, do you think you're gonna be okay on a car ride to our place?"

He nods.

"If you think you're gonna puke, try to say something first." He turns to me. "Can you ride in the back with him and make sure he'll be okay? I'll drive conservatively."

He knows me well. "Sure, Papa."

"Now, I really don't want to get my seats wet...Chance, lift your arms." He does so, and Papa Chris effortlessly slips Chance's hoodie off. He uses it to cover the seat. "That should be absorbent enough. Get in."

I can tell that Papa Chris is angry, but he also gets this way in any crisis situation. I've seen it a few times before, like when I tripped and busted my knee open when I was younger. He just sounds angrier than he really is.

Anyway, we get in the car (I help Chance with the seatbelt) and have a silent ride home, interrupted only by Chance's occasional sniffling. When we get inside (and Papa Davy gets done freaking out over Chance), I go upstairs and get a pair of shorts and underwear for Chance to wear; by this point, he's already acting a little bit more sober, so he sways over to the bathroom and puts them on. He comes out and lays down on the living room carpet, staring up at the fan.

I tell them the story of what I know, including who he was hanging with, but leaving out the asshole thing he did yesterday. At the end, I ask, "Look, I know that Chance is gonna be in major trouble if his parents find out..."

"No, no no no don't tell Mom and Dad, please!" Chance begs with frightened tears in his eyes.

"...but this is the first time he's ever done anything like this, to my knowledge, and his friends straight-up left him behind. I think he's learned his lesson." He nods furiously, sniffling rapidly as the tears catch back up.

"He did something stupid, he should get punished for it." Papa Chris doesn't budge.

Neither do I. "Don't you think that being scared out of your mind, peeing yourself, having your friends abandon you, and then thinking you're gonna go to jail -- if you don't die first -- don't you think that's punishment enough? Do you think that being grounded for the rest of his life is going to teach him anything he didn't already learn?"

Papa Chris eyes me, but says nothing. I continue, "Remember the talk we had? He did take his own journey. And then he realized it was really stupid, and he called me and asked me for help. After not talking to me for over a week, he sucked it up and asked me for help. Even after doing some...really stupid things to me... Please, just help me out with this."

A small smile creeps up on Papa Chris's face. "Are you sure you don't want to follow my footsteps? You'd make a great lawyer." He laughs and takes a deep breath; when he breathes out, his face changes instantly from amusement to complete seriousness. He stares at the boy splayed out on the floor for a moment. "Chance."

He turns his head. "Yes? Um, yes sir?"

"You have made some pretty bad mistakes here, and I honestly believe that people who do the things you did should be punished for it, if for no other reason than to make damn sure they don't risk their life doing something stupid like that again."

Chance puts his hands slowly to his face. "So you're gonna tell them?"

"HOWEVER." The way he snaps the word makes everyone else in the room jump. "You happened to make a very valuable friend recently, one who is an upstanding citizen, a deeply loving individual, and an infinitely forgiving brother. Someone whom you abandoned just as your other 'friends' abandoned you, and yet he still helped you out. Someone who came out as gay to me that very night just to explain what happened, and still expressed concern about whether you were going to be okay." He gives me a slight smile and adds, "Someone who also was really irritated at you for being so stubborn, but still." Looking back at Chance, whose eyes have completely filled with tears and whose bottom lip is now quivering, Papa Chris continues, "I happen to value that person's opinions and desires very heavily, as he has done nothing to lose that value -- in fact, all he does is make me proud. Now, it would break my heart into little shards if he didn't get something he really wanted, especially if that thing helped someone else, seeing as that's usually what he wants. To help other people. Especially his friends, and even more so, his family."

At that point, Chance begins sniffling and sobbing loudly, only a step from wailing. Even I'm misty-eyed, partly out of empathy for Chance, and partly at the things Papa Chris is saying about me. He says, "Every person in this room loves you, even though we've only known you for a little bit. We'd all be devastated if something happened to you. So, in light of that, and of Luke's nigh-impeccable record, I'm going to honor his request."

At that, I find myself clenching my fist and whispering "Yesss!" almost automatically. Chance, who has since sat up and used his shirt to nearly continuously wipe up his face, takes a deep, shuddering breath and lets loose a sigh of relief.

"Okay," Papa Chris says. "Let me call his parents. I'll see what I can do."

I give him the number and he calls up Chance's dad. "Hello, this is Chris Chatham, Luke's father. How are you? ...Good, good. I just wanted to call and say that Chance is over here, and that I'm sorry that the boys failed to call you earlier. ...Hm? They seem to be just fine now; I guess they made up? You know how kids are at this age. ...Well, he started feeling a little unwell; I think he might've eaten or drunk something that didn't agree with him. ...Yeah, he threw up a few times, but I think he's fine now. He just needs some rest; he's actually laying down right now. ...Oh, no, no, don't worry about it, you don't need to; he really wants to be with his brother right now, anyway, and he's always welcome here. He's family, after all. We'll take care of him and return him in good condition tomorrow." I hear a laugh come from the phone along with some other words I don't understand, and Papa Chris says, "Oh, don't worry about that, either; Chance already feels ashamed that he made you worry. I already rubbed it in a bit to make the lesson stick. When he wakes up, I can have him call you, if you'd -- oh, okay. ...Sure, thanks. You too. ...Bye."

Ho...ly...crap. Leave it to a lawyer to tell the 100% truth while 100% not telling any truth at all. He catches my surprised stare and smirks at me. "You both owe me."

While we're still speechless Papa Davy steps in with an obnoxious (and horrible) drill sergeant impersonation. "Okay, soldier," he says to Chance, "you're down, but you're not out. You may look like a piece of roadkill and feel even worse, but we can fix that. First order of business: water. Lots of it. We're gonna power-wash that mistake right outta yer system!"

"Papa," I say, "I don't...think that's how it works..."

"Silence, rookie! I've been in these trenches before; I know a thing or two about alcohol warfare. All right, soldier! Up and at 'em!" He holds out an arm to Chance, who takes it hesitantly. I grab the other one and we swing him up, which really is a horrible idea in retrospect -- his head lolls forward and he groans something about the room spinning.

He sits at the kitchen table with a tall glass of water, with the restriction that he can't leave the table without finishing it. He already looks better than he did, though it's still pretty clear he's still feeling the effects. After a few minutes of him sipping and staring out the glass back door, I attempt conversation. "So...can I ask, um, what all happened?"

Still staring out, he replies, "I listened to stupid people and did stupid things."

"Well, yeah, I get that part. I mean like what all did y'all do?"

He sighs and takes another sip. Slurring his words a little less, he says, "They -- well, we decided to skip the last class; apparently the school sucks at catching people playing hookie. So we went out and they said they knew this cool place to hang, so I went with them out to the woods." He takes another sip, then continues. "So we get there and go a bit into the woods, and I'm all like, 'oh my god we're gonna get lost,' but turns out they planned this from like the previous day and Lucas freaking moves some leaves 'n shit out of the way and there's a freaking pack of Red Bulls and some Four Loko cans that they freakin' hid there like a bunch of squirrels." He goes silent for a moment, taking a few sips to fill the time. "I'd never had beer before, so I'm like sure, I'll try it. They start making it like a chugging game, finish a Red Bull and then try to be the first to pound a Four Loko. They didn't tell me that it was like super-alcoholic."

"So you chugged one?"

"As well as I could. They're kinda gross. But yeah. Then they got out a pipe and started smoking. I...I mean I figured why not, I hadn't tried it before either, so I took a hit."

"...And?"

Taking a sip, he says, "And don't ever try weed. If it messes with you like it did with me, like, all of a sudden I felt like everyone was out to get me, like they were planning something, like there were people hiding behind the trees, waiting. Freaked me out. Then the beer started kicking in, and everything was spinning, and..." He closes his eyes and starts tapping his heel rapidly on the floor; it's something I've caught myself doing when trying not to freak out. Finally, he takes another sip and a deep breath. "They started laughing at me. Like they were just doing the whole thing to see how I'd react. I dunno, maybe it was just the paranoid thing, but...I told them I was freaking out, and they just laughed more. ...And then there was a siren and lights."

"The police showed up to find you guys?"

"Man, I dunno. I mean we all heard the sirens and saw the lights and nobody, y'know, wanted to wait around and find out. All I know is that they took off without me, without even saying a word to me. Just gone. I panicked and ran, but, well, I didn't do too good."

"Yeah, I saw your pants."

He shakes his head. "I sprained my freaking ankle and hopped a bit, and finally just found a tree and sat down before I hurt myself more. Threw up a few times, was so scared that I freaking peed myself..." He squints his eyes. "I'm gonna be in so much trouble when they see my pants."

"Dude, we have a washing machine, and we both have the exact same pants. I got it taken care of; you can just trade me for one of mine."

He looks at me, searching my face for a moment. "Why? Why are you helping me? I don't -- I don't understand." His face scrunches up. "If you're just trying to make me feel worse, you're doing it."

I glance into the living room, where I catch Papa Davy looking at me for a split second before he flicks his eyes back to the TV. "Because you're a good person, and you deserve it."

His eyes shoot open in disbelief. "Wh--?! How?! How do I deserve for you to help me clean up my mess and save my ass from my parents, and--and just act like I wasn't the world's biggest asshole to you?! How am I a good person?!"

"You're almost done with the water; why don't you finish that up and we can talk more upstairs?"

He gives me an inquisitive look, which I meet with a very slight nod back to the living room and a meaningful stare. He seems to get it pretty quickly and chugs the remainder of his water. On our way up, Papa Chris calls out, "Don't get too comfy -- it'll be dinnertime soon. You guys okay with spaghetti? I don't have anything ready for four people."

"That'll be fine for me," I reply.

At the same time, Chance laments, "I don't think I'll be able to eat for days."

Papa Davy points out, "You know, all those carbs are great for soaking that alcohol right up. Chris, hon, extra noodles for the wet noodle on the stairs."

Papa Chris gives him a "Right, yeah, sure" kind of look, but with a little amused smile underneath it. "He's gonna need protein, too, though; you mind hopping over to the little grocery nearby and picking up some ground beef?"

He pops up from the couch. "Can do -- toodle-oo!" He grabs his keys off the hook near the door and heads out as we go upstairs.

When we get into my room, I direct Chance to the bed; he flops down and sprawls out on it, while I take up the empty spot at his side. At first, we just sit there silently, Chance staring at the ceiling fan and me more or less staring at one of Chance's arms that's half off the bed. After a few uncertain minutes, Chance finally says, "So...you were saying something earlier."

"Right...what was it?"

"That somehow I'm still a good person."

"Oh, right. Okay, first off, I'm still pissed off about what you did to Scott."

"That...doesn't tell me anything about why I'm --"

"But I know that you aren't a bad person," I interrupt, turning on the bed to face him, "because you aren't hateful or racist or prejudiced -- you're just really, really stupid sometimes."

He clenches his teeth and smiles, but it's not happy at all. "Gee. Thanks for reminding me."

"Well, we all are. I could tell that you didn't mean what you said to Scott. You didn't say it like you meant it." He narrows his eyes a bit at me, but he doesn't say anything. I continue, "I know when someone really means what they say, and you didn't. Your friends did, but you didn't. ...Did you?"

His eyebrows spike up. "No! No, I...I just didn't..." He looks aside, and then at the table. "I just didn't want to look bad in front of my...in front of them."

"You didn't want to look gay, you mean." He doesn't respond, but his face screams shame.

"But why? You're a way better person than them. I mean, I know I asked this before, but why do you hang out with them?"

He still doesn't say anything, but a tear rolls out of his eye onto my pillow.

"Chance, please, I'm trying to understand, here. why are they your friends?"

"I'm not." He takes in a shuddering breath and sits up. "They abandoned me like I was nothing, like I was...one of the damn cans they left everywhere."

"But why did you--"

"Because I'm fucking stupid, okay?! We've already been through this." He pulls his knees up protectively and stares off at the wall. God, he really is just like me, sometimes -- I've done almost exactly this kind of thing with the parents.

Thankfully, I've learned their responses -- well, Papa Chris's responses. "Chance, that response doesn't actually do anything but make yourself feel worse."

"Well, I deserve it," he tells the wall.

My frustrations get the better of me. "Well, I deserve an explanation, don't I?"

He stares silently for a moment. Taking a slow, deep breath, he responds, "I used to get bullied a lot when I was younger. It stopped when I figured out how to be popular, and that means making friends with the cool kids. And that...means doing what the cool kids do."

His logic hits me like a sack of bricks. "So...you think that acting homophobic...stops you from getting bullied?"

"Well, when you put it like that, it sounds extremely stupid."

"That might just be because it is, in fact, extremely stupid."

"It's not that easy!" he snaps, finally looking at me. "If they found out I was gay, I'd be done for. The cool kids aren't allowed to be gay. They'd...I'd be royally screwed if they found out."

"'They' being just those two? Lucas and Brandon? What about everyone else that knows you? They wouldn't give a damn at all."

"Nobody else cares anymore," he mutters.

That leaves me with a wrinkled brow. "Chance," I say softly, "I don't think you realize how many people look up to you at that school. You mean a lot to a lot of people."

"Yeah, no I don't. They're all your friends now, not mine. You're more popular than I am."

"I--this--wait." God, where to start? "So, okay, number one, there's no rule that says we can't share friends. I don't even--I can't begin to figure that one out. Number two -- well, 2a, really -- I'm not any more popular than you, and 2b, why the heck would that even matter if it were true?"

He looks down at the bed, his face slowly turning into a scowl. "You know how much they all talk about you, now? Ty, Paul, Betts, Connor, even the freaking choir kids that I still talk to, everyone talks about you. All you. Like, you show up and all of a sudden I'm just...old news, I guess. So I started hanging out with people that didn't talk about you all the time -- you know what? I sound like a fucking whiny-ass bitch right now, and I am, so I'm gonna shut up and never talk again." He turns away again, sniffling.

It takes me a moment to process everything. "...Apparently we both don't really realize what we -- what impact we have on others. They keep asking me if you're okay, what happened to you, why you just fell off the face of the Earth. They miss you, Chance. I miss you. Honestly, I had no idea that I...that people talked about me. I--I don't know what to say about that." I realize that Scott finds me important, but I guess I thought that was somehow different. "But seriously...people care about you, and they miss you."

He crunches up into a tighter ball and sniffles a few more times, but says nothing.

"Look. Your new, um, your ex-friends abandoned you, right? Why don't you come hang out with me and all your other friends? The ones who won't abandon you." After a few moments of no response, I prod, "Chance?"

He whimpers, "I can't."

"I...don't understand. What do you mean? We're all happy to see you, and I guarantee that everyone there would forgive you. Even Scott. Like I said, people are stupid some--"

"It's not that," he mutters.

"Is it the 'coming out' thing? Are you not ready for that?"

"No. It's not that. Just...I can't, okay?"

"I...okay. I can't say I get it, but...all right." I mean, what else do I say to that? I swear to God, sometimes I wish I just knew everything. After another long pause, I decide to try a different approach. "It's fine if you don't want to hang with us, I guess. But...I mean, now that you're not, y'know, with Lucas or Brandon anymore, do you think that maybe you might be ready to come out sometime soon?"

No answer.

I suggest, "It's not like you have to get on the loudspeaker in the cafeteria or anything. Just maybe if you wanted to come out, like, to the friends and stuff, then it might help...y'know, feel less stressed about the whole thing. I mean, it's not like you have to live up to the expectations of a couple of punks who ditched you, right?"

Nothing.

I guess it's time to pull out the big guns, then. "So...a friend of ours...after I came out, a friend of both of ours came out to me, and, um, asked if...that just in case you were gay -- I did NOT tell them, by the way -- but just in case you were gay, they wanted me to let you know that they had a crush on you and would totally date you."

That finally gets a reaction from him. His head shoots up and he looks at me with this look of confused disbelief, like I just told him the clouds were made of watermelon. "...Who?" he finally asks, eyeing me with suspicion.

"Alan."

"The tall blond guy?"

Do I bring up the gender fluid part right now? No, just... that's a later thing. "Yeah," I reply.

He seems to think about it for a sec. I add, "You could just maybe come out to a few of us, and him, I mean, if you're interested. I dunno if you--"

"I can't," he says with a heavy sigh.

"You...can't? You mean that you're not interested in him, or...?"

"No, it's not -- it's just, it's..." he huffs and runs his hands through his hair the same way I do when I get super frustrated. "He's cute, sure, but I can't -- I -- it's complicated, okay?!"

Oh, come on. "Look, Chance, I'm trying to help you out here, and you keep shooting me down at every turn! Why can't you come hang with us? What is so damn complicated? You're just blocking me left and right, here! I just want you to be happy, and you're, like, completely dead-set on being miserable for some reason, and it's killing me!" During the entire 'speech,' Chance's squints harder and harder, but I can't stop myself from letting out the frustration -- this is too far. "If you just want to be miserable for the rest of your life, then fine, have it your way -- I mean, there's nothing I can do about that. But if you'd just let me help you, I promise things can get better."

"No, they can't," he spits, sneering. "Because I'm a fucking freak."

"Oh, come on, Chance -- you made some stupid decisions and you learned from it. That doesn't make you a freak. Being gay doesn't make you a freak, either, so don't even pull that card or so help me --"

"That's not why!!" he growls through gritted teeth.

"Well, then, help me out here!" I snap, raising my voice. "I can't see any freaking reason why you can't come out, or that you can't hang with us, or that you can't just --"

"NO!" he shrieks, making me jump. With eyes of complete desperation and frustration, he looks and me and screeches, "I'm a freak because I have a crush on you, okay?! I'm in love with my fucking brother! I'm a goddamn freak! Are you happy now?!"

...What? How...? There's -- but --

He continues, "You're -- you're everything I've ever fucking wanted to be, and it's not fucking fair! You're smart, you're nice, you're...you're brave, you -- you get what you want, and everyone fucking loves you! Even me, god dammit! That's why I can't hang out with y'all -- it hurts every fucking time I'm around you, because I...what?"

I can't make a single thought go from start to finish, much less a sentence. So, I start doing the only thing I'm capable of doing -- I start crying. I watch his face in slow motion as the confusion creeps up on him, but I'm paralyzed by what he said. All I can do is cry.

Tears show up in his eyes as well, though his mouth twists into a sneer. "Told you I'm a freak. I'ma go disappear now. Don't bother finding me." He gets up off the bed and heads to the door.

A well of panic rushes up, and I snap, "No! Don't go!"

"Why? All I do is hurt you." He reaches for the knob.

"Because I love you, too." It comes out as a snotty croak, full of hiccup-sobs, but I manage to get the words out.

He stops and stares at me, the look on his face somewhere between fear, surprise, confusion -- fuck, I don't know. I can barely see through my own tears. He slowly walks back, approaching me cautiously.

I repeat, "I love you. I've been in love with you since the first night at your place."

He takes another step forward, but collapses into a cross-legged sit on the floor, staring off. I manage to get a little more control of myself -- Jesus Christ, how was I so blind?! -- and I walk over to lock the door before sitting down on the floor with Chance.

"So, you..." he starts, a trickle of tears trailing down one cheek, "...you've...you have a crush on me?"

"Yes, you idiot," I say with a half-hysterical laugh. "You're everything I wish I was -- you're funny, you're charming, you're confident...since the very first moment that we met, you did nothing but care for me. You tried to make me comfortable in the bathroom, you introduced me to people, you...you dressed out for me in gym class when I was way too nervous to do it...after that first night, I already knew that I had a huge frickin' crush on you."

He takes a moment to respond. "At first, it was just like, this really cool like, 'Oh my God I have an honest-to-God twin what the hell' kind of thing, but when you were there for me when I...when my parents came out and all, and you protected me -- really more from myself than from them, but still -- I felt a connection right there. And, um, that night, when you were...um, 'willing' to show me...you know...it was like, that was it. I had the biggest crush on you. God, now I feel like such a fucking idiot for not having said something before."

I open my mouth, but we both jump as there's a knock at the door. "Not right now," I call through the door.

Papa Chris calls back, "Just letting you know that dinner will be ready in just a few."

"Okay."

A few seconds later, he adds, "Is everything...okay? I heard yelling."

"We're...working through some things. We'll be down in a bit, okay?"

"All right."

I turn back to Chance as I hear the footsteps creak down the stairs. "Really, though, I mean...who would ever think it's okay to just admit that?" I rush to add, "Y'know, other than as a last resort in a yelling match, I guess."

He snickers. "All right, you have a point. We're both equally stupid."

I shrug. "Touché."

We sit there a moment, just absorbing everything. "Wow," Chance finally says. "This is...this is unreal."

"You're tellin' me." More awkward pause. "So, can I ask a question?"

"What's up?"

"Is...was that the whole reason that you hung out with them?"

He snorts a cynical laugh. "Hate to say it, but...yeah. Every time I heard your name, it hurt. Like, almost physically. It got to where I was afraid of seeing you, because it just meant that I would be sitting there, taunting myself with something I couldn't have."

"I had no idea you felt that way," I admit. "I mean, I can kinda see it now, but yeah -- no idea."

"You -- ? How, though?! I coulda swore I was being too obvious about it or something. I was scared you'd figure it out and I'd have to go commit suicide or move to Alaska or something."

"I like how suicide is your first option, and then Alaska."

"I hate the cold, and also, shut up." We both break into stupid giggles at that.

"So...even with all that, you still helped me out in starting the club."

"Yeah?"

"...But why?"

He rolls his eyes. "Because I'm not just gonna watch you suffer just because I'm a freak. You needed help, so I helped you."

"And that's why I'm in love with you. Also because you're, like, way better-looking than me."

His mouth hangs open in completely shocked, speechless silence. He sputters, "B--how can you think that when you're obviously cuter than me?"

"Me?!" I squeal, my voice spiking high on the question. "Okay, fine, Papa Davy is a damn good barber, but still, there's no way. ...By the way, I can totally get him to fix up that mop you're growing."

He pulls his bangs to where he can see them in his face. "...Yeah, I kinda can't stand it. That'd be nice."

"Luuuuuuuuuuuuuuuuke!" I hear Papa Davy wail. Then, like the world's worst yodeler, he calls again, "LuuUuUUUuuUUuuUuUUuuke!"

I roll my eyes as Chance cracks up. Opening the door, I yell, "WE'RE COMING! GOD!" Sighing, I turn to Chance. "We need to eat dinner before Papa Davy starts really going insane."

"You mean he's not yet --"

"NO. He's not even halfway there. Let's go, quick."

We join the parents at the dinner table for a simple, carb-tacular meal of spaghetti and garlic bread (after Chance goes and pees out a few gallons of alcohol and water). At least it's spaghetti with meat sauce, though; I can totally get down on that.

Very little is said for a bit. I'm apparently a lot hungrier than I thought I was and basically inhale it; Chance actually does eat, despite what he said earlier.

After a few bites, Papa Davy asks Chance, "How are the whirlies treatin' you, hon?"

"Huh?"

"How you feelin'?"

"Oh, better. A lot better. Things are still spinning a little bit, but yeah." He takes another bite of noodles before adding, "Thanks again. A lot. I don't really know...I guess, what I can do to pay y'all back."

Papa Chris smiles warmly. "The biggest thing? Don't ever do anything like that again. Think about the consequences before you jump off the cliff."

He gives me a quick look that I don't quite understand. "I'll think next time." He puts his fork down and says firmly, "Scratch that. There won't be a next time. I'm not gonna be that stupid again."

Papa Davy grins. "By the gods, I think he's learning!"

He laughs a little bit and goes back to eating, though I soon see the hint of a blush forming on his cheeks.

"But enough about that," Papa Davy announces. "What's the scoop on the Inclusivity Club?"

"Well, for starters, we're going to be moving to a bigger room for games on Wednesdays." Papa Davy opens his mouth, but I quickly shut him down with, "Don't you even THINK about starting that up again."

"Wh--me? I would never. I was just going to congratulate you; that's a big milestone, right?" He flutters his eyelashes as if it somehow made him look more innocent.

"Yeah, it is pretty big, to be honest," I say, giving him the stink eye in the process. "As for the Friday group, we're basically the same size as we've always been, and, uh, I guess that's going pretty well. Oh! Um..."

"Yes...?" Papa Davy drawls.

"So, we did a little thing in the group where we, um...decided different names for some of us, and, so...okay. You know how my biological mom spelled my name? L-U-K, right? Well, so, I've been doing some thinking, and I'm pretty sure she meant to call me 'Luck.'" I wait for any reactions, but other than Papa Davy and Papa Chris sharing a look with each other, everyone seems to be waiting for me to continue. "So... 'Lucas' and 'Luke' are all right, but I think I'd prefer to be called 'Lucky.'"

Papa Davy smiles slowly. "Well, would you look at that."

Papa Chris glances sidelong at Papa Davy. "Well, I mean, at least he chose it."

Deadpan, I ask, "What...are you two talking about?"

"There's a reason I nicknaked you 'Lucky Luke,'" Papa Davy says with a grin. "I personally thought 'Lucky' would have been a great name for you, but Chris didn't want anyone to bully you for having a 'weird name' or whatever. So, I guess I was right all along." He gets this aggravating smirk on his face. "Granted, I had no idea you'd have a brother named 'Chance,' but if that isn't a smoking gun, then I'm not flaming."

"I...don't know how to respond to that," I answer blankly.

Papa Chris chimes in, "It's probably better left that way."

"Point being," Papa Davy says, "You want to be Lucky? You're officially Lucky. I'll call you whatever you wanna be called." Papa Chris nods in agreement.

With a small smile, I look at Chance. "What do you think?"

He matches my smile and raises it a notch. "Lucky and Chance. It's kinda awesome."

"I know, right?"

Dinner conversation dwindles, and so do the noodles. We clean everything up and Chance and I head back to the room. "So..." I begin.

Chance takes the lead. "Could we, like, do something fun for a while? My brain is full."

"All right, bet," I say, grabbing a controller and turning on the Nintendo.

Chance gets a weird, amused smile on his face. "You sound weird when you say it."

I roll my eyes. "Oh, sure, pick on the Connecticut kid for trying to sound Southern."

Chance just laughs and grabs the other controller. We start up a cooperative game, where he and I fight together against all kinds of other matchups on Smash Brothers. Before we start, though, Chance's eyes go wide. "I got it!"

"What?"

"We can be Team Random!"

"I...kinda like it. Random luck and chance. ...That works."

He beams proudly. "Go, Team Random!"

"Team Random!"

We lay waste to every enemy in our path, combining our skill at the game to just destroy the competition. It's a good name for the team, considering the game is really, really random sometimes. After our victory celebration, we kinda just look at each other for a bit. Like, the kind of way that would be really awkward for most people, but...I dunno. It seems to go on forever, but after only probably fifteen actual seconds or so, Chance smiles and snorts a little nervous laugh. "This is still really weird to me."

"What part? I mean, y'know, other than the obvious." I find myself giving the same little nervous giggle in return.

"Is it wrong to say that...the weird part is that someone has a crush on me?"

I stare flatly at him. "Then it's been weird since before I got here."

"What?"

"Alan? Probably like ten other people? People really like you. A lot."

He looks aside sheepishly. "I mean, I guess. I just never really thought that that was a thing that could happen, I guess."

"Trust me -- I know the feeling."

Another moment of silence, filled by us looking at each other, searching, maybe for answers to questions we haven't asked yet. Chance finally asks, "So, are we...I mean, if we both have a crush on each other, and that kind of thing, are we, um, do we want to...?"

"Be boyfriends?"

He doesn't reply, but his eyebrows and shoulders answer, "Sure, why not?"

I sigh through my nose. "Not that I don't want to -- trust me, I can't tell you how many times I've imagined that to be the case -- but whatever we call ourselves, we can't say anything about it in public."

"So that means we are a thing?" His eyebrows go a little higher up, and a hopeful smile sneaks onto his lips.

With a roll of my eyes, I smile and point out, "When hasn't that been true? I mean, just being real here, but we have sex, we buy each other things, and we are in love with each other, so...I mean, I guess it's just official, now?"

He genuinely laughs once he makes the realization. "Oh my god, it's true. Honestly, I low-key bought you those things to see what it'd be like to give gifts to someone I had a crush on."

His admission warms my heart (and face), but puts a pit in my stomach. "I, um, I'm sorry about the whole 'giving them back' thing I pulled. That was really, really rude of me."

"No, I deserved it. I was being a total dickbag."

"Um, did you..."

"I kept 'em. If I'm being honest, I put 'em on my dresser and stared at them and cried for like half an hour about how stupid I was. My parents came to ask what was wrong, and I just told 'em that I hurt your feelings and felt really bad about it." He must see my reaction on my face, as he quickly adds, "But I'm being absolutely serious -- that was totally deserved, and you shouldn't feel bad about it. I pulled a major stupid, and you knocked some sense into me. Oh, um, so the kid that you were with...Scott, right?"

"Actually, he changed his name to Orion."

"Oh. So he's part of that, too?" I nod, and he follows up with, "So, what was it? 'Oh Ryan' like two words?"

"No, like the constellation or the Greek guy. Orion. He just pronounces it a little different, so I do, too."

"I see. ...So, is he...special ed?"

"He's on the  autistic spectrum, if that's what you mean. He could school the hell out of you about circles and calculating pi, if you asked him."

That catches Chance off guard and he puffs his cheeks out in a failed attempt to stop a laugh. "I'll have to remember that," he says after he recovers. "But, um, is he okay? I only noticed that he was kinda, y'know, different, after I yelled at him, and I felt really bad about it afterward."

"I'm pretty sure he'll recover, but he's legit scared of you now."

Chance looks off and sighs heavily. "That's fair."

"You could apologize to him, you know."

"Would it even matter, though?" he asks defeatedly.

"Chance, he's not an idiot. Just say you're sorry, and that you didn't mean it. Heck, you could even come to one of the Wednesday or Friday meetings and hang out, and apologize to him there."

"God, even after burning bridges like I did?"

"It's not that bad, Chance. You're blowing it way out of proportion. People would be willing to forgive you for being stupid, I promise."

I see the gears turning in his head; then, a look of concern crosses his face. "So, two things. One, are you and Scott -- I mean Orion -- are y'all...like, I know he hugged me thinking it was you, but like, are y'all, I dunno, a thing?"

"I..." The thought stops me. "I don't think I even considered it. Like, we're close friends, hugging friends, but I don't even think he's sexual yet, so...I mean, we're not boyfriends or whatever, but I love him like a brother. ...Like a -- oh, you know what I mean." Chance cracks up at the irony of the last statement, which sends me giggling, too. "Shut up, shut up! You know what I mean!"

"Okay, all right, fine," he says while fighting off my feeble attempts to push him off the bed. "So, the other thing...the harder one: What about Alan? If I showed up, y'know, at the meeting, what would I say?"

"I could just tell him that you're not interested," I suggest. "That you're flattered, but you're not looking for a boyfriend right now."

"Well..."

I raise an eyebrow. "Are you looking for one?"

"Ah, I getcha," he says, narrowing his eyes and smiling slyly at me. "You're sneaky like your dad."

"I learn from the best." After a moment, I ask, "Speaking of the worst people ever, what do you plan to do with those two?"

"What?" he asks, confused. "Oh, OH, them. Yeah, they straight-up ditched me, so I'ma straight-up ditch them. That's easy."

"Are you going to come clean, then?"

"You mean like come out?"

"I mean apologizing for throwing around gay slurs and all that. It would probably help to come out, too."

"One thing at a time, okay?" He takes a deep breath. "I get it, I really do, but...one thing at a time."

I quip, "What's there to be afraid of? You just admitted that you're in love with your brother; being gay is nothing compared to that."

He narrows his eyes at me, grabs the pillow off the bed, and thwaps me with it. "Stop that."

I just smile in response. "Well," I say after we run out of topics, "the parents will probably be going to bed sometime in the next couple of hours, and, well, let's just say that the same rules apply now as did last time."

"Right, right. So, more Smash Brothers?"

"Eh, maybe just TV for a bit?"

He shrugs. "Sure."

We turn on Cartoon Network and veg out to mindless cartoons for a while, sitting side-by-side on the bed. After an episode, he sidles up a little closer and lays his head on my shoulder, which sends a mix of excitement and warm fuzzies through my system. Honestly, I'm just glad he's done being an asshole; it was easy to see that that was the worst idea he'd had in a long time, but he just didn't know how to stop, I guess. Back to the kind, caring Chance, the one who made it okay for me to be here, the one who made me feel like this was the right place to be -- maybe even more than my old home. But I see now that he's not some popular, confident social butterfly -- he's just as anxious as I am, just as uncertain. ...Hell, if I had the life he did and someone like me showed up, I might've done the same things, I dunno.

After we laugh our way through another episode, I hear the stairs creak with multiple sets of feet. Chance picks his head up quickly at the sound of knocking, and Papa Chris pokes his head in. "You guys need some extra sheets and such for Chance? We're headed to bed, so now's a good time to go get them."

I follow Papa out to get a set of bedding for Chance, after which I go hit up my nighttime routine. Chance joins me when he hears the faucet start running. We brush our teeth, I take my pill, Chance takes yet another ridiculously long piss, and we get ourselves set up for bed.

A few minutes after the lights are out, Chance quietly says, "Hey."

"Yeah?"

"Um." There's an awkward silence after that, but I get a feeling that it's better to wait than to tease him about it. A bit later, he continues, "I don't wanna sound like a baby or anything, but...eh, never mind. Goodnight."

"Chance...I don't think you're a baby, and I promise I won't think you are one, no matter what you ask. Also, we don't have any pacifiers anymore -- they got thrown away a long time ago."

He laughs a little, and then takes a deep breath. "Um...so, I've had a really bad day, and I was wondering...I mean, I know that it's only a twin bed up there, but, maybe I could lay with you for a bit."

I wasn't aware that I could feel my heart break, my head spin, and my belly get a huge dose of warm fuzzies all at once, but Chance has changed a lot of things about me. "We're basically boyfriends, right? Get up here, already." God, that felt exhilarating to say.

He takes the spare pillow with him as he climbs up onto the bed, wearing exactly as much clothing as he never does while sleeping; just watching him as his pecker sways around while he works his way over to the wall side of the bed does a number on my emotions -- and blood pressure. He sidles up to where he can lay on his side facing me, and I turn to face him...and then it hits me. "Um, actually, I have an idea."

"Yeah?"

"I haven't taken a shower yet today. ...Wanna join?"

His eyes light up. "That sounds amazing right now." Truth be told, this shower is less about me, and more about the fact that I think I can literally smell the alcohol on his skin. But hey -- I'm not mad about shared shower time.

I peek my head out to check on the parents; I hear nothing but a wall of sound and wind in their room, as per the usual, what with a ceiling fan, a box fan, and a humidifier all running in there along with the A/C. I beckon Chance over, and by the time we get into the bathroom, we're both pointing straight at our chins. I take my briefs off, step into the tub, and start messing with the water to get it to the right temperature. Chance gets in behind me; I whisper, "Incoming!" and pull the shower lever.

I duck as a quick burst of cold water spits out of the shower head and nails Chance right in the face and chest. "Ack! Jesus, why didn't you warn me?!" he asks, still recoiling as if he had been punched instead.

In response, I point my head up, gather up a mouthful of hot water, and spray him down with it. The entire time, he just looks at me with this, "...Really?" kind of face, to the point where I actually start laughing and spitting water like a sprinkler at the end. That gets him laughing at my stupidity, so at least there's that.

I take the shower wand out of the holder and get myself completely wet. Then I take it and hold it above Chance, who takes the opportunity to do the same. After he does a little turn under the shower, I take it and start acting like I'm washing off my back with it, not really paying attention to anything (even though I'm staring directly at his dick). Then, when he's least expecting it, I point the shower head out from between my legs and upward at his balls. His face drops open in shock and he starts squealing, "Stop, stop! It tickles!" as he puts his hands in the way of the water.

I cackle at him (much like Papa Davy often does -- I guess he's rubbing off on me) and bring the shower head back between us. He gives me this dirty look, though it's ruined by his adorable smile. "I have an idea," I say. "We stand together, and I point this underneath both of us. First one to move out loses."

He looks down at the shower head, then at my boner, and finally back at me. "You're on," he says, stepping up close enough that our dicks just barely touch, causing me to inhale involuntarily.

I match his determined smile and point the wand directly underneath both of our sacks. The tickling is freaking intense, and I feel my sack scrunch up to try to escape it; Chance's face says everything as he bites his lip to not laugh. He starts bouncing in place a bit and eventually can't take it anymore, stepping back. "SHIT, that tickles!" he whispers, laughing quietly.

"I actually do this to myself all the time, so it's totally cheating," I admit. "I like the way it feels."

His open-jawed indignant stare is just perfect. He snaps a hand out, yanks the shower wand out of my hand, and points it straight at my face. I sputter my way over to cover the wand with my hand so that I can breathe, and I finally say, "Okay, okay, we should actually shower."

"I mean, we're halfway there already," Chance reasons. "Just some shampoo and a soap-down, and we're good."

"Sure." I grab the shampoo bottle and squirt a glop into my hand, giving it to Chance as I lather up. We don't say anything for a little bit, just showering independently together, if that makes sense.

As I wash myself, staying pretty much in permanent semi-boner state, I can't help but watch Chance as he does the same. I'm trying to figure out what's different now that we said what we did, other than the fact that now we can both stop hating ourselves. I mean, sure, Chance is doing a whole lot better already it seems, but...how are things gonna be different between us? Are they? Does being kinda-sorta "boyfriends" make any difference? And why does his butt look better on him than mine does on me? It's really just not fair.

Regardless, it's been a long day, and no matter how much I want to, erm, "celebrate" our unofficial-official status, I don't think that'd be fair to him. Once we've both rinsed off, I turn off the shower and get us both towels. We dry off and head back to bed, where he hops back up into the bed next to the wall. I snuggle myself into the covers as well, and we lay there, staring at each other again, just kind of searching each other's face. "How you feeling?" I ask after a little bit.

"Better. The shower actually helped a lot."

"Good. I'm just glad you're okay. I won't lie -- I was pretty worried when I saw you."

He looks aside shamefully. "I'm really sorry. I'm...that was really stupid of me."

"It's okay, man, it's behind us, now. Don't worry about it."

He chews the inside of his cheek for a moment as his eyes dart about, probably looking for words. He finally says, "I...I really want to thank you for coming for me. I really don't think anybody else would have."

The comment sets off butterflies in my chest, but I have to point out the obvious. "Your parents would have, one hundred percent sure on that."

Rolling his eyes, he replies, "Yeah, to come ground me from doing anything ever again. Dad is super freaking strict. But--but you came out to help me, even after what I did, even..." He sighs heavily. "I don't deserve someone like you."

I contemplate fighting him on it, but instead I quip, "Well, I suppose it's a good thing I always get what I want."

He looks at me confused for a sec, and then it clicks. "Oh. Wow, that took me too long."

I smile at him, wishing I could do more to make him feel better. Well, I could actually, y'know, touch him. That usually helps. But every other time we've done that has been just as brothers and friends, not like, well, like I guess it is now. I don't know why this is so freaking complicated in my head, and why I can't just -- you know what, fuck it. I pull a hand out from under the covers and, heart beating, I run my fingers through his hair. The action sends goosebumps down my arm, and I'm not even the one whose head is getting rubbed.

He closes his eyes like a cat getting pet, taking a deep breath and sighing it out slowly. I continue doing that a few more times, when suddenly his eyes snap open. "Hey."

"'Sup?"

"Can we talk?"

"I think we just proved that right now."

Deadpan, he responds, "Gee, thanks Dad-Joke Man."

"...Ouch. But fair. Yeah, what's up?"

He moves the covers and sits up next to his pillow. "So...I don't, don't wanna mess things up."

"I'm sorry?" I ask, sitting up. "What do you mean?"

"Like, now that we're boyfriends and all, I don't wanna do anything to mess things up. Like, move too fast or, or whatever."

I stare at him, blinking a few times. "That's a lot to...okay, hold on. First off, can I make a suggestion?"

"Yeah?"

"Don't think of it like being boyfriends. Can we just say that we love each other?"

He thinks about it. "Yeah, I guess. That feels a little better, I think."

"Good. Second....look. Chance. We started by having sex. I think the 'going too fast' ship has sailed. At top speed. Zoom." I slice a hand out to the left, pantomiming the boat zipping off.

Chance looks that direction and waves. "Bye!"

I just laugh. "But seriously...I don't think there's anything you could do that would be 'too fast' or whatever, considering we're already in love and all." It still sends a thrill through me to say that.

"Right, okay. So, then...there's something we haven't done yet that I'd like to try, if that's okay with you."

"What's that?"

"Can we kiss?"

I immediately feel my breath pick up. "Uh...sure. I mean, I've never kissed anybody, so I don't really know what I'm doing, but..."

"Lucky, look who you're talking to."

He called me Lucky! I could squee right now! "Good point. Um, do you...want to try, like, tongue kissing? French kissing?"

He scoots up a bit closer; I can see him starting to get aroused again. "I dunno. Maybe we can just see what it's like."

"Okay." He leans in and closes his eyes; I do the same, and our lips meet. Now, I get that we've already had sex, and I've given him a blowjob, and all that, but when his lips touch mine, I just instantly feel almost light-headed with excitement. Instant boner. We don't even do all that much with the kiss, just holding our lips there together for a moment. Then, I feel a hand gently rest on the side of my face, brushing across my cheek and ear, messing with the bristles on the side of my head, and it sends electricity through me. I reach out until I find his shoulder, slowly caressing inward until I reach his neck, then his jawline, then his cheek. The feel of his soft skin is heaven.

I get a little bolder, deciding to add a little tongue into things, just licking at his lips, which he mimics; soon, we're doing what I guess is full-on French kissing, but even if it isn't, it's amazing. I put my other hand on his knee and slide it inward, up his thigh; he moans at the feeling.

We finally stop kissing after forever. "Holy shit, that was good," Chance breathes. He's flushed straight down through his shoulders and into his chest, and I can't imagine I'm any better.

We both kinda simultaneously look at each other's stiffies and back up, seemingly with the same idea. "I still owe you," I point out.

"If you say so," he responds, and his dick visibly throbs in anticipation. I start out by having him open his legs and turn to the side, giving me better access. I start by running my hands softly along the insides of his thighs, watching him inhale sharply and his sack scrunch up. Then I gently drag my fingers over his sack and up his shaft, which reflexively strains upward from his belly to meet me. I see a little drop of precum already starting to drip from his dick, so I scoop it up with  finger and lick it off.

Chance says breathily, "Damn, you're making me horny."

"I saw this one on a porn video," I admit. "It looked fun."

"It's drivahh-hh-hh..." he tries to say as I slowly lick my way up his shaft and pop the head into my mouth, slowly moving up and down just the first inch of it. I admit, it's really fun making him squirm. Does that make me a bad person? ...Oh well.

I continue with it for about thirty seconds, but just as I start to speed up, he holds my head by the sides and stops me for a moment. "Hold on," he pleads. "I don't wanna cum yet."

Popping off of his dick, I reply, "Oh, sorry, I get carried away, heh. I actually wanted to do something else, too..."

"What's that?"

I suck on a finger for a sec and stick it up my butthole, working it in the way I know best to get it to loosen up. "Ohhhh," he says in realization; I can see his eyes get just a little bit wider, more excited.

"Lay down," I direct him. Once I can get two fingers in fairly decently, I position myself over him. "So, the other thing they did in that video..." I trail off, guiding his dick to my hole. I try to do the bouncy thing like we did before, getting a little bit more of it in each time, until I can slide all the way down.

He gets this glassy-eyed sort of expression and a stupid grin. "God, that always feel so good."

I move up and down on it just a little bit, but I know that if I keep it up that way, I won't be able to do it before my legs burn off. Instead, I lean over, bracing myself on my arms and folding my legs up on his sides. This way, I'm staring into his eyes with his dick buried in me, and I can move myself up and down on it without killing my legs. "How's that?" I ask him, though his face says everything.

"Aaaaaaaaaawesome," he moans, smiling.

I experiment with moving a few different ways, either more of a forward-backward motion or an up-down way of doing it. I can go faster up and down, but he pops out a few times and we have to work it back in and everything. All I know is that it feels amazing to me, and watching his face is hilarious and awesome all in one.

I lean in on my elbows to get closer to his face. I don't know if I'll ever have an explanation for how he wears my face better than I do, but looking into it, with that glazed, blissful look, is such a turn-on for me. I start bouncing a bit on his dick, going up and down so I can speed it up. He grabs my hips and starts meeting my rhythm with his own, pushing into me deeply and pulling back as I go up. I keep the bounces short and fast so that he doesn't pop out again. It takes a little synchronizing; we start out accidentally matching rhythm and just kinda swaying up and down together, which makes us both giggle, but we get the hang of it, and soon it's just pure bliss. I've already left a pool of precum on his stomach, that's for sure.

He starts to make this face, almost like he's sad about something -- I recognize it immediately as the face people make when they're getting closer to orgasm (number one, I have no idea why it looks sad, and two, don't ever tell my parents how many times I've watched porn). I get a fun idea: I bend down a bit and plant my lips on his, going in for another kiss. As soon as I do, I feel his thrusts get a lot more frantic as he exhales heavily through his nose. A few seconds later, he starts making that squeaky whine; suddenly, his breath catches and he slams his dick as deep as he can, grabbing onto my hips for dear life as I feel the familiar thump-thump-thump from the underside of his dick as he shoots four or five times quickly, then a few more throbs before he starts breathing again, practically panting through his nose.

I break the kiss so the poor guy can breathe, sitting firmly on his dick to prevent any...messes. I look down to see that I've precum so much that it's starting to trail down the side of his abs toward the bed; I quickly scoop it up with a finger to stop it, which makes him squirm and giggle. "H-hey!" he says between breaths. "That tickles!"

I want to respond, but there's just something about the look in his eyes that locks mine in place with them; I can't really figure out how to describe it, but it's a good expression, somewhere between love, relief, excitement, maybe...I dunno. It's cute as hell, though, and it makes me love him even more, especially as I keep feeling the occasional thump from his dick.

"H...holy crap, that was amazing," he sighs.

I just grin. Call me a dirty little pervert or whatever, but if I could do this every night, I absolutely would, just for this moment, seeing his face like that. "So we're even now, right?" I ask with a wink.

"I think I still owe you after that. That was...holy crap, man."

It makes me giggle how wasted he is after that. I scoot myself forward until his softening dick slips out, then quickly clench tight. "Be right back," I say with a nod toward the bathroom.

"Kay."

I go do my business on the toilet, wondering if I'll ever go soft again. The scene replays itself over and over in my head, especially with the feeling of him cumming inside me -- why the heck does that make me so damn horny? I dunno, but God, it does. When I get back in, Chance is finishing wiping off his stomach and dick with one of his socks; when he sees me, he scoots over to his original side of the bed, tosses the sock onto the floor, and watches me turn off the light.

I slip under the covers next to him and we stare at the ceiling together for a moment. Chance takes a deep breath and says, "I'm so lucky that you showed up in my life."

Did he mean that pun? Whatever, now I'm bound by honor to retort, "I know, right? What are the chances?"

He looks over at me and catches my sly smile, which makes him grin. "Seriously, though, we may be the luckiest people on Earth."

"I haven't won the lottery, yet," I point out.

With a small smile, he replies, "I'm pretty sure I did."

I'm glad he's not looking over at me, because his response brings tears to my eyes. I manage to disguise the moment as a quiet laugh -- instead of a temporary breakdown -- and say, "Go Team Random?"

"Go Team Random." He smiles at the ceiling. "Hey, um..."

"Yeah?"

"Could I ask one last favor?"

"Sure."

"After today -- well, after the first part of the day, anyway -- I could go for...um, being held. Would you mind -- could you hold me?"

"Of course I can."

He turns toward the wall and we sort of scoot toward each other at the same time. I figure out the best way to do it is to put one hand under the pillow (which is usually how I sleep, anyway) and one around his chest; he lays his arm on top of mine, and we lie there together, slowly breathing at the same time, feeling his heartbeat in my hand.

Suddenly, he scoots his butt basically right on top of my finally-soft dick, which does not help one single bit. Seriously, I start getting hard at even the thought, and here's Chance's butt right on my dick. As it stiffens up, I know that Chance can feel it. Maybe he'll just ignore it so that --

As soon as I'm completely hard, Chance starts moving his butt where it glides up and down my dick, which settles right in his crack. "Oh," I say. "I thought we were done."

I can hear the evil grin in Chance's voice as he says, "But you haven't gotten to cum yet. Besides, I kinda still owe you."

"You evil little...! You just wanted us to cuddle so you could do that to me!"

"No, I wanted to cuddle, and I also want to pay you back. And, um, I've been watching pornos too..."

I think I see where this is going. "And?"

"And this is a position that I wanted to try." To emphasize, he reaches back underneath the covers and repositions my dick so that it's pointing under his crack instead of along it, and he continues to move so that he brushes along the top of my dick.

The feeling is electric. "Okay, stop, stop, you're gonna make me pee if you do that." I remove the covers and move my dick out of the way. "Um, Do you wanna..."

He turns around to see my dick pulsing to my heartbeat. Without a word, he moves over and lays down with his head near my crotch. He takes my dick and starts licking it, the moving air from the fan cooling it off as he does so. He goes down about halfway on it with it in his mouth, mostly avoiding the teeth and all. He takes a short break from it to wet one of his own fingers, so he can work on me and himself at the same time.

The feeling itself is pretty good, but watching him finger himself and suck my dick at the same time is really hot. Finally, he pops off of me with a slurping sound and says, "Okay, I think I'm ready." He gets himself back into position.

I guide my dick to his hole, which is still pretty tight; I can't get anywhere close to entering it. I try fingering it for a bit, which does help. but by that time, my dick dries off. Hmm. Oh! "Hey, I have an idea."

"What's up?"

I reach into my nightstand and pull out the bottle of conditioner that I use for jacking off. I put a cold glob of it onto my dick, and then I get just a little bit of it on my middle finger. "Okay, um, this is gonna be cold."

"What do you me--whoa-whoa-whoa! You gotta give me a sec!" He clenches tightly on my finger, but with the added lubrication from the conditioner, it doesn't take me long to loosen hm back up. That, and the conditioner warms up quickly, so yeah.

I finger him while very slowly jacking myself off, just to spread the conditioner around. Finally, I scoot myself back up and point myself straight at the hole again. "Okay, this should make things a little easier. Ready?"

He nods. I begin to push, but he reflexively clenches tight. I do the same little technique that worked before, pushing over and over again in rhythm, until it seems to kind of give up little by little. Finally, I get a little bit in, then a little farther, and then the full head pops in. Chance gasps, and exhales slowly, in a breathy moan.

I take the time to just move a little bit back and forth with just the first inch of it, feeling all the sensitive spots up there go crazy in his sphincter. It feels amazing. Then, finally, I push more and more until I bury deep in him. It's warm, soft, and wraps tightly around my dick, especially the head. "You okay?" I ask, my head already swimming with the sensations.

He responds by scooting all the way up into me again, as if we were cuddling, but with, well, y'know. He even takes my hand and drapes it back over himself, though I have to be just a little lower than I was so that this can work. I brace myself against him as I start slowly thrusting in and out, always pulling out to just where my head brushes up against the inside of the sphincter, but not enough for the little flared part at the bottom of my head to pop out. Then deep back in, taking in every single moment of the feeling.

"I love you," Chance whispers. Just hearing that sends a surge of desire through me; I can feel it even in my groin. I respond by hugging him, which he then answers by laying his top arm across mine and lacing his fingers between mine.

Just the things that he is doing drive me a lot faster down the road to orgasm. "I don't think I can go for long," I admit quietly.

"That's okay," he says, arching his back so that he forces himself down on my dick.

Fffffuck! After being screwed, after being blown, and after Chance doing all that, I can tell I don't have much time left. I start pumping a lot faster, feeling the orgasm welling up, closer and closer, bigger and bigger -- I swear I can feel my dick swell up as I lose my breath and push myself deep into Chance. At that moment, he squeezes my hand into his chest tightly as a bolt of lightning surges through me, locking all my muscles in place as I pump one shot after another into Chance. Each one I swear makes my muscles clench even tighter, to the point where I literally think I might be sore tomorrow.

After they finally start to slow down, I let out the deep breath that I apparently was holding in, and rest my forehead against the top of Chance's back. I'm still full of aftershocks like Chance usually has, but I'm way too busy coasting on orgasm feelings to care about anything else right now. I hug him tightly; I've never felt so connected to a person than I do right now, and I mean that both figuratively and literally.

Chance starts clenching his sphincter, which makes all his insides move around on my super-sensitive dick. "H-hahhh!" is the sound that escapes my lips, but it's followed up by laughter from both Chance and me; he clenches my hand tightly with his and says, "I mean it, though. I really do love you."

"I love you, too."

A long period of blissful silence falls over the two of us; I'm pretty sure that, from the mix of the orgasm and my anxiety medication, I think I might have drifted off a bit somewhere in there, too. "Mmm," I grumble, "we should probably move so that you can go, y'know."

"Later. I like this too much." He snuggles closer, as if there were any room left.

I can't argue with that. I guess if we leave a spot, I'll just do laundry and say I had a wet dream or something. I don't feel like moving, either. I just want to lie here, hugging tightly my brother, my friend, my lover. Honestly, they say that you love who you love. If they're gonna tell me that I can't love my brother, then they can go screw themselves.

For this moment, though, Chance and I just...exist. No bullies, no alcohol, no anxiety, no fear, no surprises, no self-hatred, nothing but two people spooning contentedly. Right now, in this moment, I can't think of anything else I need. If I had to choose between a million bucks and holding the one I love like this, then Chance is right: I've already won the lottery.

A few minutes later, I feel Chance take a slow, deep breath. He asks in a low voice, "Hey, Lucky?"

"Yeah?" I say quietly.

"Heh, I don't know if you've ever noticed, but did you know that you make a funny little whining sound right before you're gonna cum?"

"...I do?"

"Yeah," he giggles. "It's cute though. Anyway, good night."

"Good night," I reply, shaking my head and marveling

End. 

And that's a wrap! Thank every one of you who made it through this extra-long, 100K word journey with me; it just floors me to have the love and support from you that I do, and it means the world to me. I hope you enjoyed this fun little unlikely series of scenarios; if you did, please send me an email with your comments or feelings on things, or if you're interested on the inside scoop on what happened with so-and-so or the like. I probably won't revisit this storyline for a very long time, but I definitely left room for their life to continue, so if you feel like chatting about potential futures or the like, I'm all ears and happy to talk.

Since this one is finished (for now), I'll be working on continuing Eye to Eye. Hope to hear from you soon, and I love you all.

May you be Lucky enough to find your Chance in life.

<3 XPud

Posted: 07/05/19