Author's Note: It's been a while. I know I shouldn't have kept you waiting. (If I started out with "Break the Ice", would you all hate and stop reading my stories?) Um, anyways, my PC wasn't working. Fear not, as I'm back now, bearing gifts in the form of literary entertainment. Teachnically, the next thing to updated would be Euthanasia, but let's just ignore that for the time being. I have written delicious little oneshots for all of you (in the veins of DemyxNamine, MarluxiaNamine, AkuRoku), as well have been working on Artificial Sweetener/Not Tonight, Josephine & my Zemyx story--which has the preface and first chapter written, but no title.

I also began a little mini-series about a rock band, for a friend. Go figure.

Lyrical Credit: "Loose Lips" by Kimya Dawson. It's from the Juno soundtrack, have you heard it? it's not particularly amusing, but I giggle to myself whenever I hear it.

So if you wanna burn yourself, remember that I love you

If you wanna cut yourself, remember that I love you

If you wanna kill yourself, remember that I love you

Call me up before you're dead, we can make some plans instead

Send me an IM, I'll be your friend

He probably thinks he's cool, flicking his stupid lighter up and down, capping and uncapping, lighting up his Newport cigarettes. Probably thinks he looks smooth or something, but I'm telling you, he doesn't look anything less than stupid.

"Cold?"

No, I am not cold. I'm freezing to the edges of my fingers, no matter how hard I try to tuck them into my sweater. They're turning blue, and so are my lips, but it's all I've got—my frozen fingers, my sweater, and my duffel bag. I don't even know what's in it; she just handed me my bag and said, "Get out of here." For all I know, it could be tattered remains of photographs. That's exactly her style.

"No. I'm fine."

I'm less than 'fine'. 'Fine' would be if I was the normal heterosexual male—playing contact sports and video games, blathering about my car and the sexy girlfriend I was gonna do whenever my parents left for their yearly vacation. She would've encouraged it, she would've loved it.

But instead she got a homosexual son who spends his time pretending to be dating girls, but is secretly flirting ("Study group", we called it) and doing Other Things with his best friend after school. Secretly, until she found out and cast me out. Cast out the leper, that's the thing to do.

"If you say so."

And I do say so. I am fine, I am fine, I am absofreakinglutely fine. Fine is starting to sound like a cuss word, and I use it repeatedly. Broken Record Riku. It has a nice ring to it.

Never been better, and that's why I'm trying not to cry.

"There's my bus. Try not to die of frostbite."

And he places one combat boot on front of a just-lit cigarette, stuffs the lighter into his pocket, and gets on the bus.

I don't know his name, but somehow I can't help but feel betrayed.

Broken hearts hurt, but they make us strong.

"GET OUT, GET OUT, GET OUT!"

She's pissed, and all I can think is Oh, shit. Throwing anything and everything that's within reach at me, while Kairi stammers and quakes in the background. There's Sora next to her, and suddenly it all just clicks.

"NO SON OF MINE IS GOING TO END UP HOMO, SPREADING GOD KNOWS WHAT TO HIS FRIENDS AND THE NEIGHBORS!"

Kairi's fingers knot themselves together as she adds to the screaming. "I'm sorry, Riku, I'm sorry, I was just so mad and I wasn't thinking, I'm sorry, I'm sorry-"

A hand to the back, and I'm having my worn-out bag shoved at my chest none too gently. Mom's pushing me, but she's also making an effort not to directly touch me; keeping her hands against the stretched-out material of the duffel bag.

"Get out of here, boy. I don't need any fucking fairies ruining my life. Honestly, you're just so so selfish. Couldn't you at least pretend?" she says angrily, slamming the door.

And then there's Sora, opening the door a few seconds later, a testment to the adage, "There's always a silver lining.", but all he's got to say is, "I'm sorry, Riku."

"It's fine. She'll come around if I act as if I'm going out with someone. I can make up stuff, and you'll just have to lie low for a-"

"That's not it." He swallows, fidgets, and adds, "My parents, Riku! God, they were gonna be pissed, so I told them that it wasn't serious, that you, um, forced me-"

I'm widening my eyes so I don't start crying all over the porch, and Sora just forges on ahead with "Sorry, but you know what my parents are like. I have to get back together with Kairi. It's all fine and well for you; you can go anywhere, find any other guy, but I need Kairi."

I'm chewing my bottom lip, trying not to bawl like a baby. Sora's tearing my heart apart with his pretty little hands and is expecting everything to be fine, just fine.

"You'd better get out of here." he says nervously, and I'm allowed one last gift, one last moment of Sora's lips touching my cheek before I'm shoved out onto the sidewalk. Some stranger asks me if I'm okay, and I try to smile.

"I'm fine. Just fine."

I'll ask you what you think because your thoughts and words are powerful.

"You're still here?"

Green eyes crinkling in confusion, seeing me here two weeks from then, still at the bus stop with my crappy sweater and crappier duffel bag. It was full of ripped-up pictures, and I'm busy scattering them into the air and making wishes.

"Who's that?"

Sora. SoraSoraSoraloverknifeintheheartdearperfection. "No one."

"You could always stay with me."

Oh yes—stay with someone you barely know. That's smart. Why don't I just pull a Cops and spread 'em? It'd be a lot easier for you. It'd even benefit me; I could probably go home then, plead sexual confusion, and get back in my house. You can't find fault with a victim.

Rape me, baby. Take my money and run.

"It was just an offer, yanno. You don't have to take me up on it."

Yeah, okay. And there weren't any strings attached? Don't lie to me, you closet faggot slash shameless cherry-popper. I've been through shit like this before; I've had creepy men whisper "Need a ride, kid?" and reach for me with their I'm-straight-but-boy-you're-just-so-pretty-I-can't-help-myself hands. Don't you dare lie to me and say you weren't planning anything.

"Do you want it or not?"

I ease myself up; take out a picture of Sora (Ouch. Looking at it hurts.) and show it to the guy. Up close, I can see that the black teardrops aren't him going nuts with a Sharpie on a rainy day; they're tattoos.

"This is-was-my best friend." I say, pointing to it. "I used to screw around with him, but his girlfriend squealed and told my mom, so she threw me out. I am not a teenage prostitute, or a junkie, or whatever you were thinking up. I'm just some gay kid sleeping on the friggin' bus stop, and I. Don't. Need. Your. Crap. Got it?"

I wait for him to flinch uncomfortably, blush to the roots of his carmine hair, to touch me the wrong way. Y'know, something.

And all he says is, "Let's get a move on, kid. It's cold."

While we strive

To figure out a way we can surive

These trying times, without losing our minds.