Coming back home was a bit like coming back to school after a long summer vacation. I was excited to see Mom again, but the thought of Dad and what he would preach sent shudders down my spine. I knew that no matter the topic, it wasn't going to be pleasant.

Alfred's parents offered to drive me, but I declined and turned my pockets for change for the bus. "I don't think my dad would be happy if you showed up," I explained with a restrained smile.

Alfred's mom seemed troubled, but she didn't stop me. As I left, I heard her whisper to his dad, "4pm, no later, else you go get him." It was just past 10 in the morning. I felt like running back to tell them to drive by if I hadn't called them before 1. But I took in a deep breath, clenched my fists, and took the lonely stroll to the bus stop. They're your parents, I told myself, and they're your problem.

But as Mom opened the door to the flat, I realised they were also each other's problem. There she stood, her hair neatly in place and her long, pink dress covered in old stains from dinner, but she put on her best smile and hugged me so tightly I could barely smell the stench of alcohol over her perfume. "It's so good to see you again!" she whined, and I patted her back.

"It's good to see you too, Mom." She wasn't the one who'd been drinking; as I glared over her shoulder, I saw Dad slipping through the hallway into the living room, a beer in one hand and a smoke in the other. He almost stumbled over the threshold which was presented with tall, empty wine- and beer bottles on each side. The floor of the hallway had been vacuumed, washed, and polished to the best of Mom's knowledge, but she hadn't been able to remove all the evidence of Dad's drinking. As I let go of her and stepped inside, I noticed the door to my old room had gotten its lock replaced.

Mom placed her hand over the handle and looked me in the eyes. "I didn't want him messing around in there," she whispered.

I nodded and knelt to untie my shoes. I was at angle with the living room, and I could see Dad settled in front of the television, smoke streaming from his lips and ash falling from the cigarette. My heartbeat speeded up. "What did you call me out for?" I asked in a hoarse voice and looked up at Mom.

She hugged herself and looked the same way as me.

"Mom?"

"It's good news," she said and licked her thin lips before forcing a smile. "Come on now, let's not keep him waiting."

Although it was in the middle of the day, the living room seemed dark. Mom had prepared a table full of tea, biscuits, fruit, and other snacks, but Dad only seemed interested in his bottle of beer and the packs of Marlboro he'd stacked on the bookshelf. I settled opposite of him on a stool and watched his face as Mom poured us all tea. Her hands were shaking and she was taking her time not to spill. Dad looked indifferent. It was as if he denied recognising my existence. He just glared at the television, the picture of a news speaker reflected in his dull eyes.

I'd tried to dress up, but now I didn't know who I was trying to impress. My flannel shirt felt stiff, and my socks smelled of detergent, but while it didn't bother me at Alfred's house, now it suddenly seemed inappropriate. I felt as if I was imposing something on my parents, and I had to squeeze my nails deeply into the palms of my hands to remind myself that being who I was had nothing to do with imposing my beliefs on anyone. They had invited me home, they had wanted to see me - hell, it had even been my dad who called me, not Mom. He was the big, bad man who wanted to have a grave talk with his son.

But as he sat there, nonchalantly smoking his cigarettes and glaring between the television and the windows dripping with rain, he didn't seem big or bad at all. He seemed like a drunk loser. As if to shove it in his face, I raised my cup of tea and had a long sip.

Mom settled next to him and clapped her hands to her lap. "It's good, right?" she asked and smiled between us. "The family is together, it's good, it feels more like home. Wouldn't you say?" She turned to my dad who placed his cigarette in the ashtray and slowly straightened up.

He looked at her, and I held my breath, awaiting a shout, but nothing happened. He turned to me, looking at me for the first time since I got there, and though he averted my eyes, I knew I had been spotted and couldn't escape now. "So you got my message," he simply said.

I nodded. "Yes." I hesitated, swallowed. "It sounded serious?"

"Oh, well…" Dad coughed and reached for his smoke again.

Mom placed her hand on his shoulder. "We've been talking about the future."

Dad had a slow drag of the cigarette.

"Oh?" I muttered, glancing between them.

Mom sat as if she wanted my dad to continue, but her smile shivered so much it seemed she had to speak. "Yes," she said, delayed, and let go of his shoulder. She clasped her hands together again. "We've been talking about the future, and, well Arthur, we know you want to go to university. With that bright head of yours," she laughed high-pitched, as if she found it awkward to compliment me in front of Dad. But he didn't even flinch. Then she sighed and took in a deep breath. "I know, we know it's important to you, and… We put some money aside. We have put money aside. Since moving, before as well, and…" She stumbled in her words and her gaze rested at me.

I thought back to the conversation I had with her in the kitchen and realised I had to play surprised. Dad didn't know that I knew about the money, so I straightened up and blinked. "You have money?" I said, trying to sound surprised, but before Mom could manage another word, Dad coughed and smacked the cigarette butt into the ashtray with a loud thump.

"We're handing over your savings," Dad said and looked at the television.

I actually jumped a little in honest surprise. "You are?" I blurted.

Dad ran his fingers through his hair. "Do you think I would say it if not?" he asked grumpily and as I shook my head, he sighed. "You've made a decision, clearly. So you're getting your money. Do with them what you want. It's all you'll get from us."

My hands were getting sweaty, but it wasn't out of excitement of getting money. I kept staring at Dad, waiting for him to look me in the eyes and say something nasty, but his words were as averting as his gaze. It was as if he was picking them with care; cruel enough to hurt, but not so cruel I could jump and scream without being considered immature. "It's all I'll get from you?" I repeated. My heart was beating so quickly I could feel my Adam's apple jump.

Mom laughed, again it was high-pitched. "Now, now, what he means is-"

"He knows what I mean," Dad interrupted her.

Mom begged, "There's no need for this."

"It's all you'll get from us," Dad repeated and grabbed at his beer. The bottle had left a ring on the table. It looked out of place in the midst of crunching biscuits and tea in pink cups. "Use your room. Don't use your room. Take your stuff, or don't. You're soon eighteen, so you can do what you want, but I won't contribute to it."

I looked at my tea. Then I pushed away my cup, carefully not to spill anything, and I took in a deep breath. "Why even give me the money?" I asked.

"Please, Arthur," Mom whispered and I looked into my eyes. She was pleading with me silently. "Just accept."

"Is it really your savings?" I asked her. "Is that why?"

"It's our savings," Mom said, and Dad snorted around his beer.

"Ours? You were out of work." He spat the words out cruelly and I saw my mom flinch. "No, Arthur, I put money into that account because I wanted for my son to have a great start in life. I wanted for my son to go out there and make me proud." He sipped his drink and snorted again. The beer foamed around his lips. "I guess that was too much to ask for."

I had to grind my teeth not to shout. "So why give me the money?" I asked again, as calmly as I could, and it made Dad smile.

He looked at me as he leaned closer. His heavy body shadowed the table as he stretched in over it. He glanced at the collar of my shirt as he slowly spoke, "Because I'm not a bad man, and I still trust my son to make me proud one day."

I could've punched him had Mom not stood up suddenly, urging me to follow her to my room. I sat still, Dad staring at my collar and me staring at him, waiting for him to look me in the eyes, but it didn't happen. Then I slowly slipped off the stool, onto my feet, and behind Mom to my room. When I glanced over my shoulder, I saw Dad lean back into the sofa and sip his beer. He wasn't smiling. His dull gaze sought the wet windows again.

"He's been drinking every day since you left. It was always bad, but now…"

Mom sat on my bed as I rummaged through my closet, picking out clothes and packing underwear in a small suitcase. There were still things on my shelves which Dad hadn't binned, pictures he hadn't touched, and drawings hidden away in drawers he hadn't opened. But I didn't care for any of it. I just grabbed my clothes and shoes, and stuffed them into the suitcase without caring for ruining anything.

Mom sighed. "Aren't you bringing any of your books?"

"Keep them for another son," I grimaced, and Mom shook her head,

"Arthur." She hid her face behind her hands, then slowly slipped them from her face. "He's hard to live with. Don't think it's easy on me. Don't."

"Why don't you just divorce him?" I turned to look at her before kneeling to zip up the luggage. My fingers kept slipping as my palms dripped with sweat. As I wiped them across my cheeks to dry off, they just got more wet. It angered me so much I punched the floor. "Fuck!"

"Don't shout." Mom brushed her hair aside and leaned back in bed, her head resting against the sill. She looked tired, and she closed her eyes a little as if to rest. "He's done everything for us, Arthur. When I lost my job, we moved out here so we could afford living and I could get work. It's not the first time he's done that, you know. Before you were born-"

"What about me?"

Mom opened her eyes. "You?"

"Yeah." I sat on the edge of the luggage and watched her. My knuckles were sore as I brushed my palm to them. "You said, he's done everything for us, but really, you're talking of the two of you. What did he do for me? Kicked me out?"

She looked suddenly insulted, and it surprised me. Her lips tightened. "Before you came out, he… we did everything we could to support you, and-"

"Before I came out," I interrupted her, "but what about after? Did I just, I don't know, stop being his son then?" I grimaced and looked down at my hands. "I'm not blaming you, I know you're trying, Mom, but look at me. I'm packing to go live with my boyfriend's parents." I bit my tongue and looked at her, but she had her eyes closed again. She seemed so tired I could've thought she was dead had her feet not been moving. They were swinging lightly back and forth.

She sighed toward the ceiling. "It's complicated," she whispered. "Divorce is complicated."

I stood up and pulled the luggage with me. I didn't even know what to say. To me, it seemed she had nothing to lose, yet she didn't dare to take the needed step. She was restrained by her own fear. I wondered where I would've been if Dad hadn't walked in on Alfred and me that night. Would I still be lingering in silent, fearing change?

My fingers tightened around the handle as I heard Dad cross the hallway. Before asking Mom, I turned and opened the door, stepping out. "I'll be taking the money," I said casually as I stepped into my shoes, and Dad turned in the kitchen door to look at me.

He let go of a snort. "What a surprise."

"It's not because I'm greedy," I said and slipped on my jacket. I zipped it and opened the front door. By now, Mom had made it to the hallway too and was staring at me in worry. I ignored her completely as I turned to Dad.

"It's not?" he asked, seeming amused by the conversation, and he slowly walked closer to me. His gaze still rested on my collar. "Then why? To take advantage of your old man's last quid?"

"They're not our last quid," Mom scolded him.

I smiled a little and buckled in my knees, forcing Dad to look me in the eyes. Now, as he stared into them, it was as if he couldn't look away. "I don't think you're a bad man either," I said, speaking each word slowly and clearly. His eyes widened at that, and I knew I had his full attention. I could see myself reflected in his pupils, but unlike the news speaker, he was actually listening to what I was saying. "But you're surely not a good man. If you were, you would know I'm no different now from what I used to be. And that's why I'm taking the money." I swallowed as I paused, my hands fiddling with the suitcase. I was trying to make a smooth exit, but reaching for the handle behind my back, I kept missing. As I finally grabbed it, I felt myself stuttering. My eyes got wet again, but I kept it in as I opened the door, still keeping my gaze locked with his, and I said, "I will make you proud. Not the way you hoped, but the way it should be. I will make you proud one day, and when you realise, you'll be a good man, because you supported me all the way, and you'll be able to say you did, because you didn't just kick me out. You handed me money, you gave me a chance to live. That's the story you can tell. That's the story I'll allow you to tell. Because I'll make you proud. You just wait and see."

And with that, I slipped out into the hallway and left. Down the stairs, out the door, through the rain, toward the bus. The suitcase jumped behind me as I hurried, my legs stiff and every step awkward as if I was only just learning how to walk. But I knew how to walk, how to run, how to sprint across the parking lot, and I did. I ran until I was out of breath, past the first two bus stops until I collapsed on the bench of the third, the roof above me barely keeping me safe from the rain. I pressed my back to the glass and breathed in like I'd never breathed before, tasting the freshness of the clean air.

An old lady was sitting on the bench I slumped down onto. She held onto her bag, her lips pursed, but then she smiled. "You look like you just won a marathon!" she chirped, and I grinned at her and gasped,

"I think I just did!"

Alfred's parents didn't ask much, I suspected the suitcase spoke for itself, but I felt strangely welcomed as they let me into the living room and sat me down with a cup of tea. There were no bottles of alcohol in sight, no smell of beer lingering on anyone, no television running as background noise, and no high-pitched laughter. They chattered, smiled, laughed normally, and reacted casually to my answers. I didn't feel weird in my shirt, and the clean smell of my socks seemed to fit into their living room which was tidy and homely.

"Can I book for another week, perhaps with room service?" I joked lightly and gestured toward my luggage, and Alfred's dad laughed.

"I'm sure we can figure something out."

"I'm sorry, really," I said, pausing over my tea, "for being such a bother. I know it can't be easy, having me around like this."

Alfred's mom settled next to me and placed her hand on my arm. "Don't be silly, Arthur," she smiled and shook me a little, as if to wake me up. "It's not a bother at all."

"It feels more right," the dad chirped in, and I looked at him. He smiled and raised his cup of coffee, "It feels like home with you. You're as good as part of the family."

I laughed, because if I hadn't, I would've cried in joy.

As Alfred returned home from football practice, he asked all the important questions. As he found me in his bed, flipping through a school book, he sat down on the edge, ran his fingers through my hair, and asked in a shiver, "So… how many bucks?"

I slowly put down the book and grimaced. "Really, Al?"

"Mom said you're getting your savings," he said and pulled at his tee. It was drenched with sweat and water. I doubted he'd showered very well; despite his hair being wet, he smelled, and grass was clinging onto the back of his neck. I reached up to remove a little dirt, but he slapped my hand away. "Aw, man, tickles."

"I'm getting 2," I said.

"2 what? 200?"

I rolled my eyes. "What a saving. No, 2000. 2000 quid. Mom told me. It was supposed to be more, but Dad kept some, saying that he didn't want to be a bad man, but he didn't want to be that good either. So 2000."

"Wow." Alfred stared out into the room, and I lazily slapped his arm with the book.

"What's on your mind?"

"What are you going to do with it?"

I shrugged. "I don't know, but I guess I should find a place to live at. School will soon finish, then what? I can't stay here."

"So are you going to move out, alone?" Alfred blinked down at me, and I looked at him with care.

As he sat there, he looked like a child. It was strange thing to think; we were the same age, we grew up in the same village, and we went to the same schools. But we'd experienced life very differently already, we've had different parents, homes, and friends. I felt like a cynic, an old, pessimistic man who was going his own way in life, and I didn't want to feel that way. I needed Alfred, I needed the optimism and the joyful outlook at things.

I slowly sat up in bed and slipped my fingertips across his cheek. He leaned in over me, a hand on either side of me, as he looked me in the eyes. He seemed grave. "What?"

"Unless you move in with me," I mumbled.

Alfred's eyes widened a little. "Do you mean that?"

"What else?" I ran my fingers through his hair, and then I tightened my grip. As I laid back down, he had to follow me. He dropped on top of me, heavy as he was with muscles, and the book slipped to the floor. Our noses bumped, and I smiled at the grin in his eyes. "What else?" I repeated as he dragged his feet along to settle properly in bed, "You've been there the whole way, through all the trouble, it's only fair if you're there when the good second half begins."

"Oh, I thought this was the good second half," he teased and grabbed me by the sides, and I jumped in a laughter.

"Don't tickle me at such an important moment!" I squealed, and he let go of me with a laugh. I twisted beneath him, grabbing at his wet shirt. "I wanted to keep this serious."

"Seems like your whole day has been that way."

"Yeah, but… What do you think?"

Alfred looked me in the eye, but then his gaze slipped across my face, and his hand dragged through my hair. I felt nervous at his silent. I knew it was silly; no matter if Alfred decided to move out with me or not, we were a couple, boyfriend and boyfriend, and distance wouldn't change that.

But deep inside, I didn't know how to handle a no. We had been apart for so long, each fighting our own battles, and the thought of having to start life on my own completely detached from him scared me and left me breathless. I'd never really thought of it before, not even when saying how I needed to move out, and how I needed to live on my own as an adult, not before now, with the promise of money hanging over my head and final words spoken to my dad. Now I saw the future after school; I would have to get a place to live at, a job which could give me money to pay my bills, and it all seemed as scary as coming out had ever.

Alfred gently slipped his hand down my cheek and pushed his thumb to my chin. "I think it sounds nice," he whispered, and I looked him in the eyes with disbelief.

"Really?"

"Yeah," he breathed with thick honesty, and he smiled at me deeply. The corners of his lips sunk into his cheeks in a way I hadn't seen before, and I realised he hadn't been hesitating, but thinking. "I mean, imagine us in a flat together. I know it'll be a shit one, we hardly have any money, but imagine us together. Just, living life, you know?"

"Would you be okay with just… working?" I asked, and Alfred shrugged.

"I didn't plan on going to university now anyway. How well do you think I'm doing in school? I've been thinking about the military… but I would have to train. Yeah, I'd wanted a job, I just never thought much more about it. But a job together, like, us living together, and working, and stuff? Yeah. I like that. I'd like that."

I reached around him in a hug. "It won't be easy, you know."

"I know," Alfred mumbled and pressed his lips to my ear as he squeezed himself closer. "But what's that in comparison to what you've been through, man?"

I dragged my fingertips down his back. I'd started to feel weak beneath him, and not just because I wasn't as sturdy as him and was practically being pushed into the mattress. But because of the sincerity to his words, the gentle way in which he stroked my hair, and kissed my ear. "I love you," I whispered, my voice cracking and making Alfred laugh. Even I had to grin. "I love you so, so much."

Alfred looked me in the eyes before kissing me, "And I love you."

"If you're here to talk shit, I'm not interested."

Scott didn't even turn to look at me, he just leaned in over his sketchbook and let his pencil slide across the paper. The classroom was silent. Everyone had left for lunch, and through the creaked door I could hear students running through the hallways, light chatter, and joyful shouts. We were getting closer to Christmas, and it showed. No one cared for their homework anymore, no one could keep quiet, and despite a shout from a teacher once in a while, the buzzing around the school never seemed to stop. But Scott was silent and bitter.

I shut the door completely before slowly walking toward his desk. Spread across the tables were the morning's collection of art; sketches of baskets filled with fruit, and a drawing of the teacher as a cartoon character. I glanced at them as I passed them by, then grabbed a chair and pulled it alongside with me to sit across of Scott. He didn't look up as I settled, elbows on the table and my head resting between my hands.

"I said, I'm not interested," he repeated.

"I'm sorry," I said and lowered my gaze. I couldn't see what he was drawing until he leaned back. As his shadow withdrew, the waves from a sea unfolded. I suddenly remembered he used to swim. Somehow, it felt like remembering something vital.

"What?"

"I'm sorry," I repeated and looked up at him.

He pushed a fist to his cheek, screwing up the symmetry of his face as he contemplated my words. "You're sorry? For what?" he pressed on.

"For thinking you told everyone about me," I replied and dropped my hands to the desk. I slipped his drawing closer, turned it, and looked at it. He didn't stop me. "You didn't do it, I know that now. I shouldn't have said anything."

"You really shouldn't."

The drawing had been done with a red pencil. It looked like the waves were bleeding. "Do you miss swimming with Oscar?" I asked and Scott snapped the picture out of my hand.

"Fuck you." He was about to get up, but me speaking stopped him,

"I used to draw Alfred when I missed him." I looked at him, and Scott slowly sat back down again. "These days, I don't even draw. Not outside of class anyway. I'm too busy. I guess it wasn't my passion after all, no matter how much I tried to believe it."

"Why are you saying this?" Scott asked confused. He grimaced, his brows wrinkling with concern. He looked at me like a mental case. "Did something happen?"

"It was Stuart," I said, and Scott cocked his head confused. I took in a deep breath and stretched my fingers across the table before pushing myself up to stand. "It was Stuart who told everyone I was kicked out."

"Really, Stuart?" Scott still didn't seem to believe me, but he appeared more calm. He put back down his drawing and watched me as I walked to the windows.

I leaned onto the sill and looked down at the school's backyard. I could see a few students outside despite the rain. They had crowded around the tree in the middle of the yard, two of them leaning onto their bikes while a third seemed to be hiding a cigarette with his hand. The glow from the end lit up shortly. "He also said…" I hesitated. It was as if my heart couldn't follow my brain and was hearing all of what I was saying for the first time, "He said that he knows about Alfred and I. About us, uh, being together." I spoke the last words in a whisper, and I wasn't even sure if Scott could hear them, but I couldn't make myself be loud. I was already risking a lot by having this conversation at school considering how easily news caught on last time, but I knew I owed him a proper explanation. As I turned around and found him gawking at me, I was sure he'd gotten a hang of every word.

"Seriously?"

"Him and the rest of the guys. I don't know who or how many or when," I said, rubbing my temples with a grimace, "I know, I sound so uninformed. But that's what he told me at the game, and… yeah, I owe you an apology. So sorry. I'm sorry, I really am."

Scott's eyes narrowed and he glanced down at his drawing. He seemed to be contemplating his options, and in the end he turned to me and leaned against the desk. "They know," he repeated, and then he let go of a silly laugh. "They know! Then what is the deal with hiding anymore? Shout it out loud!"

I laughed as he spread his arms and I shook my head. "No, man, Al doesn't know."

"Why not?"

"I want him to tell them, not for me to tell him that hey, his mates have told me they don't mind him getting the cock."

"Getting the cock?"

"Or giving it," I mumbled, blushing. I slapped my hands to the windowsill as I tried to distract myself and Scott at once. "Point is, you can't tell anyone. And I know you won't," I added quickly, assuring Scott that this time I planned on trusting him.

He stuffed his hands into the pockets of his trousers and shrugged undisturbed. "I don't completely get it, but fine. Whatever you want."

"Thanks," I smiled.

Scott fiddled with his sketchbook. He slowly pushed the drawing into it before closing it. "So, uh," he said, "what is going on with your parent-situation?"

I tried to remain completely cool as I answered, "It's over."

"Over?" Scott looked at me with his eyes wide open before a smile cracked across his face. He breathed out. "Oh man, over, really? So you're back home? That's great!"

"No," I said and shook my head. A little smile came onto my lips as well, but it was a sad one, and it made Scott's happiness disappear immediately. "It's over with them. I'm done. Dad pretty much told me to go make something of myself, and not come back before I do."

"Wait, what?"

I took in a deep breath. "He'd left a message for me on Alfred's answering machine, telling me to go meet them. So I did. He said, here's your savings. Go spend them, and don't bother me again. Then Mom took me to my room to pack my things. I took my clothes, put it in a suitcase, and I left."

Scott was stunned. In the silence that followed, I could hear two students running down the hallway. One was shouting for the other to stop. As they descended down the stairs, their voices becoming more distant, Scott started clearing his throat. "Oh… Oh wow."

"That's pretty much what Alfred said," I shrugged. I was trying to seem calm and collected about the situation, but I wasn't sure if I was playing it off well. I wasn't an emotional wreck, after all it didn't come as a surprise; Mom's visit had prepared me for some of it, and seeing my dad stumbling around with a beer had been a sure sign that things weren't going too well at home. But explaining my situation, I felt ashamed. I couldn't pinpoint why. I hadn't done anything wrong, but it felt like I had. I didn't want to come across as an immature brat, but packing my belongings to go live with my boyfriend's parents surely didn't seem mature either, and I was aware Scott was thinking just that. However, as I asked him, he shook his head furiously.

"No, man, it's fine, I mean, I bet you know what you're doing?"

"Not really," I said and pushed back to sit on the windowsill. Scott soon joined me, and he was watching me as I watched my legs swing back and forth. "I talked to Alfred. We're thinking of getting a flat."

"Now?!"

"No, not now!" I sighed and rolled my eyes. I regretted it right away and bit my cheek with a grimace. "After school. When vacation comes around. I can't keep staying at his, and he said he wanted to be with me. We'll just need jobs."

Scott scratched his head. "It's all so grown up suddenly, isn't it?" he asked in a weak voice. As I nodded, he placed his arm around my shoulders. "It sounds tough, but really, with these money coming in… Your last obstacle has been removed, hasn't it?"

"My last what?"

"Obstacle." Scott waved his hand around as if it would help me understand. "I mean, you know where your parents stand. And Alfred is all with you. And the guys don't mind that you are gay, both of you, and I'm here, you know that." He paused to grin at that, and it made me smile. "Now you're in charge of your life. Isn't that great?"

It was great. At least for a bit.

Don't get me wrong, nothing happened. Dad didn't suddenly call to confess his love, Mom didn't come running to me, Alfred's parents didn't kick me out, and Alfred didn't break up with me to be with a girl (although I started getting annoyed by his many posters of cheerleaders. I took one down every week. He replaced them with game-posters). The weeks passed by in a strangely calm manner which I hadn't experienced at home.

As I started feeling more comfortable around Alfred's parents, they really did start treating me like part of the family. The gentleness was replaced with common sense; I had to help doing the dishes, collect leaves in the garden, do the laundry, vacuum, clean the rooms, change the bedding, help cook dinner, and so on and so forth. I often ended up helping more around the house than Alfred since he took extra lessons in sport while I just strolled home to study. Alfred's mom would help me in the evening, and his dad would look over my essays and suggest changes, and then we would all watch television together, Alfred chatting about his day. I was part of the families you only see on commercials on TV. A happy bunch of people who really do sit down in the evening to play a board game over a cup of tea, laugh at each other's mistakes, but always hug before bedtime because no game is worth being angry over.

But Alfred's family wasn't mine, no matter how badly I wanted it to be, and it became apparent to me over Christmas.

Just like I was expected to help out at home, I was expected to partake in their celebrations, but I found it difficult. Alfred's parents didn't have the same traditions as mine did, and seeing fundamental things like what to have for dinner, what to put on the tree, and in what way the presents are opened, change, reminded me of what I was; a kicked-out son adopted due to the kindness of Alfred's parents.

Sitting Christmas morning watching their happy faces as they handed out presents from their relatives from the states, I awaited a phone call. I didn't tell anyone that I did, but I deliberately chose the chair closest to the phone, so that I could jump and pick it up before anyone else. At first, I hoped that Mom would drop me a line. I expected her to chat for at least an hour about what a great day it was, and how she was grateful it wasn't raining, and what kind of dumb gift she'd gotten for my dad. But as the afternoon slipped by and the evening arose, the sky darkening and all the candles being lit in the living room, my heart started aching for any sign of life. At some point, I fisted my hands and started wishing for even my dad to call, just to say whatever, just to shout at me, just to hear my voice before hanging up. But no one called, no one left a message on the answering machine.

My parents didn't think of me at all, and it bothered me to realise that I had been thinking of them the whole day. Perhaps, I thought to myself, I wasn't as much in charge of my life as I wished to be.

After Christmas, I decided it was about time for a change.

I started looking for work, but there were hardly any vacancies. Wherever I went, the manager apologized and explained that they already hired too many during Christmas time, and was now looking at letting some of their staff go. The one time I got a hold of a worker at a supermarket and asked if they knew of any jobs, he hissed at me,

"Why, do you want mine?" Needless to say, I quickly bolted out of there.

I wasn't stupid, but I'd somehow imagined that with my good grades, someone would like to take me onto their team, but no one even asked where I studied. They gave me a look up and down, pulled out a notepad, and asked,

"Any experience?" And when I shook my head no, they stopped taking notes, but just went through the regular questions without writing anything down. One of them didn't even ask for my name. I felt like a useless fool, and it started affecting my mood.

Alfred tried cheering me up the best he could. "There's still half a year left before school ends," he said one night as I was skimming through the newspaper for adds. He grabbed the pages and pushed them down, forcing me to look at him. "Don't stress so much."

"I know," I sighed, but pulled the paper back up again. "But if something doesn't soon happen, I think I'll go insane." It was true. I liked helping out Alfred's parents and making myself feel useful, but there was a limit to how many chores I could perform every day without breaking down. It was like a job already, but one which didn't allow me to breathe and meet new people. I'd considered starting to pop by the basement again for a poetry slam event, but whenever I sat trying to write something, my brain seemed blocked, and the thought of going without hitting the stage was just devastating. I tried telling myself that it didn't matter, that I didn't have to be the star of the night to go enjoy an event, but when I called Matthew to ask if he would pop by to see me, his excited response was,

"Sure, I can't wait to hear your new stuff!" Needless to say, I didn't go.

In the end, it was Alfred who got me back on track again with a ridiculous idea. It was Saturday morning, and I'd hardly gotten dressed before he stood in the doorway to his room, gloves on his hands and a thick jacket hanging from his shoulders, and he beamed, "We're going to town!"

I glared at him. I was standing by his desk which was heavy with my homework, newspaper cut-outs, and books I needed to read. Alfred hardly ever studied, and when he did, it was on his bed with music blasting from his CD-player. I'd taken over half of his room, but he didn't seem to mind.

"What?" I mumbled and sat down on the chair as I pulled on my socks.

Alfred clapped his hands together, the gloves so thick all I could hear was a light puff when they met. "We're going to town," he repeated. As I rolled my eyes, he shook his head. "Ah, no man, no, you're not studying. Not today. It's Saturday, it's a beautiful weather," he gestured toward the frosty windows, "and we're going to town."

"Is it your parents idea?"

"Nope, it's mine."

"Yours?"

Alfred beamed, "Mine."

"What're we doing in town?" I straightened up suspiciously while Alfred started swinging a scarf around my neck. As it tightened, I grabbed at his hands. "Is it a sports event? It's a sports event, isn't it? I'm not going to-"

"No," Alfred said and turned his palms to grab at my hands. He gently rocked them in his. "It's a relax-event."

"Relax-event?" I cocked my head and Alfred pulled me up standing. Only now did I realise he had an extra pair of gloves sticking out from the pocket of his coat. "Are those mine?"

"Now they are," he said and handed them to me.

I recognised the pink pattern. "Didn't you get these from your cousins?" I put them on and saw the long fingers flop around mine.

"They were made to be use, so you use them."

"Why not you?"

Alfred pointed to the pattern. "It's pink. I don't do pink. Anyway, relax-event. You've been working too hard. I'm thinking big cakes, hot chocolate, snowball-fight-"

"There's no snow!" I poked at the glass, and as if it was planned, the wind brushed a new pattern of rain onto the window.

Alfred grimaced. "Cakes and chocolate then."

"It's really a relax-day for you, isn't it?" I sighed, and Alfred slipped his arms around my waist as he hauled me up and in over his shoulder.

"Yep, what do you say!"

"Set me down!" I whined and smacked my fisted hands to his back, but I was laughing as he tried making his way out of the room like that. "If you set me down, I'll go! Okay? I'll go!"

It really did turn out to be a relaxing day, and to my surprise Alfred's parents hadn't been involved one bit. He'd gotten us tickets for the bus, and we rode to town and strolled around the lit-up shops, drinking hot chocolate on benches and chasing each other around statues. I felt like a kid again, and as Alfred grabbed my arm and led me down Cornstreet, I really was brought back in time.

"This was the street!" I cried as I looked around and started recognising shops. Small stores were huddled up against one another, one with second-hand clothes, the next with candles and incense, a third filled with homemade Christmas decorations. "This was the street we found porn on."

"Well spotted!" Alfred grinned and his hand slipped down my arm to my hand. As if he wasn't thinking, our fingers intertwined and I stared at him in disbelief.

"Al…"

"You do remember, then? Man, I paid sixteen quid for a magazine! Never again, I tell you. But hey, here's the funny thing, the store is still there." He chatted happily as he dragged me along, our hands bumping between our bodies. Despite the cold rain, I felt a warmth bubbling up inside of me.

"Oh," I just mumbled.

Alfred tugged at my hand one last time and suddenly let go to point. "There!"

I glanced up and saw the shop. The façade had changed, a renovation or two had surely happened since we last strolled past it, but the display in the window looked the same. Bottles of wine and wooden boxes of cigars took up most of the space in the sill, followed by stacks of newspapers, magazines, and tourist guides. As I glanced inside, I almost expected to find an old man smoking a pipe, but it was the silhouette of a young guy which I saw lingering by the counter. "Is the old owner dead?" I asked and shadowed with my hand to get a better look at the guy, but Alfred distracted me as he pointed to a sign in the corner.

"I don't know, but look there," he said and stepped back.

I read the words slowly. "Now hiring… Now hiring?" I looked at Alfred with a sudden thrill before I saw his grin. Then it hit me, "This was your plan all along, wasn't it!"

"I was with Stuart the other day," Alfred said, "and he was telling me about this street. He said, it's the place for hippies, have you ever been? And when I said no, he suggested we went. You know, to make fun of the nerds."

"Really mature," I grimaced, and Alfred looked away in embarrassment.

He scratched his neck. "Anyway, I recognised the shop, and then I saw the sign, and I thought of you! It's worth a try, isn't it?"

I looked between Alfred and the shop. He seemed so happy, but I knew it was a lost cause. "I don't have any experience," I said, the thrill long gone. "I've never sold anything in such a shop. I hardly know anything about wine!"

"But, it's worth a try, isn't it?"

I bit my inner cheek. I knew it would be dumb to have come this far and then not go inside to at least ask. So I shrugged, "Okay," and grabbed the handle.

The store smelled like I remembered it. A warm scent of tobacco and ink rolled in over me, and I felt like the heat melted my skin. As I walked in and saw the long row of magazines, I couldn't help but smile. "It's really like back then," I said over my shoulder to Alfred, "but for the fact that they moved the porn up to the top-shelf now."

"Are you into porn?"

I blushed as I realised the shopkeeper had heard me, and I turned to stutter something, but the words dried out in my mouth as I took a good look at him.

He smiled at me and laughed, "I didn't think I would see you again, Arthur."

Daniel was as tall and muscular as I remembered him. His curly hair had grown longer, and it brushed across his shoulders as he leaned in over the desk to get a better look at me. He was wearing glasses now. I wondered if studying for hours in the dark had finally gotten to him.

"Daniel," I said, and slowly the smile on my face grew.

Alfred, who had followed me and closed the door behind, looked between us as I walked up to the counter. "Hey," he said, confused, clearly trying to remember where he would know Daniel from. "Uh, you're from school, right?"

"Try again," Daniel smiled, "I finished my degree in biology last year."

"You know a university guy?" Alfred said. He was clearly impressed.

I looked at Daniel as tried coming up with an excuse. "Yes," I slowly spoke, "From the poetry slam. We… used to chat behind the stage." I stared him in the eyes, my gaze intense, and it was as if he understood.

He straightened up and looked at Alfred. "Ahh… yes."

"I'm Alfred," Alfred presented himself and patted my shoulder, "I'm Arthur's best friend."

"Best friends, are you?" Daniel smiled.

I stuttered, "Yes, best friends."

"You never talked about me?"

"Oh, we did," Daniel said and laughed.

I slammed my hand to the counter to make him stop, because Alfred had started looking between us with confusion. I didn't want to tell him anything, I didn't want to remind him of the argument between him and Scott. If we lingered on the subject for too long, I feared Alfred would recognise the name and start asking questions. All he knew was that I'd flirted with a guy. I didn't need Daniel telling him just him physical that flirting got.

"I saw the sign in the window," I said and gestured toward it. "You have a job?"

Daniel looked toward the window. "Oh yeah, my uncle is hiring. He's the one who owns this place."

"Your uncle?" Alfred said and leaned onto the counter.

"Not my uncle, I call him that. He's my girlfriend's uncle," Daniel explained with a little smile at me, and I blinked surprised.

"So you have a girlfriend?"

"She just got pregnant." Daniel ran his fingers through his hair with an excited sigh. "I'm just filling in for her until we get someone else to work here. The old man doesn't want her lifting books and smelling cigarettes all day while her stomach grows."

"Wow, congratulations," I stuttered. I felt almost dumb; just weeks before, I'd felt too grown up about having to get a job and a place to live, and meanwhile Daniel was settling down with a family. Wild Daniel who used to chase around boys and get laid as much as he could. I guess everyone change.

"Yeah, congrats," Alfred added in.

Daniel nodded. "Thanks, guys. Anyway, it's my uncle who makes the decision on who to hire. Let me just get him." He turned and disappeared into a back room. I could hear him chatting with someone and turned to Alfred.

"Can you imagine having a child?" I joked, but Alfred seemed lost in his thoughts.

"I feel like I should know Daniel as well," he said, "but I never saw him at the basement."

I tightened my lips and stayed quiet until the door opened again, and Daniel stepped out together with an elderly man. There were no doubts; this was the guy we'd stolen the magazine from, and for a moment, I felt almost sick. The worries twisted inside my head; what if he recognised me, what if he knew us, what if he demanded to turn us over to the police?

But of course he didn't think of that at all. Looking at him, I doubted he could even remember what happened yesterday. His hair was white and sparse, and the skin under his eyes so swollen and wrinkled that he could hardly look out. As he eyed Alfred, he licked his thin lips.

"So who wants to work here?" he coughed.

I raised my hand like was I in class. "Me. Uh, sir. I'm Arthur." I reached out my hand, but quickly dropped it as he made no signs of wanting to shake it. He looked me up and down.

"Do you have any experience?"

I felt my heart sink. "No."

"None?" He licked his lips again and leaned onto the counter.

Daniel stood next to him, watching the situation unfold in silent, but now he finally patted the old man's arm. "I know him, Sam. He's one of my old friends."

"One of your friends?" The man looked at me again. He seemed more interested. "Can you lift books?"

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

Alfred snickered next to me.

"Can you work weekends?"

"All weekends," I nodded.

"And he knows the alphabet as well," Daniel sighed. "Please, Sam, is this necessary?"

The man seemed to hesitate, partly annoyed with Daniel, partly from being tired. He glanced toward the television which was still hanging over the counter. A show with horses racing was playing. He seemed to get lost in it for a few long seconds before he coughed. "Okay, Arthur," he said and nodded at me. "I'll take you in on weekends."

I brightened up. "Really?"

"If he ruins anything, the bill is on you." The man poked Daniel in the chest before slowly walking back into the backroom. We all watched him in silent until the door closed.

Then Daniel turned to me, laughing. "You got a job!"

"Yes!" Alfred shouted and smashed his fist to the counter.

"Thank you so much!" I grabbed Daniel's hand and squeezed it hard. I didn't even think about it. "You really have no idea how much this means to me, I really needed that."

Daniel's gaze flickered between Alfred and me before he smiled. "So, better not ruin anything, right?"

"Who's the best? Who's the best. Come on. Tell me."

"Enough already, Alfred." I pushed him to the bus window and he laughed.

We were on our way back. Alfred had been gloating the whole way and now, with the bus rolling downhill toward the village, he still wasn't stopping. I wasn't saying much, but inside of me everything was a mess of excitement. I couldn't believe I had gotten a job, even less that Daniel had been the reason why. After meeting Evan, I'd been sure the past was better forgotten than talked about. Now, I wasn't so sure.

"Aren't you excited?" Alfred asked and slipped his arm around my shoulders.

I nodded. "Yeah. It's so weird. I'll actually be doing something, you know? I'll be doing work."

"You've always done work," Alfred protested, "but now it's just not school-work."

"I guess." I was playing around with my gloves, stretching the fingers and preparing myself for going back into the cold in a few minutes. I didn't notice Alfred was looking at me.

"So, Daniel," he said, "from the poetry slam."

"Yeah, you already asked. You don't know him."

"I know," Alfred said and rocked in his seat. When I looked at him, I found him staring at his gloves. He looked pondering.

"What?"

"He was the one you flirted with, wasn't he?" he asked.

I felt my heart stop beating for a few seconds. "Uh."

"After I was kicked out of the basement, you told me about a guy you flirted with. I don't remember his name. But it was Daniel, wasn't it?"

I bit my inner cheek. "Why, does it matter?"

"No," Alfred said, "it doesn't."

"He's having a child."

"I know." I looked at him. He kept glaring at his gloves, as if he could find the answer to something in them, but then he shook his head with a small laugh. "I know," he repeated.

"Are you jealous?" I asked.

Alfred smiled a weird smile, but he was shaking his head. "No. I was just thinking…" He looked out the window and grabbed at my hand. I could feel his pulse quicken, as if the blood was streaming rapidly through his body, and I tightened my grip at his wrist. "It must be nice, having your own family."

"You have a family," I said, my voice a whisper. It felt strange to talk about these things on a bus, holding Alfred like this in a public place, but since he'd gotten onto the subject, I couldn't stop myself. "A good one, even."

"I mean, one of my own. Like, us, settling, making a family. I mean, it must be nice. For him. Settling with his girlfriend."

I kept looking at Alfred with confusion. He denied looking at me, his gaze far off in the distance. As the bus stop, we didn't get off. We let it pass our stop, and then the next one as well. "Are you scared?" I asked, and Alfred laughed and shook his head.

"No, excited." He looked at me. His eyes were filled with tears, and it took be aback.

I straightened up in my seat and brushed my hand across his face. "Gee, Al-"

"That's what I want, you know? A family. Not like mine, or yours, no offence, but…" He chuckled a little. "I just… I want a proper one, you know? Not one where the parents move countries because their dad has a child somewhere else, or one where they kick our their child because they don't like him." He took in a deep breath. "I want a proper family."

"That all depends on us," I said, looking at him, and he slowly shook his head.

"What did he say he had, a degree in biology? And see where he's at."

"He was just helping out," I said, gently.

Alfred wiped his face off in his gloves. "I don't even study, really. So what will become of me, if anything? This is fucking scary all of a sudden."

I looked at Alfred as he tried pulling himself together, and I smiled. He was as confused now as I'd been for these past months, and I felt for him, I really did. But still I smiled. "It all depends on what you do," I said.

Alfred looked at me and I brushed his cheek with my hand.

"So," I dropped my hand, "what will you do?"

Alfred hesitated, and I awaited an answer as his gaze slipped to the window behind me and he gasped, "Fuck."

"What?"

"We passed our stop. Stop!" He jumped from his seat as he waved at the bus driver, and I laughed and bolted after him as he headed for the doors. "Sorry, we need to get off!"

"I even stopped for you guys!" the driver said, but he pulled in to the side.

As we stepped outside, we were in the middle of the fields far past the village, and in the rainy distance we could see the houses slipping up and down the hills. As the bus drove past us, Alfred looked at me with a shrug.

"I guess I know what I'll do."

"What?" I asked, and he grabbed my hand and dragged me into the nearest puddle.

"Blame it all on you!"

I smacked him and jumped on his back for a ride.

It was as if meeting Daniel had made something inside of Alfred's head click. A switch had been turned on. My papers and books soon had to move aside for Alfred's as he started spending his evenings doing homework and writing equations, asking me now and then how it looked.

"I really know nothing about maths," I excused myself, and in a huff he turned to his parents. They were as amazed as me.

"You're studying?" his dad said with a certain suspicious undertone to his voice as he first saw Alfred with a book. Since he finished secondary school, he'd pretty much given up on his tough attitude. Working out wasn't a punishment for Alfred anymore, and as he didn't like forcing him to do homework by taking away sports, he'd just let Alfred do his own thing. But now his school-scared son came begging him for advice.

"I don't understand it, so please?" Alfred said, and his mom roared with laughter.

"You should've left home earlier, Arthur," she said and messed up my hair. "See what you've done to him!"

I smiled shyly. "It's really not me, he decided this himself."

"Well, I've tried to make him decide for years, so no matter what it is, I lift my arms and say my thanks!" she nodded.

While Alfred got studious, I allowed myself a break from reading and headed to the magazine shop every weekend to fill in for Daniel's girlfriend. In the beginning, both he and his uncle would be there, showing me what to do, how to work the till, and what magazine went where. I helped rearranging the window display now Christmas had passed by, Í tried to sell customers mullet wine for ten quid, and I swept the floor and gently dusted off the shelves with porn magazines, looking away as if I didn't even know they existed.

My first few weekends were busy. Alfred had told the guys from school about my job, and they all dropped by in groups to greet me and take a look around. Some of them wanted discount on porn, others begged me to smuggle them a bottle of wine, but mostly they just poked their heads in, shouted something at me, and then fled when Sam poked his old head out from the backroom.

"It's gotten so noisy since you came here," he told me one day, and I was so embarrassed I begged the guys to stop coming by. Luckily, they'd already lost interest by then.

As my classmates stopped popping by, life went on as usual, and a few weeks passed without any events word mentioning. Daniel's presence became sparse; now that he didn't have to teach me anymore, he just dropped by to pick up some smokes or ask me how I was doing. I'd been worried he would hang around me, lingering on our awkward past and asking me about Alfred, but he was very grown up about it all. He only mentioned Alfred once, and that was after I'd told him about his sudden change in attitude. We were cleaning the stockroom as the topic came up.

"I swear, he's a changed man," I said and handed him a box of cigars for the front window. "It's like he's gone nuts, talking of families and moving in together. It's like he only just realised."

"Well, maybe he only just did," Daniel replied and brushed his long hair behind his shoulders. It had grown even more by then. "You've said it yourself, he never really was gay. So maybe he thought being gay with you now meant being nothing like a straight couple. You know, no family, no nothing. Maybe he only just realised it's possible."

I hesitated with a stack of magazines between my hands, and I balanced my way down the ladder to the floor. "You think that's possible?"

"Why not?" Daniel asked and shrugged. "I told you, people like labelling themselves when they really shouldn't. With labels come definitions, and with definitions come, well, restrictions. Don't you know of someone who's been restricted?"

I thought back to my mom and slowly nodded. She surely seemed tied up on the word marriage, as if divorce was always followed by hellfire. "But why the sudden studying?"

Daniel took the magazines out of my hand and led me back into the shop. "He sees a different future now?" he shrugged and put them down on the counter. He looked at me as I picked them up and started arranging them neatly by the front.

"What future?"

"Whatever's on his mind," Daniel said and waited for me to look at him before continuing, "it looks brighter to him than before."

It felt strangely good to hear someone say that. Maybe because Alfred didn't say anything himself. When his mates asked why he couldn't do as much sport anymore, he told them he had chores to do, and I was a natural pick to blame.

"After Arthur got his job, there's more for me to do. I have to help them," he shrugged. For some reason, no one ever questioned what they did before I moved in.

Few asked what was going on with me. It seemed everyone just accepted that I now lived with Alfred, and that my parents had abandoned me for good. Even I had started thinking that. Since the conversation at home before Christmas, I hadn't seen my parents. I'd been told that Mom once called Alfred's dad to be ensured that I was well, but it was all a rumour which I couldn't get any proof of. I didn't like asking Alfred's parents if they'd gotten any calls. I assumed that if they didn't tell me, they didn't want for me to know. Still, I wondered if they thought about me at all, and when I would see them again.

It was a Sunday morning and the shop had just opened when Sam sent me to the backroom to pick up some cigarettes. "Just take whatever you can find in there," he told me. "I'm expecting a delivery tomorrow, but for now we've got to do with what we have." So I searched the backroom, flipping over empty boxes and rummaging through stacks of old magazines in the search of smokes. I'd found two blue packages of a brand unknown to me, and a pack of Marlboro in the corner as Sam's voice echoed between the dusty shelves.

"Do you have any Marlboro? I've got a gentleman asking."

I looked at the cartons in my hands and hurried to the front desk. "I've got one. And two packs of, eh, something," I mumbled and handed them to Sam behind the counter before glancing at the customer. I almost jumped and let go of a yelp.

There stood my dad. He was in an old windbreaker, and he looked worn himself; he hadn't shaven, and he hadn't slept for days, his red eyes clearly revealed that. Still, it wasn't sleeping pills he'd collected on the counter. It was two bottles of wine, three cans of beer, a magazine from the top shelf, and a pack of condoms. He quickly pushed the last two items aside, as if they'd just been in his way, and he gawked at me.

"Arthur? What are you doing here?" he asked.

Sam looked at my dad. There was a strange sternness to his face as he placed the pack of smokes on the counter. "Will that be all, sir?"

"Do you work here?" my dad asked.

I swallowed. My body felt stiff, as if I was a doll who couldn't move on my own, and I just stared at him with surprise in my eyes. I felt like I couldn't breathe.

"When did you start?"

"A few weeks ago. After Christmas," I replied in a weak voice.

Dad still looked taken aback.

"Will that be all, sir?" Sam repeated, his voice as steady as he could manage at his age.

Dad was still staring at me, but he nodded and withdrew two twenties. He handed them to Sam who started doing the calculation in his head, reaching for his change. "What about school?"

"I'm only here on weekends. I still get top grades. Mostly."

Sam wrapped Dad's things up in a plastic bag and handed it to him. He took it, but he stayed on the spot. "Thank you, sir," Sam said, as if to snap him out of it, but he still didn't leave. "The change is in your bag."

"I thought you would be coming home by now," he said.

I swallowed again, but I had no spit to down. It was a dry, painful sinking. "You never called."

"So you're still living off of other's?"

"Shouldn't you go home to your wife?"

Dad and I looked at Sam as he spoke up. I was expecting him to be annoyed with me for chatting with relatives while at work, but it was Dad he was staring at.

"Sir," he added, "shouldn't you go home to your wife?"

Dad slowly twisted the handles of the plastic bag around his knuckles. "Your mom misses you," he said and grabbed at the handle. He opened the front door. "I can't believe you're doing this to her."

I wanted to say something smart, but Sam placed his hand on my shoulder, and I was quiet as Dad left. The door swung shut. A silence took over the store for a few long seconds. Then he sighed and sat down on the chair behind the counter, his old body folding up like a piece of paper.

"So you're his son," he said, and I eyed him with confusion.

"You know him?"

"He used to come here often. I guess he dropped by after work. But these past years it's been sparse." Sam reached for his pipe and he dunked the tobacco out of it. As I watched, he prepared himself a smoke. "Then, a few months ago, he started coming by again. He bought more alcohol than cigarettes, more magazines than newspapers." He eyed the one he'd left behind and quickly flipped it over, as if to spare my eyes. But I saw the bare tits, and it made me feel sick to my stomach. "He was drunk, often. Shouting about his family. Needless to say, your name did come up." He sighed around his pipe and looked at me.

I glared away embarrassed, as if I had been the drunk one shouting. "I'm sorry."

"No, I'm sorry," Sam said, "for supporting that asshole."

I stared at him in disbelief.

He smiled around his smoke. "My youngest daughter was a lesbian. I wasn't happy about it, I was terrible, really, just terrible. She used to work here, and I would introduce her to all sorts of men, as if every customer was better than any girl she knew. Anyway, she had enough one day, she left the town. I don't know where she went. She was sixteen." He paused at his smoke. His eyes rested on the television above my head.

I kept watching him, at first silently, but as he didn't say anything, I asked, "So, where is she now?"

"I don't know," Sam said, his voice distant. He leaned back on the chair and popped his lips around the pipe, but then he withdrew and coughed. "Years later, Daniel shows up. He's got this weird hair, like a hippie, and he keeps talking of open communities, and culture, and Daisy is crazy about him. She doesn't stop talking about him. And I knew this boy was trouble. The day she announced she was pregnant, I was sure it meant trouble. " He coughed again and shook his head.

I leaned up against the counter. "But now you don't?"

"I…" Sam licked his lips and looked from the television to me. I could suddenly see the pain in his pupils. They shivered as much as his voice as he spoke, "I abandoned my child. She was the one who left, but I made her, because I denied who she was. But Daniel? He's been honest since he came. He's said who he is, and Daisy has accepted who he is, and now he's staying with her to start a family. He's not leaving her behind because he knows she won't leave him behind. That's love. What more do I need from him?"

I stroked the edge of the counter as I listened, watching my feet. "You sound like Alfred's parents," I said, before correcting myself slowly, "like… my boyfriend's parents." I looked at him, and he nodded, as if he was satisfied with my correction.

"Did they abandon him?"

"No, the opposite. They've accepted him, and me."

"And do you think he'll stay?"

"I know he'll stay," I said, almost too immediately, and I blushed.

But Sam nodded again. "There's no point in seeking acceptance from someone who will never give it to you. I'm sorry Arthur, but your dad is a drunk asshole, and the sooner you accept it, the better you'll be off."

I grimaced and leaned in over the counter. It sounded weird to hear a grown up say that about my parents. Alfred had said it, and his friends had hinted at it, but Alfred's parents always spoke with care and a hope for the future. To hear Sam sitting there, acknowledging that I had to cut out my parents, was harsh and refreshing at once.

"Didn't anyone ever tell you?"

"Not anyone your age, anyway," I mumbled.

Sam slowly stood up. He battled himself onto his feet and placed his hand on my shoulder. "Know what matters, and fight for it."

"That's what I plan on doing," I shrugged. "He gave me some money, my savings. Alfred and I have talked about moving in together. He wants to start up a family."

"Is that what you want?"

I nodded and clenched my hands. It gave me butterflies just thinking about it. "Yeah," I said. "I want to make something of myself. Of him and I."

Sam dunked his pipe to the ashtray he had on the counter. "Do you know why I stopped you from shouting?"

"Not to anger him?" I smiled, but Sam shook his head.

He looked at me with red, old eyes, and poked me in the chest with the shaft of the pipe. "The best revenges are wordless. They are done with action. Be happy. That'll show him."

I looked at Sam, and then I laughed. It just slipped out of me, because he was right. Since Dad caught me with Alfred, I'd tried to battle him with words. I'd tried playing cool, saying things which sounded good, and almost pushing quotes of acceptance onto him. But before today, I hadn't seen him stunned. He was stunned walking in to find me working like any other normal person, studying like any other normal person, and leading life like any other normal person, with or without him. It had made the greatest impact, I realised, and that's why he'd felt the need to fight me with words by mentioning my mom.

"Okay?" Sam said, and I nodded.

"Okay, thanks."

After that day, Dad didn't show up in the store again. He called Alfred's parents once, but when I answered the phone, he hung up on me immediately. But I know it was him, because before we disconnected, I heard my mom's voice asking,

"Was that Arthur?" Then it went silent.

I stopped thinking of my parents. There was nothing else I could do, and after Sam's encouragement, I guessed he was right. There was no need for me to spend time wondering about them if they weren't going to offer me anything but pain, so I turned to the Jones' family and fully got myself involved with them. I didn't wait for any more phone calls, I didn't peek out the window to see if Mom would come riding the bus, and I didn't contemplate going over there to get the last of my stuff. I settled in Alfred's room as was it my own, and he let me believe that it was.

Alfred's grades were steadily rising. The teachers were impressed, and one of them even started prying his friends for answers. They asked if they did his homework, or what was going on, and when one of them finally broke down and said I'd moved in with him, they turned to me with praise. But the truth is that I wasn't doing anything. I never told Alfred to start taking school seriously, and I didn't consider it important for him to do it now. I would've moved in with him had he dropped out of school and sought full-time work at any fast-food place in town. But to Alfred, making an effort was suddenly important.

"I want to show you that I actually care," he said, bended in over his homework, and I didn't protest. It was good to see him engaged, and when we sat in the evening on his bed, side by side with two hands locked while the others flipped through a book, I felt a connection to him I'd never had before. I wasn't sure if it really was like Daniel said, and if Alfred was working toward a new future he liked the look of, but whenever he smiled at me and pointed to a text in his book, claiming that he understood it fully without any help, I knew that whatever was going on, it was making him happy, and that made me happy. And that was all I needed.

As the summer approached, and the burden of upcoming exams started hanging over our heads, Scott asked me if I wanted to meet up with him and Matthew at the basement for one last drink before the holidays. "You'll probably be busy," he said, "too busy to see me, and you haven't seen Matthew in so long, so… How about it?"

"It sounds good," I said, "but what about Al?"

"Alfred, really?" Scott grimaced. "You know how he and Matthew can't get along. I'm barely speaking to him myself!"

"He's been trying his best these past weeks. If anyone's stressed out about the exams, he's it," I explained, and looked at Scott for a glimpse of hope. He avoided my eyes, but when I added, "Please?", he sighed and looked down.

"If he asks to go, he can. But if there's any trouble, well, I warned you."

And so it happened that Alfred and I walked to the poetry slam one sunny Friday night, the last week before the beginning of our exams. He was shivering by my side, and though I held onto his hand tightly, it seemed he couldn't calm down.

"It'll be okay," I promised as we crossed the street, but Alfred shook his head.

"I'm not nervous about them, I'm thinking of the exams."

I eyed him with suspicion, but I didn't say anything.

The basement looked like I remembered it. The round, wooden tables were scattered in front of the stage, and the initial poems had already been spoken by the time we descended down the stairs and entered the warm room. I noticed Alfred was glancing toward the bartender to see if they would recognise him, but no one seemed to notice him. Everyone was busy chatting or listening to the people who came on stage whenever they'd had enough to drink to built up the courage of speaking. By the time I spotted Matthew by the table, a thin, gothic girl had gotten on stage, her legs shivering and her eyes focused on the ceiling.

"We are scared, scared for no reason, and the worries are worms in our veins, slithering snakes, speaking in tongues."

"Hey, it's been long," Matthew whispered with a big smile as I sat down to his right. To his left was Scott, and between him and Alfred was an empty chair. As I looked at it, Matthew explained, "Marco was here, but he left."

"Ah, I'd liked to see him again," I said.

Scott smiled wryly. "Well, he's got a boyfriend now."

"Has he? Since when?"

"Since last year," Matthew said and leaned away as four bottles of beer were placed on the table. The bartender looked across our faces, but he didn't pull the bottles back.

"One," he said, holding up a finger, and Scott nodded.

"One. Thank you, man."

"Have they gotten more strict?" I asked and unzipped my jacket.

Matthew split the beer between us. "A little, but I told him, listen, it's the last time we'll meet. One beer, and we'll be out of here. It seems like he really listened to that first part."

"Well, better one than none," Alfred said, and Scott and Matthew looked at him in silence as he had the first sip. His hand was shaking, I noticed, so I quickly grabbed my own and raised it.

"Cheers," I said, and Scott slowly clinked his to mine.

"Cheers."

"To friendship," Matthew insisted, and we all muttered something polite before drinking.

The girl on stage was still stuttering her way through the poem. "We live. We die. Our bodies become worms. They live. They die."

"This is depressing," Scott mumbled, and we snickered.

"So, what have you been up to?" Matthew asked, but before I got to answer, Scott wriggled his brows and grinned,

"He's been getting work, with Daniel."

"Uhh, really? With Daniel?" Matthew pushed at my shoulder, but then his gaze slipped to Alfred, and his smile fell. He cleared his throat. "I mean, it sounds good."

"It's alright, guys, I know," Alfred said, but no one really seemed to pay his words any attention.

I felt my palms being so sweaty I had to wipe them off in my pants. "He's not there anymore, it's just his uncle Sam. Well, his girlfriend's uncle. Her name is Daisy. They're having a child together."

"Daniel's having a child!" Matthew said surprised.

Alfred smiled, "It's wild to imagine, isn't it?", but again Scott ignored him as he chipped in himself,

"Guys, I have news too."

We all looked at him in anticipation, but Matthew was the one who smacked his hands to the table.

"You didn't!" he gasped.

"What?" I asked and looked between them.

Scott smiled and nodded at Matthew. "I did." He looked at me. "I asked out a girl."

"A girl?" Alfred asked with a certain hesitation, and Scott's smile shivered, but he kept it up.

"Her name is Elizabeta. She's a bit older than me, but really nice. She goes to the university I'll be attending after the summer."

"She plays the piano. Or, she tries to," Matthew said with a cheeky smile, and I had to laugh as Scott punched his shoulder. "Ouch."

"That's great! Good on you," I smiled and looked at Alfred.

He was staring at the table.

"We die," the girl on stage wept to the microphone, "we die. We die." A silence followed, and no one realised she was done before she stepped off of stage and a few, spread clapping were heard. She stumbled into a corner, settled, and lit a smoke. I looked toward the stage where a group of three artists were arguing who were next to perform their piece. They all seemed drunk.

"Well, I've just been doing the same old," Matthew said. "So if you haven't got any news, we might as well bottom the beer!" He said it with a laugh, and Alfred lifted his head as if to add something, but Matthew was looking at me. By you, he meant me, and not Alfred, and it was painfully obvious.

I curled my toes in my shoes as I started regretting telling Alfred about the evening. I'd hoped they would at least try to include him, but now I felt naïve. As he suddenly rose to his feet, I wasn't even surprised. "Thanks a lot, guys," I said, looking between Scott and Matthew, but they were both glancing at something behind me. When I turned, I realised Alfred hadn't gotten up to head outside, but toward the stage. With wide eyes and my heartbeat quickening, I saw him slip through the group of artist and onto stage. It was easy for him, being sober and all, and he grabbed at the microphone and took in a deep breath.

I could only cross my fingers and hope he wouldn't say something nasty.

"We all change," Alfred said, his lips pressed a bit too close to the microphone, and his words came out as whiny sounds through the loudspeakers. He pulled his head back, blushing, and I could hear Scott snickering. Then he breathed in again. "We all change," he repeated. "I should know that, because I've changed a lot during the last years. Like, a lot. I bet you wouldn't have recognised me if we met a year ago. I was scared back then, of someone seeing that I was changing. It sounds stupid, I know." He scratched his neck.

I took in a deep breath and heard Matthew whisper,

"Did you know he was going to do this?", and I could only shake my head.

"I guess," Alfred was struggling, "I guess what I'm trying to say is that we all change, and it's not always easy accepting that we do. Because, it's new, right? It's strange. It's like, if you've always played football, and then suddenly someone says to throw the ball because now you're on a basketball court, that's really weird, right? That's what change is like. Weird and difficult, and it takes some time to get used to it. Especially if you pick it yourself. Oh yeah, that's the thing, not everyone picks change, it just happens. Like, my brother Matthew," Alfred pointed at Matthew and everyone in the basement looked at him.

His face blushed up and he scooted back in his chair, worried. But his gaze was glued at Alfred now. Not Scott, not me - Alfred.

"We were suddenly brought together again, out of the blue, and he never asked for it. I didn't either, but he tried to just adjust to it, and I was really mad. Like, a really douche bag for a long time. And it has ruined a lot between us. And that's not fair, because he didn't ask for that to happen. Scott there, my old friend," Alfred's finger landed at Scott now, "he was just caught in the middle of a… battle I had," he explained, choosing his words with care. "He saw things changing around him, and he had no power to do anything, but I was just a jerk about it. I really was, and it all comes back to Arthur."

My heart skipped as he said my name, and I could feel sweat running down my back in streams. My shirt was sticking to my skin like glue. I felt in the spotlight as Alfred looked at me.

"Because Arthur there, he never chose anything that happened. People have been pushing him around, and he's had to take control of the situations again and again. But he always took the battle, you know, he never backed down. If I'd been through what he's been through-…" Alfred's words trailed out and he paused by the microphone. Our gazes broke, and he glanced across the room. Everyone was confused, including us, but for once Scott didn't snicker or say anything. All eyes were on Alfred, and Alfred glanced down as if to avoid the looks.

"I've never been asked to change. It was like it was always okay for me to be me, so when I wanted to change, I didn't really know how to. I mean, I'm," he licked his lips, "I'm… really not a douche." A light snicker spread across the room, and now even Alfred had to smile. As he lifted his face toward the light, I could see he was drenched in sweat. He was still shivering. The microphone jumped between his hands. "If I am, I don't want to be one anyway. That's choosing change. It's really hard, you know, going against what everyone expects from you, being someone new… But it's worth it. I think it's worth it. That's why I'm here to say, well, sorry. If I did something wrong. I'm working on it. Yeah. I'm trying." He stood for a moment just looking at the microphone before turning toward the group. I heard him ask if anyone needed it, and then he awkwardly left the stage.

No one was clapping, but Scott and Matthew were staring as Alfred approached the table again. His face was completely red, and he reached for his beer, had a big gulp, and then slammed the bottle to the table. It seemed to calm him.

"Those are my news," he said to Matthew.

Then he sat down as if nothing had changed.

I'll admit, the first few minutes were strange. I don't think either of us really said anything as a new artist approached the stage and delivered a perfect, beautiful poem about life. After his last line, he received a huge applause, and he passed by Alfred with a deep smirk.

Scott glanced after him, and then he broke our silence with a huff. "What a jerk, eh, Al?" he asked, and Alfred looked at him with care.

It was as if he wasn't sure whether to take in his words kindly or consider them cruel.

"Showing off his skills," Scott continued as he realised he needed to add more words. He looked between Matthew and I, and then he slipped onto Marco's empty seat. He gave Alfred's shoulder an awkward pat. "For someone who's never written an essay, that was rather impressive."

Alfred looked at Scott's hand, and then at him. Then he smiled. "Thanks."

"I mean it, man," Scott added. "And the apology-… Well, it's alright, we're all good. Right?" He looked at us, and Matthew nodded.

"It's okay, Alfred," he said.

"Had you prepared that speech?" I asked and squeezed Alfred's leg under the table.

He shook his head. "No. I mean, I knew I wanted to say something, but I just…" He laughed a little, as if he was embarrassed about all the attention. "Well, I am sorry. …sorry about not getting your chick, eh?" He grinned at Scott, and this time he wasn't brushed off.

"Oh, well, you have Arthur, right?"

"Seriously, guys?" I sighed, but inside I was bubbling with glee. Scott and Alfred were chatting happily again, making jokes like normal friends, and although their gestures were awkward, and their laughter sometimes a bit too forced, there was a sincerity to their actions which I hadn't seen in a while. They weren't doing it for me. I didn't even matter in the situation. They were doing it for one another, to feel better, and to move on. When I looked at Matthew laughing, I felt Alfred really had changed, and for the better.

As we left the basement two hours later, we were holding hands, and Alfred was smiling toward the night sky. "Do you remember last time we walked from there?" he asked, "I'd been beaten and Scott had been kicked out together with me?"

"Yeah, it was quite a… change," I said and winked, and Alfred grimaced,

"Ba-dum-tjich. What a joke."

"I mean it, though. This is nicer," I said and squeezed his hand, and he started swinging our hands back and forth, higher and higher.

"Do you remember how the night ended?" he asked and glanced at me, the smirk on his face deep.

I bit my inner cheek and looked troubled, as if the memories couldn't come to me. "No, how was it…"

Alfred laughed and grabbed me by the waist. "Kiss!" he said.

"I've seen you on stage, I know you can make full sentences!"

"With a kiss," Alfred corrected himself and pulled me close.

I looked into his eyes and felt myself sinking deeper into his embrace. "Yes," I said, "it ended with a kiss. And a lot of touching on the bus."

"That can be arranged as well," he smiled as he pressed our noses together. "So, do I get a kiss?"

He did. I reached up around his neck and dragged him in for one. Our lips pressed together, his as warm as mine, as if we were melting into one there in the middle of the night. The cold breeze didn't bother me, nor did the barking dog in the distance, or the shouts from someone passing us by in their car at full speed. Nothing bothered me. This was the end as I wanted it, with Alfred, happy and close.

But, of course, that wasn't really the end.

Next came the exams, and they lasted for weeks. I think I forgot for a moment how to feel happy, and even how to kiss. With our heads buried in books, neither Alfred nor I had much time for snuggling and touching, and feeling like young teenagers should feel. The little spare time I did have, I faithfully spent at Sam's store, selling booze to stressed university students who couldn't believe what they were doing with their lives either.

"You can't imagine the stress," they would sometimes tell me and roll their eyes, "It's such a bother!" I just agreed with them, although I vividly knew how they felt.

But I pulled through it, and so did Alfred. Weeks of hard work paid off, and before I knew of it, I was sitting with him in the living room, his parents on the sofa, and we were staring at a table beautifully laid out with cakes and biscuits, coffee and tea, and sweets which shaped the word 'Congratulations'.

"A little one on the day," Alfred's dad said as he poured us all a glass of whiskey.

Alfred's mom watched him with worry. "Are you sure that's a good idea?"

"Ah, it can't harm."

"I thought you were a strict military man. Oh my, what did I really marry!" They laughed, and I smiled at Alfred as I raised my small glass to his.

"Congrats on making it through," I said, and Alfred grinned and grabbed my hand.

"Congrats for not breaking down!"

"Congrats for not making me break down."

He seemed to contemplate this. "Congrats for being a good sport."

"Congrats for not doing sport."

"Congrats for sucking my d-ouch!" Alfred grimaced as he was hit in the head by a newspaper.

His mom pulled it back and rolled her eyes. "And this is without alcohol!" she said to his dad. In the same, it knocked on the door. Alfred downed his whiskey in one gulp before jumping for the hallway, too quickly for anyone to stop him, and we all just sat hearing the door creak open. There was a light mumbling. Then Alfred returned to the living room, his face a little white.

"Uh, it's for you, Arthur," he said and stepped aside.

I stood up confused. "For me?" I said, and my mom stepped through the doorway in the same.

She was wearing high, purple heels, a new pink dress, and too much rouge on her cheeks. She looked like she'd been running, the way she was sweating, but I guess she was really just nervous. She hugged the bag she was holding close to her chest as she saw me, her lips parting in a silent gasp.

"Mom…" I said. "What are you doing here?"

"Congratulations on finishing school," Mom said, slowly. "I heard you were celebrating today, so I thought…"

"How did you hear?" I looked at Alfred who shook his head, and then my gaze slipped to his parents. They weren't looking at me, but the truth was obvious.

Mom fiddled with the bag she was holding, and then she shook her head. "I shouldn't have come-"

"No, it's fine. It's… good," I mumbled, still looking at Alfred's parents, and then I glanced at her. I smiled a little. It wasn't forced, and as I walked around the table, I had to restrain myself not to run up to her and hug her tightly. Instead, I grabbed the hand she reached out toward me and shook it, friendly, but not like a son meeting his mom. "Thank you."

Mom looked me in the eyes, tears welling up inside of her, but she tried to shake it off. She looked at Alfred. "Oh, and congratulations to you, too. I hear you're expecting good results?"

"Yes, uh, ma'am," Alfred said in lack of better words, and my mom smiled a little.

"Come, sit and have a drink," Alfred's mom said and waved her over, and my mom nodded thankfully. She settled on a stool by the end of the table. I suddenly realised it hadn't been placed there by coincidence.

She was poured a glass of whiskey and she swallowed it at once. "Thank you. I needed that."

At that, I downed mine as well.

It was weird seeing Mom in Alfred's house, but even more weird than it had been months earlier when she visited me in their kitchen. Back then, she'd looked like she'd tried hard to fit in, but this time she didn't. The shoes were her own style, the dress surely bought from Primark, and nothing about her attitude was trying to be expensive or something she was not. She looked slightly uncomfortable on the new stool she was sitting, but somehow I felt proud she didn't try to fit in.

"You're looking well," I said, and she laughed lightly.

"Oh, thank you. I hear you got a job?"

"Yes, at a magazine store. About five months ago," I said and nodded.

Mom nodded too. "That's good," she said and smiled. "That's really good." She looked at me, and then she jumped a little and reached into her bag. "Oh, I almost forgot… Here, this is important." She pulled out a bulging envelope and handed it to me.

I took it with care. "Uh, a letter?"

"It's the money," she said, and I almost dropped it on the table in surprise.

"Wait, there's 2000 in here?" I said, looking at her dumbfounded, and Alfred slowly walked up behind me to peek.

Mom nodded.

"That's not safe, we need to put that in a bank immediately," Alfred's dad mumbled, but it was loud enough for everyone to hear.

My mom cleared her throat. "It's there. All of it. I… pulled it out long ago. I know it's not safe," she looked at him almost apologetic before turning to me again, "but your dad-… I couldn't risk it. I pulled out the money. It's all there for you."

I looked at the envelope and then carefully put it on the table. "Thank you," I said and looked at her. "Really." I could tell she was nervous, but at my words, her nerves seemed to relax a little. "And Dad?"

"Your dad and I… we're not…" Mom paused, and I regretted even asking when I saw how she was shaking.

As an instinct, I grabbed the whiskey bottle and poured her yet a drink. No one stopped me. "Never mind," I said. "Today, we celebrate."

"I got this for you, Alfred," Mom said and pulled out a package from the bag. It was square and flat, and I stared at it in disbelief.

"For me?" Alfred said, sounding just as suspicious as me. He reached over and accepted the present, but not without getting a nod from his parents first. "Uh, thanks. Thank you. Ma'am."

"That's not needed. I'm not that old," Mom said, trying to joke, and Alfred laughed awkwardly and sat down next to me again.

He poked his fingers beneath the ribbon and loosened it with care. I'd never seen him be so careful about unwrapping a present before, and as he lifted the paper to peek inside, I'd never seen him as surprised either. He reached in, and pulled out a red and white football shirt from some team he used to like when he was a kid. I wasn't even sure if the team existed anymore, but I was as taken aback as him that Mom had remembered them.

"I don't know if it's anything," Mom said and licked her thin lips. She was blushing a little as Alfred held up the shirt, the size clearly a few numbers too big for him, "but, well-"

"It's great," Alfred assured her and gave her a big smile. "Thank you so much." He reached over and shook her hand, and she didn't flinch away but let him.

I stared at them stunned. It was the most interaction I'd seen between them since we were both kids, but it felt pleasant.

Mom smiled shyly. "Oh, please. Let's not make this awkward…" She looked between us, then picked up her glass of whiskey and downed it again.

Alfred's dad was laughing while his mom seemed horrified. I smiled as if to assure them it was okay.

"It's good to see you're well, Arthur," Mom said as she put the glass back down again and looked at me. She then turned to Alfred's parents. "It's good to see him well. Thank you."

"Oh no, it's been our pleasure," they assured her.

She looked at her hands and then at the envelope. "Do you know what you're going to do now? What are your plans?"

"Well," I said and hesitated. I looked at Alfred, and he nodded. In a slow move, as if anything too quick could share her off, I grabbed his hand and held it tight. "Alfred and I have planned to move in together. We've been looking at flats, and now that school is over, we can find one and move in. Sam, uh, my boss from work, has said he can let me have a few months of full-time work while Daisy recovers. That's the woman I'm covering for. When she's back, I'll have to look for something else, but I'm sure there'll be something. He's promised to help me." I looked at Mom, and I could feel my heart in my throat. It was beating so quickly I was sure whatever she said, it would drown in the sound from myself.

But as Mom slowly straightened up and spoke, her voice went through to me clearly. "I see," she said, and smiled. "That sounds… good. Yes, it sounds good. For both of you." She looked between Alfred and I, and then she nodded. Her gaze rested on our hands. "I'm sure it'll be good."

"It will be," I assured her.

A short, awkward silence followed, and Alfred's dad reached for the whiskey. "Another one?" he asked.

Mom shook her head. "No, thank you, but I should be on my way."

"I'll show you out." I got up and helped Mom to her feet. She seemed unsteady, like an old woman, and she gratefully held onto my arm as I walked her back to the front door. As I pulled the living room door shut behind us, she looked at me and sighed.

"I'm sorry your dad isn't here."

"It's okay," I said and squeezed her hand. "Thank you for coming."

"No, really, I'm sorry. He should've come. It's graduation, and…" She shook her head as she lost track of the words she wanted to speak.

I squeezed her hand again, but I didn't say anything. It was obvious on her face; Dad knew she had come, and he'd deliberately decided not to go. That had been his choice, and this had been hers. "I don't need to think of him now," I said to force her thoughts onto something else. "He's not part of this."

"Am I?" she asked, her voice fragile.

I looked into her eyes. She was the weak child now, and I the grown man. That was how it felt as I brushed my palms across her cheek. "Yes, you are."

"It's been so long, but… I want to be part of it, you know? I want to be part of you and Alfred. You and… you and your boyfriend." She spoke the word with trouble, but she spoke it, and it made me smile like nothing ever had.

"You can. It'll take time, but you can."

"What will Alfred say?" she asked.

I thought about it. "Whatever I tell him to say," I then nodded, and it made her laugh through the tears.

She grabbed me by the cheeks. "You've always made me proud," she said. "Know that."

I knew I didn't believe her, but I also knew denying her now wouldn't do me any good. I thought of Sam, and I thought of actions speaking louder than words, and I hugged her.

"Thank you," I whispered.

"Aren't you coming back inside?"

I was sitting on the steps outside as Alfred walked out to me and settled next to me on the stone. It had been twenty minutes since Mom left, and I had just been watching the road since she disappeared down it.

I looked up at him and smiled wryly. "Why, do you miss me?"

"Oh, shut up." He messed up my hair and put his arm around my shoulders, and I leaned up against him. "So, what did she say?"

"Not much," I said and shrugged.

"Come on, she must have said something."

"She said she wants to be part of my life again."

Alfred nodded. His fingertips danced down my arm. "And do you want her to?"

I shrugged. "I'm not sure."

"What about your dad?"

I bit my inner cheek and closed my eyes. "I didn't ask about him," I mumbled.

"Why not?"

"He's not here. That tells me all I need to know. Why linger on it?"

"Alright…"

I could tell from the tone of Alfred's voice that he didn't really understand, but he accepted it. So we sat quietly for a few minutes. There was a warm evening breeze. It swept across my skin and tickled me. Somewhere, the birds were singing. Summer was just around the corner, and with the sun shining warmly above us, that was all I wanted to think about. Summer.

"You know," Alfred whispered, "I was eleven when I moved here. That's what, six-seven years ago or so?"

"Don't ask me," I mumbled and cracked open my eyes. "You're the one who studied maths."

"We met there," he said, gesturing toward the hedge separating the lawns between the houses.

I looked over. "Yeah, you jumped the hedge and put a gun to my head."

"A water-gun," he reminded me.

"I hated you so much," I chuckled.

Alfred smiled. "Heh, yeah. And I thought you were a bore."

"Do you remember how we fought in class? How we got sent outside?"

"What about when we sneaked in and saw the girls naked?"

"And when we climbed the abandoned house and saw that old gay couple."

"What about the time we swapped blood by the supermarket, do you remember?"

"Oh man," I laughed and dropped my head to his lap. "Where did all those years go?"

Alfred dragged his fingers through my hair, and I turned to look up at him. The picture of a child slipped from my mind as I watched his broad, square face, the knowing eyes, the gentle smile.

"Where did all those years go?" I asked again, this time in a whisper, and I reached up to pull off his glasses. He let me and watched as I placed them on my stomach before grabbing him by the cheeks, pulling him down close to me.

"A lot has happened since then, hah?" he mumbled, his breath slipping across my lips.

I closed my eyes and nodded.

"Moving houses, changing schools."

"New friends, strange parties," I added. I slowly opened my eyes again and blinked at the sun.

Alfred smiled down at me. "But the same guy."

I felt a warmth spread in my body at the sight of his grin, and I laughed, "Yes. The same guy."

"So, are you ready to spend another six-seven years together?" Alfred asked and wriggled his brows, and I pinched his ear and dragged him down for a kiss.

"I think I am," I mumbled to his lips. "Six, seven, eight, nine, ten…"

And we just kept on counting.

Author note: That is it. That is the end. And what a ride this has been! When I started this story three years ago, I never expected it to gain as much popularity as it did. I've gotten amazing reviews and lovely messages, and I've met great people through this fandom which I would've else never come across. Three years is a long time, and you've all come to mean a lot to me which is why it has been difficult for me to end this. I'm sorry if you feel some chapters have dragged, or if you think I carried the story on for too long, and I'm sorry for having taken a long time to update with this one last chapter, but I hope the length of it will make somewhat up for it. I've really enjoyed experiencing this story together with you, and believe me when I say I'm grateful for anyone who's been part of this journey. Whether you've been here since the beginning, commented on every chapter, and wrote me messages, or only just joined recently, have flickered through the chapters, and now decided to read this last bit. No matter the contribution, I am grateful you took the time to pop by and see what I've been up to.

Thank you for three great years with this story in the fandom. Thank you for all the support. I hope I'll meet you all again some other day in some other story, but I'm afraid it won't be for Hetalia. This is my last big fandom-project, and now that it has ended, I'll slowly retreat. I'll enjoy the fandom and its work on Tumblr (buttermyfish) where I'll still pop by once in a while, but beside that, I think it's time I move on. I've recently moved to England and I'm starting up a new life here which is taking a lot of my time and energy. I'm happy here, but I need all the spare time I have to settle down and get everything together. So that's what I'll be doing now, and I hope you'll all be able to understand that.

Again, thank you so much for staying around for 31 chapters. I hope you were not disappointed.