Date: Mon, 12 Nov 2001 21:26:24 -0500
From: Elsewhere <dreamer@shell.monmouth.com>
Subject: Humor Me (Part 4/?, High School, m/m)

Humor Me

Disclaimer: This is a story about a romantic relationship between two
teenage males.  If that kind of story offends you, then please do not read
the following story.  Also, if you are under the legal age to read stories
of this type, then don't.  Please do not reproduce this story without
permission, since that is a copyright infringement.

Okay, here's Chapter 4 for all of you.  I know the story's been going at a
slow pace, but this is (to me) where things start to pick up a bit,
plot-wise, so I hope you enjoy it.

Chapter 5 is still in progress, and unfortunately, it's a slow one.
Comments go to dreamer@shell.monmouth.com.  Feedback is always very much
appreciated.



-Chapter 4-

	Good and Evil.

	Cats and Dogs.

	Yin and Yang.

	In the whole of human history, the concept of dichotomy has been
ever-present.  Two opposing forces, vying for dominance, constantly seeking
to conquer the other.  Though, the truth of the matter is that one cannot
exist without.  Over the centuries, there have been any number of
philosophers that have studied dichotomy in human society, and all had
arrived at that same conclusion of coexistence.

	When I was thirteen, I hit on my own conclusion: those philosophers
were probably only children.

	Those lucky sons of bitches.

	My bare toes made little fists, clenching and unclenching in the
carpet as I plodded down the hallway.  None of those ancient and learned
philosophers ever dealt with the dichotomy between an older brother and a
younger one.  That always puzzled me; I mean, didn't the story of Cain and
Abel teach anyone anything?  Older and younger brothers have been feuding
since the dawn of time itself.

	And, since I despise standing out, my older brother Shane and I
were no exception.

	Where I tried to make my room some satisfying mix of comfort and
practicality, Shane's was, even while he was away at college, a small ocean
of clutter and discarded interests: CDs out of their cases, a guitar in the
corner he hadn't touched in at least a year, his old football equipment
half out of his closet.  Well, there was a sudden opening of a large space
in my own closet.  Maybe he'd like to use the extra room.

	Shane was stretched out on his bed now, languidly, still in sweats
and an old T-shirt he liked to sleep in.  Hands laced behind his head, he
look at me with that superior smile on his face.  As I headed to the chair
by his hardly-used desk, I started to feel an anger inside me like a ball
of phlegm in my stomach.  He knew I hated that look. I knew he was baiting
me, and I was letting him.

	It had always been like that; we had always been total opposites.
Maybe it was being separated by three years, or some sort of instinctual
rebellion on my part, down to the genetic level.  By the hair and eye
color, some people could say we were related.  But that's where the
similarities end.  Where Shane was always good at sports, my mind developed
instead.  Where he was tall and built, I was slight, and five-foot-seven on
a good day.  Where Shane was popular everywhere he went, I got the crap
kicked out of me.  Where he was straight...

	It was then that I realized that, regardless of my bravado last
night, I didn't know what the hell was going on.

	I turned Shane's desk chair around, sitting on it backwards with my
arms crossed over the top of the backrest, resting my chin on my folded
arms.  For that first minute, neither of us said anything.  We were content
to just stare each other down in that alpha-male dominance contest done in
this house countless times before.

	I wanted to scream, and I didn't know why.  In a lot of ways, the
last day did and didn't make any sense.  And the fact that it didn't make
sense made even /less/ sense, since I was so...sure of the last two weeks.
I closed my eyes again, feeling the lingering pressure of his arms around
my chest.  What if I was kidding myself?  What if I was just so lonely that
I just latched onto the first person, of any sex, who gave me any kind of
positive attention.  Oh, Mike...what am I doing?

	Shane broke the silence first, at which I opened my eyes.  "Well?"

	I sank lower in my seat.  There were few ways to win out of this,
so I just readied myself for the eventual medicine.  "It's more complicated
than what it looks like."

	"You were kissing a guy."

	Maybe I imagined an accusatory tone in Shane's voice, or maybe he
was being snarky.  In either case, I went immediately on the defensive.
"Which is a lot better than the livestock you used to bring to your room to
neck with."

	A smile crawled along my brother's face, and I felt a swirl of
revulsion in my chest.  I had this distinct feeling that my brother was
some sort of cat, and I should have bigger ears and a penchant for cheese.
I...just started hating.  Hating Shane for playing with me like
this. Hating dad for dying, and Mom for not making me tell her what's
wrong.  Hating Dani for breaking me out of my shell in the first place.
Hating Mike for making me get caught.  Hating him for caring to talk to me
and not giving up.  Hating him for making me laugh.  Hating him for liking
me at all.

	And most of all, hating myself for being like this.  For having
these feelings.  For liking him too, and still not knowing what it all
means.

	"Well, little brother, this explains why you wanted that tent so
bad."

	I started to go cold, from the inside out.  This is so not what I
needed to deal with right now.  "Fuck you," I muttered, and rose.  I was
still feeling grungy from the lack of a morning shower, and Shane's little
comments were not helping my mood.  "I don't need this right now."

	"Hold it," Shane said, before I could get halfway across the room.
I began to wonder if all the crap on the floor of his room wasn't an
accident, but a strategic placement to prevent such things as my getting
away from happening.  I reminded myself to think on that, later; see if my
brother was smarter than he came across as being.  "Sit down, Jonas," he
said, sitting up on his bed, back against the wall.

	"Fine," I said, and went back to the chair.  "Okay, first off," I
started, 'the tent is so I don't get rained on if I want to sleep somewhere
else for a night if I don't want to deal with people.  And I didn't want to
deal with them yesterday.  I'm not running a whorehouse from our backyard,
regardless of what you may think."

	Shane's eyebrows lifted.  "If you were, I think I'd have been
impressed with you."

	I leaned forward, pressing my forehead against my arms, back on the
chair.  I felt the pressure of a new headache start behind my eyes.  "You
are such an ass."

	"And you're gay."

	"I guess."

	Silence.  "You...guess, Jo?"

	I felt my whole body tighten.  I would not cry.  Not now.  I didn't
say anything.  A thousand words formed in my head, pushing against the
sides of my skull as I struggled to make any sense and order from it.

	"Jo?  You in there?"

	I snapped my head up.  "I don't know, okay?"

	Shane was sitting on the edge of the bed now, and not as
expressionless as before.  Did I see concern?  "What don't you know?"

	"Any of it."

	Blink.  "What do you mean?"

	I took a deep breath.  "I know I like him.  Michael.  But...what if
I'm not really gay at all?  I mean, you saw me kiss him, and I liked that."
I felt my body twitch.  I had /really/ liked that.  What the hell is going
on?  "But what if it turns out that the kissing is all I like?  What if,
Shane, it's just some curiosity I wanted to get out of my system?"

	My brother's eyes narrows, as his gaze filled with heat.  "He
didn't fuck with you, did he?"

	I shook my head quickly.  "No, no.  Anything we did was only what I
wanted.  Kissing, a lot of holding.  It felt...good.  I like the way that
it felt."

	"How long has this been going on?"

	I looked at my watch.  "about...eleven hours."

	"You serious?"

	"What did you mean by the question?"

	"How long have you two been going out?"

	"Like I said, eleven hours.

	"Holy shit."

	"But," I said, raising a finger.  "I've been feeling this way for a
couple of weeks.

	She stopped, looking back at me.  "What way?"

	It took a few moments to find the words.  I kept having this
feeling like I could, or should, talk for hours.  There was that feeling
that maybe, just maybe, if I kept talking, I could suddenly hit the right
answer, the right thing to say and I could live my life in peace.  Sort of
like how a monkey at a typewriter will eventually hammer out Macbeth.

	"I've been infatuated with him," I explained.  "Like...when
everything he does is so fascinating.  It's when every time you're with
someone, you learn something new, and it's never enough.  It's like he was
always in my life, like...he belongs there, and hi8m being there is some
missing piece that's just been found."  I started to feel the smile on my
face.  "I watch him, when he thinks I'm not looking, and wonder what he's
thinking."

	There, I got it off my chest.  I spoke my inner feelings, and bared
my soul.

	So, naturally, Shane fell back on his bed, laughing his ass off.
Prick.

	Seeing the disappointing look on my face, my older brother calmed
down, but he was still grinning from ear to ear.  "I never thought I'd live
to see it."

	"See what?"

	He just shook his head.  "You don't get it, do you?  You have it
/so/ bad for him."

	I nodded.  "Well, I know that.  I just don't have a real frame of
reference, since I've never had a crush before.  I like him, yeah.  But
maybe it's just him, and not guys in general."  I shrugged, chuckling.
"Maybe I'm just a Mike-a-sexual."

	"One day, Jonas," Shane replied.  "You're going to tell me how
someone so smart can be so fucking clueless.  You're gay.  Deal with it."
He smirked.  "I never thought I'd see the day Mr. Forty-going-on-Seventeen
got his emotions whipped by someone else."  As he got back up, he chuckled.
"Been there, too.  Feel cool, doesn't it?"

	Somehow, I wasn't completely sure.  "Kinda, yeah.  I'd been holding
that down for a few weeks.  I didn't know how he felt, so I was trying to
push him away.  That's why I put up the tent last night, since I just
wanted to avoid him.  And everyone else."

	Shane's expression softened.  "So then Bannon came here last night,
wanting to talk to you?"

	I nodded.  "He didn't know why I was avoiding him, so he dropped by
here."

	"And he didn't know you were gay."

	"No clue.  And he didn't know about how I felt, either.  I was the
one who said something first, then it went on from there."

	He sighed, and the look on his face went unreadable.  "I see."

	I just glared at him.  "What the fuck did I do wrong now?"

	"Nothing, nothing," he answered.  " I was curious.  With how you
feel right now, I was wondering if he had...you know, converted you."

	My turn to laugh.  "No, Shane, no conversion.  This was.../is/ all
me."

	"And this has been what's on your mind?"

	"Yeah?"

	"You tell Mom?"

	I shook my head.  "No, this just happened last night, and-"

	Shane glared at me, now.  "Why the fuck haven't you said anything,"
he said, close to shouting.  "She's worried sick over you, and you shut her
out, too."  He sat back up, like rising from the dead.  "She loves you, Jo.
But she is /scared/ for you, because you won't tell her anything.
Something upsets you, and instead of talking to her, you just go out in the
backyard."  He stood, and put his hands on my shoulders.  "I know you're
scared, but so is Mom, and she loves you, no matter what.  And I'm not here
much, what with school and all.  She's afraid for you, and she's probably
been feeling very lonely lately.  This place is becoming an empty house,
Jo."

	My head slumped downward.  "I know," I said.  "But, I'm not sure I
can do anything for Mom.  I...can't be Dad."

	"She doesn't want you to be Dad.  She wants you to be her son."

	"And when I tell her she's not having grandkids?"

	Shane smiled.  "Hey, I still like girls."

	"I know, but Mom probably wants grandkids that are born /in/
wedlock."

	"You wound me."

	I shrugged.  "You have your hobbies, I have mine."

	"Jealous."

	"Pretty much.  I liked the idea of having kids.  Maybe I can just
donate sperm or something."

	Shane ruffled my hair.  "Yeah, so then the town has a sudden flock
of munchkin fairies, I'll know the reason."

	"Yeah, yeah, I know," I said, feeling down with that reminder of
how less of a person I was.  "Mom still home?"

	"Nope.  Left about an hour ago.  She left a note on the table for
you, so look when you're not too busy giving Bannon the tongue."

	"Speaking of," I said, getting up.  "Need a shower before I start
blending into your room for real."

	"Neat freak bitch."

	I turned around, back to a familiar ritual.  "Two-dimensional
steroid queen."

	"This from the kid who rides the short bus."

	I bristled.  "Better than riding those brain-dead cows you seem to
like to date."

	And just like that, Shane started to laugh again.  "You're still
way too easy to piss off.  S'why I still do it."

	I nodded back.  "I know.  At least it seems I'm still roughly the
same person.  Thanks, man."

	Shane stepped over a pile of dirty clothes to pull me into a hug.
It had been a while, with using being all mature teenagers and all.  Of
course, the thought of my older brother acting like a grown-up frightened
me.  I didn't understand why, though.  Didn't want him to finally grow up?

	He'd grow up, be responsible, and settle down.  He'd be an adult.
And I'd lose...him.  I'd lose the boy I had grown up with.  Sometimes
playmate, sometimes substitute father, often adversary. Always There.  The
knowledge that I would lose that one day made my eyes start to sting.

	He didn't ask me anything, but I hugged him back, answering
questions I figured he was thinking of.  "I know," I whispered.  "I'll
try."  I held there for a bit.  I always thought it was my brother who
never let go.  For the first time, I realized it was myself.  I didn't say
anything as we released each other, and I turned to leave.

	"Just be careful, Jonas.  Or is it Joanie, now?"

	Without even thinking, I snapped my elbow back into his stomach.
Hearing a startled, satisfying 'oof,' I sauntered out.  "I am no one's
woman, old man," I drawled, chuckling.  "Best you remember that."

					***

	I had rifled though my room for a change of clothes.  Easily done.
Twenty-five minutes and one very hot, very soothing shower later, I was
headed back upstairs, the carpet tickling the soles of my bare feet.

	I had stopped by the dining room before going back upstairs,
finding the note from Mom that I had missed seeing this morning.  There
were no admonishments for shutting her out, just a quick note saying she
had to go into work, would be back in the middle of the afternoon, and that
Shane and I would have to fend for ourselves for lunch.  Since we were both
used to making out own lunches anyway, this was not much of a problem.

	What was bugging me, among other things, as I headed up the stairs,
is that Shane had been right.  You got to a point where after a lifetime of
being told to be strong and be brave, you find yourself not opening up to
anyone.  Mom didn't know half of what went on in my life, and I figured she
was just satisfied with the three-point-eight Grade Point Average.  And
somewhere, I knew I was wrong about that, and Shane was right.  And that
was the truly scary part, since I think that's a phrase out of the Book of
Revelations.  Never mind, I told myself.  I'll just explain it to her the
easy way tonight, after she gets home.  'Mom, look at it this way: it's one
less wedding we have to pay for.'

	I chuckled inside at the small, lame little joke as I crested the
top of the stairs, with the clean clothes feeling oh-so-good against my
skin.  The shirt was a favorite of mine: a black, short-sleeved Tee with a
neckline that came about half an inch below the base of my own neck.  Said
shirt I tucked into tan cargo pants, unbelted, with the clasp holding them
on hanging below my navel.

	I admitted it to myself that I was overdoing the clothes.  But,
just this once, maybe I wanted to have a little fun and raise a few
eyebrows.  Two, in particular.

	My bedroom door was mostly closed, a single shaft of light peeking
out into the hallway.  With the time I spent talking to Shane, and the
extra time I gave myself in the shower, I knew without a doubt that Mike
had beaten me back to my room.  The bare skin on my lower arms prickled in
anticipation.  There was a part of me that, that strongly, couldn't wait to
see him again.  I looked forward to watching him smile, hearing him talk,
feeling his fingers draw down the side of my face.

	My teeth started to grind.  What the hell was wrong with me?  Here
I am trying to be mature and express myself, and merely thinking about this
boy made me want to roll around at his feet like a puppy.  This was /so/
not like me.

	I sighed, again, and looked through the small opening in the door
before I entered.  Part of that was curiosity, the other part making sure
he wasn't right before the door, because I felt like kicking it in out of
frustration.  I couldn't keep my thoughts in order when I was around him,
and I hated that loss of control that at the same time filled me with life.

	And what I saw in there made everything, inside and outside of my
body, come to a dead stop.

	Like everyone else who has ever stepped into my room, Mike was
lying on my waterbed. I ceased, a while back, to get upset over it, since
people are drawn to the unfamiliar. But him, lying there, made me
freeze. He was cleaned up, though still in the same shirt and corduroys
from last night. His eyes on the ceiling, he clutched Mac, my teddy, under
both of his arms, folded across his chest, like holding a prized
treasure. His hair, mousy brown at the roots, still fading to dark brown at
his bangs, was clean and dried, and still sporting the 'wet' look. At that
moment, he was puffing out his breath upward along his face, trying to get
a stray bang of hair out of his eyes.

	I turned away from the doorway, feeling a band of metal constrict
around the inside of my chest.  Oh, God, the Cute!  I think I just went
blind!

	I mean, it's easy to wonder what people do when you're not looking,
but it is an entirely other matter to actually see it.  And a sight like
/that/ could melt stone.  God knows, it just worked on me.

	In some ways, especially concerning Mike, I still was not sure of
what I wanted, in the sense of the long-term.  But, in the here-and-now, I
knew what I wanted.  What I wanted was to not enter that room, despite the
fact that it was my own.  That image...I'll draw it later.  I could draw
that, draw him, forever, but I did not want to go in there.  It would be
like pressing your finger into a large soap bubble; a moment's contact
before it breaks, dissolving into itself, and you're left with empty air.
It would just drop, and break, just as my heart was doing at that moment.

	If I wasn't gay, or even the last bit bisexual, then I had some
serious issues I was going to have to contend with in the very near future.
Maybe a little vengeful shoulder-crying on a good number of the students at
Weathering would cheer me up a bit.

	I looked back into the room, wondering if I could again see Michael
in that same, almost mystical still-life, and burn the image on my memory
to carry with me to my grave, and the countless re-livings of my lifetime
that I knew I was destined for.  I had no illusions of my own perfection.
The last two weeks meant another ten run-throughs of my lifeline, at least.

	But, recapturing the image again was not to be, as Mike was already
looking towards the doorway, just as I had my hands clenched around the
doorjamb, peeking in like a small child about to tell their parents there's
a monster under the bed.  In that moment, hazel eyes met his blue-gray
ones, and I was lost.  So very, happily lost.  His eyes lit up, like
Frankenstein's monster awakening for the first time, along with his smile,
like it was the first one he ever sported.

	"There you are," he said, lifting himself off of my waterbed,
swaying as the mattress surged under his shifting weight.  "Missed you."

	I loosened my grip on the doorjamb, the fingers of my left hand
still touching it as I pushed the door the rest of the way open with my
right hand.  I was scared shitless that I was going to fall forward into my
room, senseless.  I wanted to scream, inside.  He had to be talking to
someone else, didn't he?  No one...and I mean no one ever looks at me like
that.  I mean, my family looked at me with affection, but that was
familial, of course.  This was...something else.  It was like his look said
'You're here, now everything is okay.'  He said he missed me, and for
fuck's sake, he actually meant it.

	And, him saying that meant a lot to me, right there.  I...wanted to
hear him say things like that to me.  I wanted to be around him as a
person, even if he wasn't gay.  Even if he wasn't my boyfriend.

	But he is.  And we are 'going out,' I guess.

	"Hey," I said, stepping into the room.  "I wasn't gone all that
long."

	"I know," he replied.  "But it was a little lonely in here."  He
stood up from the bed, taking a few steps towards me.  It was then that the
surprise hit his face, and I could hear his breath catch.  "Uh...nice
clothes, there.  You look...uh..."

	I tilted my head to the side, giving him my most innocent smile.
"Dressed to impress?"

	"More like dressed to kill, Jonas," he said, recovering himself.
He put his arms forward, taking my wrists in his hands.  "You did this for
me?"

	"Well," I admitted.  "I figured I could take small steps to being
more expressive with people, and clothing is said to make a statement...."
I trailed off, and sighed.  "Okay, yeah, it was for you."  I let my head
sink down, knowing I had overstepped some line, broken some unwritten rule.
Ah, well.  He'll have to deal with it.

	Mike let go of one of my wrists, pressing his index finger against
the underside of my chin and tilting my face back upward.  "I like it," he
whispered.  "I like that you would think of doing stuff like that for me."
His face loomed closer, his eyelids fluttering.

	As he approached me for a kiss, I wondered.  He did like the
clothes.  He did like me.  But...is this what I wanted?  Was I gay?  Did I
want him as a boyfriend?  Could I give it all away, and lose that touch of
his: those hands around my chest, his lips against mine, the feel of our
skins touching, and the warmth jumping between us?  Was it worth it, being
attracted to him?  Was it worth the risk?  Is it what I wanted?

	Yes.  God forgive me, but the answer was 'yes.'

	I closed the final inches of distance between our lips, bringing us
together again.  Mike's hands moved up my sides, squeezing my upper arms as
we kissed, his fingers pressing gently into my flesh.  It felt so right,
that kiss.  There was meaning behind it, from both of us.  Each of us, in
that contact, said things we didn't know enough to vocalize.  I wanted to
say so many things at that point.  How it felt good to kiss him like that,
and how...safe it felt.  I liked that feeling.

	His arms slid around me, enfolding me in a hug as we let go of our
lip-lock.  I pushed the side of my head against his chest.  Did he ever
feel like this?  Did he ever wonder about his sexuality, and what it meant,
and if it was all for real?  I started to shiver, even though it wasn't
cold in my house.  I wasn't sure whether to yell, or cry, or both.

	I felt his arms tighten around me again, as he started to sway back
and forth.  "Jonas?  You all right?"

	I nodded, stiffly.  "I think so.  But I want to talk.  Later.  Need
to get a lot of things out."

	"Of course," Mike said, kissing me on the top of the forehead
again.  "What...did you want to do today?"

	I pulled myself away, drawing back til Mike's hands were just on my
shoulders, his fingers tracing the seams of the shirt as they went up my
arms.  "What I want to do right now is talk to my Mom, come out, and
explain all of this.  I haven't been telling her much, lately.  But she's
working until tonight, and I really can't call her at work about this one."

	"Good man," Mike said, reaching up to ruffle my hair a
little. "Trust me.  You'll feel better for it."  He gave it a moment's
thought before coming up with something.  "Want to hit the mall, in the
meantime?  Get your mind off your stuff?"

	I rolled my eyes, doing a 'Valley-girl' voice. "Oh, like, did you
just say the Mall?  I, like, love the mall!  Ohmigod!  That would be soooo
cool!"

	Mike just shook his head at me.  "Smartass."

	I calmed down.  "True, but it sounds okay.  Need to get around a
little, today.  You know, socialize, or something like that."

	"True.  And you still need to talk to Dani, sometime.  She's still
worried."

	I winced.  "Point," I said, conceding.  "Though...well, maybe I can
tell her later?  I'll call now, and just tell her I'm feeling better, since
I'm supposed to tell her Monday anyway why I've been so fucked up this
week.  And...well...wanted to spend some time with you."

	Mike thought about this, then nodded.  "Okay.  But we're stopping
at my place first.  Need some clean clothes."

	"If you need clothes at all."

	That got a cuff on the back of my head.  "Smartass."

	"Ow.  Okay, I get it."  There were still some things I needed to
get used to.  Well, when you're sixteen, you have all the time in the
world, right?

	But...there was one other thing.  As Mike and I headed downstairs,
ready to go out, I glanced to the side, just as Mike went before me.  Shane
was there, again, standing in his doorway, with a concerned look on his
face.  I smiled at him, and he did smile back, but as I went down the
steps, I wondered what he was concerned about.  Mike's an okay guy, as far
as I knew.

	Then, before I went out the door, it hit me.

	When Shane and I talked, my brother kept referring to him as
'Bannon.'

	And not once did I mention to him what Mike's last name was.

					***

	As Mike was getting changed in his bathroom, I used his phone to
give Dani a call.  In retaliation, I saw on his bed, resting against his
pillows.  I fought off falling asleep, out of sheer mental exhaustion as I
dialed her phone.

	"Hello?"

	"Dani, it's me."

	"Jonas!" she yelled, then lowered her voice to a dull roar.
"Jonas, where have you been?  Jesus Christ, I was worried sick."

	I nodded, even though she couldn't see it.  "I know.  I'm at
Mike's."

	"You're there.  Okay.  What the hell happened yesterday?  I kept
hearing it from other people, and they made it sound like you two got into
a fight."

	"Nope.  No fight.  Just a lot of miscommunication and
misunderstanding."

	"So you two are friends again?"

	I wanted to say something.  I really did.  But, some things were
better said in person.  "We...are, yeah.  We're talking things out."  I
decided right there to change my mind.  "We're headed down to the mall,
soon as Mike gets changed.  Want to meet us there?"

	"Sorry, hon. Grandma's birthday.  We're leaving in twenty."

	"Ouch."

	"It's not so bad," she said, chuckling.  "Nana's great.  But,
you're going to have to wait until later to talk."

	I sighed.  Patience was not really a strong point with me.  "Okay.
Monday, then?"

	"Sure thing.  I'll be there with bells on."

	"I'd rather you have clothes on, instead."

	"Stop being a pig, Jonas."

	"Oink oink, baby.  You know you like it."

	"Ha ha, funny, boy.  But listen, my family's leaving like now, so I
have to go."

	"No prob, Dani.  See you Monday?"

	"Hell yeah.  Love you, Jo."

	"Love you, Dani."

	As she hung up the phone, there was a chuckle from the doorway.
"Well," Mike said.  "Good to see I'm not getting any special treatment.
You talk to everyone like that, huh?"

	Guilt.  It does a body good.  "It's more complicated than that," I
said.  "When I first went to weathering, I didn't talk to anyone for about
a month.  Dani kept coming to me, trying to break down my defenses.  She
likes the jokes, or she's just saying that.  She says it's a good sign,
that I can act my age, instead of about fifty years older."  I lifted my
head and smiled at Mike.  "Looks good," I said, checking out his change of
clothes.

	Gone were the corduroys, replaced by a pair of baggy blue jeans,
with a white T-shirt tucked into them.  Over the top was a sky-blue button
down shirt, unbuttoned and with the sleeves rolled halfway up his arms.
All he was missing was his skateboard, but since we were going to take the
bus, it wasn't all that necessary.

	I raised a single eyebrow.  "Dressed to kill?"

	"Just to impress."

	"Well, it worked."

	"I never said it was for you," he said with a smirk.  Taking my
hand, he pulled me off the bed.  "Kidding."

	"I know," I replied.  I glanced to the ground before looking to him
again.  "You ready?"

	"As always," he replied, as he slipped an arm over my shoulders and
led me out of the room.

						***

	"Close your eyes."

	With all of the ambient noise from the concourse outside filling
into every store in the mall, I didn't realize Mike was behind me until he
had just spoken.  The sounds of yelling kids, rustling shopping bags, and
the various squeaks of foot traffic blended together, seeping into the
undercurrent of the human consciousness, like wading through an ethereal
ocean.  You know it's there, and you can feel its presence in your mind as
opposed to feeling it physically.

	This was how Mike has snuck up on me; I just flat out didn't hear
him.

	We had been walking the mall for hours, awash in a sea of humans in
motion, window-shopping, and video games.  Mike and I had kept the
conversation calm, talking about school for the most part.  I had been
itching for Advanced Comp Sci next year, while he told me he had fallen in
love with the Audio Lab.  The only embarrassing part was when he said he
wanted to make a tape of me singing.  I made a promise to myself to show
him the personal sketches of him I had stashed in my room.  I wondered if
he'd be flattered by the pictures, or if he would think I was stalking him.

	It had been mid-afternoon when I was looking over a floor display
of short-sleeved Ts in Old Navy when Mike had come back.  He had led me
there after we spent an hour alternately whaling on each other on the
newest coin-op fighter.  "Wait here," he had told me, drawing a finger
across my shoulder.  "I'll be back in five minutes."

	So, I let him go.  I liked having the time to myself.  Hell, I had
been having fun all day.  We had done this before; going to the mall to
pick up a new CD I wanted, or some new sneakers Mike needed to get.  Today
felt very similar to those other trips: just two guys hanging out.

	Similar...but not quite.  There was a subtle difference to the
whole tone of the day: a hand on a shoulder would linger longer than
normal, the smile in his eyes staying on me for just a second more.  I
didn't object to the contact.  I felt like were keeping a funny secret,
only between us.  Like we were operating on a different level than the
people around us.

	I looked up, catching the reflection of the right side of my face
in the mirror above the display.  Mike's visage loomed over my shoulder, a
faint redness on his cheeks, and the shyest smile I had ever seen on his
face.  "Whyyyy," I asked, still reluctant to really let my guard down.

	"Trust me," he said, coming closer to whisper in my ear.  "If
anything else, Jonas, trust me."

	My insides sank again.  Damn, I suck at this boyfriend stuff.
"Okay."

	"Good.  Now close your eyes."

	And so I did.  I stayed there in nothingness for a few seconds, the
fear and anticipation causing my back muscles to bunch together.  In a way,
I could feel Mike's presence.  I had seen him behind me in the mirror, so
my mind registered that fact, and opened my senses to keep me aware of said
fact.

	I shivered, as the cool metal fell against my upper chest, part of
which was exposed by the low-neckline shirt I was wearing.  One by one,
pieces of metal touched that skin, circling around to the back of my neck.
I felt the chain, because that's what it was, slide up my throat to
encircle my neck as my ears caught the metallic *click* of a clasp being
closed.  Parts of the chain carried a chill, the clasp warm where Mike had
been apparently clenching it in his hands.  Once the catch was in place,
the chain dropped a fraction, settling comfortably around my neck.

	"Okay," Mike said, slightly breathless.  "Open them."

	As I opened my eyes, I turned slowly towards the mirror in front of
me.  I caught a glimpse of Mike's face as I moved, and he wore a shy,
almost pleading expression.  Whatever it was, he put a lot of importance on
it.

	I brought a finger up to trace the path of the silver links around
my neck.  Most of the links were silver.  But where the chain dipped at the
nape of my neck, the links were painted, each link another color in the
rainbow.  Pride colors.

	And he had gotten this for me.  He had gone out, and picked this
out with his own hands with me in mine.  That look on his face was still
there, as if every one of his hopes and dreams rested on my reaction.

	I did like it.  Not because Mike had thought of me, or that he had
given me something.  In some ways, I needed something like this; a physical
reminder.  The fact that things like this existed, and were sold publicly,
said that while acceptance in society was not total, the whole thing wasn't
a sin.  The gift was a message: Don't be scared, Jonas.  It'll be all
right.

	"I love it," I answered, finally, and turned around.  Mike's face
was alight, as if the answer meant the world to him.  "It's great.  But...I
didn't get you anything."

	"Don't worry about it," he said, voice cracking a little, like he
was close to tears.  "Wait til another time," he added, leading me out of
the store and across the way to Smitty's, a local chain of family-type
restaurants.  Smitty's were all the same: bar on one side, tables on the
other.  Slightly pricey, but not all that fancy.  "If you force yourself to
buy something, instead of waiting until something catches your eye and
makes you think of me, it won't feel the same."

	I gave him a skeptical look.  "You sure on that?"

	"Positive," he said, as we waited in line to be seated.  "I wasn't
planning on buying you anything today, but I saw that and thought it would
look great on you." He traced the chain with his finger.  "And it does.
Tres hip."

	I smiled, nudging him with my elbow.  "I didn't know collars were
in this year."

	Mike's face dropped like a lead kite.  "It's not a collar."

	"Looks like one," I said.  "Woof woof."

	All of a sudden, I was spun around until I was facing Mike, with
his hands on my shoulders.  His eyes shimmered, as if were about to burst
into tears, his expression almost...desperate.

	"Jonas," he said, leaning in so that only the two of us could hear
him.  "I care about you.  I care about you so much it scares me.  But you
are not a pet.  Not anyone's pet, and especially not mine.  You're an
equal.  Whatever happens, never, /ever/ forget that."

	I met his eyes with mine, and nodded.  "Okay," I said, feeling way
small.  "It was just a joke."  Luckily, no one was behind us, so we had no
audience.

	Mike put his arm around me and squeezed.  "I know.  Just get a
little too sensitive, sometimes."  The line moved forward, and he let me
go.  "Okay.  I need to hit the MAC, so I can eat lunch.  If you get a
table, I'll find you."

	"All right," I agreed.  "Not just using this as an excuse to ditch
me, right?"  Another joke on my part.  You'd think I'd have learned by now.

	"Not even," he said.  "I won't fuck with you like that. Five
minutes. Promise."

	Since I was only kidding, I agreed.  As Mike was off getting cash,
the line finally moved as more people were seated.  We must have gotten
there just at the end of the lunch rush, because I was the only one on
line.  I leaned against the doorjamb into the place, patient.

	"Jonas?"

	The voice of the eatery's host got my attention.  I turned my head,
and my eyes met a young man.  Young, but still older than I was.  He was a
slender, clean five-foot-ten, dressed in the black-and-white checkered
shirt and black dress pants that all Smitty's employees wore.  His head was
topped by a preppy-style cut of white-blond hair, with a clean-shaven face.
The only other adornment that stood out from the pale skin was the blue
steel ring going through his pierced right eyebrow.

	"Yeah," I said, peering closer.  "You...look familiar," I admitted.
Because, well, he did.  "One of my brother's friends, I know that much.
Drawing a blank on the name, though."

	"Jace."

	"Ah.  Now I got it.  Sorry about that.  Haven't seen any of Shane's
friends in a while."

	He smiled at me, his eyes a dark green, like wet leaves.
"S'allright," he said.  "How's he doing?"

	"He's okay.  Wait, he's home from school this weekend. Might be
able to catch him."

	Jace nodded.  "Cool."  Slowly, his smile widened, as if sharing a
private joke with me.  "Nice chain."

	My face flushed.  "Thanks," I said, getting more self-conscious by
the second.  "It was a gift."

	"Hey-yo."  Mike caught back up to me from getting cash, and tapped
me on the shoulder.  "No seats yet," he asked me, eyes flickering over to
Jace, who was standing there with menus in hand.

	And stopped.

	There was a moment where the area immediately around me became dead
quiet.  I mean, I could hear other customers and employees in the place,
but both Mike and Jace were very, very still, looking at each other.  This
went on for about five seconds, but it was ringing in my ears for what felt
like three days.  Quiet's nice, but this was an eerie type of quiet, like
so much was being said in blank looks that words weren't needed.

	"Two," Mike said, very subdued, to Jace, holding up a pair of
fingers in the 'peace' sign.

	Jace nodded, almost robotically.  No, it wasn't mechanical.  Jace
had just gone all business-like.  "Smoking or non?"

	"Smoking."

	"This way," Jace said, leading us.  As he put the menus on our
table, he looked at me.  "Tell your brother I said hi, okay?"

	I was starting to feel way creeped out by this.  "Uhh...okay."

	About forty minutes later, after the fastest meal I had ever seen
Michael eat, the two of us were headed to the bus stop by the highway,
which would take us back across town and closer to our houses.

	I had tried, during lunch, to bring up what just happened, and what
the hell all of that was about.  I...was missing something, like I was
deliberately being kept in the dark.  That's not a good feeling for anyone,
and it was a personal hatred of mine.  But, after Mike specifically changed
the subject the third time in a row, I dropped it, and we ate in relative
silence.

	Mike had broken the ice first.  "You have a brother?"

	I walked with him, to his right.  My hands were jammed into my
pockets, and I wasn't looking at him directly.  "Yeah."

	"What's his name?"

	"Shane."

	Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Mike miss a step. "Never knew,"
he admitted.  "You never mentioned him before."

	I shrugged.  "He's at college," I said.  "He's home on some
weekends.  That's why I was late this morning."

	"Late?"

	"Getting back from the shower.  Shane saw you and I kissing outside
the bathroom door, so we talked for a while you were in there."

	Mike just stared.  "Oh, shit.  I'm sorry."

	I shrugged again, keeping pace.  "He didn't seem really bugged by
it.  He just asked me a lot of questions.  I..."

	Mike stopped, since we were at the bus stop.  "What?"

	I sat down on one of the benches, leaning back to wait.  "I...he
was thinking that you, well, converted me or something."

	That did it.  Mike just started laughing.  "Converted?  Did he
actually /say/ that?"

	I smiled, the tension finally breaking.  "Yes.  He did."

	"Christ, Jonas, you're gay!  This isn't a religion.  You don't
convert people."

	"I know this."

	"That kind of thinking is just fucking ridiculous."

	I softened, and leaned forward to pat his hand.  "Mike, chill.
You're preaching to the-" I stopped myself, as I realized I had picked the
worst possible metaphor for the situation.  "Choir.  You're preaching to
the choir."  I paused, then put on a smirk.  "Reverend Mike."

	I hadn't know him as I had some of my other friends, but I knew
that impish look in Mike's eyes.  That meant his brain was going a mile a
minute.  Whenever he was making jokes when he was like this, it always
ended up with the people around him, especially me and Dani, hurting
ourselves from laughing.

	"Oh, I can see that," Mike began, then raised his arms to the sky.
When he spoke again, it was with an affected
Bible-Belt-Televangelist-before-they-admit-they-slept-with-their-secretaries
accent.  "Do you believe-uh," he cried, as I thanked God no one else was
around, "in the power-uh of Gay-uh?"

	Now, when Mike goes into Manic Mode like this, the witnesses have
one of two options: laugh until they vomit, or play along.  Let me tell
you, audience participation kicks ever so much ass.

	I crossed my wrists over my heart, in mock-rapture.  "I believe!"

	"Do you believe in the everlasting glory of homosexuals?"  And
somehow, /somehow/ Mike said the word 'homosexuals' with eight syllables.
And I wondered how anyone could not be drawn to him.

	"I believe!"

	Mike turned his back to me, as if in his mind he saw the massive
set and choir televangelists had.  He calmed down, but it was an obvious
dramatic moment.  He wasn't done.  He still had the accent as he turned
around, and started his preaching.  "And as it says in the book of Genesis,
Chapter Pi, verse Sixty-Nine: 'And the Lord said, go forth and be gay!
Find that one that thou liketh, and maketh him liketh thou!'  It has been
many a year, my faithful fairy flock, since I first tasted the sweet kiss
of another man.  Come forth, oh ye parishioners, and share your story of
when you first felt the power of Gay!"

	It was over the top.  It always was, with him, and that's why I
enjoyed being around him so much.  Never a dull moment.  I raised my hand.

	He pointed me out.  "You!" he called.  "With the blond hair and the
cute little ass!  Tell us your story!"

	As he took my hand to pull me off the bench, I mock-swooned.  "Oh,
my life before was a terrible one," I said.

	"Terrible," he replied, in counterpoint.

	"I was alone!"

	"Alone!"

	"I was lost!"

	"Oh, he was so lost, my brethren!"

	"And I was scared!"

	"He was a frightened little chicken shit wuss, oh yes!"

	I had the good sense to give him a glare.  "And then," I went on,
keeping in character, "Reverend Mike found me."

	"Oh, he did!"

	"He came to me!"

	"Yay-yus!"

	"He took me out of the woods, and shaved off all my hair."

	"What hair," he asked, smiling, back to his normal voice.

	"What?"

	"Jonas," Mike said, "you have no body hair.  I have ten-year-old
cousins with more hair on their chests."

	I puffed out my admittedly hairless chest.  "At least I can claim
solidarity," I said.  In some way, his words hurt.  Like I didn't feel
enough of a man.  "I don't have just three hairs on my chest fighting for
dominance," I spat, then did a Scottish accent.  "There can be only one!" I
shouted, and made appropriate electric razor noises.

	He clapped me on the shoulder.  "Why do you always go on the
defensive?"

	"Why do you avoid the subject?"

	Mike blinked.  "What do you mean?"

	"Today, at Smitty's," I said.  "You know Jace, don't you?"

	Mike nodded, not really meeting my eyes.  He didn't look
comfortable at all, and in my false self-righteousness, I didn't care.

	"What...was that?"

	"It's in the past, Jonas."

	"Then tell me, Mike.  Please."

	"You don't want to know." In the distance, I could hear the sound
of an engine coming closer.

	I felt my face grow hot.  "Don't you fucking tell me what I do and
don't want.  Ever."

	He turned away from me, just as the bus was slowing down.  "Jonas,"
he said, voice tight.  "Please."

	"Please what?" I said, completely blind.  "Please just stand there
and be in awe of my studliness, Jonas?  Be the butt of my jokes like a good
little peasant, Jonas?"  I sighed, trying to cool down and failing.  "Why
don't you trust me?"

	Mike turned around, stricken.  "I do trust you, Jonas, more than
I've trusted anyone in years."  He reached out to me.  "You don't
understand."

	"Of course I don't," I said, backing away.  "You hide behind all
your jokes, and I never feel like you're being real with me.  I never feel
like you're being straight up with me," I added, and undid the clasp around
my neck.  Holding the chain out between us.  "And until you can be...this
isn't what I want.  That much I do know."  I dropped the chain at his feet,
turned, and boarded the bus.

	And, just as the bus was pulling away, I looked back.  I saw Mike,
seated on the bench, his hands over his eyes, the chain clenched in one of
them.  I could see his shoulders shaking, and I felt my heart break all
over again.

	Jonas, you're an idiot.

	Worse.

	Jonas, you're a monster.

-End Chapter 4-