Nothing Dark

[evening_spirit]

I highly reccomend downloading a Soundtrack compiled for this story. The download link is HERE.

Another thing -- if there's some confusion with the names, you aren't sure who is whom, or someone you think should be named "this" is suddenly named "that", let me know. If some RP names remained, let me know that too. Or if there are names in the middle of what should be regular words. I changed those names in word processor, so I didn't have control over each and every one. I apologize for all the mistakes. I hope they won't make reading too much of a hindrance.

 

Nothing Dark

 

-- 1 --

Nate can’t help it but he feels out of place on the campus. He doesn’t fit in and he doesn’t want to fit in. This is why, instead of going to his first lecture he hides in the bathroom.

Ten minutes left till it begins. If he stays here for fifteen minutes he’ll be late and he wouldn’t need to go at all. Nate doesn’t care if his actions are rational or not; he didn’t want to go to college. So what if he once had been gifted and talented? He believes his talents can -- and should! -- be used elsewhere now. Magda needs him. His little sister starts high school today and he’s not there to help her through.

When he was starting high school everything was different. Nate remembers sunlit corridors, voices and the laughter of his friends, meeting new people and being eager to meet them.

Then he gazes at the closed door of the bathroom. Don’t let anyone come in, please, not anyone at all. Sounds from the outside are muffled, silence inside is cold like the ceramic basin and thick like the smell of air freshener. The face in the mirror doesn’t look his seventeen years. Too thin cheeks, rings under his eyes -- he looks thirty. Ancient.

Nate turns on the water and lets it flow. He counts seconds. He doesn’t think about the consequences of dropping out of college, he really doesn’t.

When the door opens with a loud screech Nate jumps up. When heavy, hasty, rushed steps invade his silence Nate turns to look at the intruder. When this reckless person doesn’t stop and bumps right into him Nate has to draw on all his will to force his hands to remain at his sides and not hit that someone. He takes a step back, he takes a look. And a breath, breathing is important.

Emerald eyes of the guy who collided with him skim over Nate then through him like he’s ethereal, non-corporal, not real. Nate’s urge to grab the guy and shake him and yell, “Look at me! See me! I exist!” is overwhelming, choking him almost but he still doesn’t act upon it. The guy’s eyes are now fixed at the stall door and when Nate steps aside the guy brushes past him.

Nate can’t stay in the bathroom any more. Its safety has been desecrated. Someone, some rude, stupid asshole came in and destroyed everything. Nate wants to cry and scream and slam his fist into the wall. He imagines torn knuckles and blood and pain, although he’s sure he wouldn’t feel the pain. He doesn’t do pain. He’s beyond that. He’s like a superhero.

The crowd in the corridor swallows him, everyone rushing to the places only they know. He’s spit outside of the large auditorium where the message board says “Calculus. First year students. Pre-Engineering.” The room is buzzing with conversations, bright overhead lights creating stark contrasts. Nate doesn’t know anyone. And he doesn’t intend to get to know anyone. He takes a seat and watches the auditorium fill up with students he has no connection with.

Maybe if he registered at the campus earlier than the last possible moment he would have someone to sit with now. As it is, he didn’t even get to know his roommate. The guy’s name is Lee-Daniel Clifford, Nate knows it from the label on the door where his ‘Nate Stshelesky’ looks awfully plebeian. Lee-Daniel came to the room after curfew and crashed without as much as a ‘good evening’. They won’t be friends.

Nobody will be his friend here. The students chat in groups or open their books and read or pretend or just stare at everybody else like he does. Nate may be longing to talk to someone. Alright he is, a little, because he’s never been a loner. He’s told himself that he will not get attached though. He’s told himself that he won’t stay here long and making friends is a sure way to want to stay.

It’s still a couple of minutes till the lecture starts. The professor has come in at some point and is now arranging his notes on the podium. The students are taking their seats and Nate notices the boy who collided with him in the bathroom. He stands in the doorway, scanning the room. When he’s not threatening Nate’s privacy, the boy looks nice, somewhat vulnerable and young. Not younger than Nate -- who’s seventeen, having been bumped up a grade when he was ten -- but it’s possible he’s underage as well. He looks like a child -- eyes too large, his full lips parted as he’s obviously panting, too stressed to breathe easily. His whole demeanor betrays anxiousness; clenched fists held tight to his body, his thin form slightly trembling. The boy is pretty and Nate surprises himself thinking this. Pretty as a girl.

Nate shakes his head. He started feeling compassion for a moment there. Concern. He thought that this boy must feel as out of place here as he does and he wanted to wave him over, sit together, maybe talk and make each other at ease. Make the whole experience bearable.

No, he’s so not doing that!

He welcomes the beginning of the lecture with gratitude and focuses on the long, boring, introductory lecture on the philosophy of mathematics.

But he can’t drive the image of the boy from his head for the rest of the day.

That’s why when he sees the boy again in the afternoon, sitting on a bench near the gates and drawing Nate stops dead in his tracks.

For a moment at first he’s not sure it’s the same person. He double-checks and yes, emerald eyes, full, pouted lips. Still, he looks different somehow. A group of students stand behind his back and watch as his hand moves swiftly over the sketch pad on his knees. The boy is completely transfixed, wrapped up in what he’s doing, unaware of anyone’s presence near him.

And it hits Nate: the boy’s at ease. He’s relaxed, his face lacks the tension he was showing signs of earlier and Nate thinks . . . he’s not pretty. He’s beautiful.

He should move. He should walk the few steps and join those other students or maybe say ‘hi’ to the boy. Nate is damn curious now what the drawing is. He wants to see it but he stands rooted to the spot like his legs are laden. He watches. Takes in the way the boy bites his lower lip, angles his head to take a look at the picture from a different perspective. In some way this is even more captivating than the picture itself would be, Nate thinks. Watching the artist consumed by the act of creation.

Nate’s so entranced he ignores someone scooting down on the bench beside his emerald-eyed boy. He ignores this someone leaning in and quietly saying something to the boy. The bubble of the spell bursts only when the boy casts a quick glance at his companion, then at the drawing, trembles, vibrates perceptibly. The other man closes his drawing pad and takes the pen out of his palm and for the boy it’s like a switch has been flipped off. He picks up his backpack, takes out the pencil case and methodically packs all his belongings. Then they get up and walk away and Nate is left on the other side of the pavement. Alone and empty.

For a few seconds he can’t breathe like the air was sucked out from his bubble and he’s in a vacuum. He didn’t even see the drawing!

-- 2 --

There’s no one in his room at the dorm, Lee-Daniel is still somewhere he knows only and Nate is suddenly tired of his loneliness.

The emotion is overwhelming, like a cold-wet-dark well that he’s falling into, for a moment too much to bear but Nate composes himself quickly. After all he’s had a lot of practice; he had to be careful to never break down in front of Magda, or Dad. He never wanted to fail his brother Jeff either, even if it was Jeff who failed him in the end. That pain is long buried, he reminds himself. He’s not going to think about big brother’s betrayal ever again.

Little sister though? That is a whole different thing. Little sister who had a difficult day today just like he had. She didn’t say as much, didn’t burden him with her problems but Nate knows better than that. He’s on a train in less than half an hour, having asked for a pass from his Resident Advisor -- Igor Blair appears to be an okay guy. An hour and a half later Nate is greeted at the door by his dog, Sadie. An animal rescued from a shelter when Nate was ten -- she’s the most grateful pet ever. She has been his greatest help in the last two years, his best friend.

Nate scratches behind her ears, hugs her furry head. She wags her tail, whines and exposes her belly in an act of surrender. It’s heartwarming but Nate needs more than that. He pats the dog one last time and goes through the house since no other occupant comes out to greet him. He finds Magda on the couch in the living room watching some soap opera. Nate can’t help a smile that spreads across his face at the sight of his little sis.

“How was your first day?” he asks, flopping down beside her.

“What are you doing here?” She eyes him sideways and doesn’t answer his question.

Sadie trots to Nate again and places her head on his lap. Her eyes speak of all the love in the world and Nate wonders how a dog can be so wise. He leans in and kisses her nose then feels Magda shift in her seat.

“I feel sorry for the girl you’ll be kissing with that mouth,” she comments with disgust.

“Sadie’s my girl,” Nate responds and thinks that maybe it’s true. He’d never been in love, never had time for nonessential stuff like that. All the girls in his class, despite being a year older in age were so stupid and childish in experience. All they thought about were clothes, movies and the color of their lipstick or boys from the football team. Nate never had time for football in high school.

“You eaten?” he asks Magda, like the good ‘parent’ that he is.

She rolls her eyes at him.

“Shouldn’t you be at the dorm, Mom?” After all, she knows how to take care of herself. “How was your day and why haven’t you eaten yet?” she mocks and Nate’s lips again widen in a smile.

“Boring and how did you know, Mom?” He slaps her on the head on his way out and she throws a pillow at him, missing by a mile.

It’s good they are already able to joke about it - them being ‘Mom’ to each other. With Dad buried too deep in his own hurt, that’s what they were.

Nate never thinks about it. He welcomes any distraction he can find and the pizza box on the kitchen counter is a good one. Two slices are missing so he knows Magda has eaten something. Not that pizza is proper food; for a moment Nate considers making dinner for the next day but then Dad comes back home and Nate needs to focus on keeping Magda out of his way and him out of Magda’s way. It is not all that difficult as it turns out -- Magda closes herself in her room as soon as Gary Stshelesky is home while Dad takes beer and pizza and sits in front of the TV. He doesn’t even ask why Nate is here, instead of at the campus.

Nate is surprised that it bothers him. It shouldn’t, he should be happy Dad is not pushing. They had been butting heads all year . . .

When Jeff took off right after his Graduation last year and seemed to have vanished for nearly four months, Dad remembered he still had two living, breathing children. He noticed Nate’s less-than-average grades and he remembered about his boy’s G&T label. Hell, too bad! -- Nate thinks. No talents would help when he had to take care of Magda because no one else would; Jeff, even though he’d been their oldest brother, hadn’t been dealing well. Dad hadn’t been dealing at all. He’d been depressed. In order to prevent the teachers from taking interest in their family Nate had to cover up for him too. It was exhausting, no surprise his grades had dropped. They hadn’t been the priority at the time.

They weren’t a priority in the senior year of high school either but Dad promised himself he’d make sure Nate went to college. And Nate went to college.

Now Dad seems to be indifferent about it.

The cold-wet-dark well opens up beneath Nate again when he thinks what could be the reason for Dad’s indifference and every explanation is worse than the other. He lost his job, he’s depressed again, he doesn’t love them any more. Last year was too good to be true anyway what with Dad actually being a ‘Dad’.

If Dad lost his job, Nate will have to quit college and the thought doesn’t make him happy like he thinks it should. He didn’t want to go to college, he wanted to be home close to Dad and to Magda so he should welcome any excuse that comes his way. But he’s suddenly angry. Like really mad, like enraged! Like -- why should this be taken away from him!?

Nate squashes that emotion, packs it up, wraps it in craft paper and puts it away on a shelf in his head labeled “don’t touch”.

It’s very late when he kisses Sadie’s nose good-bye and promises her -- in the absence of his father and sister -- that he’ll be back tomorrow. So what if it takes almost three hours of commuting? He can’t leave them alone. They need him. He should have asked the Dean to be allowed to live at home. They probably wouldn’t let him because all first year students live on campus.

Gazing at his reflection in the darkness behind the train’s glass window Nate realizes what was so odd about his emerald-eyed boy leaving this afternoon. That other guy came for him and they left. The emerald-eyed boy doesn’t live on the campus!

Nate sits up; so there are ways! Now he only needs to come up to the boy and ask him how he did this, what justification he had so that the authorities agreed.

It’s a good excuse to talk to him, by the way . . .

-- 3 --

Jesse Adler. That’s the name of the boy -- Nate learns it after three days, during Physics Lab, another course they share.

Jesse Adler is extremely shy. He doesn’t speak to anyone at all. He doesn’t even look at anyone and Nate curses himself for being late to the class. He had the bright idea to call Magda this morning. Last night Magda and Dad had clashed, badly. Nate had to leave before all the drama had been resolved and still he’d been at the dorm after curfew. RA had given him an obligatory lecture and by the time he’d wound up in his room it’d been too late to call. So he called in the morning, talked too long because Magda was mad at him of all people, run out of his room late and reached the class simultaneously with the lab instructor who glared at him, somewhat surprised if not offended. Nate took the first seat available and noticed the green-eyed boy when the classes had already started and it was too late to switch lab partners.

Now he watches Jesse Adler stutter a response to the instructor’s question and he thinks that the instructor should see the boy’s in distress and should just leave him well enough alone! Which he does and instead nods at one of Jesse’s partners, a tall, smug lad with hair cut so short he’s almost bald.

“Mister?--”

“John Meisner.”

“Mr. Meisner, did you read your lab manual?”

“Yeah, well, I--”

“Listen up people!” the instructor turns to the whole class, “Do any of you know what the Internet is?” The class bursts into laughter and Meisner turns red to the top of his almost-bald head. Adler’s head is bowed so low it’s impossible to tell the color of his face. “Do you people know that our University has a website?” the instructor continues in a mocking tone. “Yes it does! I see at least some of you know how to surf the Net and have even read and understood the instructions on the page.” He picks up the stack of printed and bound papers from the desk of another student and flips through them then returns the book to the said student. “Why don’t you tell Mr. Meisner and his friends how to find this thing? Everyone else who hasn’t printed this out yet. Yes, you are supposed to bring the manual to every lab. Yes, you’re supposed to know what’s in there. This is your first introductory class, so today there won’t be any consequences other than some mocking. Now who knows the safety rules for a physics lab?”

Someone in the back row finally answers the question but Nate only has eyes for Jesse, who bows his head even lower and curls even more inside as John Meisner mutters something into his ear. Nate wants to punch John Meisner. He keeps observing the two till the end of the lab and sees John taunt Jesse a couple more times. As the instructor leaves the class and most of the students gather their belongings and follow him outside, John plants his palm on Jesse’s books, preventing him from packing and leans in.

Nate is at their side in an instant and sees clearly that Jesse had the manual printed out. Why did he act like he hadn’t then? He thumps Meisner’s arm.

“What is your problem?”

The bald guy glances up, his blue eyes startled and angry.

“What’s yours?” he whines. “The moron made a fool--”

Meisner doesn’t finish because Nate’s fist collides with his jaw and sends him flying backward into the table. Nate notices the lack of pain just like he suspected. His knuckles are bleeding but there’s no pain--

Until he’s kicked in the stomach and crumbles to the floor.

Through the haze he hears Meisner’s “Mind your own business,” and sees Jesse fJohn the class. There goes another chance to talk to his green-eyed boy.

-- 4 --

“I thought you were wiser!” Dad yells.

Nate came home -- like he did yesterday and the day before that -- suspecting nothing. He was annoyed after his brawl with Meisner and another lecture, this time from Mrs. Smith, the student counselor. She expressed her worry about his behavior, mentioned his family history, his mother . . . and Nate tuned her out. Which is probably why he didn’t hear her mentioning a call to his father.

“I’m working my ass off because you didn’t have the chops to get a scholarship and that’s how you pay me back?” Dad’s face turns red and Nate regrets coming here today. He should have stayed at the dorm, he’s not even welcome home anymore! He wants to be here for his family if they needed him, in case something comes up but they show no gratitude. Neither Dad, nor Magda.

As if on cue, as if she read his mind, Magda grabs Dad’s arm and yells, “Leave him alone!”

She shouldn’t have done it. Nate feels grateful she did but in truth all it serves is attracting Dad’s attention to her. Now he aims at both of them.

“Don’t you understand that your brother is throwing away the best thing he has?” he screams. “He’s lucky they don’t cut people loose after the first incident but there’s no saying how long they will tolerate his behavior!” He’s in her face and, being a head taller, he looks like a crushing machine waiting to wreck a used car. “Don’t defend him, Magda!”

Magda takes a step back but it’s only to gain momentum. “What gives you the right to talk to us like this?” she bites back and it makes Nate cringe. “You cared nothing for us for over a year and now you expect us to just do as you say?”

“Meg--” Nate nears her, tries to grab her arm but she wriggles out and starts shouting that Nate’s not better, that he just takes all the crap, while Dad yells that she’s an annoying little brat and that their mother is turning in her grave, which prompts her to shriek that he has no right to even mention their mother and then he slaps her and they all fall silent.

It’s like in a movie, Nate thinks. It’s like he’s watching it but not taking part because he sees Magda’s anguish but he feels none himself, although he should because they mentioned Mom and that used to pain him, every mention of her, especially in this brutal, unloving way. But it doesn’t pain him. And he sees in slow motion Magda’s shock at being hit even if it’s not the first time ever. Dad’s shock and remorse because he doesn’t resort to hitting his children -- he’d deny it if asked -- even if he does. Magda bursting with tears that she doesn’t want to shed, not in front of their father and probably not in front of Nate either. Magda running out of the room.

“Maybe it’s better if I’m cut loose,” Nate says because he wants to fill the silence with sounds and this is the first thing on his mind. “Maybe I’ll find a job and--”

“We’ve talked about it, Nate,” Dad says tiredly, his gaze glued to the living room door where Magda disappeared. “You have to finish college. It’s your future. It’s about the rest of your life.”

“What about her life? What about . . . everything?” Nate doesn’t know what to say. What to tell his father to make him see all the things Nate worries about so much. He doesn’t say anything. Instead he gazes at the door as well because he can’t look at his father’s grief. He’s too tired and his head hurts, his stomach, all the bruises.

“That is my problem, son. Magda, the house, food, even bringing Jeff back. These are the things I should worry about.” Nate feels his father’s hand on his shoulder and turns to him. “And you are my problem, son, making sure you receive a proper education. Do you understand that?”

Nate nods like he does, like he believes it. He wants to believe but for some stupid, indistinct reason he can’t. He can’t trust his Dad any more.

-- 5 --

On Monday Nate sees Jesse Adler before the classes start. It’s the Calculus lecture and, like the week before, Jesse sits cross-legged on the floor outside the auditorium and draws. He sits in the corner; his back is pressed against the wall and there’s a pillar on his left shielding him from view. Nate remembers he wanted to talk to Jesse. He even had the excuse -- he planned to ask Jesse how he convinced the dean to let him live at home. It’s a better pretext than plain going there and asking what he’s drawing, although Nate thinks he would resort to that if he hadn’t come up with a better idea . . .

He strides toward the other boy with a confidence he knows he once possessed. He plasters a smile on his face, perhaps not the most honest smile but Nate remembers how to stretch his mouth, and flops down on the floor next to Jesse. He’s on Jesse’s right and -- he’s so clumsy sometimes -- his ass nudges Jesse’s elbow, pushes his hand and the pencil in it across the drawing, tearing it with a dark, ugly line. Jesse freezes and Nate feels bad. Like really, really bad.

He looks closer at the picture and sees it was a tower with long, tall, vast windows, wide at the base, rooted in the ground as if it was smashed there yet didn’t break, like it was made of some very resilient material, titanium maybe. It’s getting thinner where it’s getting taller -- sharp like a knife, a spear.

It was.

Because now the drawing is destroyed.

“Sorry,” Nate mutters an apology but Jesse sits and doesn’t move. He stares at his work and the only thing that proves he’s not a statue is the blinking of his eyes and a slight tremble of the hand holding the pencil half an inch above the picture. He looks as if he can’t decide whether to ignore the thick, ugly line and just keep drawing, or tear the paper to little shreds and maybe hit Nate in the mouth. Nate thinks he deserves to be hit. This drawing was a piece of art. Maybe he was preparing it for some course, sitting day and night, shaping the curves and making the glass reflect the world outside the frame and making those pillars look so solid and the spear sky-high, shining in the sun . . .

When Jesse takes a shuddering breath Nate realizes that he froze to the point where he wasn’t breathing. Seriously. Nate stares into the boy’s face with shock. Sees those emerald eyes scan the drawing again, making a decision. Full lips tremble as they part and his pink tongue flicks out wetting them, and Nate had never been this dizzy in his life.

Like the bottom of his stomach dropped off and his brain is falling. Like he’s falling from that tower Jesse drew and it’s so high he’s never going to touch the ground and he’ll be falling forever . . .

He’s never seen Jesse from this close before and now he realizes Jesse’s nose and his cheeks and forehead are covered with freckles. Tiny, brown dots scattered in an irregular pattern.

Jesse turns the page of his drawing pad and Nate catches a glimpse of other sketches there and it seems there are dozens of them and they are all probably equally mind-blowing. Nate wants to see them. All of them.

But the request gets stuck in his throat.

Jesse starts another graphic. No shape yet, just lines, chaotic, expressive. Dark like the line Nate’s ass made him draw. And Nate thinks there’s no place for apologies, because if that led to this . . . Whatever this is. Some abstract . . . Something . . . Then he has no right to apologize.

The students around them are moving and Nate sees the auditorium doors open so he gathers his backpack and gets up, careful this time not to nudge Jesse. Once he’s up he halts and glances behind. Jesse hasn’t moved, engrossed in his shapeless drawing.

Nate clears his throat. “The auditorium--” he speaks. “It’s open.”

Jesse ignores him.

“We need to get in. You know.” Nate hesitates. Truth be told he’s not sure Jesse has this lecture in his schedule but he’s sitting here and he was there last week. “We gotta take our seats--”

Jesse is up in one swift move, one hand clutching the pencil and the pad, the other picking up the backpack from the floor. Then he walks between Nate and the wall -- but closer to the wall as if afraid to touch the other man and -- of course -- he doesn’t look at Nate.

It takes a moment for Nate to recover. Then he follows Jesse inside and hesitates for a heartbeat only, watching him stride to his seat. He doesn’t have a choice really, he’s caught in the spell, can’t let go. Jesse throws his backpack and drawing pad under his desk and sits down, elbows braced against the surface, his chin resting against fisted palms, eyes fixed ahead.

Nate remembers about the question he wanted to ask but he suddenly feels wrong about it. Should he ask? Could he? He sits down, hesitantly, a few places away from Jesse. The other boy values his personal space, obviously…..and remains silent. The auditorium fills up slowly and when the professor starts the lecture, Jesse wipes his face with both hands, takes out the notebook and starts writing notes. Nate follows his example, an answer already forming in his head. Jesse has some legitimate reason to be living outside of the campus. It really is not Nate’s place to pry into it.

He casts a glance at Jesse and sees him absently drawing little shapes on the side of his notes. As if he couldn’t stop.

 

-- 6 --

As Monday goes by Nate realizes his encounter with Jesse Adler has broken some dam within him. He’s looking at people now. He’s talking to them about notes. He pokes fun at the teachers and assistants, even asks -- or rather is asked -- about the plans for the evening. He still wants to go home like every night last week but the courses are starting for real so maybe he’ll stay? He’ll read a lab manual or prepare for a seminar. One thing he’s sure of -- he doesn’t want to not have friends any more. He got involved. He allowed himself to feel something for one person -- what was it? Curiosity? And it’s like he lost his fight against the wonders of college life.

Other students become recognizable, their faces rotating through the lectures, exercises, labs. Like John Meisner’s at Rhetoric on Tuesday. This is the one person Nate doesn’t want to have anything in common with, so he steers toward the other end of the room and quickly takes over an empty seat without paying attention to who’s going to be his partner. He notices John whispering something to his buddy who stares at Nate arrogantly from under a mess of dark, wavy hair. They are not going to be Nate’s friends. They can join Lee-Daniel in the club.

He hears someone clear her throat next to him -- a definitely feminine voice -- and turns to see who he’s sitting next to. He sees a girl -- petite with long dark hair, dark eyes that look at him, surprised. “It’s occupied,” she informs him, pursing her lips so Nate hastily gets up as if the chair burned. He hears a chuckle from John Meisner’s corner. So not how it was supposed to go down!

“On second thoughts,” the girl says with due consideration and Nate looks at her and sees she’s watching Meisner. Then their eyes meet and she’s smiling. “You’re the guy who punched him last week, right? Sit down. Allie can take the other one.” She nods to the opposite side of the desk.

“I wouldn’t want to--”

“Oh, don’t be a pussy, it’s not like you’re breaking a marriage. I’m Laura, Laurie for friends.” She extends her hand and when Nate takes it, he feels the smile spread across his face, wide and toothy. Almost real.

“Nate.”

Talking to people starts feeling good again. Allison, the girl who sits on the other side five minutes later -- mere seconds before the teacher starts classes -- is Laura’s opposite in that she’s blonde, short-haired, taller, and snarky where her friend is sweet. She admits to knowing John and his blue-eyed buddy -- Tom -- from high school. That’s how she and Laura know about the physics lab incident and that’s why Nate scored with them.

“John and Tom are morons but harmless,” Allison tells him. She speaks quickly, swallowing consonants; Nate has to switch gears to follow her. “I’m sure he felt bad about making fun of that poor dumbo when he had time to think. Not that John thinks a lot,” she frowns comically. “So no, it may not’ve happened yet. But it will.” Allison looks at Nate, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

Nate smiles at the general tone of her words and at her bold jesting at Meisner’s expence but then her words sink in and he feels cold.

“Jesse’s not dumb!” he seethes. Suddenly any friendliness he felt for Allison is gone.

Laura tsks and Allison’s eyes grow wide. “Oh! Sorry. He’s your friend?” She looks abashed for a moment then in her eyes he sees something like compassion. Pity almost.

“He’s not my friend,” Nate back pedals, he doesn’t need anyone’s pity! He feels awful about it a moment later when he remembers how vulnerable Jesse is, how he maybe needs protection. Nate wants to protect him from Allison and her likes. “I just don’t think it’s fair to call someone a ‘dumbo’ without really knowing them!” he almost raises his voice and a couple of students from the desk next to theirs turn around and shush them. Nate apologizes. A moment later he adds under his breath, struggling to keep his boiling anger in check, “Do you know him?”

“No,” Allison eyes the teacher. “Not personally but Laura does. They are both doing Architecture and a few courses in Pre-Engineering. So yeah, I know a few things about him.” Nate’s curiosity perks up but damn, Allison chooses this moment to start paying attention to the lecture and even to answer the teacher’s question. There is a momentary discussion in which Allison takes part in a lively fashion then Meisner chimes in too and Nate can’t even catch the thread.

Laura pats his arm lightly. “Don’t worry about her,” she whispers. “She’s a little impulsive but she’s a good girl.”

“Still . . .” Nate shrugs, meaning Allison had no right to be judgmental about Jesse.

Laura understands it without a word.

“Yeah, she overstepped her boundaries. I think she always does, not that I know her well,” she chuckles softly. “We only met a week ago -- we’re roommates.” Laura looks up at Nate and it must be telepathy or something because he doesn’t need to ask a question and she answers it nonetheless. “I told her about Jesse, because he’s--” she hesitates, searching for a right word. The one she finds doesn’t ring well with Nate but it’s better than ‘dumbo’, “He’s weird.”

“Weird how?” Nate can’t help asking.

“He’s twenty.” That piece of information surprises Nate. He was certain Jesse was younger! He sure doesn’t look more than eighteen. “It’s pretty late to be starting college, don’t you think? He doesn’t live on the campus. And I’ve never seen him talking to anyone, he just keeps drawing.”

The latter two Nate has figured out on his own. The age thing though . . . It raises a whole new set of questions. It is late to be starting college. Nate wants to know more but from the look on Laura’s face he guesses she is just as curious as he is. He settles for voicing an opinion.

“He’s damn good at this drawing thing,” he states without room for a doubt.

“True.” Laura smiles at it, thoughtful.

Apparently they share a fascination for one Jesse Adler.

-- 7 --

Nate meets Allison again at a Chemistry lecture on Wednesday. He sees John and Tom at the auditorium but no Jesse or Laura. Allison explains that her roommate has some geometry exercises, as she sits next to Nate, uninvited. He decides to let it pass. If she’s not talking about Jesse or anyone else in any disrespectful manner she may stay, but he doesn’t need friends who are rude.

“Hey, wait a minute!” Allison exclaims at the same moment the professor starts a lecture and her voice is loud and clear in the silence of the auditorium. She curls in on herself, stifling a giggle. “Sorry. That big mouth of mine. I always talk too loud,” she whispers to Nate a moment later when the teacher has stopped glaring in their direction. She does talk too loud and too much, Nate won’t deny it but she doesn’t seem to worry about it at all. “Listen. Don’t you live in Carter Hall?” Nate nods and Allison claps her hands, a notch too loud again. “I thought I saw you there! Me and Laura live on the second floor, room 214. You should drop by! Oh, and there’s a party on Saturday, but not on the campus--” she gets in a quick monologue about the two sophomore students who invited her and Laura, and their friends, and she wants him to go, and Nate tries to tune her out but she’s a tough one. “Unless you’re one of those wimps who go home for the weekend?” she asks to get his attention. “God, I swear I don’t understand those people. I can’t stand my folks. I’m from Austin so I could study there but I would go crazy with them looking over my shoulder all the time. Yours are not that controlling, I guess?” She giggles. “Judging from the look on your face.”

Nate chooses not to respond. Of course he looks offended. And of course he’s going home on Saturday! He hasn’t been there two afternoons straight and he already feels bad about it, her reminding him isn’t helping at all. Nate can’t wait for the lecture to be over to finally be free of Allison’s overwhelming presence but when she tells him she’s going to pick Laura up from her architecture classes, Nate changes his mind. When Allison asks if he’s coming with her he says ‘yes’ because well, Jesse might be there.

It feels dangerously like stalking. Nate tries not to think about it this way because it’s silly. He smiles and shakes hands when they meet Laura and she introduces him and Allison to her colleague Sophia but his eyes search the mass of students. When he notices Jesse coming out of the classroom, head bowed, his hand holding the backpack so tight his knuckles turn white, Nate loses the track of conversation. He snaps back when Allison pulls at his arm and tells him they’re going to the cafeteria. It’s lunchtime. Is he coming?

A moment of hesitation, a look at the girls’ faces and Jesse has disappeared. Nate sighs and agrees for the lack of a better idea. He still searches for a fair head in the crowd but it’s futile.

He goes with Allison, Laura and Sophia. They order a meal, sit and talk about classes and shopping. Nate is tempted to ask about Jesse. He keeps waiting for the right moment though and it doesn’t seem to come his way. He isn’t sure why he doesn’t just speak up. Perhaps he doesn’t want to be judged? Perhaps he doesn’t want to direct Allison’s thoughts Jesse’s way? She’s so opinionated! They talk about the plans for the Saturday’s party and she and Sophia comment how great it is for the sophomores to be allowed to rent places outside the campus. When Laura disagrees with them, Allison acts like it’s some kind of personal betrayal.

“Taking full responsibility for yourself isn’t as much fun as most people think,” Laura points out and Nate wants to applaud her.

Allison wrinkles her nose. “You’re a kill-joy Laura Anders. And boooring.”

After lunch they still have a few minutes before the classes start so they go to the yard. The day is warm, sun shining, almost like summer. Sophia is the first who notices him.

“He’s drawing again!” she exclaims and Nate knows who she’s talking about even before he follows her gaze to the tree in the middle of the yard where a small group are gathered, watching. Watching Jesse Adler draw.

Nate knows what they are thinking. He can see just how hypnotized they are and he smiles to himself. It’s maybe somewhat irrational but he’s proud of Jesse. He is -- after all -- the first person here who noticed him, way back when they bumped into each other. If Nate doesn’t remember how resentful he was about it it’s because he -- as he believes -- is quick to forgive. He’s also the only one who realizes how vulnerable Jesse is and who doesn’t judge him for it.

“Is he ever doing anything else?” asks Laura and her tone pretty much confirms Nate’s notion.

He wants to say something in Jesse’s defense but then Allison snorts, says that it’s creepy -- in a very creepy voice -- Laura and Sophia giggle and Nate’s courage dissipates into thin air. He doesn’t understand why the opinion of three girls he’d met only a day ago matters to him but it does. On the other hand he’d only met Jesse a week ago and he hasn’t talked to him at all so maybe it makes sense that he doesn’t want to alienate his new friends over someone who, as far as he knows, may never reciprocate his friendship. It’s still that time of getting-to-know everyone, of finding out who you click with.

Nate casts another glance at Jesse and feels something like regret there in the pit of his stomach. He really, really wants to see that drawing, wants to experience that sensation of falling he felt when he saw the tower.

And then he notices John Meisner in the group behind Jesse’s back.

Alarm bells set off inside Nate’s head and he’s heading toward the group instantly, barely noticing that Allison and the other girls are still beside him. All he knows is that he can’t let Meisner disturb Jesse. At best it would end up like it did with Nate on Monday, with Jesse freezing, losing what little serenity he now has. His drawings are the most amazing when he’s serene, that much Nate knows already. At worst . . . Nate remembers how John acted at last week’s Physics and he quickens his step.

He tries to walk around the group to stay out of Jesse’s line of sight, to approach Meisner from the back without calling attention to him. He remembers a week ago when he punched John -- that it scared the older boy. He’ll never do anything like that again. He’ll never act recklessly around Jesse.

So now, he’s stealthy. He’s right next to Meisner and he’s about to tap his arm when the bald guy leans over to his buddy, Tom and whispers, “He’s really good, fucker.” There is something akin to awe in Meisner’s tone.

Nate stands rooted to the spot. He’d never expect appreciation from this guy. Then curiosity wins over. He casts a glance down at the drawing and he’s immediately sucked in. The branches. Naked tree branches. They form a complicated, irregular pattern that makes him feel eerily bothered. It’s a maze. Each branch is a path and a fence and he’s lost there, but he understands on a subconscious level that there is a way out. If he was only smart enough to find it!

“Oh my God, this is amazing!” someone exclaims and Nate tears his gaze from the drawing to see Allison crouch beside Jesse.

Damn this girl and her tongue! Now she’s frightened him and he will just shut off like on Monday! This drawing . . . this drawing deserves to be finished . . .

“Where did you learn to draw like this?” Allison prods and, unlike with Nate the other day, Jesse actually looks up at her.

He didn’t even look at Nate!

Is that jealousy he feels?

“Nowhere,” Jesse responds with a faint smile, shrugs. He has a very soft voice, quiet, shy.

Allison’s is quite the opposite. “You’re not serious, man! You can’t not learn something like this! This is-- This is--” Allison has no words. That’s gotta be a first.

“I’ve just always been drawing.” Jesse returns to his work. Then he looks up again and smiles a little wider. “Thank you. I’m glad you like it,” he says as if he just remembered that he should be polite.

-- 8 --

Nate is jealous of how easily Allison managed to communicate with Jesse, he won’t deny it. He thinks he should have been the one because he admires Jesse, while Allison called him a dumbo but it was her who almost-- almost engaged the shy boy in conversation. She was noticeably impressed with his skills too although in the evening when she and Laura came to visit Nate in his room she said that she still considers “his friend” -- as she referred to Jesse -- a weirdo.

The only thing Nate can do now he thinks, is to live up to the label of “Jesse’s friend”. He makes it on time to Physics lab on Thursday and sits next to Jesse who’s already inside. Meisner eyes Nate strangely when he comes in but doesn’t attempt to argue for his seat. Jesse doesn’t talk to Nate though, doesn’t respond to anything Nate tries to say, barely acknowledges his presence. He’s completely focused on the teacher. He’s answering questions this time and correctly too, even if in a barely, audible voice.

Thursday is a failure then in that regard. Friday is no better. Meanwhile Nate’s worked up a kind of obsession with Jesse. He needs Jesse to talk to him! He talked to Allison so it’s not like he can’t talk to people. Nate had once prided himself in being someone who could make a stone open up to him. Maybe that’s why he dislikes Allison so much because she’s the person he used to be? Before. Had he really lost that ability?

It hits him on Sunday morning during breakfast. They are eating cereal, him and Magda; Dad is still asleep after staying up too late. Nate opens his mouth to speak up -- he has this favor to ask his sister -- and he closes it because he knows she won’t hear him. Magda has ear-plugs in. She’s listening to some music and her eyes are glued to the magazine she’s reading. There’s no connection between them, no means of communication. Nate feels cut off, alone, isolated. He feels that familiar cold-wet-dark, only not beneath him anymore but all around him. The walls are closing in, threatening to crush him and he can’t even scream because no one will hear.

Meggie, he thinks, his little Meggie is gone and replaced by this tall, skinny, sulky teenager who eats her Sunday breakfast with earplugs in, listening to some silly song instead of talking to him like they used to.

Then Nate remembers that he had the same sensation sitting next to Jesse. Like there was some barrier between them that he couldn’t breach, some wall. Like Jesse wanted to separate himself from the rest of the world for some reason and is that what Magda is doing? Is she trying to pretend the outside world doesn’t exist? Nate would like to be able to do that. To not care about Dad watching TV all evening with only beer for company or about Magda’s new friend, Gennie, the impudent girl who dresses in dark clothes, pouts her lips and thinks it’s sexy, and Nate could swear she smokes. He hopes she doesn’t do drugs because he wouldn’t know how to talk to his sister about that.

He doesn’t know how to talk to her at all. He can’t find the strength to break through to her like Allison broke through to Jesse. She asked him a direct question and he responded. Maybe he should talk to Magda like this? Pull her out of her shell, slap her on the arm, speak louder, maybe yell?

Nate thinks that the reason he needs to break through to Jesse so badly is because it would mean he can break through to his sister as well.

Why wait though?

“Meg!” He pulls one earplug out of her ear. She jumps up, glaring at him angrily but he ignores her stare and exhales, “Do you want to go to church with me?”

“Are you insane? We don’t go to church!”

“We used to.”

She gives him a bewildered look, plugs her music back in and takes another spoon of her cereal, meaning she’s not going to talk about it.

Nate has failed.

He understands it though. He can rationalize her reaction. They used to go to church every Sunday for a year after Mom’s death. They had been going to church before she died, too, occasionally -- often -- but after her passing away it was a duty that couldn’t be missed. After church they’d go to the cemetery and that’s what Nate really wants to do today, he realizes. He wants to go see Mom. He wants to go with Magda and Dad but he can’t ask Dad on his own. He needs Magda backing him up in this and Magda doesn’t even hear him.

He ends up going alone. He doesn’t even enter the church, walks by it and straight into the cemetery. The trees whisper to him, the headstones glare in silence. He bends on one knee and reads: ‘Sherri Stshelesky, beloved wife and mother’. Passed away far too soon because of someone’s carelessness. Nate is long past hating the guy who rammed into her car and got away with a broken leg and a few years in prison.

There is a dry rose in the vase under the headstone. They used to come here every week and Dad would take the old flower and put in another one. Various flowers, roses, violets, petunias. Mom used to love flowers. They used to have a colorful garden even on the hottest of summers but all her flowers died with her.

Nate realizes he has nothing to say to her because even if she can hear -- if there’s a heaven or some other afterlife -- she will not respond.

But Magda might.

Or Jesse.

-- 9 --

It’s Monday again and Jesse is there, right where Nate expected him to be. He sits in his corner, drawing pad on his knees, pencil in his hand and he draws.

It’s a cylinder. It’s . . . broken like a glass put together from smashed pieces.

Nate sits carefully next to Jesse, not close enough to touch him and tear him out of his trance but not too far either so he can watch how sharp shards emerge from the paper. As he looks he realizes it is a glass. It was broken but Jesse picked up the pieces and put them back together. The hard contours mark its surface like scars but it is whole.

Jesse leans back and looks at his drawing. He lets out a satisfied sigh and a small smile brightens up his face. That’s when Nate notices band-aids on his hands.

“What happened to you?” he asks on impulse.

Jesse starts, tenses all over, freezes for a moment then his muscles relax one by one as if he had to tell his body, one limb at a time, that it’s alright. After a while he gives Nate a timid glance and says, “I broke a glass.”

“But you fixed it,” Nate jokes. He isn’t sure it’s a good idea, joking with Jesse. He’s sure it’s not a good idea because the joke is ridiculous, not funny but Jesse smiles.

“It’s not real,” he says, still smiling. “It’s a drawing.”

Of course it’s a drawing! Nate can’t help but burst into laughter. Jesse’s smile falters and he looks slightly uncomfortable so Nate scoots closer and looks at the paper then into Jesse’s face.

“You could have fooled me,” he says for Jesse’s ears only. “It’s so vivid.” He traces the line of the broken glass with his finger and Jesse hastily snatches his hand away. Right. He might spoil another drawing.

But no.

“Careful,” Jesse breathes out. “You’ll cut yourself.”

Their eyes meet. The intense green of Jesse’s pupils threatens to suck Nate in like a tornado. Jesse’s hand still holds his and Nate can feel the bumps of band-aid intruding on the soft warmth of Jesse’s skin. Nate’s head is spinning and -- what’s going on! He wants to lean in and touch those soft, full lips with his.

He jumps away startled, his heart hammering wildly in his chest. What’s going on?

Jesse freezes again, his hand still in the air, eyes darting left and right, his breath coming out in sharp gasps.

He felt it too. Oh God, he felt it too . . .

Nate stumbles to his feet, grabs his bag and runs into the auditorium. Luckily it’s open now and he knows where Jesse is going to sit, he always takes the same spot. So Nate goes in the opposite direction and plunges down on the chair.

What the hell happened?

He wanted to kiss a guy.

Nate is seventeen. He’s never really had a girlfriend because there never was any time for it. There were all those home duties, the house, Dad, Magda, all his fucked-up life. He kissed Mary Garth in tenth grade at the ball but she was one of those silly, boring girls he never wanted to have anything to do with and besides it was her who cornered him and said she wanted to kiss him. They kissed but Nate never found her attractive. Nor any other girl.

Now he thinks about it and he cannot believe it. He thinks about Bobby Whitney, the quarterback, or the actors on television. Actors, not actresses. About Jesse . . .

Involuntary, his eyes gravitate to Jesse’s seat and . . . Nate sees a couple there. A guy and a girl at Jesse’s desk. It feels vaguely disturbing. It’s only vague until he notices the guy turn to his side and say something to . . . Jesse. And ‘vaguely disturbing’ turns into ‘pure trepidation.’

Jesse stands there, his arms hunched, his whole posture screaming distress. He can’t sit anywhere else, Nate knows it. Why, he cannot gather but he knows that it’s essential for Jesse to sit at this desk and not any other.

The teacher starts the lecture and in the silence that falls in the auditorium, Jesse’s voice carries loud, “It’s my desk!”

“What’s the problem?” The teacher looks up, alarmed.

“That freak is stalking us!” the guy says. Nate wants to punch his smug face like he punched Meisner. Why is everyone picking on Jesse? Can’t they see he’s not dealing with his surroundings quite as well as they do? Can’t they help him a little?

“What’s your name?” the teacher asks Jesse but all Jesse can stammer is, “that’s my desk,” like a mantra. He’s stuck. He can’t move forward or back.

Nate is on his feet before he knows it. The teacher keeps saying something, asking Jesse, pushing him, prodding and Nate knows it’s going to cause more harm than good. He knows because his eyes are glued to the distressed, young man and he can see him boiling inside about to erupt. He makes his long legs carry him fast across the large room. Once he’s at Jesse’s side he reaches to grab him and he wants to hold him close and protect from harm but a memory of Jesse squirming from his touch flashes before his eyes at the last moment. Nate stops short of Jesse’s body.

He breathes out sharply and by the small jerk of Jesse’s head he knows Jesse registers his presence.

“We can sit in the back row,” Nate whispers. “Come with me. Sit with me.”

Jesse’s lips twitch as he wants to say something but only stammers, “I--I--I--”

“Come.” Nate slowly and as gently as he can grabs Jesse’s elbow and pulls him a few steps up and into the back row. Once there Jesse halts, stiffens, he won’t get in and Nate is at a loss. He feels all eyes on him, waiting. The teacher is silent, waiting as well and Nate looks helplessly around then at Jesse, then at the desks. Suddenly he understands; he squeezes in first. Jesse follows him. He takes the desk at the edge; it’s easier to run away from there, if need be. Nate gets that.

Heaving a sigh of relief Nate glares at the guy who caused that entire nuisance and wants to kill him with his laser-sight. The asshole rolls his eyes and turns to his girlfriend.

“Let’s start again,” the teacher turns everyone’s attention away from the incident and back to his lecture.

Jesse doesn’t say a word to Nate. He’s silent during the whole class but as they gather their notes afterward he breathes a short, “thanks,” without even turning his head in Nate’s direction. Nate could easily miss it and he’s kind of angry at Jesse for not appreciating his help a bit more. When he thinks about it again though, he realizes that Jesse has actually made a huge effort to speak at all.

-- 10 --

Nate wants to know more about Jesse. He wants to know why he’s like this and what he could do to help him out of his shell. Because he’s sure that this guy, if he could open up a bit more would be a glorious being. He’s beautiful, for one. Yes, Nate needs to admit it; he thinks Jesse is the prettiest person he’s ever met. So what if he’s a guy? So what if Nate’s freakin’ dick shudders at the mere thought of Jesse’s green eyes and full lips? Worse things happen and Nate will figure out a way to explain that to himself. Some way. Whatever, not now.

Besides being damn pretty Jesse has a brain. A freakin’ huge brain that is capable of dealing with logarithms and equations even Nate needs to concentrate to calculate and he’s supposed to be so bright. And then there are Jesse’s drawings that are absolutely astounding with their attention to detail and expressiveness.

It’s Monday afternoon and Nate knows where to find Jesse now. On the bench near the campus gate, drawing.

It’s not stalking. Nate wants to talk this time, maybe ask a question and maybe receive an answer. He wants to start making friends with Jesse. Much like he’s making friends with Allison and Laura. He sat with Allison again at Material Science and the girl shared stories of high school pranks with John Meisner and his buddy Tom Baines. Nate could easily see that Baines was more to Allison than just a buddy. The way she looks at him sometimes?- Nate is pretty sure he was her boyfriend once. And from the way he looks at her Nate gathers Tom is still pining. Nate already feels like he knows her -- them -- so well. He wants to know Jesse too.

He sees his green-eyed boy on the bench, no surprise there. Nate quickens his step -- he almost feels like flying! His heart beats faster, the air smells like spring despite it being early autumn.

“Hey!” He flops beside Jesse, smile wide, his gangly limbs too long, too unruly. He slaps Jesse’s thigh in a friendly gesture, before he remembers that Jesse doesn’t like sudden gestures like this. But he really means to be friendly and Jesse doesn’t jerk away, so Nate asks in a softer voice, “How was your day?”

That’s when he notices the lack of Jesse’s drawing pad.

And that the band aids on his palm are peeled off and there are stitches and Jesse is picking at them.

“Hey, stop it!” Nate grabs Jesse’s hand. There’s dried blood all over the inside of his left palm and under the right hand’s fingernails. One of the cuts has opened and is bleeding again, a thick, shining, crimson drop slides down his skin.

Nate gropes for a tissue and presses it against Jesse’s palm then curls their fingers around it to stop the bleeding. Jesse’s fist wrapped up in his seems protected, safe from harm but Nate feels nauseous. He’s never liked the sight of blood; the very idea of having stitches in his palm makes his skin crawl. Besides his brain creates an image of Jesse gripping the glass so tight it breaks. This is maybe not how it happened -- how would Nate know? But that’s what he wants to do sometimes. And that’s what would happen if he did, one day.

“You have big hands.” Jesse’s touch startles him. He traces Nate’s fingers with his free hand, tingles. Caresses. “I was waiting for you.”

Nate’s head snaps up, his eyes meet Jesse’s. Jesse smiles and he has a lovely smile - so honest and sweet. The corners of his eyes crinkle a little and he breaks eye-contact but his fingers keep tingling Nate’s.

“I asked Nicky to come and pick me up later,” he says as if Nate was supposed to know who Nicky is and that she picks him up. “I called her,” he says in a tone that bears great significance but Nate doesn’t quite get it. He’s overwhelmed, maybe a little breathless and dizzy. “What’s your name?”

Huh?

“Nate.”

“I’m Jesse.”

“I know.”

Jesse looks up at him again. “How?”

How? Is it strange that Nate knows his name? Does Jesse think it’s weird or that Nate is stalking him or something worse?

“I just--” Nate stammers. “At Physics Lab-- the instructor was reading the list and you said ‘present’ when he read ‘Jesse Adler’.”

“Oh.”

Oh.

“That’s a good . . . way,” Jesse says. “To know somebody’s name, I mean.”

“Yeah, I guess.”

It’s awkward. This conversation is awkward as is the way they sit, Nate holding Jesse’s fist in his and Jesse stroking his fingers.

“You want to go--” Jesse speaks awkwardly in interrupted sentences like he doesn’t know how he’s going to finish his phrase when he starts it and has to take a moment in the middle to make up his mind. “Some place.”

“Some place?”

“Where people go. When they want--” a shrug, “to talk.”

“Like, coffee?”

“Yeah. Maybe.”

It would also be easier if Jesse was looking at Nate but he doesn’t. He looks at their joined hands or at the pavement or turns his head even farther away. He looks at the gates, at the people passing by. Some fellow is coming toward them.

“Hello, Jesse.” The fellow surprises Nate. He stops three feet from the bench, tucks a strand of too long hair behind his ear and scrutinizes ‘that stranger’ sitting next to his friend. Nate doesn’t like to feel scrutinized like this. He recognizes the guy from before; it’s the same man that came to pick Jesse up on the first day.

“Rick.” Jesse’s hand in Nate’s fist trembles. “What are you doing here?” His breath quickens.

“Nicky said she couldn’t pick you up. I came instead,” Rick tells Jesse but he’s still watching Nate.

“She will.” Jesse is confused. “She said-- Later. I mean I said.”

Rick finally looks at Jesse and he’s almost apologetic.

“And she said she couldn’t later.” There’s worry in his eyes too. “Or didn’t you hear that?”

“I didn’t.”

Jesse looks so helpless and guilty that Nate wants to hug him and tell this Rick guy to back off.

“It’s a good thing I came, then.” Rick smiles. He’s encouraging but Jesse takes none of it.

“No. No, it’s not good. I was going to go-- with this-- Nate. He’s my friend.”

Rick looks at Nate again and now he’s not cautious any more -- now he’s openly hostile. Nate feels self-conscious. His hand, the one holding Jesse’s is sweating. He opens his fingers and lets go. Jesse sharply turns his gaze to their hands. His breath catches.

“He cut himself,” Nate tells Rick although Rick most likely knows.

“I know.” Right.

“He was picking at the stitches.”

Rick takes Jesse’s hand in his and pries his fingers open and carefully removes the bloodied tissue.

“I didn’t notice,” Jesse apologizes quietly. “I didn’t want to.”

Nate wants to be anywhere but here. None of it is his fault but he feels distinctly guilty, feels judged and sentenced as charged while he only tried to help Jesse!

“Thanks,” Rick murmurs to Nate’s utter surprise, as he straightens up but he doesn’t shake Nate’s hand or doesn’t do anything that even resembles being friendly. Instead he gently pulls Jesse to his feet. “Let’s go home.”

“I--”Jesse tries, turns to Nate for backup.

Faced with the firm stance of Jesse’s friend Nate backs off. He longs to confirm what Jesse has said. That they were planning to go for a coffee together, that they are friends that, maybe, he could take Jesse home later although he has no idea where Jesse lives.

Rick’s blue eyes bore into him, challenging, mocking. Saying, without words: “You don’t have the guts.”

“I’ll see you Thursday,” Nate says and he feels like he’s betrayed Jesse. “At Physics.”

It’s better this way. He doesn’t want to argue with Rick. He doesn’t want Jesse to argue with him either.

 

-- 11 --

“No, Allie is a great girl,” Laura says wiping her nose, “she just pissed me off.”

She sits on Nate’s couch, in Nate’s room and cries. Nate hands her another tissue and the girl bursts into laughter. The situation isn’t really funny but it’s ridiculous enough, besides that not-too-happy laughter is way better than all the sobbing and incoherent babbling. At least Lee-Daniel is not here to witness it all and Nate blesses his roommate’s habits this time.

“I’m sorry,” Laura says. Nate hasn’t counted but she’s said it probably ten times in the last seven or so minutes.

“I told you, it’s okay.”

“But still, I burst in here like this and all,” she’s still not very coherent. “Allie, she pissed me off and Sophia was with someone, and Gina wasn’t in her room, and I really needed a place to cry in.” She clearly means a “shoulder” and “on”, but whatever. Nate strokes her arm and she smiles gratefully. “It’s just that--” she starts, hesitates and Nate knows she wants to explain.

“You don’t have to,” he tells her because really, he’s not curious what one girl may say to another to make her want to cry their eyes out. It’s probably something about her hair being not shiny enough or her lipstick not matching her shoes. No, Nate doesn’t want to know. He can be that ‘shoulder to cry on’, that’s fine by him but he is not interested in reasons.

“Yes, I do,” Laurie’s voice is so quiet it’s barely audible. Her face is lowered and obscured by a curtain of hair; it doesn’t help understanding what she says. Her fingers absently rip the last tissue to little shreds. “I have to because if I don’t then one day you will say something that will make me upset. And I have to tell Allie too but I’ll do it later. I have to. I don’t want stuff like this to be happening over and over again.” She sucks in a breath and jerks up her head. Most of her hair falls away from her face, save for a lonely strand that runs over her forehead, on the side of her nose and lips. She doesn’t do anything to blow it off. In fact she looks like she wants to hide behind it. “I--” Her eyes are dark, haunted. “Don’t treat me differently because of that,” she pleads. “I’m not made of glass. I’m not gonna break,” her faltering voice contradicts her words. “If I was to break, I would have . . . a long time ago.” She adds in a whisper and lowers her head again, hides behind that thick, black curtain and Nate is at a loss.

He wants to help her. She’s obviously having trouble with voicing whatever her problem is and he would gladly provide the right words but since he has no clue what she wants to say, he can’t tell her how to say it. The only thing he can do is pull her hair back a little, look at her and repeat once more that she doesn’t have to explain.

Laura shakes her head.

“I hate when people are dissing their folks, y’know?” she says quickly. “So never do that in front of me.”

Now that is sudden. And odd. And completely not what Nate expected.

“What?” he asks sounding like a complete moron and regretting that the very same moment.

Laura looks up. “If you do,” she says apologetically, “I may get a little protective of them. Well, a lot, actually.” She shrugs and wipes her eyes that are a little wet again. “I told Allie not to diss her parents and instead of shutting up, she went on even more and . . . I flipped. I mean I understand,” Laura raises her voice a little and gesticulates. Nate thinks that’s good, that she’s getting over the hurt and is now angry. He still doesn’t understand but if it helps her? . . . He listens patiently. “I understand that people are sometimes mad at their parents but she’s pissed with them all the time. And I envy her!” she screams that last sentence out loud, then curls in on herself and sobs, once.

It’s a shocking confession and the answer slowly forms in Nate’s head. Before it takes on a shape Laura chokes out, “My folks are dead.”

Nate sits next to her frozen. The world has just tilted on its axis and he needs to readjust his senses. He needs to . . . He doesn’t know what he needs. He’s not alone, that’s a first thought and with it comes joy, a kind of connection with this girl who has gone through the same pain he has. He barely registers her next words but when she mentions “them” and “brother” Nate feels cold. This is too much. Besides -- he reminds himself forcibly. He doesn’t. Do. Pain. He forgot it for a moment there . . .

“I thought it would be better not to talk about it at all,” Laura continues, not noticing what her words are doing to the person she’s talking to. “I hate people giving me that ‘I’m sorry’ look. At school I alienated everyone.” It’s like she’s talking about him, Nate thinks and frantically tries to push it out of his mind, to find his imaginary craft paper and that shelf where he stores thoughts he doesn’t want to touch. He wants her to shut up! “I kept telling them they should appreciate what they have before it’s too late and I know it’s not fair. I’m not being fair. I don’t want to be like this but here I am again going all high-horsey on Allie. She’s right to be pissed at me.”

“No, she’s not right.” Nate surprises himself speaking aloud. “I know exactly how you feel.” He surprises himself and Laura. He looks in her eyes, tinged with doubt. No, he doesn’t know. He has no idea what it would be like to lose Dad as well and Jeffrey and . . . and Magda. No, not Magda. He feels tears Baines up inside him and a sob escapes his airways.

“Nate?” Laura’s palm touches his face and he leans into the warmth.

“My Mom . . .” he breathes out. He can’t get past that word.

Laura’s arms are around him this instant and then . . . Something happens. Something Nate is unable to explain because, mostly, it is not him doing anything, it just happens to be done to him and he kind of follows suit, much like when Mary Garth kissed him in tenth grade.

Laura kisses him too. He tastes salt and cherry and it’s warm and feels good, safe. He leans back onto the cushion. His head angles awkwardly on the hard arm-rest, but the kiss feels too comfortable to break. Laura’s palms wander over his chest and down through his stomach, his fingers twist her hair. He shivers when her cold fingers touch his naked skin underneath the tee-shirt.

They are making out, Nate’s brain processes the thought. He’s cool about it, calm. Rational. He wonders -- if they are maybe going to do more than making out, shouldn’t he feel more? Shouldn’t he feel something different other than remorse over his mother’s death and compassion for the girl who lost all her family? He feels connection with her, he does, but this is not the kind of connection he should be feeling. It should be more physical. It should be . . . desire.

It should be more like this thing he felt when he watched Jesse Adler biting his lips in concentration over his drawing.

And damn if this thought doesn’t make him feel the pressure in his pants. That little, painful tingle as the blood rushes out of his brain and into his dick, making him hot all over.

Nate closes his eyes and sees Jesse’s freckles and eyelashes and his tongue wetting his full lips that he wants to kiss so badly and--

He jumps out from under Laura as if she burned him. She almost falls to the floor, grips the couch with one hand, the other one pulling her tangled hair out of her face. Her eyes scream, “What the fuck?” but she’s otherwise silent.

Not that Nate pays her any attention.

He’s walking up and down the length of the room. It’s small, it’s too small! Three steps up, three steps down or maybe his legs are too long but either way he feels caged. He has to get out. He gets out. Forgets Laura, forgets his Mom, everyone. Only he can’t . . . because the image of Jesse is imprinted in his brain and he can’t shake it off.

-- 12 --

There’s only one explanation now -- Nate likes boys.

He tries very hard for the next few days to find some other way to sort this out because -- he can’t like boys.

He doesn’t even want to go into all the “whys.” Why he can’t like boys, why it’s disgusting, why his upbringing and everything in him scream ‘wrong!’ He simply knows there has to be some other reason. He has to find it. He won’t go anywhere near Jesse for the reminder of the week, perhaps ever.

He gets berated by Allison for hurting Laura’s feelings, for acting childish and generally for being moronic which he’s not going to deny. Allison wants to slap him -- she says as much -- but when he doesn’t react, her tone softens a little and she asks what’s going on. He still doesn’t respond. He doesn’t exist.

Later, of course, he apologizes to Laura and she says it’s okay, that she understands. She doesn’t, she has no clue that he was imagining Jesse Adler while making out with her but he’s not going to tell her. He’s not going to tell anyone. He’s not going to think about it.

They go bowling with John Meisner and his buddy Tom, of all people! Yes, Nate remembers, John and Tom are Allison’s friends from high school. It seems they are going to be his friends now after all, even though Nate thought he’d never be friends with John. They form three teams: Tom with Allison, Nate with Laura and John says he’ll kick their asses without anyone’s help. He’s close to having his way but in the end Allison scores a strike and, all exuberant like only Allison can be, she throws herself in Tom’s arms. He freezes for a split second but then his arms grab her, he grins like a maniac and plants a kiss straight on her lips. Allison doesn’t pull back. John whistles and claps, Laura giggles and Nate stares.

He’s watching Tom. He’s been watching Tom all evening, he realizes. How he bends to pick up the ball. How the muscles in his arm dance under his skin when he weighs the ball in his hand. The curve of his hips and the stretch of his back as he throws it. The intensity in his eyes as the ball curls down the lane.

If this isn’t attraction, Nate doesn’t know what is. Allison and Tom are kissing and Nate imagines what it would be like to kiss . . . Tom.

Staying here with them is impossible now. To Laura’s disappointment Nate excuses himself with a headache. She offers to go with him but John grabs her and Nate says it’s okay and takes off as fast as he can, while she’s still busy kicking John in the groin.

He needs to be alone. His room is always empty, a safe refuge and Nate starts feeling relief as he pushes the door open.

A notch too early . . .

“Hey man!” Lee-Daniel stares at him from his bed, where he’s reading a book clad in nothing but boxers and a watch.

Nate laughs like a maniac and then his brain shuts down.

He runs and it’s all instinct -- like a wounded animal. He cools down enough to process what he’s doing when he’s halfway home. The train swooshes through the suburbs, trees zooming behind the windows; people sway in sync with the movement of the carriage. They brush against Nate’s tightly-wound body and even though he knows it’s unintentional he wants to smack that guy reading a newspaper next to him if their bodies collide once more.

The train stops, people get out, new people come in and the train moves again.

Nate didn’t even tell his RA he was leaving. Man, the guy is going to be pissed but the more pressing issue is what his father is going to say? It’s late afternoon, almost evening. To make matters worse it’s Wednesday evening during the third week of classes. He should be learning, preparing for tomorrow’s courses, not on his way home. Damn, he should be at his classes early morning and if he gets home now -- it’s still about an hour ride -- there’s no way he’ll make it back to the dorm before curfew, so it means he will most definitely be late tomorrow.

Of course Nate might get out now, take the train in the opposite direction and pretend nothing really happened, except that he doesn’t want to. He really wants to -- needs to! -- go home. He needs to talk to them, even if there’s no way he’ll talk about what’s really bothering him. He can’t even name it in his head. Just hearing their voices though, being near them? Even if it’s just a delusion, Nate holds onto the thought that it will do wonders to his ragged mind.

That is, if Dad doesn’t kick his ass ten miles from Sunday for neglecting school. He needs some excuse, some valid explanation for why he’s home. He spends the rest of the way coming up with ideas, one more ridiculous than the other. A day off tomorrow won’t fly. An assignment that he can only do at home? There are libraries at the campus; they’ll catch his bullshit before he finishes the sentence. Unless it’s about the family. That might work if Nate actually wanted to go there. What could it be about? Asking them questions . . . no, he can’t do that. Maybe taking pictures?

Oh, whatever, he’ll roll with it when the moment comes. Maybe they won’t even ask?

They don’t ask. Dad gives him a puzzled look from below the kitchen counter but he’s too busy with the leaking sink to wonder about his son being home at a weird hour. Nate offers to help and gets snapped at for all his trouble. He counts three beer bottles in the kitchen, one more in the living room. The house looks like it hasn’t been cleaned up this week and maybe the last either.

Biting his lips Nate moves over to say hello to Magda. To check on her. He has enough sense to knock but doesn’t wait for “enter” before he opens the door.

He’s met with two sets of surprised eyes, both rimmed in heavy, dark make-up. Those belonging to his sister are anxious for a split second but soon turn to pissed as she realizes it’s him not Dad. The other ones -- they belong to Magda’s new friend, Gennie -- they are curious.

Nate is curious and pissed himself. He takes in black clothes and a piercing in Magda’s nose accompanying the creepy make-up. She holds a dangerously red lipstick in her hand; Gennie’s lips are purple.

“What are you doing?” he asks, simultaneously with Magda, only she adds ‘fuck’: “Fuck, what are you doing here?”

His sister isn’t supposed to be using such words. She’s fourteen, for God’s sake!

“Answer my question, Meg!”

“Why should I?”

They are in a draw it seems. Magda is defiant and it hurts in a whole new way. He’d seen her defiant but it had never been aimed at him. They were always on the same side. They were always supporting each other.

“Hey,” Gennie seems oblivious to all the drama. She stands up slowly, eyeing him from head to toe and back. “Maybe we should take him with us?” Nate’s ears perk up. What is she talking about?

“Are you insane?” Magda shrieks and Nate is kind of grateful, kind of creeped out. Where would they take him? Where are they going?!

“He’s hot,” says Gennie.

“He’s my brother!” Magda retorts.

“I don’t want him for you.” They are talking about him as if he wasn’t even there! Nate feels like a horse in an auction. Gennie closes the distance between them, stops maybe a foot from his face. She’s also a foot shorter, she pouts her lips and she’s as seductive as a fourteen-year-old girl can be. God, she’s fourteen years old! This whole make-up thing makes her look twenty. And ugly! “Bill Sterling’s folks are out of town and he’s throwing a party,” she finally speaks to him. “Are you coming?” Her hand wraps around Nate’s neck.

“Genevieve!” Magda screams and Nate has a ridiculous and completely irrelevant thought that he overestimated the pretentiousness of Lee-Daniel’s name. Because . . . Genevieve? Now, that is pretentious.

Gennie rises up on her toes and touches Nate’s lips with hers. “Oh, c’mon,” she purrs when he doesn’t respond.

He can’t respond. He wants to. He wants it very much because a girl is kissing him. It’s the second girl who has kissed him within the last two days and he feels exactly the same as he felt with Laura. He feels nothing.

“What’s with you?” Gennie smirks, “Are you gay or something?” Nate’s breath catches. Their eyes meet. Gennie’s eyes grow bigger, bigger. “Oh my God,” she chuckles, “you are!”

Nate may have blacked out for a second there. When he comes to Magda is standing next to Gennie, gaping at him like he was some weird creature. Gennie shakes her head. “Such a waste,” she murmurs, eyeballing his arms and torso.

His mind snaps out of wherever it was. It deletes all the unnecessary crap and focuses on things that matter. Being gay or not being gay doesn’t matter.

“You’re not going anywhere!” he seethes at Magda. “And you--” his voice fails when he turns to Genevieve. He hates her with such passion! His sister is not going to hang out with such a person. She’s not going to somebody’s house with a group of teenagers who are going to do God knows what, unsupervised. It’s like all his greatest fears are realized all of a sudden! All because of Genevieve. This weed, this poison has to disappear. “Get out!” That’s all he’s capable of verbalizing.

“What’s all the fuss?” Gennie whines, but she’s out of the room before Magda really registers what Nate is doing.

She races out after her friend but Nate catches her mid-step and pulls her back into the room.

“Get away from me, you faggot!” Magda’s fists hit his stomach and chest, her feet kick his knees. Her words hit his ears. None of it hurts.

“You are fourteen, Magda,” Nate forces through clenched teeth. This is all that matters -- Magda, his little girl, and her safety. “I won’t let you ruin your life!”

“What’s going on?” Dad is standing in the doorway. Too little, too late. Where was he when Magda was befriending this little bitch? Drinking his beer on the couch?

“You don’t know?” Nate mocks turning to him, still clutching Magda’s arm in a deadly grip. He speaks in a low voice. At first. “Do you know what she’s doing?” He feels a wave of rage Baines up inside him. “Do you even know what’s going on with your fucking daughter?” he finds himself yelling. “Or with your son?! Do you even care?!” He’s never yelled, not at Dad, not like this. He feels the wetness of spit as the words leave his mouth. “She’s doing drugs! That’s what!” It doesn’t matter whether it’s true or not. They are both silent, listening to him. Maybe it will make them finally do something, since he’s not here anymore! “She is killing herself! Do you care? Does it matter to you if your children live or die? Mom died, yes, two damn years ago! Do you want us all to follow her? Is that it? Will you go first or should I? Should I?” Damn, he wants to. Nate realizes he damn well wants to do this, follow Mom. Be with her, let her hold him, let her comfort him like she used to and he misses her so much, so fucking much . . .

-- 13 --

Nate has no memory of leaving the house. He has no idea how he returned to the campus. He vaguely recalls realizing he was on the wrong train. He remembers panic, frantic attempts at backtracking and -- in the end -- a long, long walk when the trains stopped running for the night. He has no idea what time it is but he knows exactly where he is at the moment -- right outside his dorm. In the middle of the night, closer to dawn than dusk, probably.

He can’t knock. He makes a decision to spend the night at the library when the door opens and his disheveled resident advisor stares at him questioningly.

“I--” Nate starts and realizes he doesn’t really have an explanation for anything -- neither his unannounced disappearance, nor coming back at this time.

“Get in.” Igor steps out of the way, allowing Nate to pass. Silently they climb to their floor but when Nate turns toward his room, Blair grabs his elbow. “Uh-- no” he shakes his head. “Come with me.”

Nate ends up in Igor Blair’ room. It’s untidy but homey with posters of basketball and baseball teams and a patchwork quilt peeking up from between the tangled sheets on the bed.

“Sit,” Blair says and grabs a pile of clothes from the chair. He throws them on the bed and sinks next to them himself, waiting for Nate to settle down on the vacated chair. “I couldn’t sleep because of you,” he starts, “so at the very least you owe me an explanation.”

Nate says nothing. He bows his head and waits for that train of RA’s anger to pass.

“Look, man.” Igor’s voice is soft; he’s not mad at all and Nate is forced to lift his gaze in surprise. “I reviewed your files with the counselor on the first week, after that brawl with Meisner you were in. I understand that you have it rough, man. You should see Mrs Smith. She said to let her know if anything disturbing happens. I haven’t called her yet, it was the middle of the night and all. And now you’re here. So, either you tell me right now what’s going on, or you’re going to see her first thing tomorrow, or I’m going to tell her and you’re going to see her anyway. So, which is it?”

Nate doesn’t respond and that, in Blair’ mind means choosing.

“Fine. Her office opens at 8am.”

“I have classes.”

“Skip them.”

“And this will help me how?”

“Lunch break then. At twelve, right?”

Nate ends up making a deal with Blair that he will go to see Mrs Smith during his lunch break or after classes at the very least. He really believes he’ll do it -- and he wants to do it -- because that will give him some control over the situation he’s in. If he makes it there of his own free will, it will show them all that he’s reliable and fine, really. Then maybe they will all get off his case.

Unfortunately the events of this day throw him off in unexpected ways.

It’s Physics Lab to begin the day and Nate should know that he’s in trouble the moment he makes the decision to stop avoiding Adler and sit next to him, like last week. “Determining Human Reaction Time” is the theme of the exercise and Nate is the only one who hasn’t prepared the pre-lab questions and tasks. Fortunately Jesse is willing to share his for primary analysis. He even smiles. Then they measure each other’s reaction times in-lab and Nate’s results are really bad. Probably the worst of the whole class.

“Are you alright?” Jesse asks at some point, when it takes Nate half a minute to push the button that should be pushed within 0.3 seconds.

The time it takes for Nate to respond to that is noticeable, even to him. That’s because he thinks about various responses as he eventually settles for the most obvious one.

“Couldn’t sleep.”

After the classes they are supposed to prepare post-lab analysis and include the in-field measurements of reaction time with their partners with emphasis on synchronization. Throwing ball, running laps, things like that. Doing this exercise with someone who lives in the same dorm can be scheduled easily, but with Jesse it’s a slightly more complicated matter. Nate finds himself wondering how they will solve it.

“We could do it,” Jesse quips, fidgeting, “during the lunch break.”

“Sure,” Nate agrees, having forgotten all about his appointment with the counselor. It’s an exercise with Jesse after all.

They meet in the park right outside the library. Jesse is prepared, like he wants to point out that nothing will surprise him. He holds a baseball in his hand. He throws it at Nate as he approaches and after a few moments of bouncing and struggling to get a grasp Nate lets it fall to the pavement.

“What was that?” he snaps at Jesse and only then notices the bright smile on the other man’s face. A smile that falters and vanishes within 0.3 seconds.

“I was checking,” Jesse breathes out, “your reaction time to a random event.”

It should be funny. Nate knows on some level that this was an attempt at a joke and that he should maybe laugh but he’s in no mood.

He realizes he’s nervous. Like on a date. Of course they are not on a date. They are doing a stupid physics assignment. Last time they spoke though, a lifetime (three days) ago, they were about to head out to have coffee which -- however you try to get around it -- equals a date. That was before Nate’s epiphany but after he thought he’d wanted to kiss Jesse.

He wants to kiss him now and in the back of his mind he wonders what Jesse’s reaction time would be to that. And what would be his reaction?

Jesse is staring into his face like he’s reading all the emotions inside Nate’s head and Nate feels himself blushing.

“What?”

“You said we’d meet on Thursday,” Jesse says and it sounds like an announcement.

Nate nods. Those were their parting words on Monday, that’s true. Why is Jesse reminding him about it, though?

“You kept your word,” Jesse states. And adds quickly, “I was hoping you wouldn’t.”

That is odd and Nate furrows his brow eyeing Jesse questioningly.

“I mean--” Jesse lowers his gaze and blushes. “That you would-- That we would-- earlier.”

Nate knows he has to kiss Jesse now. He simply has to because, damn it, he wanted to meet him earlier but he simply couldn’t. Not with the mess that his head turned into. And he thinks -- it all started because of Jesse Adler. Perhaps there is an answer in Jesse Adler’s kiss?

-- 14 --

A few long strides through the grass and they are in the bushes, out of everyone’s sight. The thick canopy reduces the sounds coming from the campus. The air in the shadows is fresher, softer, sweeter smelling. Jesse’s wrist encircled by Nate’s palm is warm and his pulse fast. At first, when Nate grabbed him, Jesse quivered all over, his reaction-time fast, his reaction violent. Nate held, whispered, “Come with me,” and Jesse soon complied.

Nate turns to him now and sees that Jesse’s face is blank. There’s no fear there even though Jesse’s breathing is rapid, his nostrils and pupils dilated. His mouth moves but only an inarticulate sound escapes it; no words. Nate places a finger on his lower lip. It’s as soft as it looks.

Nate’s hand cradles Jesse’s cheek and he’s lost in the sensation of feeling the delicate scratch of barely visible stubble. It’s all so new . . .

Jesse is a few inches shorter than Nate so it almost feels like with a girl. Almost because there’s no vulnerability from the other man, no breasts, no curves. Jesse’s body is square and firm, and Nate thinks he might appreciate its beauty. He does appreciate it.

He isn’t sure what to do. He’s done that kissing with the girls, but it was always them in charge. He thinks Jesse will not take over, he doesn’t seem the type. He looks up at Nate with those green eyes of his and there’s a question there. ‘What are we doing?’

What are they doing, indeed? They can still back off now, Nate thinks and he doesn’t believe it himself. Can they really go back out to the square and do their exercise like nothing happened?

Nate’s hand still rests lightly on Jesse’s cheek. Jesse’s lips slightly tremble and then Nate just can’t stop his instincts any more. He embraces Jesse and presses their mouths together, tasting the faint flavor of coffee. Jesse’s response is both startling and very welcome; they kiss violently, almost angrily, like hungry beasts, purring and moaning and somewhere in the back of Nate’s mind there’s an echo of fear that someone might hear them. But no, it doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Only him. His lips. His arms. Jesse digs his fingers into Nate’s biceps. Deadly. Nate pulls up Jesse’s shirt. Touches his skin. His chest.

When Jesse inches his hips toward Nate’s and their dicks crash against each other, Nate nearly jumps out of his skin. But Jesse is in control now. He grabs Nate’s ass and presses them together harder, doesn’t let him escape. His other hand rests on Nate’s nape, warm, steady, demanding.

They part for a brief moment. Jesse pulls away, glares into Nate’s eyes. Smirks, for god’s sake! Then kisses again, nibbles Nate’s mouth with his teeth--

Unzips Nate’s jeans--

Nate has jerked himself off. More than once. Much, much more. But this-- this is different. Jesse’s palm is firm, purposeful, hot and pulsing, pulsing with each hard stroke. Nate feels blood leave his brain for good and concentrate down there in Jesse’s warm grip. It. Feels. So! Damn! Good!!!

A scream wells up in his throat and Nate grits his teeth against it, holds onto Jesse, grabs his arms but Jesse’s hand guides one of his down to his pants and god, how could he not think about it? Jesse doesn’t have a zipper, he has damn buttoned jeans and Nate has problems unbuttoning them and keeping his head straight -- straight, ha! -- at the same time but he manages finally and pokes his hand inside Jesse’s boxers and finds the best thing ever. Fuck.

Hot, firm flesh is in his palm, fits there perfectly and Nate strokes him in the rhythm synchronized with the one Jesse applies to his dick and frankly Nate isn’t sure any more who’s jerking who off. It feels like he’s with himself, only magnified tenfold.

Just a few. More. Times. And he’s bursting all over Jesse’s palm and his shirt and his own and ohmygod, he’s dizzy and he’s unable to move. Jesse though is still eager and wanting.

Nate finds himself sliding down to his knees before he realizes what he’s doing. That he’d never done before but he wants to, he really does. He’s probably lucky though that Jesse is so far gone by the time Nate kisses the tip of his dick that he climaxes without any more prompting. It’s unlucky as well, because now Nate has his come all over his face but somehow it’s not as disgusting as he imagined it to be. In fact it’s pretty damn hot.

He snickers, laughter bubbling in his throat but as he looks up, it falters. Jesse’s face is scrunched up, his eyes closed tight, jaw clenched. He’s shaking all over, his arms, his legs twitching and when his knees buckle, Nate is barely able to catch him and maintain balance to save them both from hitting the ground.

“Fuck, what’s that?”

Jesse’s arms wrap around him in response and the older man keeps shaking and sobbing.

“You crying?” Nate hugs him tight and he’s quite frankly startled.

He can feel Jesse literally break apart like a tower built of wooden blocks, each bone thrown in a different direction, not bound by skin, by muscles any more. Something’s wrong, this has to be wrong!

“Jesse,” he tries again but after a minute of him sobbing he eventually gives up and just holds Jesse tight, strokes his back and hopes it will soon subside.

It all lasts about ten minutes but maybe it’s longer. It certainly feels like hours for Nate, even if he accepts it after a while and just tries to help Jesse stay steady. He breathes in the smell of them both, of their passion and -- as impropper as it is, considering Jesse’s breakdown -- he’s content.

Jesse lets go eventually, sits on his heels, wipes his face. “Sorry,” mumbles.

“Was it . . .” Nate starts, hesitates, starts again. “Was it your first time?”

Jesse doesn’t respond.

“Because it was . . . for me.” Nate suddenly feels embarassed. He doesn’t want Jesse to think he lacks experience. “I’m younger, you know . . . seventeen.” He doesn’t have to be experienced when he’s underage, right?

Jesse looks up briefly, nods, looks at his palms again, shakes his head and whispers, “Wasn’t first time.” His voice is so faint Nate almost misses the confession. “But never like this.”

What does he mean by that? It’s never been like . . . What? He’s never been with a man? Or has never reacted this way?

“We gotta zip up.” Nate reminds when the silence stretches and he realizes he will not get the answer, not right now. “And-- I dunno-- we should try to get a little cleaned up.”

Jesse looks at himself as if surprised that he’s partially undressed. He accepts a tissue from Nate and even though he gets himself mostly cleaned, he’s so dazed for the reminder of their time together that he doesn’t speak more than one-word sentences and Nate has to help him find his next class.

-- 15 --

Nate isn’t much better, when he considers himself. His friends can certainly see he’s completely out of his depth. He’s late for chemistry lab and he doesn’t pay attention. Allison inquires about it but he mostly ignores her.

It could be the tiredness and the lack of sleep affecting him, or maybe it’s the memories assaulting him at random. The firmness of Jesse’s arm under his fingers; or the smell of Jesse’s neck, a mixture of his leather jacket and soap; or the taste of coffee on Jesse’s soft - that softness! - lips; the sound of his breathing in his ear; even the heaviness of his body when he sobbed against Nate’s chest.

Nate thinks he should despise himself. He should feel disgusted. He just jerked off another man and he was jerked off by a man. That’s . . . just . . .

Except that he can’t. All those memories and feelings make him happy. Even Jesse’s crying because he feels he managed to comfort him. He believes Jesse was in some sort of emotional overload; Nate almost, almost felt it too. It’s been so long since he felt anything that he’s still overwhelmed with all that sensation now and imagining that another person experiences the same emotions . . . It’s the best, the most rewarding thing in the world.

It’s being in love.

He catches up with Laura and Allie halfway to the dorm. For a moment he feels a little guilty because of what Laura wanted from him and that he gave this very thing to Jesse. It’s until he hears they are talking about . . . Jesse. Then everything else ceases to matter as Nate heeds every word. It turns out that Laura and Jesse are working on a project together for one of the courses and the drawings Jesse prepared were brilliant.

“He’s like that guy from ‘A Beautiful Mind’ only in the art department.” Laura goes on and on about composition, detail and the visionary idea that knocked their professor off his feet. “From looking at him or talking to him you’d say he’s a total weirdo but the way he draws? All those ideas? I’m floored. If his brain is packed up with all those images, I’m not surprised he has no more room for a simple conversation with us mortals.”

“You like him, Laurie,” Allison teases.

“Oh,” Laurie shrugs and casts a glance at Nate. “Not like that.”

“Not like that my ass!” Allison laughs and nudges her. “He caught your eye on the first day!”

“Allie!”

Nate suddenly feels awkward with the glaring and shrugging and the second, hidden conversation the girls are having here -- the one without words. He needs to get away from them and when he sees Jesse’s friend -- that Rick-guy -- ambling towards him he thinks it’s a perfect excuse.

Except it’s not.

“Hi!” he starts and swiftly turns it into, “Ouch!” when Rick’s hand grabs his elbow and the shorter man leads him forcefully to the side of the walkway. Then he forcefully turns him around and Nate finds himself facing him. Nate has almost a head over Rick but the guy still seems intimidating with his posture alone. Nate focuses on the other man’s lips, full and twisted in a grimace of such contempt that Nate can only suspect one thing -- that he hates faggots.

“You stay away from him.” Rick pokes a finger of his free hand into Nate’s chest.

This awakens all the restrained anger within Nate. He literally feels it bubbling to the surface like boiling water.

“Let go of me!” Nate wriggles his arm out of Rick’s grip. “It’s none of your fucking business what I’m doing with Jesse.”

“Well, as it happens it is very much my business because I’m his caregiver.”

Nate snorts, “His what?”

“And I cannot,” Rick continues unabashed, his face far too close, offensively invading Nate’s personal space. “let you do anything with him. Yeah. It’s my call, pal.” Rick pushes Nate on the chest and Nate has to take a step back.

“Fuck you! It ain’t your call. It’s his, asshole!”

“Except it’s not because his judgment tends to be, y’know, impaired. And it really speaks volumes for you, asshole that you take advantage of that!”

Nate is rendered speechless again. Advantage? Of what?

“Now, stay away. Or I’ll inform the University authorities what you’ve been doing to him.” Rick pushes past him and Nate isn’t gonna take it, oh-fucking-no! It’s his turn to grab Rick by the elbow and spin him around.

“You don’t get to talk to me like that, dude. I didn’t do anything wrong. I don’t care what you say. You have no right to make decisions for someone else, no matter whether you are his caregiver or not! Hear me? And you sure as hell don’t get to tell me what to do!”

Rick gets into Nate’s face once again, his fist twists into Nate’s shirt and he seethes very quietly and very dangerously, “I get to tell you to stay away from Jesse. He’s my friend too, you know, had been long before I started taking care of him. I won’t let him get hurt. Now, it’s me telling you to fuck off because he can’t defend himself against your kind, you pervert.” Nate wants to hit him. He’s no pervert! Rick looks deep into his eyes and he must see something there, some truth perhaps because his face shifts a little, his eyes soften for a brief second, look uncertain. But then they harden with renewed defiance and he whispers. “He’s autistic. So yeah, I get to make such judgments for him.” Rick lets go of Nate’s shirt, smoothes it, pats Nate’s chest, his gray eyes never leaving Nate’s. He nods to himself, turns around and heads off toward the edge of the campus.

Nate is left behind completely dumbfounded.

Autistic?

But that means--

Nate feels like he’d been punched in the gut. This can’t be happening.

-- 16 --

Nate shuts the door in his RA’s face when Blair comes to him this afternoon. Yes, he missed the appointment with Mrs Smith, so what?

He’s trying to understand how it was possible that he had sex with someone . . . mentally impaired. How was Allison right about Jesse being dumb? What did Laura say? That he’s like that guy from ‘A Beautiful Mind?’ Damn it, that hurts. Nate fell in love with Jesse and that love slapped him in the face.

On Friday morning Nate asks Laura about her classes and if Jesse is going to be there. She’s a little surprised but she tells him. Nate needs to. He really, really needs to make Jesse explain that to him. When he sees him though . . . when he looks into Jesse’s green eyes he can only choke out, “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Jesse looks up, meets Nate’s gaze for a split second then casts his eyes somewhere below Nate’s chest, his brow furrowed. It stings. It’s a confirmation of all the things Nate has ever heard about autistic people. That they don’t look others in the face. That they don’t feel. This is the worst insult -- that Jesse didn’t really feel anything the way Nate did!

“Tell you what?” Jesse asks quietly.

“That you’re retarded.”

Nate feels satisfaction of a revenge filling him up, its’ taste bitter. If Jesse lied to him about feeling, then Nate will make him . . . Make him what exactly? If Jesse is autistic and he doesn’t feel then those words won’t hurt him either. Maybe he doesn’t even know what they mean? Maybe he doesn’t understand how different he is? For all Nate knows Jesse may not even recognize him, may not even remember what happened between them. What’s the point, then?

Grief chokes him, makes him want to cry. He feels like he’s lost a friend, someone who could have been more than a friend. He can’t bear any more loss. He’s lost too much already. He wants to leave, walk away because -- why would he stay? -- when Jesse’s soft voice stops him.

“I’m not retarded.”

“Your friend, Rick.” Nate wonders why he’s even trying to explain that. “He said you were.” God, maybe he’s wrong! Maybe Rick lied for some reason; Nate prays that it was just a misunderstanding.

“He would never say something like that.”

“He said you were autistic.”

Jesse inhales sharply and drops his face, hides it from Nate. So it is true. Nate wants to hit Jesse for betraying him, for lying to him, for pretending to be somebody he wasn’t.

“Autism does not equal retardation,” says Jesse. His voice is still very quiet, hardly audible and he still doesn’t look up at Nate. His hands, his whole body is motionless but the sentence comes out fluently, not like his usual stilted speech.

Then he suddenly stands up in one swift move, the drawing pad and a pencil in one hand, the bag in the other. His eyes are downcast. He’s unable to meet Nate’s gaze but Nate once again sees the stunning emerald color of his pupils and his heart clenches. Jesse’s jaw is working and Nate can recognize the high level of distress.

“Do some reading, Nate,” Jesse finally whispers and brushes past him, avoiding any contact between their bodies, making himself as small and narrow as possible.

Nate watches his retreating back and his bowed head and how he jumps away when someone is too near as if struck by an electric shock. He realizes he did inflict hurt. He realizes he’s just acted in a way he hated in others: all prejudiced and unjust. He begins to regret it. He begins to wish that he could turn back time.

 

-- 17 --

Blair waits for Nate outside the auditorium before a lecture.

“We made a deal,” he reminds Nate.

Nate shrugs.

“You’re coming with me.”

Nate goes. He’s not really able to resist now. He never wanted to resist anyway, he just wanted them to get off his case. This will not happen now. He’s sure his yesterday’s absence at the meeting with Mrs. Smith alarmed everyone. Now he can see that his refusal to talk to his RA has thrown the guy off big time.

They stop outside the counselor’s office and Blair gestures at the door.

Nate nods, knocks and gets in, Blair a step behind him.

“This is Nate Stshelesky, Ma’am.”

Mrs. Katherine Smith lifts her gaze from the brochure on her desk. She smiles at Nate as she takes off her glasses.

“I know,” she says and indicates for him to sit on a chair opposite from her. “I’ll take it from here, Mr Blair. Thank you.”

Nate listens to Blair’s steps, to the door being closed and he looks at the walls that are painted pale pink. A couple of black and white sketches hang on Katherine’s right, a cabinet with books and student files stands to her left and she has a large window overlooking the Washington Rondo and a parking lot in front of the Administration Building.

She has to invite him to sit down more forcefully before he finally drops to a chair.

“You’re studying pre-engineering, is that right?” she starts, taking a folder from the side of her desk. Nate didn’t realize his file from the counselor was so thick.

He nods. When Mrs. Smith does not look up to see him nodding, he adds, “Yes.” She lifts her gaze at the sound of his voice and their eyes meet. She smiles.

“May I call you Nate?” She waits for his approval and continues, “You may call me Katherine or Kate. How do you like school so far, Nate?”

What does she expect him to say?

“It’s okay.”

“Classes are not too hard?”

Nate shrugs and shakes his head. He’s never had trouble with school -- not until two years ago anyway -- besides it’s still the beginning of the year. No, classes are not hard.

“Have you made any friends?”

He feels his body give a jerk in response. Friends? Like, Laura-type friends? Or Allison and John and Tom-type friends? Or Jesse-type friends?

“I don’t know,” he hears himself respond quietly.

“What do you mean?”

“What kind of friends?” Nate looks up at her but she’s not going to give him a clue. She asks. She quirks her eyebrow now, expecting him to explain himself. “Friends you go out bowling with? Yeah, I have some. Friends you can connect with?” --Like Laura-- “I really don’t know.” He doesn’t want to say all this but suddenly he’s talking. “There’s this one girl, you know, she lost both her parents. So, on a certain level, yes, we’ve been through the same, right? But when I think of it, how can I really tell her that I’m so bad off when I only lost a mother? How can I compare myself with her?”

Mrs. Smith, Katherine, has the bluest eyes he’s ever seen, Nate thinks while he’s waiting for her response. His thoughts are out of place, irrelevant but it’s his way of escaping. He’s scared that if she doesn’t say something quickly he’ll just keep talking.

“Do you think you don’t deserve any compassion?” she asks. “Do you think that what you’re experiencing, the feelings you have, are somehow not as important, not as strong as someone else’s?”

Suddenly Nate does not feel as if Katherine is comparing him to Laura but rather she’s comparing Jesse to him. He feels guilty all over again because he believed Jesse’s experiences weren’t as strong as his.

“Do autistic people feel anything?” he asks, once more allowing his mouth to take over.

Katherine pauses before she replies . . . “Why are you asking this?” Another question!

“Can’t you just tell me?” Nate explodes. He hates this trait of shrinks; they never give an answer that is not a question one way or another. This is why he ditched psychotherapy as soon as he could. “You must have learned about that too. It’s a mental disorder, right? Do they feel?”

“They do,” Katherine replies in a calm manner. “Like you, like me and like your friend.” Nate has to remind himself she’s talking about Laura -- even thought names were never mntioned -- not about Jesse. “There is no escape from emotions, Nate. If the pain you experience is too much you may try to shut it down but it’s still there.” She pokes her head. “It always comes out sooner or later.”

Nate knows that Katherine is talking about him and that he should probably listen and try to understand why it’s important but now, since he started, he wants to know more about Jesse.

“Then why--” he searches for the right way to phrase it. “Why does it seem they don’t feel?” Only they do! Nate remembers Jesse’s body trembling in his arms. He felt.

Katherine sighs.

“There are different ways of showing emotions. Everybody -- every one of us -- is different. One person laughs when they’re happy, another person smiles, and another one jumps around. One person cries when they’re sad, another person sits in a corner brooding, and another one tries their best at not showing it at all. What really matters are the signals the other person is sending and how we read them.”

Nate knows she’s not answering his question again. She tries to steer the conversation so it was all about him but he does not want that. He does not deserve--

And then, as if on cue his savior enters.

A girl bursts in without knocking.

“Sorry--” she halts in the doorway for a split second, takes in the room and Nate in it, then composes herself and strides forward. She bends over Mrs. Smith’s ear and whispers something.

Katherine’s head shoots up, alarmed. She glances at Nate, then at the girl, then at Nate again.

“We could really use your help,” the girl pleads to Mrs. Smith.

There is obviously some crisis and Katherine has to make a quick decision. Nate wants to make it easier for her so he stands up and gathers his bag.

“I’ll be back--” his voice falters strangely. “I will.”

He is choked up with tears but he’s not going to let them flow.

No. He should be happy in fact. Jesse did not lie to him, Jesse is real, his feelings are real, everything is--

Except that he has gone and fucked it up.

He hears Katherine calling after him but he knows she needs to go to more important things, more important people. He’s sure she’ll do just that and he will go to his classes like he should, like they expect of him. Then he’ll try to find Jesse, although he has no idea what he could say to make it all better between them. Is there even a slight chance that Jesse will forgive him?

He doesn’t find out because Jesse isn’t there at his usual spot at the bench near the gates this afternoon. Maybe on Monday then? Nate prays that Jesse is here on Monday, that it will not be too late.

-- 18 --

This is going to be the longest weekend in Nate’s life. He thinks about sleeping it through but after waking up at nine, at ten and at eleven thirty with a dull headache he thinks if he sleeps one more minute his brain will turn into mashed potatoes.

He gets dressed and goes out to buy a donut. Nothing like sweets to help lightening up the mood. When he gets back to his room he sees his family -- both Dad and Magda -- in his room.

“I couldn’t just kick them out,” Lee-Daniel shrugs as he whips out his jacket and vanishes.

Nate really shouldn’t be surprised. He hasn’t called them since Wednesday and he’s only been picking up calls from Dad to avoid the Old Man freaking out and alerting the University authorities about his case even more. Plus he hasn’t come home for the weekend. They are bound to be worried.

“How about dinner, son?” his father offers and Nate finds it difficult to refuse. At the very least it’s killing time.

They go to a restaurant downtown and Dad orders the three biggest steaks on the menu. Magda rolls her eyes but she starts to eat, Dad eats too and Nate? Nate isn’t hungry. He’s just eaten a donut.

Dad takes notice after his third bite. He puts his fork away and exchanges glances with Magda. Nate feels scrutinized and it’s not a pleasant experience.

“Are you alright, son?”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re not eating--”

“Are you okay?” Nate deflects the question. He holds his father’s gaze. “Are you working? Aren’t you drinking too much? Are you taking care of your daughter?”

“Nate--” Magda starts in a shy voice but Dad puts up a hand and she falls silent. She actually obeys him! Nate sees she’s not wearing any make up and he’s indistinctly concerned that he didn’t notice it earlier. She has taken out that ugly piercing and her hair is combed in a neat ponytail. She looks like the little girl that she is. It should be a relief.

“I’m alright, Nate,” Dad states firmly. Both he and Magda are alright, they go out of their way to prove that to him. Nate should be relieved but he’s not. “It’s none of your concern--”

“Hell, it isn’t!” he shouts and it attracts the attention of nearby patrons but Nate won’t give a shit. He just wants his family to leave him well enough alone and if embarrassing them in a public place is what it takes then fine -- he’ll embarrass them. But he clams his mouth shut.

“How so, Nate?” his agitation is contagious though and now Dad raises his voice. “Tell me why you worry about things that shouldn’t--”

“How about,” Nate cuts in, hushed now, his whisper contrasting starkly with the previous outburst. He edges closer to his Dad, so close that he can almost count the hairs in his stubble. He doesn’t, he really doesn’t need some strangers to know his angst. “How about after Mom’s death that you were too depressed to take care of yourself, let alone us?”

Dad can only hold his gaze for a moment before his eyes drop down but Nate notices a glimmer of tears. Dad sighs, visibly gathers himself together and looks back up at him.

“Well, I’m not depressed anymore.” He’s really convincing. It’s genuine. Nate thinks he could almost believe it if he . . . if . . . “You have to trust me, Nate. I’m holding on okay.” There is a creased line between his brows. He’s worried. “What about you son? Don’t you think you’re depressed?”

Nate’s not depressed. Nate doesn’t do depression. If he were to be depressed, he’d have gone there a long time ago. He’s strong. He can deal with his shit. He tells his father as much. He’s fine. He’s dealing. He’s not even sad.

“Maybe we should go to therapy together?” Dad tries. “I’m still seeing Dr Ferris from time to time; I could set up an appointment for all three of us.”

“I have school, Dad.” Nate deflects. He doesn’t tell him that he’s under the school’s shrink supervision now and that’s more than he can handle anyway.

“Do we have to?” Magda whines as well. “I’m not doing drugs. I thought we covered this. And Gennie... she’s a little over the top with all the Goth stuff but she’s harmless.”

“Not now, Magda,” Dad cuts her off.

“He’ll never let me go out with her again.” Meg pouts but it’s an act more than anything. Dad ignores her.

“School is another matter,” he speaks to Nate. “I mean, you kept telling me that you didn’t want to go to college and I wouldn’t listen. I was pushing you but maybe it was not necessary. You are a year ahead anyway. Perhaps it would be a good idea to come back home, have a year off, figure things out. If that’s what you want?”

Nate looks from one to another, from Dad to Magda, and feels drained. He’s sure he’s paled significantly he must have because he feels dizzy an lightheaded and he can’t, he just can’t not go back to school now. He has to be there at the lecture on Monday he has to see Jesse, he has to apologize! Nothing else matters and he can’t even be out of the dorm right now.

Dad agrees to drive him back to the campus when Nate insists but he stresses that Nate has options. He’ll call. Magda will call too. It feels odd, them concerned about him like this. Nate isn’t used to it but he can’t say he doesn’t like it. To tell the truth, it’s kind of . . . reassuring.

-- 19 --

Laura is waiting in the corridor outside his room. Well, she’s about to turn around and go back downstairs but then she sees Nate and gives him a sad smile. Nate’s protective instinct gets the better of him at the sight of how miserable she is and he gathers the petite girl in his arms. All friendly without any hidden meaning. He’s not sure that’s all she expects of him but that’s what he’s going to give. Besides he can really use a distraction.

“Are you okay?”

“Not really.”

Nate holds her with one arm and opens the door with the other, guiding her inside.

“Argued with Allison again?”

“Nah.” Laura sits on Nate’s couch, like before. “It’s about Jesse.”

Nate’s heart nearly stops. He feels cold, freezing cold despite the early autumn warmth of his room and a tight, painful knot in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t say anything, he’s not sure he could trust his voice. Luckily Laura continues without further prompt.

“I’m not sure I should be telling you any of this; it’s his private business but I really need to share. That’s what I was taught, y’know, after my parents-- to not hold the bad shit inside.” She looks up hopefully and Nate can only nod an ‘okay’. He shouldn’t. He should tell her to leave, that he’s the last person she should talk to about Jesse. “I can trust you, right?” Laura asks and Nate almost snorts at the irony of this. “You’re not a gossip kind of guy? Because I’m pretty sure if I told Allison--” She doesn’t need to finish. Yeah, fine, Nate believes he’s better than Allison.

He drops down next to Laura and utters, “Shoot,” although he dreads what she may tell him. She may have found out about Jesse’s condition. She may have some misconceptions, like he had yesterday and Nate prays to God that she doesn’t because he might not cope well with it.

“I’ve just been at his home, you know,” Laura starts quietly. “He’s my project partner so I was kind of entitled to.” What she says next makes Nate think of thunderstorms with bolts of lightning and how it feels to be struck by one. “Mrs. Smith requested a volunteer from our group to come with her to talk with his family and I agreed. Jesse had a major freak-out at yesterday’s project exercise.”

Mrs. Smith, yesterday. It takes half a breath for the data to add up and create a stark, clear picture in Nate’s head. A freak-out, yesterday. After the argument Jesse had with Nate. Probably the very thing Mrs. Smith was called away to during the session with him. And it’s all his fault.

Nate finds it hard to swallow, to breathe. His heart beats a mile a minute and he can feel droplets of sweat on his forehead. He’s lightheaded and damn lucky Laura is busy looking at her knees. It gives him a moment to pull himself back together. He’ll deal with it later. He’ll have his own freak-out once she’s left. He’s had practice with holding himself together at times of crisis; he just hopes Laura won’t take long because he’s kind of thrown off because of the whole weekend being too long, having dinner with the family and everything is getting messier by the minute.

Laura makes herself more comfortable and keeps talking.

“I think it’s a good thing it happened. At least we finally know what’s wrong with him. I mean I do and a few others from our group because Mrs. Smith and the teachers knew from the beginning; he couldn’t withhold such information when enrolling. I hope we can help him, you know?” Laura looks up to Nate and he can’t meet her eyes. “He’s autistic,” she whispers and Nate nods. He knows. “He’s High Functioning, that’s what it’s called. That means he can, you know, function. And he damn well wants to!” She chuckles and it startles Nate. Laura’s eyes shine with admiration and pride. “He’s one stubborn guy. His mother said she was totally against him going to college but the rest of the family ganged up against her and then Jesse didn’t even want any help with his classes. He barely agreed to some assistance with getting to and from school. He wanted to be independent and he apparently overcompensated a little.”

Laura stops and gets disturbingly serious all of a sudden. Nate leans in a little to look into her face because now he needs to know more. He feels this pride for Jesse he felt a few days ago, a pride he doesn’t deserve feeling. But he realizes this very moment that Jesse is exactly the person Nate imagined him to be. Shy but self-confident, vulnerable but strong.

Laura shakes herself out of her thoughts. “Sorry.” She looks up at him intensely. “You know that guy who’s picking him up, don’t you? Rick, Jesse’s friend?” she furrows her brow and keeps gazing at him, her tone strange. “He said someone-- Well, Jesse is really defenseless in terms of social interaction and someone tried to-- take advantage of it, I guess.” She scrutinizes Nate and it makes him feel exposed. It makes him feel like she knows it was him.

Only it wasn’t! He wasn’t taking any advantage of anything! He was only . . . kissing another boy and Nate does understand how it can make people feel repulsed.

He's on his feet and pacing the room, his jaw tight, barely keeping himself from hitting something.

“Rick spoke to you on Thursday, didn’t he?” Laura connects the dots. “He seemed kind of agitated and on Friday--” She’s up on her feet as well and with all her five-foot-four she’s blocking his path. “It was about you wasn’t it?” Her eyes are large with what? Fear? Anger? Nate can’t name it. Disappointment maybe?

“I’m no pervert, okay?” he utters, everything inside of him shaking. “I never intended to hurt him! I fell in love that’s all!” he shrieks it out and Laura’s face is suddenly blurry and distant and Nate’s eyes sting and his breath turns into a strained hiccup.

For a moment he can’t fathom how her arms can envelop him from above if she’s shorter than him but then he realizes he’s sitting on the floor and sobbing like a little baby into her sleeve.

“I know you wouldn’t hurt a fly, Nate.” Laura says when he’s calmed down a little.

-- 20 --

It’s Monday morning and Nate is about to skip his lecture. The one he and Jesse share. He has a reason though and a hope that he will see Jesse nonetheless, in just under a minute.

Laura said he would.

They spent all Saturday evening -- and most of the night -- talking about this and many other things. Nate didn’t even realize how much he had stored in those dark corners of his mind where he swore he would never look. He thinks he only revealed the surface garbage to Laura: about missing his Mom and about being scared of being in love with Jesse. He barely touched upon his screwed relationship with Dad and about Magda and Laura didn’t push. Even she realized it was too early for him to open up too much.

Instead they talked about Jesse. Nate couldn’t believe how open-minded and helpful Laura was about Nate’s issues concerning falling in love with another man.

“I love you, Laurie,” escaped him at some point and he immediately felt guilty.

"Just not like that?" she looked him straight in the eye with a serious expression. "I'm trying here, Nate, so don't make it harder."

She was jealous, but Nate expected nothing else. What surprised him was that it felt she would as the same if it was about another girl. To Nate it was a completely foreign concept but Laura treated him as if his infatuation with Jesse was something normal.

Her patience ran thin though when he revealed what exactly he’d told Jesse, how he had acted. It was at two in the morning and for a few minutes it was a close call between her bolting out, slamming the door and her staying there to help him get through. She broke eventually, succumbed, understood what dark place he had been in. She forgave him.

There is no guarantee Jesse will forgive him too.

They are on their way to Mrs. Smith’s office. The counselor told Jesse to come see her before classes start; his mother assured that he would be over his fit come Monday. Mrs. Smith also requested Laura’s presence; she is of the mind that, contrary to his own attitude, Jesse needs some support system -- there are several options and Jesse should be the one to choose what suits him best. Laura believes she will be involved one way or another. It was her idea -- at four in the morning -- that Nate should volunteer to be involved too. That this could be his gesture of good will.

Nate isn’t sure it will work and when he sees Jesse outside of Mrs. Smith’s office -- accompanied by his friend Rick -- he almost turns tails. But then Jesse spots him and Nate cannot be mistaken; Jesse . . . smiles.

Rick doesn’t smile.

Rick’s eyes grow wide at the sight of Nate. He leaves Jesse’s side and approaches Nate in three long strides.

“You get out of here!” he seethes pointing his finger.

Nate thinks that all is lost, that this is the hindrance he will not be able to overcome, the honest distrust of a caring friend.

Help comes from the least expected source. None of them noticed Mrs. Smith coming out of her office and nearing them.

“Is there a problem?” her calm voice sobers them all. There is a brief moment of silence when Nate catches Jesse’s green eyes above Rick’ shoulder and he wishes they could stay like this forever, locked, because there’s no hate in those eyes, no resentment.

Rick breaks the moment waving his arms and spitting that Nate has no right to get anywhere near Jesse, that he won’t let a perv take advantage of his friend, the old stuff. Nate feels his face turn red but the thing is, there is something worse than a queer relationship between Nate and Jesse, something Rick seems unaware of and Nate feels grateful Jesse hasn’t told him about their Friday clash. Right now being considered depraved doesn’t even sting that much.

Katherine Smith lets Rick finish, watching Nate’s reaction, watching Jesse, and Nate realizes that she knows. She guessed that Nate had been in fact asking about Jesse during their session, that Nate was the reason for Jesse’s freakout. His stomach twists into knots even tighter than before although he didn’t think it possible. He almost doubles over. How much does she know? How much did she figure out? Nate’s afraid to look at her but when he finally does, all he sees there is sympathy. He doesn’t understand what it means.

“Why don’t we ask Jesse what he thinks about it?” Mrs. Smith directs the question at Rick, when he takes a breather. Rick glares at her dumbfounded. “He’s an adult isn’t he? I believe it was you who encouraged him to have his mental capacity tested when he argued with his mother last year?” she smiles. “You should respect it now.”

“He’s still not talking,” Rick sputters stupidly and turns red in the face.

“It doesn’t mean he can’t express his will.” Katherine takes another dissecting look at Jesse and goes back to her office. She’s back in an instant with a notepad and a pen which she hands to Jesse. “Do you want Nate to go away now or to take part in this session?”

Jesse hesitates. He actually hesitates and Nate feels his stomach sinking. Everything depends on the words he’s going to scribble on that notepad. Nate knows that he deserves to be rejected but he fears he won’t handle it. His heart is beating so fast he’s sure everyone in the room can hear it.

The word is scribbled and handed to Katherine Smith. She reads it and furrows her brow, looks at Jesse questioningly, says, “You may use my office,” and makes an inviting gesture toward Nate. Jesse turns to the door and when Nate follows him, he sees in the corner of his eye that Mrs. Smith block Rick’ path. He enters her office and Jesse closes the door behind them.

They stand in silence, none of them able to break it first. Nate knows it’s on him though. He owes Jesse an apology, even if he believes it won’t be enough.

“Sorry,” he grates and clears his throat. “Sorry, I was wrong and stupid--” He stops seeing Jesse come closer. He’s unable to face him so he drops his gaze to the floor. To their shoes. They are both wearing Converse and it’s funny how they match. Jesse takes Nate’s hand in his smaller one and Nate can’t help but think back to the moment last week when they were sitting on a bench near the campus gates, holding hands like this.

“We fit,” Jesse states and Nate knows these are the first words he’s spoken since Friday. Jesse’s first words are spoken to him. This is forgiveness. “I like you,” he adds, lets go of Nate’s hand abruptly and just stands there, his arms at his sides, breathing evenly, chin dipped and his eyes wandering over the items in Katherine Smith’s office.

“I like you too,” Nate breaths out. “A lot.”

“So it’s good?” Jesse asks and Nate can’t help thinking that he’s a little naive.

“I don’t know if it’s that simple,” he starts but he’s at a loss how to explain that to Jesse. There are still some things, many things that could go wrong. “Take Rick, for example. He thinks I wanted to use you!”

Jesse shrugs, opens his mouth a few times and closes them trying to formulate his thoughts into a sentence. “Me too,” he says and closes his eyes, shakes his head. Tries again, “Not more than me. I wanted--” he stops abruptly.

Nate glares at him for a moment expecting a continuation. It doesn’t come and he has to process the meaning.

“You wanted to . . . use me?” He finds it hard to believe. He feels bad for thinking that Jesse, being autistic, wouldn’t be capable of tLeeing him into doing something against his will, but he thinks it nonetheless.

Their eyes meet and Jesse smiles briefly. “I’m an adult. In the face of the Law. You’re not.”

Looking at it that way . . . Nate chuckles. It’s true, he’s underage and perhaps some people would interpret the situation in his favor.

“You wanted this, did you?” Jesse asks in a voice so soft and uncertain Nate can’t doubt his anxiety.

“Yes!”

“Me too.”

If Jesse can make Rick see this logic then one problem is out of the picture.

There are other problems though. Nate wishes he didn’t see them, wishes he didn’t feel this disturbing duality where he’s overjoyed that Jesse wanted the same thing he did, that they are in love -- and at the same time he hears that voice in the back of his head sneering ‘queer’. If he feels this way then what will other people think? Rick was against Nate taking advantage of Jesse but perhaps he’s against homosexuals in general? How does Jesse feel about it? Does he even--

“You know why this is weird, though?” Nate asks. “Us?”

He realizes he’s closed his eyes and that tears are streaming down his cheeks when Jesse smooths one away. “Why?” he whispers, choked up himself. Frightened.

Nate swallows bile in his throat and answers, his voice coarse. “We’re both men?”

“So?”

“It’s inappropriate.”

“Why?”

Oh, God. Nate tries his best to not feel prejudiced about Jesse’s mental state but it’s so hard to say how much he understands about the rules of this world. He starts responding but Jesse just smiles.

“No, don’t.” he touches a hand to Nate's lips. “Don’t explain it. I’ve been told, informed. I know. And I’ve been told why it’s okay and that -- I understand.” Jesse says it as if there is a difference between knowing and understanding.

There probably is. Nate knows, understands . . . Believes there is. He thinks that learning this logic, Jesse’s logic, may be a way of finding himself again.

Jesse’s fingers still touch his lips. Jesse’s eyes slide down from Nate’s to those fingers and he shivers briefly, the pressure lessens and Nate knows he’s going to break contact. He grabs Jesse’s wrist to hold him in place, in the moment. He lowers their joined hands after a moment though because Jesse’s lips want to be touched too, he knows it. He touches their lips together. Only touches because it’s neither time nor place for anything more. It gives him strength though and he thinks it helps to calm Jesse as well.

When Mrs. Smith, Rick and Laura enter the office a minute later both Nate and Jesse are composed and ready to face the world together.

The End.

Please, let me know if you read it. :) I need to know if posting these makes sense.

Comments

[silwyna]

I haven't read it yet, but it's saved on my cellphone, so I'll start reading it on the bus ride to work tomorrow at the latest :)

[betzz]

I loved this at BigBang and it works just beautifully as on original piece. Very well done!

[evening_spirit]

Oh, wow! Thank you so much! :) I really appreciate your comment.