4Chapter 2
I walk briskly over to the linen closet as soon as I'm through the door and grab a towel before drying off my hair. Thomas looks nervously around at the family photos on the walls.
"You have a brother?" he asks curiously.
"Yeah, he's in college in New York at the moment," I reply. Thomas grins.
"That's where I'm going the instant I graduate," he says excitedly. "I'm planning on studying Music at NYU."
"You play an instrument?" I ask.
"Cello," he replies. "Since I was big enough to support one upright.
"Sexy," I reply jokingly. Thomas flushes and I mentally hit myself in the head. Joke flirting is only funny when you know both parties are not going to be receptive. I really need to remember that. "The instrument I mean," I hastily tack on. "I like the sound..." I finish weakly. Thomas rolls his eyes.
"I'm not going to get all awkward just because you joke-flirted, dude. Relax." My mother, thankfully, rounds the corner at that point and saves me from my own mouth.
"Honey, you're home. Thank goodness, it's terrible out there!" she says happily. "And who's this?"
"This is Tom," I say as Thomas mutters "Thomas" under his breath. I make a mental note not to call him Tom again before continuing. "He gave me a ride home so I wouldn't have to brave the storm. I invited him in so he wouldn't have to drive home in that," I say, jerking a thumb towards the window.
"Well thank you very much Thomas," my mother replies. For once I'm very glad I have a perceptive mother who notices things like that. "How do you know my boy?"
"We have math together," he replies and I suddenly realize that he's right. I really am not good at this whole 'paying attention to my surroundings' thing.
"And will you be staying for dinner?" she asks "The storm may last a while."
"I probably shouldn't," he says, looking down at his feet.
"It's alright, man," I say, turning to him. "We don't mind. In fact I'd like it if you stayed." My mom gives me an approving look which thankfully Thomas doesn't notice. The look turns steely though when Thomas flinches as I clap him on the shoulder. There's an awkward pause.
"Honey, before you two go hang out, can I talk to you in the kitchen?" she asks.
"There's an en suite shower in my room upstairs if you want to get warm and dry," I say. Despite the fact that we drove most of the way, I am well aware that both of us are rather bedraggled. Thomas looks at my mother and then shoots me a grateful look, clearly not wanting to be around for the discussion he knows is coming. "I might do that, yeah," he says and races upstairs. There's another awkward pause.
"Honey... I don't know how to begin asking this..." she says. I don't make it any easier for her though. "Is he... alright?"
"How do you mean?" I ask.
"He flinched when you touched him," she replied. "Is there something I should be worried about?" I awkwardly look around for something, anything, to save me from having to explain.
"He..." I begin. "Thomas is gay, Mom."
"Well yes," she replied. "I have eyes dear." I roll my eyes at her in exasperation.
"He's not that flamboyant, it's called indie fashion," I reply defensively.
"You're deflecting," she replied. Sometimes I hate how perceptive she is.
"He's the only out kid at school." I say after a long drawn out moment where I try and come up with the best way to word it. "I think he's possibly the only one in this town. That makes him an easy target." My mother's face falls.
"People suck," she replies. "And he's abused a lot at school?"
"Mostly verbally," I concede. "But there's some shoving, and I heard a rumour that he was beaten up last year, before we moved here." Mom glared at nothing in particular.
"And I'm guessing your friendship is a fairly new development?" she asked.
"We actually only talked for the first time today," I admit. "But he was cool and offered me a lift and we really hit it off on the way back." Mom drew me into a hug.
"You're a good young man, Sam Laker," she said into my shoulder. I blush, I haven't exactly done anything incredible. "But take my advice, if you truly want to be friends with someone that's all well and good, but no-one likes to be pitied."
"It's not pity, Mom. I'm not that condescending," I reply defensively. Mom just gives me a look. "Okay, maybe I am that condescending. But it's not like that. I might have started as that, but it's not, I swear." Mom sighs.
"This is the boot-faced cat all over again."
"Thomas is not boot-faced, Mom," I reply with a laugh. "I think I can resist the urge to adopt him."
"Go hang out then," Mom says with a weary look on her face. "I'll call you when dinner's ready."
When I reach my room, Thomas is nowhere to be seen.
"Daniels, you there?" I ask.
"I'm in the bathroom," he replies. "Do you have any spare clothes I can borrow? Mine are still soaked."
"Nothing in your size I'm afraid," I reply. "And certainly nothing in your fashion. I think I'm allergic to skinny jeans."
"I'm flipping you off through the closed door, thought you should know," Thomas replies dryly.
"I have a pair of sweat pants and a hoodie you can wear while we chuck your stuff in the dryer," I reply. "You need to borrow some boxers?"
"I'll be fine," comes the somewhat choked reply and I grin to myself. The idea of Thomas getting all flustered at the idea of wearing my clothes is simultaneously hilarious and I'll admit, slightly disconcerting. the door opens a crack and Thomas' hand pokes out. I throw the offending items at him and he somehow manages to catch them without having to look. There a brief moment of quiet before the door opens properly and Thomas emerges, swamped in my brother's old hoodie and my track pants. I laugh and he glares but I can't help it. The difference between his old outfit and the stuff I gave him is more than slightly hilarious. I'm suddenly aware of my own bedraggled state as a cold draught blows through my room. I start rummaging through my closet until I find something not too terrible before wriggling out of my wet shirt and unceremoniously throwing it to the ground with a wet splat. Thomas is now bright red and I suddenly remember that this isn't the football locker room, and most people don't just randomly strip down in front of people they don't know.
"Sorry," I say hurriedly. "I'm just used to changing in front of people because of football, I didn't think."
"I'll... turn around, shall I?" Thomas manages through his mortification. I'm more than a little mortified myself and duck around the corner behind my closet and get changed as quick as I can, steadfastly facing away the whole time.
"It's safe, nothing mentally scarring on display," I say finally, trying to break the ice.
"Except your fashion sense," Thomas shoots back with a small smile.
"Ouch," I reply, mock grasping at my chest. "Straight through my heart. You wound me, Daniels." He shakes his head in exasperation as we sit down on the couch I have at the foot of my bed. "Like the hoodie, by the way?" I ask. Thomas looks down and finally notices.
"Oh, hey! Yeah, that's cool." The NYU logo emblazoned on his chest suits him in a strange sort of way.
"It was my brother's," I explain, "But he keeps growing, and shrinking depending on whether he can be bothered going to the gym, and he keeps sending me his cast offs. I have about seven of them."
"Oh, cool. What's he study?" Thomas asks.
"Computer Science," I reply. "I know, total nerd right?" Thomas shrugged as I put the disc into the PS3 and grabbed the controllers. "Portal 2 okay?"
"I've never played," Thomas admits.
"Aha!" I exclaim. My expression is only slightly manic. "Then you're in for a treat!" Thomas looks at me askance and I ignore his skepticism, starting up the co-op game. We sit in a companionable silence.
"...like Albert Einstien and his cousin Terry..." Thomas started cracking up.
"Okay, I officially like this game now."
Dinner was a somewhat subdued affair, with more noise coming from the storm outside than from us at the table. Dad didn't say much usually, and Mom, who usually chatted the whole way through was unusually focused on her meal.
"So has anyone heard from Matt today?" Dad asked.
"Not a peep," Mom replied, somewhat irritably. "Honestly, that boy. I know he thinks he has a 'huge surprise' for us, but does that mean he has to cut contact for a whole week?" I shrug.
"As long as he's okay, I don't have a problem waiting," I say diplomatically.
"What's going on?" Thomas asks curiously.
"Oh my idiot older brother refuses to talk to us. Says he has something big to announce. I'm convinced it's going to be something stupid like he's bought a car," I say dismissively. Mom rolls her eyes.
"Your brother is not that trivial," she shot back. "And don't call him an idiot."
"I know you know it's affectionate, Mom." I drop my cutlery onto my plate with a loud clatter and take it to the kitchen in amiable quiet. Thomas walks up beside me and starts cleaning his plate.
"You don't have to do that, you're a guest!" I exclaim.
"Eh, it's no biggie. I should probably get home soon though, if nothing else I need to practice my cello. I've heard on good authority that those things are apparently sexy. I've never thought of it that way myself" Thomas shoots me a grin and I playfully punch him in the shoulder. Thomas laughs and shoves me away. I can't help but think that it's a crying shame that the rest of the school doesn't get to see this side of Daniels, that when he's usually shoved and punched in the arm it's definitely not playful. Some of this must show on my face because he suddenly stops grinning.
"Sorry, I was just thinking," I said apologetically.
"You think too much," he replied absently.
"I thought you said I didn't think enough in the car."
"Yeah, well... you're just full of hidden surprises, aren't you," Thomas replies. I can't help but read more into that statement than he probably wanted me to. I almost feel like replying with 'you're welcome' but that would be condescending and get me punched.
"That's me, iceberg man."
"Ninety percent below the surface?" Thomas asks, raising an eyebrow. "I think you flatter yourself just a bit."
"Yeah, well no-one ever made money betting on football jocks being humble," I reply.
"Ain't that the truth," Thomas replied dryly. He hands me his plate. "Where's my stuff again?"
"Laundry's down the hall to the left," I reply and Thomas jogs off. I dry the dishes, listening to my parents converse in the next room and smile. This has probably been one of the nicer evenings I've spent since I came to this town. Just relaxing, nerding out. I am broken out of my reverie by Thomas' return.
"Here's your stuff back," he says, handing me my sweatpants and hoodie. I give him the once over and blink a couple of times.
"Won't you freeze?" I ask.
"The car does have a heater, Sam," he replies. "I'll be fine."
"Why don't you keep the hoodie for now, and you can give it back to me at school?" I ask. "Just to be on the safe side."
"You'd actually be willing to associate with me at school?" Thomas asks incredulously. I give him a look in return.
"What exactly about our interactions these past few hours made you think I'm that much of a massive tool?" I ask
"Do you really want an answer?" Thomas says with a laugh.
"Okay, walked right into that one," I reply. "But seriously," I say, pointing at myself. "Not an asshole. I wouldn't hang out with you and then avoid you. We're buddies... I think. We've only really properly met, but I'd like that, I think." Thomas looks away suddenly and with a shock I realise that he's actually tearing up. Jesus, I didn't actually realise things were that bad. "Sorry, did I say the wrong thing?"
"No!" Thomas replies. "No, don't think that..." he blushes as he puts my hoodie back on. "It's just..."
"You don't get that a lot, do you?" I ask.
"Try never," he replies bitterly. "Ever since I came out, I've been like a social Typhoid Mary." The reference goes over my head and I make a mental note to check what he means, but I think I get the gist. Again he takes one look at my face though, and tells exactly what I'm thinking. "She was a woman a while back who was the first ever person identified by medical science as a healthy carrier of Typhoid fever. She got a whole bunch of people sick so they quarantined her for the rest of her life."
"Poor woman," I reply absently.
"Yeah, but reporters kept interviewing her, she was kind of a celebrity of sorts. I kinda feel the same you know?" I make a noncommittal noise. "You can stare, you can use her as a source of entertainment, but upon your life don't you dare get close." He snorts derisively. "You might get infected." There's a long, awkward pause.
"Their loss." I say eventually. "We should do this again sometime."
"Fine by me," Thomas says. "But I really gotta go practice."
"Well I've got your back." I reply. "Now scoot."
"Yes sir!" Thomas replies with a mock salute. I see him to the door. The hoodie really does suit him.