Draco: Heyla folks. I've hit writer's block again, so I thought I'd just let you read what I've got of the next chapter so far. Hope you enjoy!
Gabe sighed at his reflection in the bathroom mirror. It was the same reflection he had been staring at for years, the same reflection he had seen like a double exposure over Monty's face when he had met the other boy's eyes in the school window, like some sort of physical representation of how he was slowly replacing Monty in Caleb's life. Somehow, that reflection always seemed to get him in trouble. Not that it was anything special. Other kids looked much stranger than he ever had, and they never drew the kind of attention he did. So what made him the center of attention?
He was gay.
It wasn't much of a reason, but it was all the reason they needed. They could empty his backpack in the rain, flush his head down the toilet, or beat him in the locker room. None of it mattered so long as they used the magic word: faggot. Then everyone turned a blind eye, and he was free game for all those bigger, stronger kids, the ones not confident enough in themselves to leave him alone. He hated how unfair it was, but that's the way it was, fair or not.
Sighing, he tugged at his hair tiredly, pulling strands of fading black down across his face and toying with the pale, reddish-blonde roots now showing. It wasn't the time to be worrying about what others thought. Right now all he wanted to think about was how much he hated his natural hair color. So he tossed a box of bleach into the air with a smirk and caught it again, violet eyes meeting violet eyes in the smooth glass.
"Time for a change," he laughed at himself. "They wanna treat me like a social leper? Fine. I'll give them something to stare at."
"Gabe! What happened? Your hair…!"
The goth smiled cheerily as his boyfriend ran disbelieving fingers through his newly dyed hair. Caleb's eyes held a swirling mix of shock and pride, and the sight made Gabe slightly giddy. Passers-by sneered at them, snorting their disgust and disapproval. Neither of them noticed.
"So," Caleb examined the lock in his hand, "what exactly are they calling this color?"
Gabe shrugged. "The bottle said something like 'Fuchsia Fantasy.' I just liked it."
Laughing and shaking his head, the brunette took the other boy's hand and headed down the hallway like any other day. The wise cracks and insults shot out at them as they rounded the corner to the art room, but they just ignored them. Thinking about it, Gabe was surprised to discover how simple Caleb's policy of "ignore the world" really was. In fact, it wasn't until someone stuck out a foot to trip him that anything but keeping each other's company mattered. When his foot caught and the floor came up in slow motion, the dread of endless days on the playground in elementary school rushed back. Gabe reached out reflexively to catch himself, cringing against the eminent impact as his palms itched in anticipation. Caleb's arms wrapped around him, though, jerking him back into, and almost back out of, balance. Around them, the hallway rang with laughter, and violet eyes burned with welling tears. Then Caleb slammed into the crowd and someone hit the wall. A growl rose from the boy's throat as he struck the offender, not knowing who it was but knowing he had the right person by the general response. As right as he was, however, he wasn't expecting the face that met his eyes.
The bell rang as Caleb staggered back in astonishment and the crowd slowly began to disperse. Monty straightened up, but stayed against the cold brick, not meeting his past companion's gaze. It was silent for a moment as Gabe stood behind his lover, eyes wide and frightened.
"What's your problem?" Caleb finally found voice enough to choke the question out. "We weren't doing anything to you."
Monty snorted, still not looking up. "You already did plenty to me."
"Like what?"
"Like abandoning me."
"What?"
Monty's eyes were so dark as they met Caleb's that the green of the irises almost matched the black of the pupils. His response was lost, though, as Mr. Tilley, head of the guidance department, rounded the corner with the principal. The few remaining stragglers scurried away like a swarm of rats as the school officials stepped up behind Gabe. Groaning miserable, the little goth hid under a veil of neon hair and chewed on his bottom lip, flinching at the feel of Mr. Tilley's hand falling on his shoulder. He could feel the layers of Hell that were detention descending upon him already.