Path of the Vampire forum

B E C K E T T

“...this will be your first group assignment for the semester. We will pair off into groups of two, and each will be responsible for photographing two…”

A sudden nudge against his ribs, and Beckett was looking to the boy at his left. Aidan Miller shot him a grin and raised a ‘brow, silently communicating a belief that they should be partners for the project Mrs. Rhine was explaining, and that Beck was now missing. He and the blonde had been friends for years, and he knew better than anyone that Aidan lacked the patience for the arts. He was a jock, through and through, with no desire or care to do anything more than the bare minimum. And frankly, that just wasn’t going to cut it for the brunette. With his mother’s constant nagging about his grades, she would lose her mind if he came home failing art of all things. That meant he actually had to try, and have a partner that, at the very least, knew what they were doing.

“...and creating one point perspective drawings of each.”

Beck scowled at Aidan and shook his head, ignoring the look of surprise he received in return for the sake of the scanning over the art room and the various faces spread across the tables. Having known many of them for years, now, it was fairly easy to assess who would partner up with friends, or those more willing to branch out and test the waters with someone new. There were shared glances across tabletops, wild whispering by neighbors. Everyone knew where they were headed, and with who they would be aiming to work with. That was the thing about high school; everyone had their friend group, and lord be damned if one stepped foot out of it. Too bad Beck never was much of a follower, hardly fitting into one group, but welcomed across a few.

At first, his gaze passed over him, only to do a double take and settle on the boy situated near the back of the room. They had never interacted with each other before, nor had they even so much as spoken a word, but Beck knew of him. A quiet and reserved kid, more likely to spend time alone than with others, and with a quite a bit of artistic talent. In other words, the best chance he had at getting a decent partner for this project. And as soon as Mrs. Rhine released them to begin work, Beck was standing from his table and moving across the room in pure determination, and without hesitation. He had made no stops, no other glances around the room for other options. Aidan stared after him in disbelief, but he hardly saw it, only to drop down onto the stool at the back table, across from Renard.

His lips curled into a grin, quirking up an eyebrow as he appraised the boy opposite him. “Hey, there. Ren, right?” he asked, pressing his elbows into the wood of the tabletop and leaning forward. “I’m Beckett. Beck for short, and your new partner for this project, if that’s okay with you.”

R E N A R D

The day was going about as well as could be expected. His family believed in eating meals together; which meant that they usually woke up early for a breakfast that normally consisted of strong coffee, eggs and bacon. In Renard’s case, this was usually a third of a waffle torn into little pieces by hand, and occasionally dipped into some syrup. Theirs was an academic family. Both of Ren’s parents were college literature professors, and his name was a reflection of that, paired with that of his older sibling Isengrim. Of course, the kids at school didn’t really get that, and the jabs at it reflected a reading level consistent with someone in elementary school. Notably, he’d been called ‘Rentard’ for as long as he could remember. And of course, at the community breakfast table, Hillstrom Croft had brought up that by Sophomore year, Isengrim was in at least six extracurriculars and was already being mentioned as a pick for the National Honor Society induction ceremony. And Ren, of course, was in exactly zero activities outside of his classes. That was always how his parents brought up the subject of doing ‘more’, by comparing him to his sibling. And of course, that was just a reminder that Isengrim was going to be visiting for the weekend. Which Ren frankly hadn’t wanted to think about.

School was a practice in focus or lack thereof. He had a tendency to drift through it as if he was barely there mentally. He spent most of his time drawing little doodles in the margins of his notebooks, not actually taking notes. Sometimes he would break out his sketch pad and didn’t even bother with the pretense. He ignored all of the other students where possible. In fact, his ideal interaction with most people involved him looking through them and them not even seeing him. He managed to make passing grades, which his parents had given up trying to get him to improve a few years back. Most teachers assumed (correctly), that he just didn’t care, and that he could have done better if he really wanted to.

Life, for him, was a little bit like walking through a thick haze.

A haze that dissipated the moment someone moved to sit across from him. He had been in the process of using a bit of graphite to outline something in the middle of his notepad. Of course, Beck could see what it was upside down. It looked to be a self-portrait, only the only features on Ren’s face that one could make out were his lips, chin and jaw. His eyes, nose, and the top of his head were all covered by this wild tangle of thorns and the flying of locusts. Where the thorns dug into skin, there were trickles of blood.

He glanced up from his page and he picked the notebook up, dropping it against his chest as he leaned back in his seat. He honestly hadn’t heard what Mrs. Rhine was saying outside of some vague mention of a project. He hated them because he preferred to work on his own. But he was a favored partner because he normally did all of the work, and let whoever he was ‘working’ with take half of the credit regardless. He pulled his lower lip between his teeth, giving it a little chew before his brows both lifted high above his eyes, which were the color of amber melting into molten gold. The first thing he noticed about Beck was his smile. He just stared at it for a moment and then his gaze averted. “Renard Croft.” He greeted. Renard Octavian Croft actually. “Sure.” He supplied afterwards. He was ambivalent about who he ended up partnering with. But the way Beck smiled…

It was weird. It was warm and it was kind. It was as if Ren could actually feel eyes on him for the first time in a long time. He extended his hand across the table to offer it up for a shake. Was that the right way to greet someone new? “Yeah, I’d love to work with you.” He amended.

B E C K E T T

Bullying was an aspect of school that every student knew of in some form or another; there were the bullies, the bullied, and the bystanders. As terrible as it was, many of Beck’s friends fell into the ‘bullies’ category. Deeming themselves the ‘in’ or ‘popular’ crowd, simply because they played sports and were generally well known throughout the halls. If it weren’t for the fact that he, himself, also took part in those sports, he likely wouldn’t have spent much time with them. Their humor was crude, at best, but they had long since given up on trying to get Beck to take part in their cruelty. No, he tended to be a bystander, watching without ever really intervening, despite the fact that he hated to see the way it broke their victim down. And he wasn’t ignorant to the fact that Renard was one of those that fell into ‘bullied.’ He had heard the name circulated more than once, ‘Rentard,’ but he had never actually been present when it was used directly to the boy’s face.

Which was likely why Aidan, in part, continued to stare open mouthed in their direction, like a frog just waiting for a bug to fly into its mouth. It was a fitting look for him, really.

“Well, if we are going on a full name basis, here…” Beck replied, lowering his hand to take the one offered, giving it a quick shake. He didn’t release his hold right away, instead maintaining it for just a second too long, meeting an amber gaze with that of a soft and muted green. Less like a gemstone, and more like the churning waves of the ocean during a storm. “Beckett Sutton.” Only then did he allow that touch to end, choosing to prop up his elbow, palm flat so that his chin could drop into it and fingers could curl in against his cheek. “Really, though. All my friends call me Beck. Would it be alright, Renard Croft, if I call you Ren?” His head dropped to the side, supported by the knuckles of the curled digits against his cheek, though his attention on the other boy never shifted. “And, it’s a good thing you agreed, you wouldn’t be able to get rid of me, anyway. Everyone else has already paired off.” To prove the point, he gestured with his free hand to to the rest of the room where groups were getting situated, waiting impatiently for their teacher to come by and give them the necessary supplies to begin.

Just then, Mrs. Rhine stopped at their table, greeting them with her overly enthusiastic smile. “Ready to go, boys?” Beck’s eyes roamed up to watch the woman through his eyelashes, though he remained angled toward Ren. They seemed to crinkle at the corners as they momentarily narrowed, as if annoyed with the interruption. His grand smile was back in an instant, all evidence to the contrary wiped away as he sat up straight and nodded. “Alright, here is your camera, and the hall pass. You both know my rules. Any misbehavior, and you will spend the rest of the class period in here with me, while your fellow students continue their work elsewhere.” Her tone was breezy, despite the threat, and Beck couldn’t help but think it a bit unnecessary. Trouble making in school wasn’t his gig.

When she breezed away to set up the next group, he once again focused on his partner and shrugged. “So, from what I was able to gather, no thanks to Aidan…” he began, glancing down at the camera between them. “We have to wander around the school and take pictures for our perspective drawings. Something about...same locations from different point of views…” he mumbled, standing up from the stool with the hall pass in hand and camera in the other. “Where do you think we should start?”

R E N A R D

It was impossible for him not to peer into the other boy’s eyes, even as their hands remained locked together. The touch didn’t last forever, but for Ren; it was an eternity in a single moment. He wasn’t used to that kind of contact. His parents were not affectionate people by nature, and Isengrim’s attention left something to be desired. There had been one point when his fellow students had enjoyed doing things like spitting wadded up bits of paper at him. Or smacking him in the back of the head. That had gone on from about second grade until his Freshman year in High School, when he had finally had enough. He’d been in class at the time, trying to read the first Harry Potter book, which had only just been released in the States. One of the other boys had been blowing against the back of his hair the entire class, and he’d been ignoring it.

SMACK!

The fingers and palm had cracked against his skull with enough force that he’d seen white along the edges of his vision. And then he’d been up. He’d twisted in his seat, one knee anchored into the place his butt had been, and he took the closed hardcover book, slammed it right into the side of the other boy’s face so hard that it had triggered a seizure. Complete with the youth falling out of his chair and then vomiting on the floor very shortly after. Ren had been suspended for a week. Originally, the school had been threatening expulsion, and honestly Renard would have been fine with that. Except his parents didn’t want that on his record. So they had very politely reminded the administrators that their son had a long history of being bullied, and that normally nothing was ever done about it. It had been the only time Ren had ever known them to stand up for him. The thing had blown over eventually, and from that point on...well. Sure. People called him names and said all sorts of things about him. But nobody fucked with him like that. Nobody laid a hand on him.

But he liked the way the other boy’s hand felt in his own. And the look in his eyes was just so...it was just nice. Bright. Full of life in a way that his own did not reflect. He realized that he liked the attention, the attention of some guy he’d only ever seen before but never really met. He felt heat rise in his neck and blossom like pink and red petals over his cheeks. He suddenly felt very embarrassed for no good reason. Like there were little flutters in his belly like dancing butterflies. And then Beck said his name. Ren had never been super attached to his name, due largely to the way it was abused at school. But the way Beck said it made him want to hear it over and over again. “Yeah.” He said. And then he cleared his throat because, for some strange reason, his voice had cracked and gone much higher pitched.

“Yeah. You can call me Ren.” He repeated as his hands dropped to the table and then dragged back to drop into his lap. He kept trying to drag his gaze away from the other male, averting it towards the back of his notebook, but he couldn’t seem to stop himself from glancing back, peering into those eyes over and over again. Thankfully, he was saved from making a fool of himself by the teacher, who handed off a camera and gave them some ground rules to work with. Moments later, she was leaving, and the rest of the class was beginning to depart. Renard began stuffing his things back into his bag, moving to stand awkwardly, a hand lifting so he could scratch against the back of his head in thought. The youth wore dark jeans, a black band t-shirt, and a plaid over-shirt which he’d already removed so he could tie the long sleeves around his waist. There was talk of the school moving to a uniform the following year, and he absolutely hated that idea. “Follow me.” He said before reaching for Beck’s hand. Admittedly, he just wanted an excuse to touch the other boy. And then he was tugging him through the door and out into the hall. He immediately darted towards the stairs, his grip tight, arm dragged behind him.

Several minutes later, they were exiting onto the flat roof of the school. Of course, they’d had to go up several flights of stairs to get there, and technically they weren’t supposed to be there, because the only ones who had access were the janitors and the agriculture club. The top of the school had been turned into a garden, lush with green life and scattered with benches. Most of the things growing up there were fruits and vegetables in rows. It wasn’t necessarily beautiful, but it looked out onto the entire school. To the north were the tennis courts, and some additional buildings to house sport facilities for basketball, and swim team. There were a football and baseball field to the east. To the west was an enormous hedge maze which had been donated by one of the alumnus classes, and featured prominently during parent teacher nights.

There was a detached theater as well which was often converted into a ballroom for dances. Really though, the best view was the forest in the distance, which seemed to stretch into the horizon, with Mount Rainier taking up part of the sky. “We’re here!” He said before finally letting go of Beck’s hand reluctantly. “The best view the school has to offer.” He gestured towards the wild lands with a faint smile.b

B E C K E T T

Students filed out of the room with their respectives partners, talking excitedly amongst themselves at the notion of getting free roam of the school rather than being stuck in the classroom. Beck was just as eager to leave, but he remained rooted to the spot next to their table, showing a surprising amount of patience while Ren gathered up his things. Before leaving the room, Aidan came over with Beck’s backpack in hand, passing it off with a silent scowl at the loner. The blonde opened his mouth, clearly with an intention to say something, but one glance at his friend and the hard glare leveled in his direction had his mouth closing a second later before turning on his heel and heading for the door. “Mature…” Beck muttered under his breath, eyes moving toward the ceiling. Only Aidan would act that childish over partnering up for an art project, and he didn’t need to be a mind reader to know what the jock had been prepared to do. Spout off some names and act superior for the sake of making himself feel better about the fact his best friend had chosen Ren over him.

His gaze dropped back to his partner after a slow count of three, only to find him practically at his side. A hand slipped over his own, accompanied by Ren’s instruction to follow along. Beck could have drilled holes through the guy’s back, the way he stared at it in mild surprise and confusion. For one, even though he could have easily kept up without it, that physical connection remained intact, the grip tightening like he may disappear if he were to let go as they moved through the halls and up the staircases. For a kid that kept to himself, Beck wouldn’t have expected him to be quite so...tactile. Two, he had literally no idea where they were going and it appeared that Ren had no intentions of telling him, either, but their pace was quick and the usually ignored staircase leading out to the roof provided the only answer he needed, in the end.

Once his hand was released, Beck blinked and moved toward the ledge while dropping his backpack against it, leaning over in order to get the full effect of the school spread out below with the mountain serving as its scenic backdrop. It was a pretty decent view, considering that the city spread out on either side, tainting it with the concrete jungle before the wild stretch of forest took over. He turned around to face Ren with a quirked eyebrow, the corner of his mouth curled upward into a knowing little smirk, “So, how often do you break the rules to come up here?” The roof being off limits was well known through the student body, and up until that point, Beck had never ventured there. It was a notorious makeout spot, couples attempting to sneak away for some quiet time, or the place where skippers went to avoid attending classes. Poorly patrolled, but every so often you heard for someone getting detention for getting caught. He didn’t expect Ren to be the kind that came up with for a good makeout session, but he had been wrong about people more than once in his life.

Glancing over his shoulder at the view once more, he contemplated the subject for the photographs, and how ridiculously difficult it was going to be to draw, and he was no Picasso. He was, however, pretty decent at photography. It hadn’t developed into a full blown hobby, per se, but he enjoyed capturing the moments that faded from memory with time. Stepping away from the ledge, he backed up a few steps while bringing the viewfinder to his eye, finagling with the lens in order to bring more of the grounds into focus, so that the mountain blurred in the background. If he stood at just the right spot on the roof, he could get the layout of the school grounds without the city ruining the shot. “I saw your drawing, by the way. Back in class. You’re pretty talented, even if a little morbid.” The camera lowered, glancing over at Ren with a teasing grin.

R E N A R D

He caught the look Aidan wore, and the truth was that he was so used to people making cracks about him that he mostly ignored it. Sometimes he joined in and made fun of himself, because it was easier to laugh than to get upset. Especially when the school wouldn’t do anything about it. Of course, the laughter was really just a good way of covering for how lonely he really felt. So he waited for some jab that never came. And that was when he saw the look on Beck’s face. Maybe that was why he rushed out of the room, trying to stay ahead of the other boy, so that Beckett couldn’t see the way his features seemed to splash a deep, warming red. His heart was racing, and it wasn’t from the running up the stairs. Nobody had ever stood up for him before. Even a little. Even with just a look. It made his chest feel tight, and his stomach feel a little bit sick. His throat felt like it was closing up and he had to suck in fresh, clean air as soon as they were on the roof. By the time he let Beck get another look at him, most of that blushing had died down. But his pupils were dilated and he was wearing this grin. Which probably looked odd on his face, because normally he went through life seemingly devoid of expression at all.

Along the way, very active parts of his body had responded as well, and he was thankful for the draping of the sleeves of his plaid shirt, because they hid the evidence. Of course. At that age, Ren seemed to have that problem at the drop of a hat, so it literally could have been any number of things to have caused it...including but not limited to: Standing up, sitting down, staring off into space, holding a pencil, breathing, walking, thinking, not thinking, sleeping, eating, and twiddling his thumbs.

“All the time.” He admitted. Beck took the camera and began to look through the viewfinder, which left Ren to take a seat on the roof, his back pressed against one of the steel and aluminum benches which had been bolted down. He reached for his pencil case in his bag and then for his sketch pad, which was filled almost to the brim with his drawings. Most of them were monochrome and dark. Some of them had bright splashes of red or the cold chill of blue. Though really those were the only colors he worked in. “Look at that mountain.” He said as he glanced towards it. “It’s like seeing the spine of the Earth breaking through its flesh.” He mused as he sucked his lower lip between his teeth to tighten his jaw just a little, squeezing and rolling the flesh. “It’s hard for me not to look at that and feel grounded. Like it’s so distant and beautiful. You feel like you can reach out and touch it, and just get away from this place.” He said. It was, as far as anyone knew, more than Ren had said to any person probably ever. In one sitting certainly. For several people at the school, it was more than he’d said to them in the entire year and change he’d been there.

But he was still riding a little high on the feeling he got when he looked at Beck. And it was like he couldn’t shut up. Like he was telling himself to stop talking. He kept telling himself that he sounded absolutely ridiculous and he probably came across like a crazy guy. And why couldn’t he just make his mouth close and not open? It just took looking at Beck and he started talking again. Like he desperately wanted to answer every single question that was posed to him. Maybe he was just starved for attention. For someone to share his perspective of the world and see things through his eyes. Even still. He kept saying to himself You need to shut up. You need to shut up. You need to shut up. You’re going to weird him out and he won’t want to talk to you anymore. Just play it cool. Come on. Play it cool. He’s never going to like you.

“I like to come here after school because it’s so beautiful. Plus my mom and dad go to bed super early because they have early classes throughout the week. Usually I can stay here and avoid them until dinner. “ And then he usually played Sega games until he passed out. Sure. The N64 had come out only a few years before, but nothing beat Sega. Especially Sonic.

And then Beck brought up the drawing.

He Ren straightened his back a little as he pulled his pencil case open so he could glance out over the edge of the building in the direction Beck was taking pictures. “Yeah. Mrs. Rhine says I have a very dark perspective, but she really seems to like it. She says I’m a ‘young Tim Burton’. I think she just lumps me in with him because she doesn’t get it. But I appreciate the grades so I’m not about to complain. Thanks though. I mean that’s nice of you to say.” He shrugged then, his gaze following Beck. And that was what he decided he was going to draw. Beckett taking pictures. So he lowered a pencil to paper and began to make the lines of the other boy’s body.

“What about you? Where would you have gone if I’d let you? What do you consider the most beautiful sight on the campus?” And then a pause.

B E C K E T T

Knowledge of Ren was sketchy, at best, by anyone in the school that knew him, but there were some facts that were generally accepted. First, he was loner and preferred to spend his time alone than with others. Second, he was the subject of bullying more often than not, usually taken advantage of in some way when it came to academics. And third, he wasn’t much of a talker. If he was required to, replies were short and to the point while never going out of his way to be the first one to open his mouth. So, the sound of his voice over the silence of the roof was unexpected, leaving Beck to openly stare at him once the camera dropped. He lacked experience with the boy, sure, but he appeared more animated than he had ever seen him before. More than he thought him capable of. Maybe it could be chalked up to the fact that they were in his element, working from an artistic lens that he could relate to and enjoy, but either way, it was such a drastic difference that Beck couldn’t help but to feel momentarily caught off guard. It was only when he realized he was still staring that he blinked rapidly and looked away, focusing once more on the mountain in the distance.

“I didn’t say it to be nice, but you’re welcome, regardless.” While he lacked much of an ability in many artistic mediums, he could appreciate the talents of others and Ren had it. People deserved to know when they excelled at something, especially if the praise was rare. “I’m sure to some, it just comes across as the work of an angsty teenager, but I assume those few don’t know much about art…” he mused aloud, pursing his lips before breaking into a sudden laugh. “Not that I do. I won’t lie to you, Ren, but you are most definitely going to carry us for the drawing portion of this project. I’ll do my best, and all, but you’ll end up correcting most of my attempts to help. I can, at the very least, get us some good photographs to work with, though.” A shake of his head and the laughter died down into a smile.

The question posed to him made him look to Ren, who had since begun to sketch. At that point, Beck wouldn’t have taken a guess as to what the subject for it was, but he watched in quiet interest for a minute before finally opening up his mouth to provide an answer. “I’m...not really sure where I would have gone, to be honest…” he trailed off, voice dropping off into silence. Without finishing his thought, he raised the Nikon up in one quick motion before Ren could glance up and quickly captured his partner, head bent over the paper, pencil poised. Glancing down at the digital display, he smirked. It was a good shot, but candids usually were. Moments where there was no posing, no artificial emotion. They were real, raw, and that made them beautiful. “Maybe the courtyard, or the fountain at the center of the maze? But, those sound kind of cliche…”

Some of what Ren said seemed to sink in, then, and Beck shot him another glance while he focused the camera once more in the direction of Mount Rainier, completely ignoring the school grounds, even though they were supposed to be the subject matter for their project. The click of the shutter sounded twice as he snapped a couple images, taking that time to collect his thoughts. They were passing comments, and he didn’t have to acknowledge them, didn’t have to ask why it was that Ren avoided going home or wanted to get away from it, all. He supposed, in a way, he couldn’t blame the guy for wanting to get away from school, of all places. It wasn’t a particularly far fetched notion, considering the treatment he got. But, Beck was a nosey SOB, and couldn’t keep his mouth shut. “So…” he began, pausing briefly as he considered saying something totally irrelevant to his previous thoughts. “Why do you avoid your parents? Do you not get along?” So much for that.

“You...don’t have to answer that, if you don’t want to. Maybe something simpler, like...do you have any siblings? Actually...simpler than that, other than drawing, what do you do in your free time?” The questions came rapid fire, like he was somehow invading Ren’s personal life by asking anything related to his home life, because...they didn’t know each other like that. Sure, the only way to know each other was to ask those questions, but this was an art project and it wasn’t like this was necessarily the start to some great friendship. Hell, for all he knew, once this was over, they would go back to never speaking. And in that case, the less they knew about each other...the better.


R E N A R D

Cheesy as it was, Ren really liked the sound of Beck’s voice. The way the other man’s laughter seemed to dance around him like little fairies and fill his chest with air and light. Why had Renard never noticed him before? They had been in a few classes together before, but Ren had just...never looked at him for more than a few seconds at a time. He had never looked into his eyes. In fact, he made it his habit to not look people in the eyes unless he had to. Occasionally he would keep his gaze locked on their lips. The only break in this pattern was when someone pushed him too far, and brought out that defiant, cornered-animal side of him. Sitting there, he decided he liked the shape of the other boy. He stared at him openly. He was free to, because they were having a conversation, working on a project together. And so he looked from his page up to Beck and then back down, capturing the way his hair moved in the breeze. On the page, those strands turned into the petals of cherry blossoms, and they seemed to have their own life and motion.

The other boy’s face was long, with sharp angles. His nose was just a little bit crooked, which made Ren wonder if it had ever been broken. And then there those thick brows and a lower lip that looked so plump, Renard had to resist the urge to get up, go over and touch, just to see if they were real. And if they were, to taste if they were as sweet as the fruit they brought to mind. Of course. He remained planted where he was. Beck was...quite muscular. Which Ren was careful to gloss over because focusing too long on that made his stomach feel really funny. “Drawing is easy.” He decided. “You just have to picture what it is you want to see on the page and make it happen. What most people don’t get is the muscle memory. They can’t make their fingers bring to life what is in their head so they give up. Though if you want, I could help you out.” He offered before he glanced to the spot beside him.

“And thanks.” He said, his back straightening just a little bit. He was used to teachers praising him for his artistic ability. But other students never seemed to care. His parents actually hated it. “You make for a really good model.” He admitted. “Your features are classic and handsome. But you...look like you have this secret.” His brows furrowed together as he looked down at his page. “Like there’s something dark in there, dark and wild. Roguish and beautiful. I wish I could capture your eyes. There’s something in there all caged up and I can’t make it…” He trailed off, realizing he’d said quite a lot more out loud than he’d meant to. His eyes widened a fraction and he glanced to Beck, almost hopeful the other boy hadn’t heard him somehow.

“Oh yeah! That’s a good spot. I like the maze too because almost nobody ever goes in there during the school day.” He was more than happy to move on to another topic when the chance was offered to him. And it seemed the other boy was more than happy to provide any number of questions. In truth, Ren’s first response was to clam up a little bit. He wasn’t used to people being so curious about him, and there was a single little moment of doubt when he thought maybe it was just some kind of hoax and later, Beck was going to tell all his secrets to everyone. Except...those eyes.

His lips formed a thin line as he stared at his drawing as if to say ‘You’re making my life really hard right now, you know that?’.

“My parents and I don’t get along. They have a lot of ideas about what I should be doing with my life and doing with my future. I’m doing exactly none of those things, which they take every opportunity to point out. Usually they compare me to Isen, my brother. He’s better at me than everything. Sports. Academics. He’s five years older than me, but you’ve probably heard of him. Isengrim August Croft. He’s the best at absolutely everything he touches.” Of course. The way Ren said it, he seemed to just be reciting fact. There was no emotion to it. No pride in his sibling. If anything, his gaze shifted and his features seemed to cloud over a little bit. He absently pulled at his band t-shirt, to try and cover a small bruise on his arm - barely noticeable.

“I would just rather avoid them. That way they don’t have to be disappointed and I don’t have to listen to lectures. They’re college professors. Think everyone wants to hear them drone on.” He said with a bit of an attempted chuckle, which came out more like a dry wheeze of a laugh. Okay. So maybe cracking jokes wasn’t really his strong suit. “And I like to...” Vigorously masturbate. Listen to pulse pounding, brain numbing, hard rock and thrash metal. Invest in spray paint and tag buildings, act like a kleptomaniac, set fires and watch them burn for hours. Masturbate some more. Go to underground concerts. Hang out with kids in college and get drunk. Call into radio shows with made up personalities and commit to them hardcore. Masturbate a little more. Go to coffee shops. Write and listen to poetry. Play video games. Collect weird **** like bones and fossils and dead bugs...oh. And masturbate to round it all out. Damned teenager hormones. “I’m totally into all sorts of stuff. Lately I’ve been replaying my old Sega games. Sonic and Knuckles is the one I’m currently on. Oh, and I read a lot. “ He decided it was for the best to...stick to the tamer side of his interests. But he wasn’t lying. He was interested in all sorts of things. Most of them just weren’t very legal. He was good at hiding that though.

Except that answer made him seem so...young. “Maybe later I’ll show you some of the other stuff I’m into. Depending on how nice you are.” And then he winked. Why the HELL had he winked?! But he did. And he couldn’t take it back. Jesus ******* Christ what was wrong with him? Why couldn’t he act right around Beck?

“So yeah. What about you? Tell me everything.”

B E C K E T T

With each new photo that he took, Beck checked the LCD screen for the quality, appraising each one with a careful eye. That the subject matter was in focus, with no lens flares or unnecessary content that made them appear overcrowded and noisy. Most of them were of the mountain and the forest that blanketed its base, but some were of the campus. Twisting around so that his back was to the view, he pressed against the ledge with his gaze on the monitor, his attention split between it and Ren’s voice. Sure, he made drawing sound easy, because it came easily to him. Drawing came as easily to Ren as sports came to Beck. Beck’s muscle memory was geared more toward the follow through of shooting a basketball, or the fancy footwork that came with being a successful soccer player. Not the intricate and precise movements necessary to create anything decent with a pencil. Needless to say, his gross motor skills exceeded that of his fine motor skills. Hell, even his handwriting was the equivalent of chicken scratch.

He paused on one particular image of the campus hedge maze, with the top of the fountain barely visible at its center when he registered that Ren had just spoken the words ‘handsome’ and ‘beautiful’ to describe him as a model. Almost immediately his chest seemed to constrict, like a vice was closing and threatening to keep him from breathing. Very slowly, his gaze lifted to settle on the other boy, looking at him through a set of dark lashes without ever lifting his head from its bent over position. It was just in time to catch the look of horror cast in his direction; the kind of look that spoke of wishing for a reset button on that particular moment in time. “Thank...you…” he finally muttered, though it sounded more like a question than an acknowledgement of the compliment, even to him.

Having had no idea that he was even being used as his partner’s muse, he found his eyes dropping to the drawing, and though it was at a distance and upside down, he could make out some of the details. Beck could chalk it up to just an artist’s eye, looking to find those details that otherwise went overlooked, with a desire to find the beauty in everything and everyone. Except, he couldn’t shake the feeling that that wasn’t entirely accurate, and that was in part due to the fact that there was nothing dark about Beck’s representation in the drawing, when they had just discussed Ren’s tendency to lean toward darker perspectives. In fact, it was anything but.

Ren seemed more than eager enough to move on from the topic, quickly picking up on the discussion of the hedge maze. It was a less than subtle change, but Beck would let him get away with it. For now. “The time of day doesn’t matter much to me, I just find it calming.” he said as he simply straightened out and tipped his head to each side, waiting for the satisfying crack on both.

Once Ren began answering the question in regards to his parents, he crossed his arms over his chest, listening quietly. At the mention of Isengrim, Beck actually blinked in surprise, because despite the common last name, he doubted he would have made the connection. The sports teams knew of him well enough, his name plastered across several of the trophy showcases. His name would come up as coaches mentioned certain plays or previous seasons, but that was really the extent of it. Still, the way Ren’s voice dropped, the way he seemed to withdraw at just the mention of his sibling...Beck was left to wonder if the younger Croft felt a little dwarfed in the elder’s shadow. Especially with parents that seemed to want more of and from him. “Well, even if your parents don’t appreciate the effort, I’ve never heard your brother’s name get mentioned throughout the art department. You’ve got him beat, somewhere. Even if you don’t see it.” Dropping his arms to his sides, he pushed away from the ledge and moved to lazily sink down onto the bench next to Ren, keeping a respectable distance between them.

So, that may have been out of line. It wasn’t his place to make comments on Ren’s relationship with his family. In an effort to keep himself from saying anything more, he pursed his lips and narrowed his gaze out across the roof, letting the boy take over the conversation once more with his interests, since Beck had asked about those, too. Only it was the vaguest answer he could have possibly been given, and he turned his head with a scowl only to be met with a wink. His eyes widened subtly as he stared at his partner in a moment of silence, exhaling slowly to try and bring his thoughts back into focus after having done somersaults over one another in his head. “Uhm…that’s...” he mumbled, quickly breaking that eye contact for the sake of sinking lower on the bench, hands dropping into his lap. “Later, then. I’m...a generally nice person, so that...wouldn’t be a problem.”

“As for me...I’m an only child, which is...probably for the best. I’m pretty close with my parents, I’m the center of their world. They’re...strict, but trusting. They expect me to do my best, never half *** it. And, they basically give me the freedom to make my own choices, so long as I talk to them about it…” he said with a shrug, frowning off into the distance despite the light nature of his words. He didn’t elaborate on much, leaving Ren to make his on conclusions.

He hummed, then, passing the camera over to Ren to assess the photos he had taken, since it was his project, too. “Make sure you approve?” he asked, glancing to the other boy with a half-hearted grin. “Anyway, most of my free time goes to sports. I pretty much spend every day here after school for soccer or basketball, and my father and I are working on restoring a classic. I do some photography, but I lack the equipment to make it a serious hobby…” A pause, that grin becoming more genuine with each interest that he listed. “Sega, though...it’s a good choice. You can never go wrong with Sonic.”

R E N A R D

Ren was officially at the point where he was beginning to talk to himself. Of course, the discourse went on inside of his head, but there was part of the youth that mused he had finally lost his mind. It stood to reason, he figured. Here he was in this unfamiliar situation with this really nice guy, and Ren was pretty sure that he was...into him. Like into the way he smiled, and those somber lines of his face. And did that make him gay? That was a bridge he hadn’t even thought about crossing. Most people didn’t even pay attention to him, so the thought of one day looking for a sexual partner was just...very much at the bottom of the list of things he cared about.

But just look at him. He’s ******* beautiful and you know it.

But you don’t go telling other guys that. Not in high school. Not when you know next to nothing about them.

He doesn’t seem to be bothered by it. And now you can’t take your eyes off of him. A few seconds later, the thoughts continued to pulse through his brain.

Can’t blame that one on standing up or sitting down.

He’s not even doing anything sexy!

Welcome to adulthood, kid.

****.

Not on the rooftop. Too cold.

WHAT?!

Okay, so he for sure needed to get out of his own head. And the best way to do that was to focus on what Beck was saying. Talking about how he had his brother beat in one place. He had never even thought of it that way. His parents looked down on anything artistic save for the playing of classical instruments (which meant Ren had all but avoided them like they were the plague, because **** expectations). The thought of being better at anything than Isen made little goosebumps lift on his skin and sank warmth deep into his chest. He could have kissed Beck right then and it would have been worth potentially getting punched in the face for it. He restrained himself though. But he could also feel himself relaxing more. Like those phantom voices in his head telling him that it was probably some kind of trick were wrong. They were getting more and more silent with every passing moment. Maybe that was, in part, because Renard wanted to reach out for someone. And he wanted them to reach back for him.

He wriggled a little bit closer to Beck. He didn’t go out of his way to make sure they touched, though his hip did brush against the other boy’s as he took the camera and exchanged it for his sketchpad, placing the pencil and papers on Beck’s lap. “You’re really a sweet guy.” He said.

Christ, you’re an awkward little chimp.

I’m gettin’ real fuckin’ tired of you.

Tell him his lips look like cherries you want to sink your teeth into.

Tell him you want to draw more of him. Every inch. All. Of. Him.

Oh my ******* god. NO. NO!

What was wrong with him? The thoughts just kept rising to the surface, and if he hadn’t had what meager filter he did, they probably would have forced their way out of his mouth. So he began to look through the images on the digital camera. They looked really good. The composition was on point. While they weren’t necessarily professional, Ren could tell that they were taken by someone who had an eye for that kind of thing. “Wow.” He whispered. And then he came across the picture of himself, the candid shot. His brows slowly lifted at that. He didn’t spend very much time looking at himself. He had shoved all of the mirrors out of his room years before. He occasionally peered into the one in the bathroom. Otherwise, he avoided looking at himself.

You look like a mess, but you could be hot if you wanted to.

Best part? He sees it too.

“Your parents sound amazing. Mine should totally take a page out of their book. Then I wouldn’t need to break out on the weekends just to…” He trailed off, because he wasn’t in the habit of talking about the things he did on his own. “Spread my wings.” He decided on. Though ‘catch my breath’ would have worked equally well. “These look great.” He said as he carefully placed the camera to one side on the bench, before he leaned in a little more closely. His side nudged right against Beck’s, and they shared body heat for the first time. His cheek touched a shoulder, and he glanced down to the sketch pad on the other youth’s lap. “How about we try and draw the maze image you took? Or the mountain?” He asked. Of course. He fully anticipated doing the bulk of the work, but that was fine. His hand dropped so he could carefully wrap his fingers underneath Beck’s palm, lifting it so he could peer at the other man’s knuckles.

He turned that hand over in his own as if he were a palmist and could read his new friend’s fortune. But he found himself looking for calluses and cuts. “You know...if you want. After practice today, you could come to my place, and you could play with me.” He offered. “You know. When I look at you, I see a total tough guy. Reminds me a little bit of Knuckles. But you’re a lot more than that, aren’t you?” He asked before he delicately lifted his other set of fingers to drop a pencil right into Beckett’s grasp. “If you want, I would be happy to guide your hand a little. Maybe if you saw what you can do, you might change your mind about this type of art.” He mentioned, before his gaze swung and he finally peered once more into the other boy’s eyes. Previously, he’d been hesitant. But this time...this time he looked deep inside. And smiled an expression nobody had seen on him in years.

B E C K E T T

Beck was fairly observant. His attention to detail was nothing short of impressive, and had he put that virtue toward the arts, he might have really excelled at it. Instead, it was a gift he used in his personal life; a means of reading people and their nonverbal communication, which always gave away so much more than any spoken phrase could. From the start of their interaction, he had watched Ren for those cues and the movements of his body that spoke to who he was, what he thought. It wasn’t particularly obvious, but he could practically see the tension and read the guarded expression. As if he was fully expecting it to go wrong at any second, for the brunette to begin to act like so many others and take aim as soon as he showed any signs of vulnerability. Beckett had half a mind to address it, then, starting with something along the lines of ‘you know I’m not going to bite you or something, right?’

He was saved from having to comment, however, by the fact that as soon as he offered out the camera, Ren was moving closer. A little close for comfort, maybe, but Beck was used to sitting in close proximity to others. When it came to the sports teams, the buses were always jam packed, and the sideline benches left little in terms of wiggle room with ten or more boys crammed onto it. In exchange for the camera, the sketchpad fell into his lap and with it came the unexpected compliment. “I have my moments, I suppose…” he mused as his companion looked through the photos. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught the sight of the candid photo as Ren paused on it, quietly assessing it for something that Beck couldn’t have begun to guess.

Instead of commenting, his attention fell to the sketchpad in his lap and the portrait likeness staring back at him. It wasn’t complete, by any means, and he almost opened his mouth to ask if there was any intentions of finishing it. That wasn’t what came out, though, as he uttered, “They are pretty amazing, most of the time. I certainly don’t see my home as more of a prison, unlike you, apparently.” The tone was teasing, but quiet. Considering the way Ren spoke of his family, it didn’t seem like such a far-fetched idea. It had to be awful to constantly have to return to a place that felt so..unwelcoming.

There wasn’t a whole lot of time to think any more on it, as it was his turn to tense as he felt another body press against his side. Personal space invaded, he suddenly shivered despite the heat radiating at the point of contact. A cheek brushed over his shoulder, and his mind was screaming. What the hell was happening? What do I do?!They didn’t even know each other, and this was too close. Too. Close. Back. Up. Beck. Except, he didn’t. He was still as stone, focusing a little too hard on the paper in his lap. “We, uh...should probably do the maze. Unless you want to explain to Mrs. Rhine how it is we got the image of the mountain?” he asked, then, an eyebrow raising in question.

For the third time that day, Ren’s hand closed around his, but this time it was different. It wasn’t about a greeting or guiding touch. It was personal, purposeful. And there was an offer to hang out after school, to spend more time together. Beck turned his head a fraction, just barely getting a view of the boy’s face in the process. He had plenty of friends, did he really need one more? And one that he seemed to have very little in common with? The following statement made him snort, and some of that tension just seemed to dissipate, even as Ren remained close. “I wouldn’t go that far. I just have a low tolerance for ********, like what Aidan tried to pull earlier. Though, I like to think I’m pretty loyal, and Knuckles has that going for him,” he commented with a smile, closing his fingers around the pencil as it was placed there.

“I wouldn’t have any idea how to start the drawing, let alone finish it, so...feel free to guide away,” he continued, reaching over his partner so that he could grab the camera with his free hand, setting it up his knee that he would have the reference photo in front of him, even if Ren ended up taking over the project as some point. Maybe his counterpart could draw from memory, but that was not a skill that Beck possessed.

Finally, he offered an answer to Ren regarding his plans for that night, and there was no doubt in his mind that part of it came from the look on the other’s face. The openness of the expression. He looked like an entirely different person, and all it took was a genuine smile. “If...you don’t mind the company, I suppose I could come by after practice. Complain about being sore and tired, and show you up, in the process.”

R E N A R D

Oh right. They weren’t meant to be on the rooftop. Of course, Ren didn’t really mind if he got into trouble. He didn’t go out of his way to pick fights or make enemies, but he also didn’t bother to cover his tracks very well when he did something wrong. If he got caught. Well. He had a sense of adventure that ran towards the reckless. He’d only just begun to really explore his darker side. The incident with the boy he’d bashed in the head with the book had been what really set everything off. So for the past year, he’d begun to experiment more and more with things he knew he wasn’t supposed to. He’d begun to break more and more rules, because he didn’t see a reason not to. If he wanted something...why not just reach out and grasp it? Nobody else in the world was going to help him, he’d learned, so it was best to just do what he wanted and not worry about the consequences.

“I like that.” He decided. “Low tolerance for ********.” He repeated. And then after the other boy reached to grab the camera, Ren twisted on the bench. There was no back to it, so he was able to let his leg slide over the other edge, effectively straddling the metal slab as he pulled Beck closer. “So I’m going to start calling you Knuckles. Take no ****, badass tough guy that he is.” He continued as he ended up pressed right against Beck’s back. The official reason for that was that he needed to be very close to the other boy in order to hold his hand whilst drawing. In fact, the closer they were, the better the effect. Which meant that his abdomen nudged into a lower back, his chin came to rest right on a shoulder. Really, the only space between them was the obvious distance between groin and backside, because Ren loved to push boundaries, but he knew that some he couldn’t get away with. But the feel of the other youth’s solid form against his own made him shiver just a little, a tremble worming its way up his spine. It sent little spasms of heat racing to his core and left his breath coming out a little more ragged than he’d intended.

A snort then. “Show me up will you? Alright. I guess if you’re going to go to the trouble of coming over after practice...the least I can do is help relax those muscles of yours.” He decided. “You can play the Sega, and I’ll work these shoulders of yours.” He promised, digging his chin into one as if to emphasize his point. His gaze moved to the screen with the image of the maze, and already he was beginning to create a very basic outline for it with the pencil in Beck’s hand. Really, the most important part of drawing was to start big and go smaller. Block out shapes. Then refine shapes. Then add details. “Just be sure to shower or bring a change of clothes. I’ve passed some of your teammates in the hall after practice, when I was in detention. The smell. Dear. *******. God. The smell.” He murmured right against an ear even as he considered what he’d just said. Did friends...do that? Offer to massage their friends? Probably not. But really, he was past the point of no return with that. He had a reputation for being an odd duck, and at least he was living up to it, wasn’t he? That was, after all, to be expected to a certain extent.

“Besides. If you’re there...it can hardly be a prison can it?” He asked with a growing smile as he watched the way the image began to form. Of course, it was right as the small little features began to go in that the bell rang, and Ren let out a low, displeased sound. Because that meant they had to race to class and drop off their progress before Beck could get to practice. Ren planned to just hang out in the seating around the field to watch. He picked himself up, dragging his body off the bench, carefully gathering the camera and the sketchpad together, hurriedly pulling the other man with him as he raced his way off the roof and back down the stairs. “You get out there!” He called, before letting a hand go, realizing belatedly they didn’t need to both turn in everything.

Seconds later, he was carefully ripping pages out of his sketchbook and handing over the camera. They would be able to pick up the art again the following day to continue the project, but Mrs. Rhine always liked to look over student work progress to make sure nobody was cheating. And then Ren was out the door, making his way towards the sports fields so he could watch his new friend practice.

And as he moved, Mrs. Rhine sat at her desk to go over all of the work submitted by her students. What caught her attention the most though were two particular images. One was of a young man hunched over a drawing. And the other was of a pencil sketch of the boy who had taken the photo. “Hmm.” she said, smiling at the pieces of art. She was almost certain they hadn’t meant to turn them in. But this. This was a good project. They technically had three more days to complete it, but she already knew she was going to give them top marks.

B E C K E T T

Never before had a guy shared such an intimate space as him. Perhaps it was a totally naive thought process to have, but Beck hadn’t been prepared in the slightest for the kind of contact initiated for the sake of guiding his hand for the project. He had been fully expecting much the same as they had been doing moments before, but thinking about it then, as Renard situated himself against his back, he realized how stupid that was. That would have meant Ren would have had to reach across Beck and the sketchpad, which would just hinder his ability to draw and guide. Had he come to that realization sooner, maybe he wouldn’t have said ‘yes,’ but it was too late, now. Even as he tensed at having the other boy pressed so close, pulling away would only make everything awkward, uncomfortable. Possibly throw a wrench in the fragile threads of a friendship in the making. So, rather than make a scene, Beck forced air through his lungs and his posture to relax, ever so slightly. Besides, sitting there rigid as a stone would not make drawing any easier.

Keeping his gaze on the paper as they formed the outline, he found himself focusing more on the light pressure of Ren’s hand than the actual process of creating the image. “There are worse nicknames out there,” he commented, just in the beginnings of tilting his head to better appraisal the drawing before he halted, suddenly very aware that he if continued, his would end up resting against Ren’s. “And I highly doubt that Knuckles would get a massage from Sonic or Tails after kicking ***.” Beck’s lips pursed then, his meager foreign language skills making its first useful appearance since it began back in middle school. “Doesn’t Renard mean ‘fox’ in french? That makes you Tails…” he finished, musing out loud and without realizing that he had, in essence, given them a matching set of nicknames that implied a closer relationship that they actually shared.

A laugh erupted that kept him from considering the notion, already back in the locker room after practice and the awful smell of sweat and body order that accompanied the rowdy group of boys that were all too eager to head home for the night. “I’ll be sure to hit up the locker room showers afterward. I’d rather not smell myself, either.” Especially considering that he could very possibly be meeting Ren’s family, and that’s just not a decent first impression, even if he did explain he was coming from practice. No, he would just rather deal with the public shower. And with his friend’s voice once again filling his ear, the breath like a tickle that made Beck twitch, the bell was ringing. Before he could even begin to gather up any of their things, Ren was already in process of grabbing it all, apparently in more of a rush than he was. Rolling his eyes with a smirk, he offered, “I’m also pretty sure that having me there wouldn’t make your house any less of a prison, because I’d still have to leave and you are still stuck there. You just won’t have the opportunity to think of it as anything negative when you have a friend there to distract you.” At that point, they were off the roof and down the stairs, with Ren heading off with their project to Mrs. Rhine.

He made it to the locker room, changed, and hit the soccer field in record time with most of the team having beat him there. They were all in the process of stretching out before the start, so he took up his spot in the circle without a word and followed the captain’s instructions as he lead the group. Once that was done, the team broke apart while they waited for Coach Ames, talking about the upcoming game the following week, leaving Beck to finish the stretches he had missed.

“Yo, Beck!” Aidan’s voice rang out, jogging over with a frown. The two of them had been the only sophomores to make the Varsity team that year, and Aidan only just. Straightening out, he raised a questioning eyebrow, “What’s up, Aidan?”

His friend wrinkled his nose, gesturing off toward the sidelines. “Got yourself a new cheerleader?”

Glancing over his shoulder, his gaze landed on the man in question, not far off in the bleachers and in plain view of the scene that Aidan was no doubt about it make if Beck didn’t shut it down, and do it fast. Swinging back around to the blonde, he shrugged. “He’s probably just waiting for me. I’m going to his place after practice.”

Immediately, Aidan glared. “What? I asked you a week ago if you would come with me to Jake’s after practice tonight, and you told me no. But, you’ll go over to Rentard’s house? The hell, dude?”

As if flipping a switch, Beck’s entire attitude shifted, a scowl taking over his expression. “Call him that, again, I dare you. You don’t even know him.” He paused, then, as if waiting for his friend to argue. When his mouth opened to respond, Beck stepped in close, standing only a few inches from the blonde. Before he could say anything, a whistle blared and their coach’s voice called out to start their cardio drills, effectively shutting Aidan up leaving Beck to sneer. “You should know, Aidan. Green really isn’t your color.” That said, he brushed past the blonde and took off at a jog to catch up with the team.

After that, practice went by without incident, and Aidan refused to speak to him. Which was fine and dandy, because Beck was really in no mood to deal with it. The hour passed relatively quickly, and once Coach Ames called an end, the team moved off to the locker room. Usually he would have taken his time, being in no rush to get back home and be faced with the task of homework, since that was always a requirement in his house. Homework, first, relaxation, later. And if he made the decision to put off going home, it was his responsibility to get the work down as soon as he got home. It was generally a rule he accepted without complaint, even if it did put a damper on the joys of being home after a long day. But, he had plans to keep and the fact that Ren was waiting just made him feel rushed, like he needed to hurry for the sake of meeting up with him. He had already waited through an hour long practice, after all.

A quick shower and a fresh pair of clothes later, and he was out of the school with both backpack and sports bag over his shoulder. Spotting Ren, he jogged over in his direction, offering a small smile and a shrug. “Sorry about the extra waiting time, but hey, I don’t smell?”

R E N A R D

Tails. He could deal with that. Tails wasn’t the type of figure that got his own game. He wasn’t really a ‘main character’ so much as a sidekick, and that was often what Ren felt like in his life. Like he was an extra in a movie about Isen. Plus Tails could fly because his butt was totally a helicopter, which was pretty radical. “Yeah. My name is actually taken from ‘Reynard’, who was a fox character in medieval literature. My parents are both professors of historical literature. In fact, Isengrim is named for a wolf character from the same era. Reynard was...basically a trickster. He was a coward who used his wits to outdo those who were stronger than him. I think my parents were hoping that I would turn out to be a lot more clever than I actually am.” Reynard was also amoral, and yet had been a well loved character in a time period when the influence of religion had been supreme. Renard actually knew way too much about the topic. Hillstrom was the sort of man who could pontificate for hours on any topic he understood. In the past, Renard had used this to his advantage to distract his father from giving another lecture extolling the virtues of hard work, and everything about success Hillstrom assumed Ren didn’t grasp.

And then the topic turned to his house as a prison and how Beck being there didn’t change things really. Ren opened his mouth to say something but didn’t. He didn’t want to explain that with a friend there, his parents would probably get off his back about how he didn’t ‘do anything’, and how he was wasting the gifts that were his genetics, his parent’s money, his expensive education, and his high IQ. With someone there as a buffer, Isen (who might have decided to drop in early for his visit), wouldn’t be able to isolate him. And really that was the worst part of his days. But he didn’t want to complain about his parents or his brother. He was in a good mood, and having fun. “Well if you wanted to stay over for a week or something, I wouldn’t complain.” He decided on as the neutral response. Of course, that was right about the time he realized he had invited someone into his personal space. Deep into his personal space. Into his home. His room. Playing with his things. Meeting his family. Oh god. Oh god Why had he done that?! Beck was going to get one look at some of the inner workings of his mind and he was going to run away S C R E A M I N G. Ren just knew it.

And that was exactly what he was thinking about when he turned in the papers and camera, as he hurried to the bleachers to watch the practice. As soon as he was settled, he flipped open his sketch book, which was when he noticed that the image of Beck was gone. He had been planning to finish it up. Which meant he had probably turned it in to Mrs. Rhine. Which he didn’t think on all that much, if only because they had clearly been working on the project, and he doubted she was going to dock them points for having other things ongoing at the same time. It just meant he needed to start from scratch. The task wasn’t daunting in the slightest. Not when it meant that he basically got to stare at Beck without feeling...weird. Without feeling like he was invading the other man’s life, entering his personal bubble, or being some kind of weird voyeur. If it was for art, then who would have judged him harshly?

That was when he heard Beck’s name and glanced up. The following exchange caused his gaze to narrow for a moment. And then his brows both rose in surprise. Was Beck..defending him? There was this sort of odd sensation as it felt like all of the blood in his entire body began to pump in two different directions. HIs cheeks burned like flames and his heart suddenly began to race. Nobody had ever done anything like that for him before. Nobody. And he wanted to go out there on the field and wrap his new friend up in a tight hug. Squeeze him until he couldn’t breathe. And then knock the **** out of Aidan. Which was...odd. Sure. He had responded with violence in the past, when it came to dealing with bullies. But the truth of the matter was that he’d only done so because he felt cornered. He’d never felt the need to actually pick a fight himself. But it was like, because Beck saw worth in him, was willing to fight for him, he wanted to fight for himself.

Can’t blame that one on standing up too quickly. He pulled his sketch pad aside for a moment, glancing down to his lap. And he sighed. This was turning into a real problem. Like a comically bad problem.

But that wasn’t about to stop him. He was up on his feet. His sketchpad was rolled into a megaphone shape. “THAT’S RIGHT! SUCK IT, MILLER!” He called out to Aidan and then when the pad fell away, he was wearing a grin that showed off all his teeth - including canines that looked a little too big for his face. He plopped back down, and caught sight of the boy staring at him. Glaring really. Yeah. Okay. So Ren totally hadn’t helped the situation in the slightest. But he lifted a hand, using two fingers under his eyes and then pointing to Aidan to convey that he was watching the other teen.

He distracted himself for the rest of the practice by drawing the figures on the field. Okay. So not really all of them. Just the one. He desperately wanted to get Beck to move more slowly for him, so he could get all of the details of his physique, of the musculature, of the way his long legs moved and the exact way his biceps bunched and then relaxed with every pump of his arms. It was like trying to pick out individual raindrops when there was a storm raging overhead. It was a feast for the eyes, but he kept getting drawn back to Beck’s hands, and the broadness of his shoulders. He drew that slightly crooked nose so many times in that short period that he was pretty sure he could see it when he closed his eyes. Then there was that lower lip he kept obsessing over.

While Beck was getting ready, Ren packed his things up. And then they were on their way. Ren leaned closer to the other youth and inhaled briefly. His gaze towards Beck’s eyes and he gave a firm nod as if in approval before he began down the street. “I live not very far from the school. My parents actually found their place shortly after Isen was born, because they wanted to send him to the very best school in the state.” He commented as his slender legs took him across the concrete, brisk in step.

And good to his word, they arrived at his home only about five minutes later. The place was a two story colonial with stone siding. It had four massive doric columns that stretched from the ground to the roof, and seemingly supported it. There were two porches - one for the first floor at the front of the house and one for the second. Everything not made of stone seemed to be painted white, and there were exactly eight windows on the front, and two large doors identical to each other in size and framing, which could be used to access the white fenced porches. The roof was angled. It looked like an exercise in symmetry, and not a thing seemed like it was out of place. It could have been a show home for a new neighborhood.

Ren used a key to unlock the front door. “The parents are going to be in the library working until dinner. We always eat together. Then they’re going to be back in the library until bed, so you probably won’t see much of them until it’s time to chow down.” He commented as he carefully padded across the hardwood floor. There wasn’t a single bit of dust on anything, no actual evidence that a young man lived there really at all. The main entrance led into the foyer, which had the stairs leading up. The main floor itself had a dining room, living room, the aforementioned library, kitchen, guest bath, and laundry room. But they went for the stairs immediately, ascending upwards. Ren himself seemed to be moving quickly but quietly, as if he didn’t want to make a lot of noise or announce their presence.

The upstairs had three bedrooms, each with their own en suite bathroom. Isen’s was basically a testament to himself. There were trophy cases, newspaper clippings on cork board, and any number of other items that said a ‘winner’ lived there. Ren had never been in his parent’s room, because it was ‘off limits’. Which he’d learned early enough in his life not to question, even though it seemed like a silly rule.

And then there was Ren’s room.

As soon as one got through the door, it was like entering a totally different place. He had dirty clothing lying around in piles. “Oh ****.” He whispered as he began to go around, picking them up, trying to pretend his room didn’t look like a tornado had hit it. The bed was totally unmade. He had his own television, which was on a dresser across from his bed - and that was what the Sega was hooked up to. His walls looked like they had been inexpertly wallpapered with a mixture of Ren’s sketches, his drawings, and band posters. There wasn’t even the smallest sliver of paint visible. Some of it had been gone over with spray paint of different colors at one point. Including an enormous purple penis. “Sorry, nobody has been in here in a long time.” He commented.

His clothes basket was full...and he had cleaned up a spot on the floor about one foot square in area. Well. If that wasn’t a job well done…”The rest of the house has a maid service, but I found a dead owl and hung it on the wall about six months back. Ever since then, they won’t touch my room. I think I’m running out of clothes.” He said as he lifted a hand to scratch at the back of his head, as if he was thinking. “Anyway, my home is your home.” He gestured around. There was another dresser between four large windows. The windows themselves had been covered over with curtains, which had been stapled into the wall and spray painted black so as to not allow any light to enter. The dresser was the only thing in the room with a mirror, and said mirror had also been spray painted. Then someone had either gone through and scratched the words ‘Don’t look too close. You won’t like what you see.’ into the paint, so that reflection showed from just behind it.

The area was devoid of any toys, though there were mountains of comic books which were the only thing that seemed to be well taken care of or organized. As a matter of fact, that was what was in all of the dresser drawers - comics. That and art supplies. Video games. Movies. Things that a young man could use to distract himself. The only other door in the room led into a closet, at the other end of which was his bathroom which came complete with a vanity, shower, and toilet. It was utilitarian, and surprisingly clean given the rest of his space. Ren stumbled his way over to his bed and flopped onto it with a groan. “Okay. So you mentioned something about showing me up?” He asked as he glanced over to Beck. If one glanced up, they might see smoke damage on the otherwise untouched ceiling.

B E C K E T T

The fact that Ren actually leaned in and sniffed at the air around him, as if to confirm that he did, in fact, not smell, only made Beck roll his eyes. Of course the smirk gave away the amusement to his faux annoyance, but he made little attempt to hide it. Shifting the sports bag over to the opposite shoulder, he easily kept up with the pace, glancing around at the neighborhood as they walked, “You can’t blame them for wanting the best for their children.” It was about as he would have expected of the school’s surrounding area, made up of grand scale homes that would have been better suited for a gated community. One of the best, for the brightest students, the private school was well known for its success. His parents tried to hide just how much they paid in tuition for their son to attend, but Beck had seen the bill. For the low, low price of selling their souls to the devil, he was able to receive the best education Washington had to offer. He’d tried to argue it with them more than once. There were plenty of public schools in the area that were just as likely to provide him with a quality education and opportunities for success, leaving much needed funds for Dominic’s medical expenses. It had fallen on deaf ears, with his father being the final one to shut it down. ‘Don’t make this about me, Beckett Anthony. You know better.’ Needless to say, he hadn’t brought it up since.

And naturally, as so many of the students did, Renard lived in one of those homes. The kind you would see on a television show or in a movie as a depiction of the snooty rich kids that took advantage of their parent’s money. The exterior was well maintained and clean, and as soon as they stepped inside, he was greeted with the immaculate interior to match. Maybe it was just his imagination, but it felt a little cold. There was little evidence that a family even lived there, everything pristine and organized. It even lacked the touch of portraits and photographs on display, the snapshots of their lives together. Sure, there were a few here and there, like school photos on the wall, but even those looked artificial and fake. In fact, he felt a little like he had walked into the cover of Better Homes magazine. “If they are always in the library, why do you avoid coming home? Seems like they avoid you just as much,” he said, only for his eyes to widened fractionally as he realized just what had come out of his mouth. Well, that was presumptuous. “Sorry,” he muttered, voice growing unusually quiet. Since when did he feel the need to comment on other’s lives, anyway?!

That was, until they walked in Ren’s room.

Beck came to a stop at the doorway, his eyes widening at the drastic difference he was suddenly faced with. Feeling a bit like he had just walked into another dimension, he took one step back to glance each way before moving back toward the bedroom as Ren’s began to pick up clothing that was strewn about. It wasn’t even the mess that had him surprised, but the atmosphere. Whereas the rest of the house was bare and apparently untouched by personalization, Ren’s room spoke to his thoughts and personality. The space was a reflection of who he was, just as it was supposed to be. Just like the rest of the house was supposed to be a reflection of the family that lived there, rather than a showroom for guests.

Only then did he did actually venture further inside, his eyes immediately going to the penis on the wall, because it was just that hard to miss. At the mention of a dead owl, Beck blinked rapidly and focused on Ren with wide eyes. “I’m sorry, but you wanted a dead animal on your wall, why? I can’t say I blame the maids for not wanting to find any of those surprises…” he replied, lowering his bags to the floor up against the wall by the door. “I’m...not going to find any of those surprises, right?” Because, while he didn’t necessarily have a weak stomach, by any means, he would more than likely puke if he happened across one by accident. “Oh, and for the record, it’s pretty easy to get clean clothes. You can use a magical device called a washing machine without a maid’s help. Crazy concept, I know.” He looked to Ren, then, smirking. “Or, can’t you be bothered with your busy, busy schedule?”

Shuffling through the room, he dropped onto the end of the bed, taking in the rest of the drawings, images and posters along the walls. “Well, your eye for interior decorating is certainly something,” he continued, dragging his legs up and crossing them in front of him. “The giant penis just really brings it all together.” How could he not address that? It was right there. Whatever the reason for that choice, it didn’t matter as he positioned himself at the angle to be somewhere toward the television and slightly toward Ren, his eyebrows furrowing as the smirk grew into a full on smile. “I did mention that, didn’t I? I am more than willing to prove my point. Just hand me a controller, and I will make it happen.” Partly quirk, partly manners; he didn’t touch things that weren’t his without a notion that it was acceptable to do so. He had no such knowledge of Ren’s limits and boundaries, thus, he kept his hands to himself.

R E N A R D

It wasn’t about what Ren’s parents did, that kept him out of the house, but what they didn’t do. He was going to let the other youth’s comment go, because he didn’t really want to explain it. Except he had this weird urge inside of him to spill the contents of his guts for Beck. He wanted to reach inside of himself and pull out every little bit of truth. Maybe it was because Beckett had been nice to him, and Renard was in desperate need of kindness and attention. Or maybe it was something else. Like how whenever he thought too much about the other boy, it was like his mind went all fuzzy and everything got warm. He wanted to be close to his new friend. His only friend really. And not just close in terms of touching him, as he’d done on the rooftop back at school. But he really wanted to know more about Beck. And that meant he needed to share too didn’t it? “Okay so imagine for a moment that you have a pet. For the sake of this comparison, we’ll call it a dog. So for years, you love this dog. You give him your attention, your affection. You want nothing more than to be his very best friend. And one day the eyes you saw as being filled with unconditional love change. You no longer see anything in them. No recognition. No love. You realize you don’t know this animal at all. He’s just a wild creature living in your space. That’s why I avoid coming home - because I don’t know either of my parents. They don’t know me. They don’t want to know me. They don’t see me at all. There are days when I think I could disappear and they would never notice.”

Which was mostly true. There was a specific point when he had realized his parents didn’t care about him. The first time he’d gone to them about the things Isen did to him, he had been ten. His mother had said to him that he was being silly. That his brother wouldn’t do something like that. The second time, he’d been twelve. And it was the first time he’d attempted to take his own life. His parents parents probably would have put him into a psych ward after that, but the idea of their son, a Croft, having some sort of ‘insane’ depressive episode just didn’t work with the image they wanted to portray. They had covered the whole thing up. And when Ren had told them about what was going on then...they had listened. For a while. They had said they would make Isengrim accountable for the things he’d done. The third time Ren had gone to them, he’d been thirteen. It had been the first time Isen returned home from college and after an incident, Renard had gone to Hillstrom and the exact word his father had used was ‘histrionics’. Ren recalled it vividly because his father had been quiet for a few moments before speaking. That had been how the Croft patriarch had described his son’s reaction. That had been the moment when the youth had realized he wasn’t loved, that he didn’t have control, that his parents did, and that they were never going to do ‘the right thing’ for him.

Of course, dwelling on bad things had never gotten him anywhere good, so he didn’t.

“Look.” He said as they were making their way into his room. He noticed the way the other boy stopped at the doorway and peered inside. He felt strangely vulnerable in that moment, because nobody else had been there in so long and it very much was a reflection of the chaos going on inside of his head. “I don’t care what you say about them. Or about anyone or anything. Okay? If you think I’m being a jerk, you can tell me. If you think someone is an asshole...you can tell me. The only problem I will ever have with you is if you don’t tell me. If you cut me out. Got it?”

He was on the bed soon after, comfortably sprawled, and sinking into the warmth of his fluffy blanket. “So don’t apologize.” He continued. And then seconds later, his brows were both lifting and he had to hoist himself up, his palms digging into his bed so that he could sit up on his hands and knees and stare into Beck’s eyes. “Oh. We have jokes now do we?” He asked with a grin. “I will do my laundry when I am good and god damned ready to do my laundry. Unless you’re volunteering to help.” Speaking of which, he sat up on his knees so he could pull his plaid shirt from around his middle. He dropped it onto the floor and then worked to kick his shoes off, letting them plunk to the carpet as well. “And no. You don’t have to worry about dead things in here. I gave that up months ago. I think I just...wanted a space that was totally for me. I’m pretty sure my mom was paying the maid to bring her anything of mine that looked off color. Like I’m almost certain she was going through my notebooks, sketchpads. I figure...why keep it all a secret? Why not just put everything out there in the open?” He shrugged then as he moved to stand so he could go to turn on the television.

Moments later, he was pulling the controller, unwrapping the cord so he could extend it to Beck. And then he was stepping back up onto the bed, and plopping behind the other youth. His hands slipped to press against his friend’s shoulders, so he could slowly squeeze down. “I also totally owe you a massage.” Okay. So it was one part his desire to feel Beckett under his hands, and one part a desire to distract the other man from the classic Sonic game that was loading on the screen in front of them. “But first…” He wriggled closer, and ended up with his arms curled around the other man’s chest. It was the first time he’d hugged anyone in years. It probably seemed odd. Weirdly affectionate for one guy to do with another. But he didn’t care. He didn’t care if Beck thought he was crazy or gay or...whatever. He just wanted to feel that human warmth. So he pressed his cheek against a shoulder and didn’t stop moving until they were essentially stuck together.

“So yeah. If you choose to be my friend, expect a lot of this. I’m not very touchy-feely with people, but I guess you got the winning wheel spin there or something. I promise not to make it weird or tell your jock buddies.” Which brought up a point he’d been meaning to ask about. “You know...you aren’t really like them. I mean you’re not part of the ‘clique’. You could be one of the cool kids if you wanted, but here you are. Hanging out with me. Why is that?”

B E C K E T T

That was a concept that Beck could say he honestly knew nothing about. When it came to his small unit, they were all very close. They told each other just about everything, within reason, including an honest conversation regarding some of the harsher realities that they faced as a family. His parents never allowed him to go by thinking that they didn’t care. Even on his worst days, Hannah and Dominic were quick to remind him that they would be there when he decided it was fine time to apologize for his attitude. The notion of a family so disconnected was foreign and as complicated to understand as a new language. Beck wasn’t naive, he knew that there were plenty of families out there that lacked the relationship that existed in his own home, and apparently, Renard’s was one of them. It was as if the puzzle pieces were slowly coming together, dots connecting, and he was provided with a very good explanation for why his companion was the way he was. When the people meant to love you more than anyone else were a constant disappointment, why would you open yourself up to allow others to do the same?

With Ren choosing not to dwell on the topic, Beck didn’t push it, but he knew it was a conversation that he would probably circle back to. He had been given a lot to process, but there had to be more to the story than just ‘we don’t know each other.’ It wasn’t a conversation they needed to have any time soon, while they still stood on the unstable ground of a friendship in the making, where trust was not so easily given and just as easily broken. Instead, he nodded his head as he finally settled in on the bed, “Understood. Just remember that you said that, someday, when I tell you the things that you don’t want to hear.” At the very least, they could start it off on with their best foot forward, no holds barred. “To start us off, I will have you know that I will never do your laundry.” Yeah, they had jokes.

His eyes followed the boy as he stood, tracking him like he might a soccer ball during a game, constantly aware and overly analytical. Now, with the new information regarding Renard bouncing around in his head and refusing to settle down, Beck found himself shamelessly interested in figuring him out. To get answers for the many more questions it raised, without ever actually having to ask them. Seeing as he was no mind reader, nor was he able to know the details of the past, that wasn’t a possibility. That didn’t mean he couldn’t observe Ren, and draw a few conclusions based on his actions. Such as the fact he had ‘decorated’ his room for the sake of keeping his mother out of his business. “For someone who works so hard to maintain his privacy, you’re being awfully...loquacious.” There was an SAT word, if he had ever used one. Hannah would have been proud.

Controller in hand, he finally allowed his attention to be drawn in by the screen, waiting for it to load while being only vaguely aware of the boy settling behind him. Up until the point the hands moved to his shoulders, the pressure against the muscles causing him to tense. A massage had been mentioned, but Beck hadn’t expected for it to actually happen. Apparently, Ren had. Only that wasn’t the most surprising part of the exchange, as the second time that day, those arms wrapped around him. Except this time, it was initiated as a personal contact, an emotional connection between them. Heat spread across his cheeks, turning them a muted shade of red as his lips pursed in embarrassment. He didn’t tell Ren stop, he didn’t pull away. In fact, he just kind of sat there in a fog of confusion, feeling entirely lost on how to react for the first in years. Especially when being granted the knowledge of the fact it was likely to happen fairly often.

Thankfully, Renard provided him an out, in a way. A promise to keep it from his teammates, and a question as to why Beck was there. With him, rather than with them. “Uh, well…” he said, pausing long enough to glance over his shoulder to just catch those amber eyes, Sonic temporarily forgotten. How did he explain his lack of a clear ‘clique?’ Regardless, some pretty serious information had been shared with him, and it was only right that he answer the harmless question posed to him. “I guess, I just never really feel that I quite fit in with them. They have this mob mentality, where everyone needs to think and act the same, which happens to be acting like jackasses on high horses.” At that point, he looked away and started up the game, doing his best to pay attention to the mechanics of the game, while remaining hyper aware of the pressure of the body pressed against his back, the head on his shoulder with the feeling of breath causing an almost (but not quite) uncomfortable tingling sensation.

“I was raised to understand that I’m not better than anyone based on my status. My...dad is really sick and that humbled me at a pretty young age.” Intense revelation for intense revelation, but he would leave it to Ren to question that, if he so chose. “Anyway, I would rather have friends across multiple cliques than limit myself to only one. Least of all the ‘cool kids.’ So, here I am. With you.” A pause in the game, another glance over his shoulder, and then he formed that circle. “And, just so you know...if you were to disappear, there is at least one person who would notice.”


R E N A R D

“You know…” He began after Beck pointed out just how talkative Ren was being. Not that it was inaccurate an observation. Renard had said a grand total of maybe a dozen words to any one person at school. In class, he never spoke up except for when called upon, and even then, his answers were very brief and to the point. “...if you need me to tell you that you’re special, I can do that.” He whispered. “That’s what friends are to each other, right? Would be awfully one-sided if I didn’t share. Just...don’t expect me to do that with other people. I would hate to disappoint.” And with every word that slipped past his lips, the more sure he was that those words held truth. Maybe that was part of why he was so chatty when it came to Beck. Because in the brief time they’d known each other, Beck had not only proven not to be judgmental, but supportive. So Renard was comfortable talking to him, and in that comfort, he found a certain amount of strength. Like there were thoughts swirling around inside of his head, and they never took root until they were uttered. It was like the uncertainties Ren had internalized were turned on their head.

He felt safe. That was what it was.

And he wanted Beck to feel the same way. So when the other man turned his head and Ren just barely caught hints of a lingering blush. The response inside of the teen was instantaneous. Those butterflies returned in the core of him, warmth like a spear driven into the very center of his being - it spread outwards to leave his own neck hot. His breath hitched and he tried to clear his thoughts, which were suddenly swimming with ideas of the possible. “You don’t have to be embarrassed.” He said, his voice soft where his warm breath tickled against an ear. He’d already said he wouldn’t tell the other jocks about the closeness, but that extended, of course, to everyone else. Who would he have even told anyway? And of course, there was that promise not to do anything. Ren certainly had the will there. The desire. He was self-aware enough to know that he could ruin this blossoming relationship by being too much too fast. But there was a very selfish part of him that wanted push things.

That desire though. The one that ached in him to explore the reaches of the boundaries between them, it began to diminish like a voice that grew softer with every passing second. Every word that came out of Beck only added to that. And there was so much of it. Ren had wanted to learn more about the other boy. He’d wanted to understand him better. And profundity was shining through the fog in his mind like brilliant daylight. Oh. He still wanted the other man. There was no question about that. But it was different somehow. He was silent as he pulled away, his cheek dragging lightly against a shoulder one last time before he circled around on the bed. He took the controller from the other youth and dropped it to the ground. He stood over Beck, and stared into his eyes. There was more emotion betrayed in that look than he normally would have liked. But he didn’t mind when it came to Knuckles.

“My friend.” He said. “You need a good deep cuddle.” He said, his lips thinning into a line. “Video games can wait.” And from there, he shoved Beck back onto the bed with strength that was surprising given his wirey frame. With a little bit of workout, he had the potential to build up some nice definition. He flopped beside Beck, and then wriggled in against his chest, his arms curling around a body so he could tuck the other man’s features against his chest. “First of all, I didn’t know about your dad. I’m really sorry to hear that about him. That he’s sick. I mean here I am...bitching and complaining about my parents and...ugh. Just forgive my insensitivity okay?” He whispered. His hand slipped then, from where it had laid against a back to press against a shoulder, and then slide until it caught underneath a mandible, allowing them to peer into each other’s eyes once more. It was like every time they did that, Ren became more sure of himself. More confident and comfortable in his own skin. He leaned a little closer, and stopped himself. His eyes widened when he realized what he’d been about to do and he released a jaw, his fingers laying dormant in the very narrow space between them. His gaze averted.

“I get what you mean, about the mob mentality. I hate that ****. I hate it when people treat you like you have to fit into...some kind of category or group. What if you don’t want to do that? Like my mind is the one thing I know I have control over. It’s the one thing in the world that is totally and completely mine, right? So when someone...you know. When they act like I’m not allowed to think what I want, or when I feel like someone expects me to just go along with something. I hate it. I just ******* hate it. I’d rather be alone and know who I am than be in a crowd and lost.” He confided, even as his eyes moved back. His own cheeks were still warm, but he ignored it as much as possible. He had to get used to this kind of close contact eventually didn’t he? He didn’t quite meet Beck’s gaze, but that was mainly because he was busy getting an up close look at the rest of him. It was like every time he saw Beck from a new angle, he saw something new that he wanted to focus on. It made him itch to draw.

“You really are the nicest guy. I bet you get that, in part, from your father.” He glanced briefly to the screen. The game was still there, and it provided some background noise. That was pretty common in Ren’s life. He liked to put on music or the television. He often had those on at all times, even while he was sleeping. It was as if they provided white noise to him. Or a distraction from the thoughts that liked to creep into his skull. “Tell me more about him?” He asked as he lifted his fingers once more. He wanted to reach for his pad and pencil and mark down the expression on Beck’s face. Instead, his fingers slipped through the other man’s hair, lazily kneading between those strands. “I know maybe that’s not the sort of thing you might want to talk about. Most people wouldn’t get it. There’s nothing worse than sharing some intimate part of yourself and having someone just completely gloss over it. Or not treat it with the respect it deserves. I promise I won’t do that. I won’t ever do that.”

B E C K E T T

Special. Is that what he needed to hear to be comfortable with the openness that was being shown to him? No. At least, Beck didn’t think so. He didn’t need Ren to tell him that he was different, that he had proven to be someone worthy enough to earn that trust. Mostly because that hadn’t been his intention. It wasn’t as if he had gone out of his way to show the other that he wasn’t like everyone else. In fact, he had been nothing but genuine, true to himself in his approach to others. It more than likely played a role in the way he seemed to be accepted across many groups of people with various interests; because he was authentic in his desire to learn about them, about what they enjoyed, and in that he wanted them to feel comfortable with him, rather than judged. It was simply part of who he was. If that made him special in Ren’s eyes, in his world, then that’s what he would be. “Your decision to stay tight lipped with people doesn’t have anything to do with me, and I know that. It’d be a little hard disappoint me that way,” he assured, shaking his head.

At that point, the closeness no longer bothered him, and the blush had begun to fade as he was assured that he didn’t need to be embarrassed by it. Beck wasn’t worried about the jocks finding out, or anyone else, because he wouldn’t have denied it even if they had. If that kind of closeness was to be expected for this friendship, then it would just be stupid to be ashamed of it. Right? At least, that's what Beck was going to tell himself, even if he was somehow wrong in that assumption. Though, he was pretty sure that he wasn’t.

It was when Ren moved that Beck paused the game and was about to turn when the other boy was standing in front of him, leaving him to blink. “What a-...” he began, only to come out short as Ren mentioned the need for cuddling. Before he could even protest, the controller to the game system was taken and dropped, and he was being quite literally shoved over onto the bed. There was this brief moment where Beck considered getting up, putting space between him and Renard, because cuddling was different than hugging. That was...couple-y ****. The hesitation prevented him from moving in time, though, and before he knew it, he was being wrapped in those arms, again. The apology came so unexpectedly that his eyes widened, his lips parting as if to cut it off, to insist it wasn’t necessary. The words died in his throat as their eyes locked and Ren moved that little bit closer. ”No way. He’s not…” And he didn’t, but Beck had been sure he was going to, with no idea how he would have reacted.

Beck stayed quiet during the sudden venting, but a green gaze never shifted from the other boy’s face, even as he looked away at the end of the short speech. “You don’t seem the type to be lost in the crowd, but doesn’t being alone equate to feeling lonely? Especially when your own house feels as...empty as it does? You don’t get to come home and feel loved by your parents, so why shun the rest of the world, too?” That was a lot of personal questions in one breath, but he couldn’t help the stream of them once they started. Those walls, those defenses that Ren put up? They made sense, and Beck didn’t blame him for having them. But, they also kept others, who had the potential to care, out. He wasn’t sure how it was that he got through them as easily as he had, but since he was there, he might as well dig a little deeper.

And Ren had every intention of doing the same, bringing up Beck’s father once more. His eyes close as he took in a deep breath, relaxing against the bed. Without opening them, he said, “You don’t owe me apologies for talking about your parents. You didn’t know, and everyone has their own demons. I’ve accepted mine.” His eyes opened, then, meeting Renard’s with a small, half-hearted grin. “My dad’s...stubborn. Headstrong. Most caring man I’ve ever met. We found out he was sick...6 or so years ago. It’s Huntington’s Disease, if you know anything about it. He hasn’t been able to work in a couple years, but he loved his job. Software development, which I think is...totally boring, and uselessly complicated.” Beck let out a small chuckle and quickly grew somber, again. “He works hard to stay positive, and he refuses to let his family dwell on it. Tries to play the tough guy, totally untouched by the fact he’s dying. That he has, maybe, five years left. At most. Really, we’re all just trying to enjoy the time we have left with him.” The disease wasn’t pretty, and it was and would continue to be horrific to watch. But, he didn’t tell Ren that, didn’t offer up anything more than the facts. Someday...Beck would just show him, and he would understand.

R E N A R D

Okay so Beck did have a point. Or rather, the questions he asked were framed in such a way that it was easy to associate them with a point the other boy might have been making. Ren wasn’t going to make any assumptions. However, he knew that answering the last of the questions would effectively answer the other ones. Why did he shun other people? The truth was that Renard had honestly never thought of that before. To an extent, it was because he wasn’t used to other people treating him nicely. The previously mentioned jock friends of Beckett, for example, had given Ren grief for years. For absolutely no reason that he could discern other than that he was different. Maybe a little sensitive. Or at least there had been a point when he’d been. Years before, he’d reacted much more visibly. In the first and second grade, he’d been the sullen boy who had sequestered himself in a corner and cried when people said mean things. Through about fifth grade, he had gotten angry, told people to **** off. Gone red in the face every time someone called him out. From that point on? He just ignored them. He didn’t give them anything to work with. But because it was the same group of people he’d been around through most of his education...well. They had long memories.

“Man, people are cunts.” He said in response, and then gave a little bit of a nod. His hand slipped up so he could push his fingers through his hair. “I think it’s just easier to face life alone than it is to open up to the wrong person and get your heart ripped out. There are so many fucked up assholes out there who just want to do whatever it takes to get ahead. I don’t want to make myself vulnerable to that ********. I want…” He had no clue what he wanted. “...to find the real. The world is overflowing with people lying to each other, and to themselves. I only want to make friends with people who are real, and the kids in school? They have no ******* clue what it means to be real. Most of them still haven’t even come close to facing life. They haven’t had to pay bills, or take care of themselves. Most of them are rich, spoiled brats who have been given everything and live in this little bubble of reality where they’re all on top and I’m at the bottom of the totem, carrying the weight of their egos and delusions.” Which was probably why he liked Beck. Because Beck was real. He didn’t say the obvious. That the other man had probably become that way as a result of being forced to face the reality of mortality at a young age. But it was a truth that hung there between them.

And that was when he began to count backwards in his head. Six years. That meant Beck had learned about his father’s illness when he was nine or ten. That was around the time that Ren had...well. When he and his brother had begun having their difficulties. His dark brows slowly rose at the realization. His hand, the one that had moved through his hair, slipped back into place, so he could wriggle closer towards Beck. His fingers themselves hooked against sides, just south of the other boy’s ribs. They were close enough that they could share a little body heat, but not so close that all of them touched. It was more comfortable than it was comforting perhaps. “That’s rough.” He said. Because he didn’t have anything better to say for the moment. He knew that his sympathy should have been with Dom, but Ren’s point of interaction with the man was through Beck, so his mind kept going to just how tough it would have been to find that out at such a young age. Of course, he assumed with parents as good as Beckett’s, they hadn’t told him quite the extent of the illness that young.

Still. “I would love to meet him sometime.” He finally said. “He sounds like an amazing guy. And you know if you ever want to talk about things with him...how you feel about it. You can talk to me.” Because he suspected that Beck was hiding a lot of anger. Maybe that was just his experience with the world, but he knew that when he felt powerless, he got angry. It was better to talk about it than to lash out. Not that he’d ever heard of the other boy having issues with other students, or with authorities. In fact, the soccer player seemed to fit into just about every group he interacted with. Maybe he was just a really well adjusted person despite the circumstances. But. On the off chance that he was just hiding it really well, Ren wanted him to feel comfortable enough to chat. His arms seemed to instinctively tighten, dragging the other man closer as if to make it clear, with the solidness of his body that there was someone there.

Maybe that was a silly thing to do, but it’s what Ren would have wanted.

His head tipped and he let his forehead come to rest against Beck’s. Eyes slipped shut. He knew nothing about Huntington’s. He needed to learn. Five years was not very long. “Does it scare you?” he finally asked. And he knew he was pressing hard. But what had he just said about being real? “I think...let me tell you about an experience that was scary for me.” He said. Because he figured - if he could talk about it, then Beck could to. If that was the case. “So a couple of years ago. I…”

Right as he was about to go into detail, he heard the telltale knocking from downstairs that said dinner was ready. He let out a frustrated rumble of a sound, and picked himself up. “We’ve gotta go eat.” He muttered.

B E C K

Renard talked about ‘real’ as if he knew what it meant. They didn’t really know each other, and it wouldn’t have been fair for Beck to call him out on it and assume that he didn’t know any better than their classmates did, because the truth was, he honestly had no idea. Considering the life that the other boy lived, all but shunned by his own family, that probably meant he had spent some time learning how to take care of himself, rather than relying on others. There had also been a point in the conversation that day about ‘breaking out’ of his prison, and there was any number of possibilities as to just what he got into during those escapades. So, while Beck had his doubts as to how many bills Ren paid, he had discovered that his companion existed in layers, but without the onion cliche. Where one bit of information was revealed, there seemed to be a mountain more just out of reach and it was up to him to decide when and how he let you learn it.

And Beck wanted to learn it, but he wasn’t going to do it by waiting for Renard to tell him. His aptitude for being a nosey little **** had started out around the time they learned of his father’s diagnosis. His parents had tried so hard to keep it from him until he was ‘older, and capable of understanding the weight of it all.’ Even at nine years old, he had known something was going on. Something they weren’t telling him. That was, in part, due to the fact they had never kept anything from him before, as their family dynamic was one of honesty, and so their attempts to keep something hush-hush ultimately ended in their son knowing something wasn’t right. So, he had pressed, pushed, and probed. Asking endless questions until the night his parents finally agreed to tell him the truth. They had sat him down, and laid it out, no holds barred. The bad, the worst, and the ugly.

“Yeah, it is rough…” he confirmed, taking note of the way that the other man continued to move a little bit closer the longer the conversation lasted. He was still hypervigilant of every touch of his fingers, the pressure they applied. There was a quiet moment, where the only noise came from the Sega, where the full force of his disclosure seemed to settled over him like a ton of bricks. No one actually knew the details of Dominic Sutton’s condition or how the man’s only child felt about it, not even Aidan. That was, until now. Beck drew his lower lip in between his teeth, his gaze narrowing on Ren’s face. “I’ll...have you over some time. My father is more likely to chat your ear off, while my mother frets over you. She’s...a very motherly mother.” He trailed off, taking a moment to meet an amber gaze. He could have told Ren, then, how he felt. The helplessness, the nights locked away in his bedroom in tears that came every so often, and sometimes, the anger at the reality of the situation. That no matter what they did, his father was going to die. But, he didn’t. His lips remained locked into a thin line as he simply stared at his new friend.

He wasn’t even surprised as Ren moved closer still, their foreheads pressed together and that unique gaze closing. Beck’s own remained open, but directed downward, as if to assess the distance left between their bodies. Then came the question, the push for more information. Hesitation kept him from answering right away, but it turned out, he didn’t have to. Renard was offering an experience of his own, keeping Beck silent. Only for the story to be only immediately interrupted, and for the other boy to let out a groan of complaint. It was time to meet the parents, it would seem. The parents that Beck already had a rather biased view of, too.

Great.

Sitting up on the bed, Beck shot a glance to Ren and frowned. “They...do know that I’m here, right?” he suddenly asked, eyes narrowing on his companion once more. A rebel without a cause, what were the chances that he wouldn’t have informed his parents of a guest? Standing, he shrugged and straightened out the pant legs of his jeans. In an attempt to be pleasant as ever, he clapped once with a nod toward the door. “Lead the way.”

R E N

Those few words confirmed all of the thoughts that Ren had in his head. They were like wasps buzzing around him as if he’d punched their hive. The way Beck trailed off. Ren had never been the sort of person to go out on a limb for another person. He just didn’t do that, because he was so busy clinging to the limb himself, with just one or two fingers holding on. But he felt this sensation burning in his chest. It was like someone had ignited a candle. He wanted to do everything in his power to comfort the other man, to take away whatever pain he felt, to make him forget, even for a few moments, the weight of what Renard himself had helped to bring to mind. He watched the way that lower lip disappeared between teeth. And then the offer to have him over. “That sounds wonderful.” He whispered, his voice very briefly taken with emotion. Because it did. It sounded like a family, the family Ren had wanted for years, which he not been given in his life. Because it was so ******* unfair that a guy like Beck, with a good dad - one who actually cared about him - was going to lose that. How was that okay? Further proof, he might have thought, that there was no God.

But everything he wanted to do for Beck, share with him, give to him - that had to wait. He pulled away slowly. He took a moment to stand up. His nails dug into his palm as he breathed in and out. He needed to feel the steel cage snap back over his heart. He needed to feel that lightness in his chest weighed back down like blocks of lead were chained to it. He needed to disappear inside of himself. He finally stood, feeling centered so he could slide out into the hallway from his bedroom. He made sure the door was shut behind Beck. “Uhh.” He said, which probably more than answered the question. He could already feel the dread crawling its way up through him, like a million dirty hands clawing at his insides, trying to reach the surface. He tried to be demand tranquility of himself. This was not war. He had nothing of which to be afraid. But there was a tiny part of him that was and always would be. Not for what his parents had done, but for what they hadn’t.

Like a young boy who scraped his knee and ran to his mother to seek out healing and comfort - only to be rebuffed and ignored. He ached every time he looked at his parents because of what he desperately wanted them and needed them to be. Things they would never live up to.

He made his way down the stairs with Beckett right behind him. The dining room was elegant and airy. The walls were beige, with white accents and it, like most of the house, was spotless. Meticulously clean. There were large windows that normally let more than ample light inside, though as it was nearing dinner time in the fall months, the sunset was covered by blinds. Instead the room was illuminated by a candelabra style chandelier. There was a large china hutch to one side of a fairly modern fireplace (there was a portrait of Charlemagne hanging over the mantle). On the other side of the fireplace (which was pleasantly smoldering to provide a little warmth), was a buffet. Both painted white. The dining set itself was the darkest thing in the room, a rich, deep walnut that looked to be handmade rather than built consumer friendly. Perhaps antiques. Perhaps heirlooms.

Beatrice Croft was not in the dining room. Rather, she was in the kitchen, warming up one of the meals that had been made by the maid service. It was considered a ‘special’ service, and cost the college professors an extra hundred dollars per week, but it was money well spent to make it seem as if Bea (as she preferred to be called) was able to put dinner on the table every night. Hillstrom sat at the head of the table, reading five papers. Yes. Five. Yes. He was exactly that pretentious. One of them was even in Italian. He was frequently speaking the language. To his credit, he was fluent, and had spent years in the country for school. The man glanced up from the script. He wore glasses in frames that were metallic and circular. His hair was dark save for at the temples, where it had begun to gray. He had many of Renard’s features, and looked perhaps the way the youth might in a few decades. The difference was in the eyes, in the way he carried himself, his expression. Hillstrom’s gaze lacked the intensity of his son’s, and his eyes were a dull greyish color. He seemed unruffled by the appearance of another boy for dinner. He looked like the sort of man who could have been told his wife had been murdered...and he might have just sort of nodded and gone on about his night. He was supremely relaxed, confident. His gaze dropped back to the paper with little in the way of acknowledgment that either boy existed.

Beatrice burst into the room a second later, carrying a large casserole dish filled with something that smelled fragrantly of basil. Delicious all the same. “Eggplant parmigiana!” she said “With penne al dente and breadsticks.” She was not nearly so fluent as her husband, but he humored her when she tried. She was not a bad person by nature, just very absorbed in herself. She had once been exceptionally beautiful. Her looks had not necessarily faded with age, but they had certainly grown more strained and dull. She kept her hair a deep, natural looking brown, and she maintained her roots religiously. She wore contacts so as not to look old, and was the sort of person who had a skin treatment regimen which involved a lot of moisturizing and attempts at age regression. The result was that she didn’t look as old as she really was, but the foundation she caked on as well didn’t do her nearly as many favors as she thought it did.

“We have a guest!” She said, voice singsong, a little surprised. The casserole dish was placed in the middle of the small table. “Renard, darling, the table isn’t set for such a handsome young gentleman.” She said before she slipped into a seat to one side of her husband. Ren was supposed to sit diagonal from her, beside an empty seat (saved for his brother) across from an empty seat. The other end of the table was reserved for when the grandparents came to visit. Though that was rare. “Hillstrom, my love, put those things away. You will have time to read after dinner. We have a guest in the house for the first time in ages!” She said.

Ren, at that point, had already begun putting away the every-day plates, so he could get out the more expensive, and much nicer china from the cabinet.

“Tell me more about yourself.” She said to Becket, motioning for him to take the seat across from her. “I have personally raised a young athlete. I know them by their look, and you have that look.” She said, more than ready to heap praise on Beck if her assessment proved to be true.

B E C K

It was like watching the end of a movie, right up to the point where the screen fades to black and the credits start to roll. One minute, Renard was full of life and color, even in the wake of their emotional conversation. A vibrant painting that deserved to be displayed for more people to enjoy, and the next the colors had faded, leaving only the grayscale version of himself behind. For the first time since they started the project that afternoon, Beck was met with the boy he had sat across from in the classroom. It was...unnerving. A little unnatural. He had seen what stayed hidden within, and now the outer shell just didn’t make sense. It didn’t fit. That protective measure locked too much away, to the point that he wasn’t sure he could justify the two sides as the same person. In simpler words, Beck hated it.

No, he hated the fact that such a drastic change was made for the sake of dealing with his parents, of all people. The two meant to love Ren more than anyone in the world, and they were to blame for their son needing to hide that much of himself. Beckett had no idea what had happened there, or why their relationship was as strained as it was, and he knew that he shouldn’t make judgments before meeting them. But, dammit, he couldn’t help it. He already didn’t like them. Now, he had to go and have dinner with them and pretend that he didn’t already assume they were terrible people who couldn’t have given two shits less about their son’s happiness. Then again, he did that with the kids at school all the time.

His eyes narrowed on Ren as he all but admitted to not telling his parents they had a guest, since this would be a great start to their first impressions of each other. Sighing, he followed along behind the other man in silence, taking in more of the house as they made their way through it to the dining room. He found himself looking for any other signs of the family’s history, their past. Pictures, mementos, anything that spoke to deeper connection to each other. Beck knew it was a useless search, that anything he did find was probably little more than a display for the coming and goings of guests. It was a shame, really. Not a single photo to point at and never let Ren hear the end of. What good were family photos if there wasn’t a single one that caused massive embarrassment in front of friends?

As they made their way into the dining room, Beck’s gaze immediately went to the man at the head of the table. He could see the family resemblance, the features of the elder Croft that were so alike his youngest son’s, but softened with time. In that brief moment that Hillstrom bothered to shift his attention from the spread in front of him, their eyes met. He felt a little like small bug underneath the other’s shoes, or perhaps more like dirt. Not in the sense that he was being looked down upon, rather that he was simply a matter that could be overlooked or unnoticed. Which, he all but was when Ren’s father once again lowered his gaze to the papers and resume his reading as if they had never even entered the room. Beck might have looked to Ren, then, for any clue as to what the hell he was supposed to do, but the woman that came bustling into the room with food in hand caught his attention. She was an attractive enough woman, and from the care she must have obviously put in to maintaining it, she knew it. A sickening thought entered his mind in the form of Aidan’s voice, his friend having offered the sentiment in regards to his own mother, once upon a time. Ugh. Damn you, Miller. Damn you.

Her voice brought him out of his own head and he blinked, glancing to Ren as he began to gather up the plates from the table. A little unnecessary, to bring out some expensive china for merely a kid from school, but who the hell was he to comment? “Oh, uh…” he stammered, shaking his head as he moved to the chair she had indicated, though it took him a minute to sit down. “I’m Beckett, ma’am. Beckett Sutton.” At the very least, the manners his parents had drilled into him before he was even old enough to speak would come in handy for making it through this dinner. “I play for the varsity soccer team in the fall, and will pick up basketball in the spring.” The answer was short and to the point, but it was sufficient enough to not come across as rude. He was their guest, after all.

But, she had asked that he tell her more about himself, and that probably meant she wanted to know a little bit more than a confirmation of her assumption. A glance went to Ren in a moment of hesitation, and when his attention returned to the woman across from him, he offered a small smile. “I’m sophomore with your son. We’re partnered up for an art project. He’s very talented…” he paused, then, his eyes sliding to Hillstrom and then back to Beatrice. “You must be proud.”

If he could have sneered, he would have.

R E N

Hillstrom begrudgingly acquiesced to the desires of his wife, and let the papers fall shut. He was a man who was very aware of his place in the world. Born into privilege, he had wealth, status, and power to his name. He was perhaps not a Rockafeller nor a J.P. Morgan. Maybe he did not own the accomplishments of the many men like him who had faded into history - but he carried himself in away that defied anyone to attempt and demean him. He was oft lauded in his life for having a cool head, for being able to look at situations with the sort of cold detachment that would have made him an excellent lawyer or surgeon. He was the sort of confident that was scary. Because he could do anything he wanted. And he knew it. Despite the papers sliding to one side, he still made no move to talk. By that point, Ren had disappeared into the kitchen to get the basket of breadsticks, which his mother had forgotten (this happened fairly often it seemed, for it to be instinctual).

“Did you hear that, Hill? Varsity, and only just a sophomore. That’s quite the accomplishment. You know our Isen was quite the athlete when he attended your school.” She commented, only for her gaze to dart towards the opening of the door between dining room and kitchen, a smile appearing at the sight of the breadsticks themselves.

“You know those are all wrong.” Hillstrom said. “In Italy, the bread is traditionally cooked thinner and there’s a notable snap when you break it in half, because it’s harder, crispier. The Americanized version is fluffy.” It was clear in the way he said the term, that he considered it an insult of sorts.

A glance to Ren would have revealed the youth’s eyes were rolling.

He sat beside Beck, and shuffled his chair in.

His gaze dropped to his plate, as Beatrice moved to begin serving the food. “Oh, Hillstrom, not everyone shares your pedantic penchant for perfect accuracy.” She said as she scooped some of the breaded eggplant and penne pasta (with very little in the way of tomato sauce) onto Ren’s plate when it was held up. She then nodded to gesture for Beck to do the same. “And don’t call me ma’am. That is a word used to describe women who are of a certain age.”

“A certain age you passed a few years back.” Hillstrom said, his tone neutral. He didn’t seem to appreciate the direction the conversation was taking, though it wasn’t immediately clear as to why.

To her credit, Beatrice played it off with a faux-scandalized look. “Hill, a woman is only as old as she feels, and I feel like I stopped aging somewhere in my twenties.”

”Maybe emotionally.” Came the whispered reply from Ren. It seemed automatic.

There was a snort of laughter from Hill.

“What was that, darling?” Beatrice asked.

“This smells really good.” Renard lied before plastering a smile on, and giving her a look. He placed his plate down, and began to poke at it a little with his fork, though he did very little to actually eat.

“You know your father reminds me. I think maybe you might enjoy learning overseas. Italy might do you some good. The sun, the community, the warmth, the culture! I hear that people who visit feel revitalized, and we certainly don’t want a repeat of one of your epi-”

“Beatrice.” Hillstrom’s tone was firm in a way that it had not been up until that point. The issue, whatever she had been about to say, was immediately, without question, dropped. There was a second when her eyes even looked momentarily panicked, and she hastily made moves to cover for herself.

“Or I suppose your handsome new friend here could teach you a thing or two. You know I have always said that you might have some of Isen’s good looks and charm if you only did a little bit to keep yourself tidy. Maybe if you were to play a sport, for example, it could give you some better definition. Might get rid of a little of that baby fat in your cheeks.” There was a pause when everyone was served as she seated herself and began to cut into the food. “You know I only mention it because I love you. You have been given so many blessings in life. So much potential.”

Her gaze then moved parasitically right back to Beck. “You agree don’t you? Don’t be afraid to compliment another man! A sign of confidence is the ability to see beauty in all of its forms, regardless of gender, and there is nothing more attractive to a woman than confidence. You think he would benefit from trying out for at least one team. Right?” She took a sip of some pre-poured wine.

B E C K

Smooth.

The way Beatrice glossed over the comment he had made about Renard was done so flawlessly that it was clearly a habit. Something done so often that she probably didn’t even realize it, anymore. But, Beckett sure did, and his eyes narrowed on the woman ever so slightly. The fact that Hillstrom hadn’t spoken didn’t particularly bother him, because the man was imposing, even without opening his mouth. The older man just had that presence, that intimidating body language to suggest that he wouldn’t be spoken to a certain way, and that this was his house. They played by his rules. And until he made those rules very clear, then Beck was willing to push them, so long as he managed to keep himself in check. While it was clear this family operated on a different dynamic than his own, that didn’t mean he needed to necessarily meet them where they were at for the sake fitting into it. Of course, ‘necessarily’ didn’t mean he couldn’t.

He didn’t need Beatrice to point out his own accomplishment, because he knew them. She had so easily ignored a compliment directed at her youngest, but immediately gift praise upon the oldest without a second thought. Thankfully, Hillstrom kept him from having to answer, instead choosing to comment on the breadsticks that were to be served with the dinner, as they lacked the authentic Italian flare. Apparently. I’m gonna take a guess that you are as Americanized as they come, too… The thought was rude, and a little harsh, but it came to mind nonetheless. Beckett had no idea if the man had any italian upbringing, but he had been reading a paper that definitely written in the language. Still, he didn’t exactly give up the vibe of italian immigrant who had any right to as though knew better.

Beck lifted his plate up as Bea nodded at him, offering a soft ‘thank you’ in the midst of the banter between her and her husband. If he wasn’t supposed to call her ‘ma’am,’ then he assumed he was supposed to call her by her name, but he nodded his head in a vague understanding to the request. She sounded a little like a woman in the throes of a midlife crisis, to be honest, and so the jokes passed between the men of her family in regards to the matter had Beck looking between the two, eyes wide. But it was her sudden shift onto her son that had him biting into his lip and as soon as she began to mention one of his ‘episodes’ (or, he was sure that was word she was going to use), Hillstrom cut her off. Beck glanced to the man at his side with furrowed ‘brows, and that gaze lingered there as if silently asking what he dared not say out loud.

The attention soon dropped to his plate and he absently went through the motions of taking a bite when the woman was seated, only lifting his eyes as Bea brought him into the conversation once more. His nose wrinkled subtly and his expression sparked with annoyance, but he used the need to swallow as all the excuse in the world not to answer her, right away.

How did one subtly tell a woman that her constant assessment of their looks was totally uncomfortable and unappreciated? In that brief pause, the moment of hesitation, he merely stared at her in the most impassive expression he could manage.

“I have no problem complimenting him. In fact, I already have. I must have been speaking too softly for you to have heard it,” he countered, allowing his lips to twitch in the vaguest hints of a smirk. “Sports are not for everyone, and there are other skill sets and talents that are just as impressive. It would a shame for his art to suffer for the sake trying to learn something new altogether.” Oh, he knew that was not what she was looking to hear, but he didn’t care. “I’d be more than happy to help him work toward joining a sports team, of course. But…” he paused, tipping his head as he stared at the woman without faltering. “Only if that’s what he wanted.” Someone had to actually consider that, and it didn’t seem like she did.

And in that case, fine. Beck would, then.

R E N

Well that response had certainly not been expected. Part of the problem was that Beatrice was one of those people who very carefully crafted the world in which she lived. She had been beautiful in her youth, which had meant that she hadn’t had to work as hard for certain things as other people. There were those who had bent over backwards to give her what she wanted, whenever she wanted. From that, she had learned how to charm everyone around her into saying what she wanted to hear, or giving into her will. When faux-kindness did not work, she had no problem browbeating or using some other method of coercion. And then there was her absolute favorite card to play - that of the victim. If someone made her unhappy, or made her feel uncomfortable, she made sure they knew it. And usually everyone else. She had no problem with pulling other people into her battles. In fact, even the tiniest sleight against her could spiral into an enormous ordeal.

She had once been rejected by a colleague, when it came to certain...advances. Advances that Hillstrom was aware of, but usually stayed quiet about for the sake of looking good. Anyway. By the time she was done with him, this colleague was being quietly let go at the university, for of all things, unproven sexual misconduct.

In her own home, she was not used to anyone standing up to her. “Quite right.” She said. It was like a wall went up. Her mannerisms were warm, polite, inviting. But her eyes were not. She looked as if her gaze might have bored right through the middle of Beck’s forehead. And one could almost hear the litany of things she wanted to say to him or about him.

Renard’s hand slid closer to the seat beside him. His fingers sipped right into Beck’s, so that their hands were pressed together. He squeezed down. It was the only indication of thanks he could give in that situation. And he was thankful. Nobody had ever, in his experience, talked to Bea like that. Not even Hillstrom. Usually people just went along with her strange little fancies and didn’t seem to mind letting Renard be the butt of her capricious attentions. Isen had certainly picked that up as one of his own habits. And he combined all of the worst of Beatrice’s narcissism and Hillstrom’s lack of emotion. And that was why Ren absolutely hated these dinners. Why he held on to his new friend’s hand like he was about to fall into a chasm.

His food had been pushed around on his plate, but otherwise went uneaten. In fact, he felt sick to his stomach. Like he was about to pour out what there was in there, onto the table.

“You know, I have been thinking about taking up a sport.” He said. Because he knew how this went. If he didn’t distract Bea and Hill, they were going to turn this into a reason to hate Beck. Ban him from their home. Maybe even try to find ways to get him into trouble at school. Yeah. Beatrice was exactly that petty a person. And it would not have been the first time. There were a few of Isen’s friends who had displeased her for various reasons, and she had made their lives miserable. They, after all, were ‘children’.

Naturally, as soon as he said something, Bea’s eyes lit up. “Did you hear that Hill?!” Her voice went shrill for a moment.

“Of course, dear.” He said.

She looked like she was about to launch right into some sort of speech. Perhaps one she had prepared just for the moment when Renard finally did something she considered worthwhile. But before things could continue to spiral in one direction or another, her son pulled away from the table, releasing his friend’s hand. “Actually, I was going to ask Beck here to show me some things before the sun goes all of the way down. You don’t mind if we excuse ourselves do you?” He asked.

B E C K

During verbal exchanges, there always that point where one knew they had won. When the other party shut down, blocking off all evidence of their previous emotion. Right then, Bea was the picture perfect ‘high society’ mother from one of those ridiculous movies. Polite and well mannered, while internally seething at being undermined. And Beck? Beck had just won. There were no outward signs to acknowledge his triumph, other than finally allowing their intense stare to end so that he could poke at the dinner in front of him. He knew he might come to regret his mouth down the road, someday, but he couldn’t have cared less in that moment. If he could have smirked without giving it all away, he probably would have.

A hand slid into his own accompanied by that gentle pressure of thanks. It wasn’t necessarily a surprising gesture, but it made him tense, regardless. He felt a little bad in accepting what Ren was clearly giving him, if only because it hadn’t been entirely for the other boy. Mostly, yes, but not entirely. A small portion of his reason was a little more selfish than that. He wasn’t about to become a tool in someone else’s quest for control. Because she was a parent, an authority figure, he was expected to play along with her games, but that wasn’t one he was about to play. Ren certainly didn’t deserve it, and neither did he. Without turning his head, he returned the favor in silent understanding.

And then Renard opened his mouth.

What?

Beck’s gaze snapped to the boy next to him, eyebrows arched high in surprise. The grip on that hand tightened, as if to ask what the hell he was doing. They had known each other all of an afternoon, but he knew enough to know that the words that had just left Ren’s mouth were utter ********. Sports was the last thing that his ‘To-Do List.’ The problem with appeasement was that it became the expected norm, and if chose to tell him parents that he was considering a sport, what if they came to expect him to do exactly that? Or to go along with any other crazy notion that popped into their head?

The method behind the madness became clear enough a moment later as his friend pushed away from the table, making up an excuse to leave it. Stifling a small sigh, Beck glanced at Beatrice and Hillstrom, quietly waiting for the acceptance. Only when they were excused did he stand from the table. Standing beside his chair for a moment, he looked to Bea and Hillstrom one more time. “Thank you for dinner.” Granted, he hadn’t eaten a whole lot of it, but he blamed that on the atmosphere of the dining room. You couldn’t have cut the tension with a steak knife. And that made it pretty hard to enjoy anything, let alone manage to eat something without feeling like you were chewing on cardboard or that you might immediately bring it back up.

That’s when he threw a look to Ren that might as well have said, ‘get me out of here.’