Olympus Drive Book 3: According to Plan

Chapter 14

Phoenix

I honestly have no idea what my father expects of me. Well, I do know what he expects of me. I don't know why he's surprised that I'm not it. He asks me when I'm going to ask girls out, and coaches me on it.

Father, I'm gay. I have no idea how to tell you so you won't hate me, but I thought that bringing home the most lovely little scrap of a boy I could find, being quiet and polite,  vacuuming my room without being asked, and occasionally disappearing into my room every time I feel angsty to play melodies from Phantom on my violin for hours on end, would have given you the general hint I'm not straight.

Like I though it would dawn on him by now. The problem is, it kind of is. He's pushing against it. He's getting more forceful with his heteronormative comments. Like he thinks he'll embarrass the gay out of me. If it worked like that, it most certainly would work on me, and it would have before I met Axel. But now it's not about being gay. It's about him. And I'm never giving him up.

To be honest the entire playing the violin thing I thought would give it away. When I cried when I was five and begged for lessons like the pretty men on the TV those were the not at all straight words that came out of my little gay mouth. Nothing.  Did not occur to them. I am good with the violin, I still take lessons at school for free, though I mostly play it for fun these days. Except for that time I might have played "Angel of Music" outside Axel's window in the middle of the night. That may not have actually happened though it's sort of a blur.

I also wear the paper clip Axel gave me when we met, that was clearly his but he was just trying to talk to me, that one, I wear it around my neck on a leather strap. My parents have not noticed/asked about that thank god I'd probably make weird noises. Axel wears a fishhook from me, around his neck also on a leather strap, though his is tight like a choker. He's literally told his parents it's from his boyfriend, but apparently they thought he was kidding.

"There, that's another hundred words I'm completely done," Axel says, pathetically.

"Are you?" I've been staring at a blank document. I close my laptop. I'll do it in first period.

"I am. I did a good job," he says, still pathetic, till I come over and crawl on top of him to look at his work, nuzzling his ear with my nose.

"You did—that looks good, good job," I say, leaning to kiss his mouth. It sounds stupid but this reward system for his homework works. Like significantly. He's risen two letter grades since I implemented it. It's almost sad.

"Are you gonna tell me it's time to go home?" he mumbles past my lips.

"Yeah probably," I say, playing with one of his curls, "It's after midnight, Stitches."

"What if you came with me?" he asks, tugging on my t-shirt. Yes we have this big of a problem parting most nights. It's dumb I'm aware but it'll be fine once we graduate and get our own apartment we won't have to leave each other at all.

"What if you went home to bed—and I see you in the morning?" I say, pressing my nose against his cheek. I don't want him to go either. I hate waking up, alone, in the dark, and rolling over to try to go back to sleep on my sweaty pillow. When he's there I can listen to his breathing and put my face in his hair and I fall right back to sleep because I know I'm not alone. But we also have to both be in our respective homes sometimes.

"Play the violin for me, I got suspended I didn't get to hear you today," he comes and sits in band sometimes if he promises to be quiet and not bicker with people (Sol).  They would be in love with each other if they didn't feel the need to murder the other every hour.

"All right," I say, sitting up and going to fetch it from the top of my dresser, "What do you want to hear?" (It isn't unusual for me to play in the middle of the night for gay angst reasons. My parents are quite accustomed).

"I don't care," he says, closing his eyes contentedly and leaning back.

"No, you're trying to fall asleep----get up you have to drive home," I say, pulling him up by his shoulders.  He pretends to keep sleeping.

"Fine, I'll go. I do like your playing though. Have you ever thought about doing it, professionally?" he asks, frowning, as I sit down on the bed with him.

"There's no money in that, Stitches," I say, shaking my head, "I could never make a living. I'll just become a doctor and play while I'm thinking about complicated things."

"So you want to be Sherlock Holmes?" he asks, laughing a little.

"Well, Sherlock is not a doctor, he's a drug-addicted freelancer, Watson his boyfriend is the doctor----but if you are asking me do I want to live in a crusty little row house in a far away place with my incredibly handsome boyfriend and go on fantastic adventures, and still play my violin for angst reasons, then that's a yes," I say, letting him lean back against me.

"Okay good. I'll come with you. And I'll be the freelancer, except I won't solve cases or anything I'll probably hurt people for money."

"Hitman, Stitches, the career you are describing is called being a hitman," I say, nuzzling his ear with my nose.

"No, I didn't say kill—though I could. I don't know--- it'll be something dangerous—,"

"Well, you're not allowed to be hurt. You remember I'm far too fond of far too much of you," I say, kissing his neck.

"You have to go to school though to be a doctor—where are you going to school?"

"I don't know—why?" I laugh.

"Because if I remotely mention wanting to go to a college my father will immediately sign me up, pack my bags, and get me a dorm there because I've never showed an interest he'll be completely thrilled. We'll be graduated for years before he figures out we're banging."

"Is that what we're doing?" I ask, kissing his mouth now because it's dumb and needs kissing.

"When I'm not too busy being awesome and beautiful clearly yes."

"What am I busy being?"

"Mine," He says, rolling over in my arms, "Please let me stay?"

"Yeah all right, but if anyone bursts in screaming in heterosexual-panic I'm gonna point at  you."

"I'm gonna point at you; it's your fault."

"It is not you're the one who won't leave!"

"I can't leave you. You're too impossibly beautiful."

"Stop being disgusting."

"You're disgusting all the time."

"I know you like it huh?"

"Obviously."

The door knob rattles. Axel and his computer are stuffed under my blankets and me so fast I am surprised he cooperates. He usually fights that sort of thing on impulse.

"You going to sleep soon?" my dad asks, leaning in.

"Yeah," I say, swallowing Axel's spit from my mouth and chocking on it as I physically lay on top of him. He's kind of small it really works better than it sounds like, though the swallowing doesn't work well the kissing had involved much shared spit and tongues in odd places and not a whole lot of air, so the breathing and swallowing thing isn't going well for me, "I was finishing an essay."

"All right. Get to sleep," he says closing the door.

"Love you too dad," I mutter.

"Move I've died, this is my ghost haunting you---"

"You are dramatic as fuck," I say, tugging the blankets off of Axel who has been wiggling the entire time.

"I know. You like it huh?" he says, smiling cheekily.

"Obviously," I say, stroking his cheek.

"Go on, play for me," he says, "I do love it."

"All right, then bed yeah?" I ask, moving my hand through his sweet hair one more time and tracing down his jaw.

"Yeah," he says, closing his eyes again.