In Love With My Mobster Best Friend (mxmxm)

TWO: BEGINNING

Media: I hate u, I love u ft. olivia o'brien - Gnash 

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Coe's POV

I barely remember how exactly we met. But I knew that we met in high school at least. From what we both can remember, we actually knew of one another's existence at the age of fifteen.

I was still in the foster care system at that time. It wasn't a secret to the people at school. Not that they knew why or how I ended up in the system.

I had been living in the foster care system ever since I turned thirteen. My parents abandoned me because they found out that I was gay. No other family member wanted to take be in because my parents were adamant that they will not tolerate my presence in the family. I was a mistake, and they were going to correct it.

You'd imagine it wasn't easy for a child in their teens to find a foster home, a good one. I was lucky enough to be fostered into a family that could be described in one word: mediocre. Not that I'm complaining. It was far better than many other homes that I could have gone to.

I was fostered into a home that had already been fostering three other teenage boys. Two boys that were 16 and one that was 17 and about to turn 18 and leave the system to live on his own. We didn't interact much. What was four abandoned teenage boys had to say to each other? The only time we ever did spoke to one another, was when they were "giving advice" to me. I didn't mind, they were just sharing their experience. I guess.

My three foster "brothers" treated the house very much like a hotel. They had part time jobs, coming home only for a night's rest and then they would leave for school and their own jobs, and the cycle continues every day. I was surprised that my foster parents did not try to control them more. But I guess they were just contented with the fact that none of them had gotten into any serious trouble out of our house.

I did the same, learning from them that we had only ourselves to depend on, because these people that fostered us were not our real families. And if we had to learn anything, we needed to remind ourselves that even our real families did not stick around to take solid care of us. That said, I should really not be stupid and pin my hopes on strangers that shared absolutely no blood relations with me to even give a proper damn about me. This particular lecture, I got from the eldest, the week before he moved out on his own. I was thankful he cared enough to share his thoughts with me.

I supposed I had a rather decent home, truthfully. I kept to myself most of the time, I didn't want trouble and they didn't give me trouble. Some people would say that we were neglected. But I'd rather that, than the horrific other stories I've heard about abuse. Neglected was better, I think.

I met Jared when we were both fifteen. He had just been transferred to our school in the beginning of the school year. He was immediately one of the popular guys. It wasn't hard for him to be with his charming blue eyes that and his black hair. He was charismatic in the way he held himself: tough, but cheeky.

He dressed well, spoke well, and carried himself in a well-ordered and jovial manner that people were generally attracted to. Everyone flocked to him naturally, even the teachers. But I did the opposite, of course. Popular people would be the death of me if they found out my sexual orientation.

Already I was pretty much an outcast by being in the foster care system. I didn't mind, I'd rather be ignored and treated as though I was invisible than having to look over my shoulders constantly, worrying if there was someone ready to harass me.

I remembered what my eldest foster brother, Aiden, liked to call me: pessimistically optimistic. I'm pretty sure that was not a real term, but he thought it was fitting. I liked it, particularly the 'optimistic' part.