17 again.

12

Cole

Fin's house is cosy, with oaken floors and furniture that's actually made to be sat in and not just look pretty. All around the house, instead of modern art paintings that I still don't get, were framed pictures of his whole family: Fin, his parents, his older sister and the twins, who were out of state right now. It would be perfect if it weren't for all the rosaries hanging everywhere.

Nothing against god but I definitely don't agree with Mr and Mrs Snow's brand of Catholicism. I still wonder how Fin stayed unaffected.

"Are you listening?" I glanced up at Fin, noting the way his brow was furrowed in annoyance. He was sitting opposite me, a statue of Jesus blocking part of his face. We were working on my literature project together, he'd showed up to my house and dragged me over to his.

"Nope, sorry. Guess I must have zoned out again." I glanced up at the statue. "How can you people eat with him staring down at you?" Whoever made the statue messed up with the eyes, making them way too beady.

"I always sit as far away from the eyes as possible." He answered glancing up at the statue in distaste. "Anyway, back to your report-"

"Are you sure we should be talking about this out in the open?" His parents were out sure, but his sister was still somewhere in the house and she was a little snitch.

"It's fine, my parents know they aren't bringing me over to their brand of Catholicism anytime soon. They've given up on trying to get me to hate gay people, so far I don't become one." He snorted, like the very idea was ridiculous. "As if that's even how it works."

So that's how we spent the rest of our Saturday, piecing together reasons why Nick Carraway is gay while Jesus stared down at us in disappointment. But I was spending it with Fin, which ment it was almost perfect.

Almost.

🎵🎸🎵

The first thing I noticed when I got back home was my father, sitting on one of our uncomfortable couches and screaming at the tv. Benji was on the couch next to him, eating out of a McDonald's bag.

"Hey dad." He barely looked up at me from his football game, only giving me a grunt in reply. "Hi Benji, is that your dinner?"

"Yep." He nodded, his little afro bobbing up and down.

"What did you have for lunch?"

"McDonald."

"And breakfast?"

He nodded again. "Dad kept burning the eggs."

I sighed but didn't comment, I guess the only time dad knew how to cook was outside on a grill. Mum had asked Dad to come over and watch Benji while she was at work, apparently the sitter had canceled last minute and she couldn't get anyone else on short notice.

"So Cole, how's basketball going?" My father asked abruptly, eyes of the screen for once.

"I quit a year ago. Remember, dad?"

"Oh right, it's a shame. You were good at it." He commented before reaching for the remote to turn down the volume. "I was thinking, after I move out, your mother and I are going to have to figure out custody and-"

"I'm gay." The words were significantly easier now, even though I knew he wouldn't react well. That was what I was counting on, there's no way in hell I'm living with him.

He choked, like honest to god choked on his own spit. I stood, watching him and wondering if I should help before he got of from the couch, still wheezing.

"No, no son of mine is going to be a fag."

"I think it's to late for that."

🎵🎸🎵

I poked at my black eye, wincing at the sharp pain that caused. What else was I expecting?

"I still can't believe he hit you." Fin asked from his spot on my bed. He was still in his Sunday best, the tie around his neck a little loose. He looked nice in his suit, almost edib- Nope, stop it.

"If it makes you feel any better I gave him a matching black eye, among other things."

"Normally I wouldn't condone violence but he kind of deserved it." He grinned, toying with the rosary that hung around his neck. "Why did he even hit you in the first place?"

"Told him something he didn't want to hear."

"Thank you, that was very enlightening." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "If you don't want to talk about it just say so."

"As if you'd even listen to that."

"True." He conceded. "Speaking of which, you still haven't told me who you're crushing on."

"'Crushing?' Did you suddenly regress back to twelve?"

"Don't change the topic." He said, even as colour began to flood his cheeks. "Is it someone we know?"

"Yes, now stop asking questions. Aren't you supposed to be in church right now?"

"Yep, but I left early." He sighed, flopping down onto the bed. "We have a new priest. Turns out the last one, Father Mathew, needs 'spiritual help'." He said the last two words with finger air quotes.

"What does that even mean?" I asked as I flopped down onto the bed next to him.

"It means he probably got caught with a kid or a nun." He answered, running his fingers through his golden hair. "They're bloody monsters sometimes, thinking of turning Protestant."

"I think your parents would just die."