Broken Home // mashton

chapter two

He was open with his family, and as broken as they were with one another he likes to think they supported him and his 'decision', his mother called it. Maybe once or twice his father said he'd 'go to hell' or 'grow up', but that was a long time ago when he first came out. He probably didn't mean it back then, or at least that's what he tells himself late at night when he can't sleep because he's too busy lost inside of his head.

He likes to believe his family supports him, that liking boys wouldn't make him strange or an entirely different person than he was from before he knew. They never told him directly that it was okay, but they also never told him to leave or that he was disgusting, so he'll take the silence. It's best so that way he can interpret it as he wishes.

He faced the window in front of him, as he did many restless nights, the blinds raised and curtains pulled so he could admire the moon and stars in the sky. It helped him sleep sometimes to count the constellations and the stars in the sky, ranking them from brightest to dullest with numbers ranging from zero to hundreds sometimes. He'd lose count after awhile.

Another light lit up his dark night and he widened his eyes as the room across from him filed with golden rays. There was no curtains or blinds up yet on the window, and it's probably because they've just barely started moving in. And it seems the stranger hasn't noticed him staring yet, not when he reached behind him to pull off his dusty black t-shirt and not when he grabbed a box with neat writing that read, 'Ashton's personal belongings'.

His name was Ashton.

It was a nice name, and it suited him well. It was a popular kid's name, and he sighed as he rested his cheek on the pillow he cradled to his chest. He probably was popular. Boys that pretty were always popular.

He should stop. He should really close his blinds and pull his curtains back in place out of respect for his privacy, but he couldn't help it. He couldn't help but crane his neck to see what he was reaching for within the deep cardboard. Rolled posters piled beside him, and he felt his heart speed up as he pulled a colorful banner from the box. It was wrinkled, probably from being shoved in quickly, but it didn't make the pink, blue, or yellow shades any leas vibrant.

Michael scoffed as he looked down at the floor, his cheeks reddening as he realized just how weird he must look peering into his neighbor's window. It wasn't any of his business what went on inside his house, let alone his room. And it wasn't any of his business to know who he liked or what he held dear to him.

He smiled as his eyes glanced up again. He liked Voltron too? Was it the original one or newer one? Who was his favorite?

He shouldn't care, but he did. He was interested in him and it felt so strange to want to get to know him when he's seen him twice in his entire life and never even spoke to him.

He watched as Ashton's fingers held the flag up to his chest, almost cradling it, and he seemed frantic only seconds later as he yanked it away like it burned. He shoved it deep into the box again and then stood up, and Michael saw the shadow of someone else in the room. It was tall, broad, and a large dirty hand was all he could actually see from this angle — his father maybe.

Was he closeted? Was it his secret? Were they not supportive of him? He wants to know, but he knows it isn't any of his concern.

He groaned as he realized he was staring too long and too hard at the window, and he felt his heart race as he thought about him and what he could be like. He wanted to blame the fact he always wanted to have a cliche romance, a boy-next-door or fateful meeting where someone spills coffee on him and then offers him a new shirt or dry cleaning money. Because honestly, what was the chance he'd get a hot neighbor who was probably his age, actually into men, and literally only in a room a couple of meters away? It was like every one if his dreams come true.

Now all he needed to do was get him to fall in love with him.

He shook his head as he looked down at his sleeping pet, fingers running through her fur and causing a low rumble filled the room. "I know, Delia," he mumbled to himself as his dog looked at him. "- I should sleep. I think I'm going crazy."

He glanced out his window one more time, and Ashton's room was dark now and the glass was pushed up a bit as he hung himself off the windowsill. A spark of panic light up in Michael as he saw his dangling body, but when he saw the teenager jump on to something beside their fence and then safely make it to the ground he considered maybe he didn't need to worry. He shouldn't, anyways, it's not like he knew him.

He watched him jog out to the front before turning down the street, and he slumped back into bed as he stares up at his star covered ceiling. "He's gay, Delia." He breathed out as he felt her curl into him. "Maybe..."

No. What's he thinking? He doesn't even know him. He probably wouldn't even like him.

He heard a door slam downstairs and he looked up at his window before turning his music up higher. He wishes he could just sneak out and disappear sometimes, let his parents destroy the house by themselves without having to sit and watch. He could live without hearing another door slam or an empty promise.

"Maybe one day I'll have the guts to do it, Del," he murmured as he focused on the bass of his music. "- someday."