CHAPTER 12

  Niko stood on his parents’ doorstep, sullenly resigned to be miserable for the next few hours. For reasons even he didn’t fully understand, he made sure to visit his parents at least once a month, and tell them about his life and ask about theirs. It never ended with him happy or feeling at all close to them. He wasn’t even sure if what he felt for them could be called love anymore. Could you love someone who detested you and everything you were? And if you could...was that a good thing or a bad thing?

  Why did he insist on coming back here, time after time? He’d long since given up on changing their minds; between being the last of a generation intent on bringing back the ‘values’ of a society that had left them behind a long time ago and their sheer inherent stubbornness, they’d never change. Ralia’s parents could change when necessary, and even Kelsen’s parents were softening with time, but Niko’s parents? Not a chance, not ever. So it couldn’t be for that.

  Was it to help him appreciate everything else in his life more? No, that was a stupid line from a stupid film. Real life didn’t work that way. Rather than make him more thankful for what he did have, these visits always made him spiteful and morose, unable to recognize the things he had to be grateful for. So it couldn’t be that, either.

  Maybe he just wanted to play family, to pretend like he had parents who loved him. Much as he would say to his friends that he didn’t need their validation, did some part of him, deep down, crave it? Surely that was childish. Foolish. He was more mature than that, wasn’t he? Too mature to see his parents on a regular basis in order to stitch all the less contentious interactions into a patchwork quilt of Normal Family Interactions that some part of him could cling to in order to feel loved?

  No, of course not. That was something a child would do. Or a crazy person. Normal people didn’t do things like that.

  How normal am I, though?

  The door finally opened, and his mother greeted him by his name and moved forward to hug him. He hugged back, already uncomfortable. Physical contact with his parents always left a bad taste in his mouth. Weren’t you supposed to hug someone because you loved them? And if so, if they did love him, why did they so openly hate everything about him, including—especially—things that just were, things he couldn’t change?

  Niko realized that his thoughts were swirling round and round, more powerful and more demanding, and definitely more questioning, than they usually were when he visited his parents. But before he could wonder why, he was pulled inside, and in moments found himself seated at his parents’ dining room table, the location they spent most of their visits.

  As he was trying to get more comfortable on the straight-backed, knobbly chair, his father entered the room as well. Though he’d long since given up on making Niko stand whenever he entered the room, he still insisted on making Niko give him a firm handshake—something to ward off Niko’s ‘queer posture’. Not wanting to fight this soon, Niko simply gave his father the strongest handshake he could muster. He must have passed the stupid test, as his father said nothing and took his seat at the head of the table. “So, Niko, what’s new in your life?”

  He shrugged. He knew better than to tell them about Latia or Size Doesn’t Matter, and outside of those things, there really wasn’t much to tell. “Work’s the same as ever. Well, maybe a bit worse. My boss has really stepped up busting my—uh, busting my chops.”

  “What for?”

  “Uh, little mistakes here and there. The sorting system is weird. Like, Welcomes and Greetings are two separate categories, and sometimes I forget which is which.”

  His father raised an eyebrow. “Sounds like you need to learn. Have more respect for your job.”

  Count to five. “Uh huh. I’m sure it’s entirely because I’m such a failure, and has nothing to do with his buddies telling him to crack down on me.”

  “What is that supposed to mean?”

  He sighed. “That it seems like you said something to him, because he was never this bad before.”

  His father harrumphed, crossing his arms. “I have spoken to him at service, but I didn’t ask him to target you, or whatever you’re implying. I told him that I worry about you. Shouldn’t a father worry about his son?”

  “When there’s stuff to worry about, probably.”

  His mother put her paw on his father’s arm. “You’ve given us a great deal to worry about, Niko. You were always a wild child, but ever since you moved out...” She let the unsaid hang in the air.

  Seeing he wasn’t going to win this one—when did he ever win anything with them?—he changed the subject. “Anyway. Other than that, not much going on. Still doing well in my classes.”

  “And you’ve got three semesters left, then?”

  “Including this one, yeah, and it’s nearly over.”

  “And you’re studying...something with computers?”

  “Web development.”

  “Remind us what that is?”

  As if he didn’t remind them every time he came over. Would it kill them to remember the basics, if they were actually interested? Not everyone could remember minute details of someone else’s job, but certainly they could give their child the courtesy of committing the broad strokes to memory? “Creating and maintaining websites. Lots of coding and programming.”

  His father shook his head. “Still say you should’ve followed in my footsteps. Would’ve had a job at my firm right out of primary school. No need for college and all the fantastical ideas they’re shoving in your head.”

  “Which ideas would those be? The ones about not hating people for being different?”

  His mother gave him a look. “You know not to take that tone with your father.”

  “All right. But I don’t have much left to tell. Kelsen is doing well.”

  His father scowled. “Still hanging around with a fang?”

  “Yes. And we still live together, too. I probably would have mentioned if that changed.”

  “It’s not natural,” his father said. “Living with a fang. Living with a man.”

  “We’re not together. Kel doesn’t even like guys. And if...”

  “Which is why I haven’t forbidden it. But Lord knows I try to steer you back on the right path.”

  “Forbidden it? If I must remind you, I am an adult and not dependent on you for anything.”

  “Perhaps. But I’m still your patriarch. Still responsible, in part, for your spiritual wellbeing.”

  Oh, god. He hated it when his father started down this path. Better to change the subject. “Anyway. How’s the rest of the family? Effie had another kid, right?”

  His father bowed his head for a moment. “Niko, most days I’d let you duck out like that. But not today. I have been praying every night...” Ah, fuck. Not this again. “...and I spoke with our pastor, and we came to the same conclusion: your sinful ways need to stop. Now. You can be forgiven, in time, for your dabbling. Everyone makes mistakes in their life, even if some make more than others. But if you keep going as you have been, your soul will be forfeit. Is that really what you want? An eternity of damnation, just so you can give in to temptation and enjoy carnal pleasures?”

  “Well, considering I don’t believe there’s any kind of eternity, I’m not too worried. Besides, ‘carnal pleasures’? You highly overestimate my dating game.”

  “Don’t give me that,” his father said, lip curling in disgust.

  His mother nodded. “We know you know God, Niko. You went to church every week for most of your life!”

  “...Because I was a kid and you made me.”

  “No one made you get baptized. That was your choice.”

  “Yeah, let’s see...getting recognition from my parents and religious teachers, being the same as my peers at the time, and getting a party, versus having everyone be ashamed of me? How many kids that young would choose differently, much less understand exactly what they were getting into?”

  “Children are closer to God, unsullied by the filth of the world! What about your own personal experiences? I know you’ve felt the spirit.”

  “I felt something, sure. When you’re isolated and steeped in that stuff every day, and then you get caught up with everyone saying the same stuff, and you feel like you have to have some kind of breakthrough to be good...no, to be normal...yeah. Doesn’t mean it was your ‘spirit’, or that any of the hateful bullshit you spew is true.” He’d stepped over a line now, but hadn’t they done so first? Then again, he’d gotten into another big fight with them, and that hadn’t gone well. Maybe he should pump the brakes before things got out of hand.

This book was originally published on Royal Road. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “Niko! You take that back and apologize this instant! We raised you better than that! Your friends, your school—they’ve changed you. It’s like you don’t care about us at all anymore.”

  Nope. Full steam ahead. “Me not care? No, that’s it. I’m fucking done with your shit. Fuck you.”

  “How dare you...”

  “I’m not finished talking! My fucking god—all you ever do is tell me that I’m bad, that I’m wrong, that I’m sinful, just because I happen to love people you hate. And I don’t even mean being gay—I mean being able to love someone who isn’t just like me, being able to sympathize and empathize with someone who’s got scales, who’s got fangs, who looks different but is just as much of a person as I am. And yeah, the gay thing too. Just because I was born loving guys—born! I didn’t choose to!—you think I’m evil, that some devil has sway over my heart. You narrow-minded pieces of shit! I mean, I know religion in general is a lie, but at least some religions have stuff like loving everyone regardless of what they are as a core tenet, and at least some people actually try to live by that. But you? All you do is hate, hate, hate! The neighbors, because they dare to have scales! My best friend who’s been with me through everything, because he dares to have fangs! Me, your own fucking son that you’re supposed to love, that you’re supposed to care about no matter what, because I dare to love someone regardless of whether or not they can pump out more babies to buy into your religion and pay more fucking fake taxes to your televangelist millionaire asshole! And you know what? You know the best part? Remember how much you hated it when I mentioned Latia growing up? Well, I went there! And I met someone, and we’re in love! A gay Latian guy with fangs, a tri-fucking-fecta of sin! How about that?”

  His father stood, rage emanating from him. He didn’t shout, but his barely-controlled, quietly sinister voice was far more dangerous and threatening than if he had. “Get out of this house. Get out.”

  Niko stood too. “Like I wanted to stay. Have a sad life, sitting around telling each other how good you are and how terrible everyone else is.” He left, slamming the front door behind him.

  He had to pull over halfway through the drive home. The whole conversation had been repeating itself over and over in his head, and finally tears came. He sat there, car off, forehead against the top of the steering wheel. He was right, wasn’t he? They were wrong, and he was right. They hated people for stupid reasons. He didn’t. So why did he feel so awful? Why did some part of him want to go back and apologize? What did he have to apologize for, anyway?

  Wiping his eyes with one paw, he took out his phone with the other and started writing a message to Fyche. Hey man, you got time to talk?

  But Fyche didn’t respond, and of course not. He was still at work. Great. Awesome. Once Niko was composed enough, he drove the rest of the way home, sneaked in past Kelsen, who was still chatting with Ralia, and threw himself into bed.

...

  Kelsen woke up from a very nice dream that may or may not have involved Ralia. He stayed in bed for a few minutes, trying to imagine that he was still sleeping next to her, that he could hear her breathing, could be warmed by her fur, could feel her steady heartbeat.

  But, of course, it didn’t work. Grumbling, he headed to the kitchen, where he was surprised to see Niko already up. “Oh, you’re up early.” Niko didn’t respond, or even look up. “Hey, you okay?”

  “Fine.”

  Kelsen frowned. “I missed when you got home last night. Things didn’t go well, I take it?”

  “I said I’m fine!”

  “Hey!” Kelsen put his paws on his hips. “I’m just asking.”

  “Mind your own business!”

  “Okay, that’s it. House rules.”

  “...”

  Kelsen and Niko had decided on a set of house rules a long time ago, shortly after they’d first moved in together. One of those house rules was that there were to be no fights, only conversations, and if you tried to start one or were nasty in a way uncalled for, you were forced to apologize and hug it out. “I said, house rules!”

  “Okay, fine, I’m sorry,” Niko said, almost robotically. His heart clearly wasn’t in the apology.

  “Nope. Not good enough. Come here.” Kelsen stepped forward and put his arms around Niko. “I’m sorry you’re upset. Talk to me.”

  At first it was like hugging a rock, but Niko eventually relaxed and returned the embrace. Kelsen was surprised to see that he was crying. “I’m sorry.” He clearly meant it this time.

  “It’s okay. What happened?”

  “My fucking parents happened. I just...I’ve been so sick of the way they treat everyone. You. Me. I went in angry yesterday, and we got into a fight. I told them they were narrow-minded pieces of shit, about how they hate people, and me, and how I think loving people is better, and told them about...about Latia.”

  “I understand. The fight must have been upsetting.”

  “I mean, yeah! It was! And now I have all these uncomfortable questions to answer about family and myself and everything, and...and Fyche.”

  “...Elaborate?”

  “When I was shouting, I told them I had a Latian boyfriend. To really rub their noses in it, you know? I was just mad.”

  “Oh?”

  “But...I don’t even know if I do. It’s been months and sometimes it feels like maybe there’s something there, and sometimes it doesn’t.”

  “So, you want to know where you and Fyche stand, basically.”

  “...Yeah, I guess.”

  “Well...I’d be lying if I hadn’t been wondering the same myself. But if you ask me, the answer is pretty obvious. Tell him how you feel, ask how he feels, and then talk it out.”

  “...Yeah. You’re right. I guess I’m just...afraid of what he’ll say.”

  “Hey, remember what I said to Samet in our last video?”

  “...It’s okay to be afraid, just don’t let it stop you from communicating.”

  “Exactly.”

  Niko shook his head. “You know, I used to think it was weird that you were so much better about relationship stuff than me. But it makes a lot of sense when I think about it. You’re all about open and honest communication. And that’s a pretty good foundation for a good relationship.”

  Kelsen beamed. “I’m glad you think so. And about the stuff with your parents...Niko, I’ve honestly always wondered why you force yourself to be around them. They treat other people badly and look down on them. You have this innate love of others that’s inspiring to see. If you’re questioning yourself...you are right, and they are wrong. They don’t deserve you. They never have.”

  Niko buried his face in Kelsen’s chest. “Thanks, man.”

  “Any time and every time.”

...

  Fyche slumped into bed. Work hadn’t been too much worse than usual, but ‘usual’ was still pretty tiring. He needed to get up and make dinner and take care of a couple things in the kitchen and in his room, but he just felt drained. Pulling out his newish and cherished smartphone, he started browsing the internet. Even five months later, he marveled at having the combined total knowledge of both Latia and Moccs at his fingertips, most of it for free if you knew where and how to look.

  Not that he spent all his time on the internet learning. Like anyone else, he spent most of it watching videos, listening to music, and sometimes even playing games to amuse himself. But he’d picked up a few things—and begun learning Salic, Niko’s spoken language—already, and was overall just awed at the mere possibility.

  As he browsed a subforum on Size Doesn’t Matter he’d come to frequent, he was interrupted by a message from Niko, saying he really needed to talk. He was tired, but felt bad for blowing the mouse off the night before, so he gave him a call. Niko picked up on the second ring. “Hey, man.”

  “Hey. What’s up?”

  “Well...honestly, I’ve been having a shitty few days. Kinda wanted to vent about it.”

  Fyche rolled over into a more comfortable position. “Sorry to hear that. And, uh, sorry I’ve been busy. I’ve been having these, uh...nevermind. If you wanna talk about it, go for it.”

  Niko launched into a borderline tirade about the last few days he’d had, from his problems with his boss to his visit with his parents, though he skimmed over more than a few details, like what exactly he’d said to his parents to get kicked out of their house. Fyche was sympathetic, commenting and staying silent as appropriate. Once Niko was finished, he sat up. “That really sucks, dude. And I know it’s not easy, but it’s better if you stop forcing yourself to see them. All they do is drag you down...I know I’d rather spend time with people who build me up.”

  “Yeah...” Niko paused. “I have another reason for calling.”

  “Shoot.”

  “What are we?”

  Fyche stammered. “W-we, uh, we’re friends, right?”

  “I just...I was wondering if we might be...a little more.”

  “I-I, I uh, I don’t know what you...no, I mean...I think I know what you mean, but...” Fyche gulped. “I mean, I had thought about it a bit, but I was just never sure...”

  “I know what you mean. It’s been awkward. And we’ve both been kind of dancing around the issue.”

  “Well, maybe we need to be more...direct.”

  “Yeah, that would probably be good.” There was an uncomfortable silence, before Niko blurted out, “So, wanna make out again the next time I’m on Latia?” Fyche burst out laughing, and Niko couldn’t help but join him.

  “I think we could give it a try.”

  “So, we’re...”

  “I’ve never been good with labels, but call it what you want. Together. Dating. Uh, boy...friends.”

  Niko sighed. “So I do have a Latian boyfriend after all.”

  “After all?”

  “Oh...I guess I should fill you in. I may or may not have skipped over a few things. Like shouting at my dad that I had a Latian boyfriend.”

  “O-oh.”

  “Yeah, me saying that and sort of...bragging about it, almost, is what led to him actually kicking me out.”

  “Answer a question for me.”

  “Okay?”

  “Why do you bother with your parents at all?”

  “I...I really don’t know. I ask myself that all the time. Been asking myself constantly today and yesterday. I guess because they’re my family.”

  “Your blood family, maybe. But as far as I’m concerned, that doesn’t count for much.”

  “I guess.”

  “I’m serious. Family is the people who love you. Who want you. Sometimes family does want you to change, yeah, but only for the better.” Fyche paused, trying to swallow the raw emotion in his voice. “Kelsen and Ralia are your family.”

  Niko surprised him by responding immediately. “You are too.”