next in line, pt. 2 - short story
Next In Line
Part 2 - seriously
by Nihilism
*Note that this has been rewritten. Much of it is the same but the whole, I think, is subtler than it was and in general more to my liking.
When Nick informs Kellen some weeks later that Leech agreed to spend some time with them, he is shocked to realize he feels a little panicky. Kellen has never been one to be concerned by what other people, especially family, thought of him. On the contrary, he rather delighted in offending people. But with his new brother's arrival looming ever closer, Kellen finds he is unusually self-conscious. He begins showering regularly, taking extra care in his clothing and with his hair and make-up. He cleans his room, for fuck's sake, hiding or trashing all of his embarrassing CDs, posters, and other items - particularly that framed photo from his third grade class that his mother had loved so much. He should have thrown that out years ago, he muses. He doesn't really think Leech would tease him if he sees the Green Day poster, for instance, but he makes sure it is out of sight all the same. The need to impress Leech is rather confusing to him; the only other person whose opinion he's ever been faintly concerned with is Jimmy. But that was understandable; Jimmy is crass and does not censor himself. Leech has been nothing if not accommodating to Kellen's…differentness…even if he does occasionally seem amused by the boy, at moments that seem completely inappropriate for amusement
The truth is, he likes Leech, though he had not expected to. He is family; he should be hated for that alone, but Kellen likes him. Really, it is more than that. In the restaurant when they'd first met, Kellen's eyes had locked on Leech's form the second the man walked through the door, like a sniper zeroing in on a target. His petite form belies a very large and powerful presence. His careless style cloaks an intelligent mind and quick wit. With his height, smooth face, and especially that bright hair, one could easily mistake him for a much younger person. But his eyes, wide and clear and the perfect, palest shade of blue, show upon closer inspection a personal perception of pain and deep wisdom learned by many tragic life lessons. Closer inspection makes Leech seem older than his years.
Even when Leech had approached their table and Kellen realized who he must be, the younger boy couldn't look away. With Leech watching him in return, and knowing without a doubt that this was his brother, Kellen still couldn't tamp down his interest, though the keen way Leech observed him in his turn made Kellen want to look away, and he did not know what to make of it. He felt wrong-footed, moreso than he can ever remember being before; felt at once diminished and blindingly illuminated by the spotlight that was Leech's eyes. Just what was illuminated by those first few wordless moments, he has not yet decided to inspect.
So when the day arrives, Kellen is waiting faux-casually in the den and watching a movie he's seen thousands of times before - Suburbia. He startles at every sound that could be a car approaching. Nick, on the other hand, is undoubtedly in the garage and pretending to tune up one of his motorcycles, but really just getting an early start on getting drunk.
The boy had been extra careful with his appearance today, though he knows it is pointless. He wears well-worn, black Dickies, held at his hips by a studded belt and the virtue of blind trust. His torso is encased in a black T-shirt bearing the Blood for Blood legend on front, 'Royalty in Exile' on the back; the sleeves are ripped off and a few accidental cigarette burns add character. Though it is early summer and quite warm outside, the air conditioning makes the house chilly enough that he's added a plain, black, zip-up hoodie over this. His feet don his beloved eight-eye black Doc Martens, shined just the previous night. His hair is perfectly coifed: sticking straight out from his head on all sides - a careless look that took him half an hour to achieve. His intense sea green eyes are ringed thickly in smudged black liner.
Not seldom does he admonish himself for this preparation and these nerves. What does it matter how he looks, how he appears? Leech spends his life with a miasma of delinquents; to him, Kellen is undoubtedly just one of the many.
This having been decided once again, Kellen sinks so deeply into a temporary ennui that he does not hear Leech's car pull into the driveway. He cannot entirely be blamed for this, as the classic Stingray is always tuned so precisely that it barely purrs. He does, however, hear the front door open. Leech, figuring he's part of the 'family' and that he can take such liberties as entering without a knock, does so - and the boy straightens from his slumped position, ears perking.
Leech paces a ways into the darkened entrance hall, his size six boots noiseless on the expensive, hand-cut Italian tile. Peers around uncertainly, then calls out. "'Lo? Anyone here?"
Kellen stands, then again abruptly sits. Arranges himself in a careful lounging position before yelling in return. "In the den! Down the hall, to your right past the stairs."
Following these instructions, and denying any anxious feelings of his own, Leech finds and pokes his head into the doorway of the mentioned den. The rest of the abode that he's passed is spotless and silent, like a museum, but this room is comfortably cluttered. Spotting the fuzzy back of his brother's head, he traipses the rest of the way in, rounds the couch. Now, Kellen decides, is the acceptable time to stand. He turns to face Leech, unable to keep a small grin from forming, and offers his right hand in greeting. "Hey."
"'Ey, yerself," Leech responds. He grasps the offered hand with his own, but rather than shaking it, yanks to pull the boy into a warm hug. Kellen wraps his thin arms around Leech in return, resting his cheek against an emaciated shoulder, and the small grin grows. "Glad to see ya."
"You, too," Kellen amends. They hold on to each other for a moment longer before releasing, and Leech steps a foot or so back, looks Kellen over.
"Ya look great."
The simple compliment warms Kellen more than it should. Dumbly, he replies. "You, too."
With a rueful laugh, Leech shakes his head in denial, scraping a long-fingered hand through his wilted Mohawk. "Appreciate yer insincerity," he responds with a smirk. "No one looks great after a week of final exams, not to mention organizin' shit so everyone gets shipped back where they're s'posed to be."
"Your school's already out?" Kellen questions, waving to the couch in offering. "Bitch! I still got another week." He can't help but think that, despite Leech's claims, he does look quite fantastic. His Mohawk may be wilted, but still as vibrantly pink as ever and he dons a denim vest plastered with band patches, and a pair of black bondage pants that are far too tight to be legal, along with oxblood boots, a collar, and leather arm braces. He is beautiful, and though Kellen is quite certain he's never seen a man he could apply that term to before; is quite certain that term ought not to be applied to any man, even one who barely tops five feet and moves with the grace of a gazelle.
Leech gracefully and casually drops onto the offered couch and leans back, groaning pleasantly, before turning his gaze to the TV. "Suburbia? Didn' think anyone under thirty knew about this movie."
"You know it," Kellen points out, taking a seat on the couch near Leech - but not as near as he would like.
"Touché," Leech submits with a crooked grin. "Duster introduced me to it when I was, oh, fifteen or so…I loved it then. Now I can't help but laugh at the horrible acting."
"It is pretty horrible," Kellen agrees. He doesn't have to ask who 'Duster' is; he and Leech had had plenty of time to talk after their father ditched them at the hotel, and he'd learned a lot about Leech's past; how he'd grown up; and where he is now in his life. Duster is the man responsible for all the tattoos Leech sports, and a close friend of Leech's 'Daddy.' Kellen had also been pleased when Leech had ordered a few bottles of Guinness from room service for him. Nick hadn't returned until they were both asleep. "I guess such a drama aficionado as yourself would be even more offended."
Leech laughs for that, a gruff sound that nonetheless sounds musical to Kellen. "I wouldn' say I'm an aficionado…more like, theater instructor by necessity. They couldn' find anyone else to take the job."
Despite Kellen's earlier trepidation about Leech's arrival, he's finding that it is easy to slip back into the casual banter they'd established that night at the hotel. He still feels a little jittery, but nothing so serious as what the waiting had bred. In fact, he's becoming quite content now that the initial re-meeting has passed. But of course, it has to be ruined.
Nick swaggers in from the garage, beer bottle in hand, already looking vaguely tipsy. "Hey!" he declares loudly. "I thought I heard a car pull up."
Leech side-glances at the man, leaving no room for doubt about how he feels about his arrival. "Guess ya don' need a hearin' aid just yet, in that case." He doesn't stand to greet him, or even lift a hand for Nick to shake.
"Not yet," Nick responds happily, completely ignoring Leech's flat tone. "I wasn't sure when you were headed up here, and I already made plans for tonight - I hope you don't mind?"
"Not at all," Leech assures him. "Best ya get back to warmin' up for the night." He nods towards the beer in Nick's hand, giving a thin smile. It's an obvious dismissal, and while Nick would like to argue it, a look between the pair of his sons on the couch is enough to assure him that he'd be better off elsewhere. He rolls his eyes and departs the way he came.
Leaning back into the couch and once again focusing on the television, it takes Leech a moment to notice the look of awe his little brother is directing his way. Once he does notice, he twists his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. "Wha?"
"That was…amazing," Kellen informs him. "The way ya just…sent him off like that."
Leech gives a crooked grin and a soft shrug. "It's a talent."
"Can it be taught?" Kellen inquires hopefully.
The grin spreads to a small, but sincere smile. "I guess we'll find out, yeh?"
Dinner that evening is a rather uncomfortable affair, as any benign conversation Nick attempted to bring up is twisted into an insult by Leech, a habit Kellen is all too quick to pick up on. Trying not to lose his temper, Nick maybe drank more than he typically would - which is saying quite a lot - and soon vacated the dining room in favor of heading to the bar to meet his buds. Kellen is finding that Leech is a delightful addition to his screwed-up family. And Leech, in his turn, is finding that he may just dislike Nick more now than when he did not know him and therefore hated him passionately for abandoning him as a child. The man is not particularly rude, or unintelligent, he is merely frustratingly normal. He is interested in sports, and motorcycles. He liked women with large breasts and low IQs - leaving Leech to wonder how he had ever gotten involved with Lorena - and had very, very little esteem for his second son. That, without a doubt, is the thing that annoyed Leech most; Kellen is obviously smart and had a good sense of humor, but his unique way of thinking and that very sense of humor seemed to grate on Nick's nerves. Which in turn grated on Leech's nerves.
Overall, Leech is fairly sure he won't be able to stand staying in this household for more than a few days. He's glad he didn't agree to any specific length of time.
Later on, after further easy companionship in the den, Kellen retires to start on some of his homework - "Pointless," he'd claimed. "Only a week of school left and they really expect me to care about this shit." - and Leech, left with only the television for possible company, instead retreats to the guest room he's been assigned to. It is a horribly blank room, the walls done in off-white and yellow wallpaper, the furnishings and decorations reflecting this color scheme. For a few hours Leech manages to avoid looking at anything in the room by turning off the lights and watching Firefly DVDs on his laptop.
As he starts to change the first disc out for the second, he realizes that the house has become completely quiet. No television noise comes from the den downstairs, and no loud street-punk emanates from Kellen's bedroom, directly across the hall. Glancing at the clock on his laptop, Leech is surprised to find that it's already after midnight. He decides that the more time he spends here asleep, the better, and therefore shuts the machine down and sets it on the white wicker bedside table. After downing a couple Xanax and smoking a final cigarette, he strips down to his rather feminine boy-cut underwear and slides between the lemon-colored sheets.
The room is quite a bit brighter than he is used to, even at this late hour. Large windows dot two of the walls, and the alarm clock nearby seems to blare police-red light across the entire ceiling. Leech tries for a while to block this out by burying his face against his pillows, and it works, until he realizes that sleeping while near-suffocating is an impossibility. Flips onto his side and takes a deep breath, only to discover that the crimson floods his vision even with his eyelids closed. Grunting his displeasure, Leech twists to flump onto his back, throwing his right arm over his eyes as his left blindly searches out the pack of cigarettes and lights another.
This pattern continues for quite some time, until Leech is near to screaming in frustration. He sits up in bed abruptly, glaring straight ahead at a whimsical painting of children running carefree on the beach. The painting is overshadowed by red, giving it an ominous cast. As if those children's mouths are open in horror rather than glee. Beach of the Apocalypse. Small palms dig into eye sockets as Leech decides that he's going to become completely delirious if he does not get some sleep soon. He cranes his head from one side to the other, vertebrae snapping pleasantly, then slides out of bed. Opening the bedroom door with nary a squeak, he glances both ways down the hallway before spotting the open door to the softly illuminated bathroom. Scampering soundlessly into the ridiculously large restroom, he takes care of the necessities, then with an inward sigh heads back to his own room.
But he doesn't quite get there. Oh, he reaches the door, but just when he extends a hand for the doorknob inspiration strikes. Creeping across the hall, he cocks his head to place his ear close to Kellen's door. At first, only silence emanates from the room. After a moment, however, Leech overhears the tell-tale sound of a lighter being ignited. Grinning triumphantly to himself, he knocks quietly and pointlessly on the door, slipping in before Kellen has a chance to respond to the knock.
"Oh," Leech interjects as soon as he's a foot into the room. "This is much better."
The walls and ceiling are covered with posters, fliers, liner notes from both records and CDs, as well as photographs. The carpet, a dark blue, is somewhat visible but there is a pile of dirty laundry at the end of the bed, and a hamper of clean laundry next to the desk. The desk itself holds a PC, an unruly stack of CDs, a line of DVDs, a pair of textbooks with a notebook placed atop them, and other various items. A stereo sits atop a dresser, along with belts, braces, and even a shoe. The nightstand next to Kellen's full size bed is littered with old soda cans and beer bottles, many of which have been used as ashtrays. And Kellen is sprawled on his bed, burrowed under a single sheet, cigarette - no, a joint - hanging forgotten from his mouth, and he's staring dumbfounded at the man - the very, very partially clothed man - in the doorway. Leech finally regains some sense and gives the boy a relieved smile.
"Sorry," he offers. "To just barge in like this. That room - the guest room - was freakin' me out, I couldn' sleep. Everything's jus' so bright and blank an'…impersonal, it was driving me crazy."
Coming slowly back to life, Kellen gives a faint nod, remembers how to speak, and tears his gaze away from Leech. "Yeah, I know. I mean, it's all right. That painting scares the shit outta me, too."
Leech manages a soft laugh, prowling around the room now to inspect the various decorations. "I hope…that was an acquisition of yer ma's. Otherwise, Nick might wanna give some serious thought to his sexual orientation."
Kellen smirks, exhaling acrid pot smoke before speaking. "You tryin' to suggest he's a pansy and a pedophile?"
Turning to look at the boy in the bed, Leech grants him a suspicious, serious look. "Guess ya'd know better'n I would…"
"He's never crept in the middle of the night to watch me sleep, if that's what you're insinuating," Kellen responds playfully. "Or anything worse than that, neither."
"Well, I guess he did something right as a parent, then," Leech offers. He settles onto the edge of the bed, reaching a thin hand out for the joint, which Kellen passes to him promptly. Leech is wearing lace. Leech is wearing lace, and, Kellen thinks, it is not weird-looking. He isn't sure what that means. Leech takes a long, relieved drag, holding the smoke in his lungs long enough that an Olympic swimmer would be impressed.
"You know," Kellen starts, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice. "You can sleep in here, if you want. There's plenty of room."
Leech quirks an eyebrow, finally exhales the smoke. "Ya ain't afraid I'm gunna watch ya sleep, or somethin' worse?"
Kellen shrugs carelessly. "I'll take my chances."
Grinning crookedly, Leech hands the joint back. "Deal."
Kellen inches towards the wall to leave room for his brother to join him. There's a squirm in his gut that could be nervousness, excitement, or his dinner disagreeing with his beer. It is quite a relief when Leech shifts under the sheet, thereby covering that pale, near-nude, inked body and lacy ass, though. The man sighs comfortably as he burrows into the bed warmed by his brother's body heat, accepting the joint a moment later when Kellen offers it back.
"Ya hear Nick come home yet?" Kellen inquires, knowing it's a rather lame question but not having found anything earth-shattering to mention in his THC-muddled mind.
"Nah," Leech replies, voice tight as he holds in the smoke from his last hit. Once it's released, he asks in return. "He spend a lotta time at the bar?"
"Oh yeah," Kellen emphasizes. "I mean, whenever he ain't having his buddies here to drink."
"Drinks a lot, huh?"
Kellen nods, as his own voice is choked by smoke at the moment. More smoke clouds the air before he responds vocally. "It wasn't so bad, before. But once him and Ma started arguing, he started going out more…when she filed for divorce, he didn't even bother going to the bar. And now, with her gone, it's like he's…uh…what's the term? Mid-life crisis? Yeah, that. Started growing his hair out, quit his job at the firm to start the bike shop…wakes up and has a Miller for breakfast."
"Fabulous," Leech states flatly. "Guess it explains why he decided to hunt me down."
"Maybe so," Kellen agrees. The joint, a roach now, is burning his fingertips but he hesitates, uncertain. Once the burning becomes unbearable, he swallows his anxiousness back and sits up. Trying to avoid contact, he leans over Leech - who is so, so unclothed - to drop the remaining paper and weed into an empty soda can. The blankets shift as he begins to sit back, and he nearly shrieks when Leech's fingertips brush his chest. His eyes certainly grow a good deal wider.
But Leech is, benignly, tracing the tattoo covering Kellen's sternum. There's a look of concentrated interest as he fingers the hand grenade shaped like a heart. Kellen is frozen in place, but he manages to cover the shocked expression he's displaying, praying that Leech cannot feel the rush of blood suddenly pounding under the man's fingers as he wonders, frantically, why his heart has chosen this moment to go haywire. Apparently realizing what he's doing, Leech lets his hand drop back to his own chest and meets Kellen's eyes. His mouth is crooked into a comma of amusement.
"How'd ya manage to get that done?" Leech asks, the amusement mirrored in his gravelly tone. "Don' think anyone'd believe yer eighteen even with a fake ID."
"I uh…" Kellen stops, swallows to steady his voice. "Just…a friend of a friend. Doesn't ask for ID."
Nodding understandingly, Leech glances at the ink once more. "'s how I acquired most'a mine, too. In fact, don't think I've got more than two after I became legal."
Forcibly relaxing into his pillow, Kellen takes a couple silent, deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "Think your 'friend of a friend' was a little more talented than mine."
Lifting his left arm to look over the various art covering it, as if he's not seen it before, Leech hums. "Yeh…Dust's real good. Never understood why he didn' get work in a shop sooner, but I guess…well. He had his reasons to stay."
Kellen waits, but Leech doesn't elaborate on those reasons. The tone of his brother's voice suggests a world of things past, a reminiscing that is not entirely painless, and Kellen doubts that Leech would share much of that with him. After all, blood or not, they hardly knew each other. Instead, he continues in a harmless vein.
"Which one'd you get first?"
"Oh," Leech says, almost a laugh. "This. I almost panicked when he started doin' it, but after a minute I realized it wasn' so bad."
He's turned his head, tugging his ear forward to display three small stars placed behind it, following the curve of the appendage. Kellen inspects it for a moment, smirking. "You almost panicked over somethin' that small?"
"It wasn't the pain," Leech protests, looking back towards Kellen. "It's the needles. I hate 'em."
"So you just…suffered through, all of that?" he returns, looking over what he can see of Leech's brightly colored skin.
"Nah. Since the first wasn' so bad, I didn' mind most of the others - as long as I could look away. And Duster always told me, it's not a needle; it's a tiny pen writing under yer skin instead of on it. Sounds stupid, I know, but it helped."
"Makes sense," Kellen allows. "I have some others I wanna do, but I can't draw, and anyway I can't get anything that Dad can see. He'd flip."
"Yeah, I bet," Leech agrees. "But I also imagine, if Keiran got a full set of sleeves, he'd commend her for her originality."
Kellen snorts, ignoring a stab of jealousy that spikes in his stomach. "Hell, he'd pay for it all."
Leech does not miss the bitter tone this is said with, and pauses before continuing. "Thought Nick seemed to play favorites; first time I met him he hardly talked 'bout you at all."
He only gets a nod in response; Kellen turns his face to the wall and Leech decides not to push the subject, only adding. "There's lots more important things than excellin' in athletics an' getting scholarships to fifty zillion schools."
"But those more important things don't include skateboarding or playing guitar or videogames or knowing fifty zillion useless facts about the Clash," Kellen counters. His voice is tight. Leech regrets mentioning his sister at all - and, oddly, does not consider Keiran to be his sister, only Kellen's - and fights with himself for a moment on how best to counter the mistake.
"Well," he begins lamely. "Guess that depends on who's judging importance." He turns onto his side partially, to carefully reach over and curve his fingers around the back of Kellen's neck. That neck is more tense than Leech had expected, though he is not aware that's due in no small part to the fact that he is touching it, and his fingers deftly work the muscles in little, comforting circles.
Kellen has his eyes squeezed shut, trying but unable to stop the tenseness in every muscle that came with the caring and totally platonic touch from Leech. The man's words echo in his mind, and more than the words, the low, gruff, whiskey-shot tone they were spoken in. It has to be the most intimate sound he's ever heard, even more so than Heroin by the Velvet Underground; scratched at the ears but warmed in the tummy. And eventually, Kellen stops. Stops questioning himself. Stops grinding his teeth, and relaxes his appendages one by one, gives in. He lets himself enjoy the touch from his brother as if he were a part of himself, as if it were natural. He knows he can enjoy it only because he banishes his guilt; the longing for, maybe, more goes unspoken and still not entirely understood. If he has learned anything recently, it is that families are held together by the secrets they keep from each other, and even themselves, more than those they share. After a bit, the hand moves away and with a final sigh, Kellen returns to lying on his back.
"Sorry," he mutters belatedly. "'s just…ever since I can remember, it's like…fuck. I dunno, it's stupid."
"Not stupid 'cuz of you," Leech offers, that same tone again prickling Kellen's senses.
"I used to try, y'know? I tried to do better," Kellen continues as if Leech hadn't spoken. "But after a while it seemed so pointless. Keiran would get another award, for excellence in athletics, or rhetoric, or be put on some important bullshit list of academic superiority, and they'd lavish her in attention, throw her a party, whatever. And, y'know, compared to that - I study for fucking weeks and get a decent grade on a math test, so fucking what? It's just not worth fuckin' it."
Staring at the TSOL poster above the bed, Leech debates his reply. There is no easy response, particularly for one who never was concerned with living up to the expectations of any authority figure or guardian. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek, sighs, and then eventually speaks without looking at Kellen.
"I can draw arrite, sometimes…"
Turning, Kellen looks askance at Leech, and although Leech is not looking at him he can practically hear the question not spoken. So he replies. "I didn' mean to bring it up. Sorry."
"It's okay," Kellen says, uncertainly. "But…I mean, where's the shit I do well gunna get me? Keiran'll find some career that makes her tons of money, or become the CEO of her own company, and I'll…"
When Kellen doesn't continue, Leech finally turns to look at him with that crooked smile in place once more. "You'll do what ya want, an' mebbe you'll even be happy doin it. That's all anyone can hope for."
Kellen stares at him, uncertainly, somewhat disbelieving. Leech flutters a sigh and resists the urge to inch closer to Kellen, to comfort him more physically; he knows the longing is more selfish than selfless and in any case, does not need to tempt himself. This is his brother. He finds it necessary to remind himself of this occasionally.
"Don' worry 'bout what yer gunna find from the things you're exceptionally well at; just make sure whatever you find makes ya happy."
"Are you happy?" Kellen inquires impulsively.
Leech opens his mouth as if to answer, then shuts it promptly to chew at his cheek once more. Eventually, sneering, he replies. "That's a big question fer such a late hour."
Having regretted the question the second he asked it, Kellen is glad for the cop-out. "You're right. Didn't realize how late it had gotten."
"Tsk. An' a school night, too. Bad boy," Leech teases. Kellen idly flips him off, then, since Leech makes no move to, he sits up once more to reach over him. He switches the lamp off, and his hand accidentally brushes Leech's shoulder as he returns to his own side of the bed. He feels Leech shiver, suppressing one in response himself.
It is not an accident when Leech reaches across the bed to ruffle Kellen's hair affectionately, nor is it thoughtless. "'night, Killer. Thanks fer savin' me from the children on the beach of the apocalypse."
Kellen laughs quietly for the analogy, murmuring in return. "Sure thing. Goodnight…bro."
The term causes a corner of Leech's mouth to quirk up; it seems as unnatural as it is unusual. But somehow, it does not bother him. And the warmth of his brother at his side doesn't bother him either, and there are no exuberant, terrifying children staring down from the walls, no vibrant red lights making his closed eyelids pointless, and he soon falls asleep. It takes Kellen a considerably longer amount of time to doze, but it is a sacrifice he's willing to make.
Part 2 - seriously
by Nihilism
*Note that this has been rewritten. Much of it is the same but the whole, I think, is subtler than it was and in general more to my liking.
When Nick informs Kellen some weeks later that Leech agreed to spend some time with them, he is shocked to realize he feels a little panicky. Kellen has never been one to be concerned by what other people, especially family, thought of him. On the contrary, he rather delighted in offending people. But with his new brother's arrival looming ever closer, Kellen finds he is unusually self-conscious. He begins showering regularly, taking extra care in his clothing and with his hair and make-up. He cleans his room, for fuck's sake, hiding or trashing all of his embarrassing CDs, posters, and other items - particularly that framed photo from his third grade class that his mother had loved so much. He should have thrown that out years ago, he muses. He doesn't really think Leech would tease him if he sees the Green Day poster, for instance, but he makes sure it is out of sight all the same. The need to impress Leech is rather confusing to him; the only other person whose opinion he's ever been faintly concerned with is Jimmy. But that was understandable; Jimmy is crass and does not censor himself. Leech has been nothing if not accommodating to Kellen's…differentness…even if he does occasionally seem amused by the boy, at moments that seem completely inappropriate for amusement
The truth is, he likes Leech, though he had not expected to. He is family; he should be hated for that alone, but Kellen likes him. Really, it is more than that. In the restaurant when they'd first met, Kellen's eyes had locked on Leech's form the second the man walked through the door, like a sniper zeroing in on a target. His petite form belies a very large and powerful presence. His careless style cloaks an intelligent mind and quick wit. With his height, smooth face, and especially that bright hair, one could easily mistake him for a much younger person. But his eyes, wide and clear and the perfect, palest shade of blue, show upon closer inspection a personal perception of pain and deep wisdom learned by many tragic life lessons. Closer inspection makes Leech seem older than his years.
Even when Leech had approached their table and Kellen realized who he must be, the younger boy couldn't look away. With Leech watching him in return, and knowing without a doubt that this was his brother, Kellen still couldn't tamp down his interest, though the keen way Leech observed him in his turn made Kellen want to look away, and he did not know what to make of it. He felt wrong-footed, moreso than he can ever remember being before; felt at once diminished and blindingly illuminated by the spotlight that was Leech's eyes. Just what was illuminated by those first few wordless moments, he has not yet decided to inspect.
So when the day arrives, Kellen is waiting faux-casually in the den and watching a movie he's seen thousands of times before - Suburbia. He startles at every sound that could be a car approaching. Nick, on the other hand, is undoubtedly in the garage and pretending to tune up one of his motorcycles, but really just getting an early start on getting drunk.
The boy had been extra careful with his appearance today, though he knows it is pointless. He wears well-worn, black Dickies, held at his hips by a studded belt and the virtue of blind trust. His torso is encased in a black T-shirt bearing the Blood for Blood legend on front, 'Royalty in Exile' on the back; the sleeves are ripped off and a few accidental cigarette burns add character. Though it is early summer and quite warm outside, the air conditioning makes the house chilly enough that he's added a plain, black, zip-up hoodie over this. His feet don his beloved eight-eye black Doc Martens, shined just the previous night. His hair is perfectly coifed: sticking straight out from his head on all sides - a careless look that took him half an hour to achieve. His intense sea green eyes are ringed thickly in smudged black liner.
Not seldom does he admonish himself for this preparation and these nerves. What does it matter how he looks, how he appears? Leech spends his life with a miasma of delinquents; to him, Kellen is undoubtedly just one of the many.
This having been decided once again, Kellen sinks so deeply into a temporary ennui that he does not hear Leech's car pull into the driveway. He cannot entirely be blamed for this, as the classic Stingray is always tuned so precisely that it barely purrs. He does, however, hear the front door open. Leech, figuring he's part of the 'family' and that he can take such liberties as entering without a knock, does so - and the boy straightens from his slumped position, ears perking.
Leech paces a ways into the darkened entrance hall, his size six boots noiseless on the expensive, hand-cut Italian tile. Peers around uncertainly, then calls out. "'Lo? Anyone here?"
Kellen stands, then again abruptly sits. Arranges himself in a careful lounging position before yelling in return. "In the den! Down the hall, to your right past the stairs."
Following these instructions, and denying any anxious feelings of his own, Leech finds and pokes his head into the doorway of the mentioned den. The rest of the abode that he's passed is spotless and silent, like a museum, but this room is comfortably cluttered. Spotting the fuzzy back of his brother's head, he traipses the rest of the way in, rounds the couch. Now, Kellen decides, is the acceptable time to stand. He turns to face Leech, unable to keep a small grin from forming, and offers his right hand in greeting. "Hey."
"'Ey, yerself," Leech responds. He grasps the offered hand with his own, but rather than shaking it, yanks to pull the boy into a warm hug. Kellen wraps his thin arms around Leech in return, resting his cheek against an emaciated shoulder, and the small grin grows. "Glad to see ya."
"You, too," Kellen amends. They hold on to each other for a moment longer before releasing, and Leech steps a foot or so back, looks Kellen over.
"Ya look great."
The simple compliment warms Kellen more than it should. Dumbly, he replies. "You, too."
With a rueful laugh, Leech shakes his head in denial, scraping a long-fingered hand through his wilted Mohawk. "Appreciate yer insincerity," he responds with a smirk. "No one looks great after a week of final exams, not to mention organizin' shit so everyone gets shipped back where they're s'posed to be."
"Your school's already out?" Kellen questions, waving to the couch in offering. "Bitch! I still got another week." He can't help but think that, despite Leech's claims, he does look quite fantastic. His Mohawk may be wilted, but still as vibrantly pink as ever and he dons a denim vest plastered with band patches, and a pair of black bondage pants that are far too tight to be legal, along with oxblood boots, a collar, and leather arm braces. He is beautiful, and though Kellen is quite certain he's never seen a man he could apply that term to before; is quite certain that term ought not to be applied to any man, even one who barely tops five feet and moves with the grace of a gazelle.
Leech gracefully and casually drops onto the offered couch and leans back, groaning pleasantly, before turning his gaze to the TV. "Suburbia? Didn' think anyone under thirty knew about this movie."
"You know it," Kellen points out, taking a seat on the couch near Leech - but not as near as he would like.
"Touché," Leech submits with a crooked grin. "Duster introduced me to it when I was, oh, fifteen or so…I loved it then. Now I can't help but laugh at the horrible acting."
"It is pretty horrible," Kellen agrees. He doesn't have to ask who 'Duster' is; he and Leech had had plenty of time to talk after their father ditched them at the hotel, and he'd learned a lot about Leech's past; how he'd grown up; and where he is now in his life. Duster is the man responsible for all the tattoos Leech sports, and a close friend of Leech's 'Daddy.' Kellen had also been pleased when Leech had ordered a few bottles of Guinness from room service for him. Nick hadn't returned until they were both asleep. "I guess such a drama aficionado as yourself would be even more offended."
Leech laughs for that, a gruff sound that nonetheless sounds musical to Kellen. "I wouldn' say I'm an aficionado…more like, theater instructor by necessity. They couldn' find anyone else to take the job."
Despite Kellen's earlier trepidation about Leech's arrival, he's finding that it is easy to slip back into the casual banter they'd established that night at the hotel. He still feels a little jittery, but nothing so serious as what the waiting had bred. In fact, he's becoming quite content now that the initial re-meeting has passed. But of course, it has to be ruined.
Nick swaggers in from the garage, beer bottle in hand, already looking vaguely tipsy. "Hey!" he declares loudly. "I thought I heard a car pull up."
Leech side-glances at the man, leaving no room for doubt about how he feels about his arrival. "Guess ya don' need a hearin' aid just yet, in that case." He doesn't stand to greet him, or even lift a hand for Nick to shake.
"Not yet," Nick responds happily, completely ignoring Leech's flat tone. "I wasn't sure when you were headed up here, and I already made plans for tonight - I hope you don't mind?"
"Not at all," Leech assures him. "Best ya get back to warmin' up for the night." He nods towards the beer in Nick's hand, giving a thin smile. It's an obvious dismissal, and while Nick would like to argue it, a look between the pair of his sons on the couch is enough to assure him that he'd be better off elsewhere. He rolls his eyes and departs the way he came.
Leaning back into the couch and once again focusing on the television, it takes Leech a moment to notice the look of awe his little brother is directing his way. Once he does notice, he twists his head to the side, cocking an eyebrow. "Wha?"
"That was…amazing," Kellen informs him. "The way ya just…sent him off like that."
Leech gives a crooked grin and a soft shrug. "It's a talent."
"Can it be taught?" Kellen inquires hopefully.
The grin spreads to a small, but sincere smile. "I guess we'll find out, yeh?"
Dinner that evening is a rather uncomfortable affair, as any benign conversation Nick attempted to bring up is twisted into an insult by Leech, a habit Kellen is all too quick to pick up on. Trying not to lose his temper, Nick maybe drank more than he typically would - which is saying quite a lot - and soon vacated the dining room in favor of heading to the bar to meet his buds. Kellen is finding that Leech is a delightful addition to his screwed-up family. And Leech, in his turn, is finding that he may just dislike Nick more now than when he did not know him and therefore hated him passionately for abandoning him as a child. The man is not particularly rude, or unintelligent, he is merely frustratingly normal. He is interested in sports, and motorcycles. He liked women with large breasts and low IQs - leaving Leech to wonder how he had ever gotten involved with Lorena - and had very, very little esteem for his second son. That, without a doubt, is the thing that annoyed Leech most; Kellen is obviously smart and had a good sense of humor, but his unique way of thinking and that very sense of humor seemed to grate on Nick's nerves. Which in turn grated on Leech's nerves.
Overall, Leech is fairly sure he won't be able to stand staying in this household for more than a few days. He's glad he didn't agree to any specific length of time.
Later on, after further easy companionship in the den, Kellen retires to start on some of his homework - "Pointless," he'd claimed. "Only a week of school left and they really expect me to care about this shit." - and Leech, left with only the television for possible company, instead retreats to the guest room he's been assigned to. It is a horribly blank room, the walls done in off-white and yellow wallpaper, the furnishings and decorations reflecting this color scheme. For a few hours Leech manages to avoid looking at anything in the room by turning off the lights and watching Firefly DVDs on his laptop.
As he starts to change the first disc out for the second, he realizes that the house has become completely quiet. No television noise comes from the den downstairs, and no loud street-punk emanates from Kellen's bedroom, directly across the hall. Glancing at the clock on his laptop, Leech is surprised to find that it's already after midnight. He decides that the more time he spends here asleep, the better, and therefore shuts the machine down and sets it on the white wicker bedside table. After downing a couple Xanax and smoking a final cigarette, he strips down to his rather feminine boy-cut underwear and slides between the lemon-colored sheets.
The room is quite a bit brighter than he is used to, even at this late hour. Large windows dot two of the walls, and the alarm clock nearby seems to blare police-red light across the entire ceiling. Leech tries for a while to block this out by burying his face against his pillows, and it works, until he realizes that sleeping while near-suffocating is an impossibility. Flips onto his side and takes a deep breath, only to discover that the crimson floods his vision even with his eyelids closed. Grunting his displeasure, Leech twists to flump onto his back, throwing his right arm over his eyes as his left blindly searches out the pack of cigarettes and lights another.
This pattern continues for quite some time, until Leech is near to screaming in frustration. He sits up in bed abruptly, glaring straight ahead at a whimsical painting of children running carefree on the beach. The painting is overshadowed by red, giving it an ominous cast. As if those children's mouths are open in horror rather than glee. Beach of the Apocalypse. Small palms dig into eye sockets as Leech decides that he's going to become completely delirious if he does not get some sleep soon. He cranes his head from one side to the other, vertebrae snapping pleasantly, then slides out of bed. Opening the bedroom door with nary a squeak, he glances both ways down the hallway before spotting the open door to the softly illuminated bathroom. Scampering soundlessly into the ridiculously large restroom, he takes care of the necessities, then with an inward sigh heads back to his own room.
But he doesn't quite get there. Oh, he reaches the door, but just when he extends a hand for the doorknob inspiration strikes. Creeping across the hall, he cocks his head to place his ear close to Kellen's door. At first, only silence emanates from the room. After a moment, however, Leech overhears the tell-tale sound of a lighter being ignited. Grinning triumphantly to himself, he knocks quietly and pointlessly on the door, slipping in before Kellen has a chance to respond to the knock.
"Oh," Leech interjects as soon as he's a foot into the room. "This is much better."
The walls and ceiling are covered with posters, fliers, liner notes from both records and CDs, as well as photographs. The carpet, a dark blue, is somewhat visible but there is a pile of dirty laundry at the end of the bed, and a hamper of clean laundry next to the desk. The desk itself holds a PC, an unruly stack of CDs, a line of DVDs, a pair of textbooks with a notebook placed atop them, and other various items. A stereo sits atop a dresser, along with belts, braces, and even a shoe. The nightstand next to Kellen's full size bed is littered with old soda cans and beer bottles, many of which have been used as ashtrays. And Kellen is sprawled on his bed, burrowed under a single sheet, cigarette - no, a joint - hanging forgotten from his mouth, and he's staring dumbfounded at the man - the very, very partially clothed man - in the doorway. Leech finally regains some sense and gives the boy a relieved smile.
"Sorry," he offers. "To just barge in like this. That room - the guest room - was freakin' me out, I couldn' sleep. Everything's jus' so bright and blank an'…impersonal, it was driving me crazy."
Coming slowly back to life, Kellen gives a faint nod, remembers how to speak, and tears his gaze away from Leech. "Yeah, I know. I mean, it's all right. That painting scares the shit outta me, too."
Leech manages a soft laugh, prowling around the room now to inspect the various decorations. "I hope…that was an acquisition of yer ma's. Otherwise, Nick might wanna give some serious thought to his sexual orientation."
Kellen smirks, exhaling acrid pot smoke before speaking. "You tryin' to suggest he's a pansy and a pedophile?"
Turning to look at the boy in the bed, Leech grants him a suspicious, serious look. "Guess ya'd know better'n I would…"
"He's never crept in the middle of the night to watch me sleep, if that's what you're insinuating," Kellen responds playfully. "Or anything worse than that, neither."
"Well, I guess he did something right as a parent, then," Leech offers. He settles onto the edge of the bed, reaching a thin hand out for the joint, which Kellen passes to him promptly. Leech is wearing lace. Leech is wearing lace, and, Kellen thinks, it is not weird-looking. He isn't sure what that means. Leech takes a long, relieved drag, holding the smoke in his lungs long enough that an Olympic swimmer would be impressed.
"You know," Kellen starts, trying to keep the uncertainty out of his voice. "You can sleep in here, if you want. There's plenty of room."
Leech quirks an eyebrow, finally exhales the smoke. "Ya ain't afraid I'm gunna watch ya sleep, or somethin' worse?"
Kellen shrugs carelessly. "I'll take my chances."
Grinning crookedly, Leech hands the joint back. "Deal."
Kellen inches towards the wall to leave room for his brother to join him. There's a squirm in his gut that could be nervousness, excitement, or his dinner disagreeing with his beer. It is quite a relief when Leech shifts under the sheet, thereby covering that pale, near-nude, inked body and lacy ass, though. The man sighs comfortably as he burrows into the bed warmed by his brother's body heat, accepting the joint a moment later when Kellen offers it back.
"Ya hear Nick come home yet?" Kellen inquires, knowing it's a rather lame question but not having found anything earth-shattering to mention in his THC-muddled mind.
"Nah," Leech replies, voice tight as he holds in the smoke from his last hit. Once it's released, he asks in return. "He spend a lotta time at the bar?"
"Oh yeah," Kellen emphasizes. "I mean, whenever he ain't having his buddies here to drink."
"Drinks a lot, huh?"
Kellen nods, as his own voice is choked by smoke at the moment. More smoke clouds the air before he responds vocally. "It wasn't so bad, before. But once him and Ma started arguing, he started going out more…when she filed for divorce, he didn't even bother going to the bar. And now, with her gone, it's like he's…uh…what's the term? Mid-life crisis? Yeah, that. Started growing his hair out, quit his job at the firm to start the bike shop…wakes up and has a Miller for breakfast."
"Fabulous," Leech states flatly. "Guess it explains why he decided to hunt me down."
"Maybe so," Kellen agrees. The joint, a roach now, is burning his fingertips but he hesitates, uncertain. Once the burning becomes unbearable, he swallows his anxiousness back and sits up. Trying to avoid contact, he leans over Leech - who is so, so unclothed - to drop the remaining paper and weed into an empty soda can. The blankets shift as he begins to sit back, and he nearly shrieks when Leech's fingertips brush his chest. His eyes certainly grow a good deal wider.
But Leech is, benignly, tracing the tattoo covering Kellen's sternum. There's a look of concentrated interest as he fingers the hand grenade shaped like a heart. Kellen is frozen in place, but he manages to cover the shocked expression he's displaying, praying that Leech cannot feel the rush of blood suddenly pounding under the man's fingers as he wonders, frantically, why his heart has chosen this moment to go haywire. Apparently realizing what he's doing, Leech lets his hand drop back to his own chest and meets Kellen's eyes. His mouth is crooked into a comma of amusement.
"How'd ya manage to get that done?" Leech asks, the amusement mirrored in his gravelly tone. "Don' think anyone'd believe yer eighteen even with a fake ID."
"I uh…" Kellen stops, swallows to steady his voice. "Just…a friend of a friend. Doesn't ask for ID."
Nodding understandingly, Leech glances at the ink once more. "'s how I acquired most'a mine, too. In fact, don't think I've got more than two after I became legal."
Forcibly relaxing into his pillow, Kellen takes a couple silent, deep breaths to calm his racing heart. "Think your 'friend of a friend' was a little more talented than mine."
Lifting his left arm to look over the various art covering it, as if he's not seen it before, Leech hums. "Yeh…Dust's real good. Never understood why he didn' get work in a shop sooner, but I guess…well. He had his reasons to stay."
Kellen waits, but Leech doesn't elaborate on those reasons. The tone of his brother's voice suggests a world of things past, a reminiscing that is not entirely painless, and Kellen doubts that Leech would share much of that with him. After all, blood or not, they hardly knew each other. Instead, he continues in a harmless vein.
"Which one'd you get first?"
"Oh," Leech says, almost a laugh. "This. I almost panicked when he started doin' it, but after a minute I realized it wasn' so bad."
He's turned his head, tugging his ear forward to display three small stars placed behind it, following the curve of the appendage. Kellen inspects it for a moment, smirking. "You almost panicked over somethin' that small?"
"It wasn't the pain," Leech protests, looking back towards Kellen. "It's the needles. I hate 'em."
"So you just…suffered through, all of that?" he returns, looking over what he can see of Leech's brightly colored skin.
"Nah. Since the first wasn' so bad, I didn' mind most of the others - as long as I could look away. And Duster always told me, it's not a needle; it's a tiny pen writing under yer skin instead of on it. Sounds stupid, I know, but it helped."
"Makes sense," Kellen allows. "I have some others I wanna do, but I can't draw, and anyway I can't get anything that Dad can see. He'd flip."
"Yeah, I bet," Leech agrees. "But I also imagine, if Keiran got a full set of sleeves, he'd commend her for her originality."
Kellen snorts, ignoring a stab of jealousy that spikes in his stomach. "Hell, he'd pay for it all."
Leech does not miss the bitter tone this is said with, and pauses before continuing. "Thought Nick seemed to play favorites; first time I met him he hardly talked 'bout you at all."
He only gets a nod in response; Kellen turns his face to the wall and Leech decides not to push the subject, only adding. "There's lots more important things than excellin' in athletics an' getting scholarships to fifty zillion schools."
"But those more important things don't include skateboarding or playing guitar or videogames or knowing fifty zillion useless facts about the Clash," Kellen counters. His voice is tight. Leech regrets mentioning his sister at all - and, oddly, does not consider Keiran to be his sister, only Kellen's - and fights with himself for a moment on how best to counter the mistake.
"Well," he begins lamely. "Guess that depends on who's judging importance." He turns onto his side partially, to carefully reach over and curve his fingers around the back of Kellen's neck. That neck is more tense than Leech had expected, though he is not aware that's due in no small part to the fact that he is touching it, and his fingers deftly work the muscles in little, comforting circles.
Kellen has his eyes squeezed shut, trying but unable to stop the tenseness in every muscle that came with the caring and totally platonic touch from Leech. The man's words echo in his mind, and more than the words, the low, gruff, whiskey-shot tone they were spoken in. It has to be the most intimate sound he's ever heard, even more so than Heroin by the Velvet Underground; scratched at the ears but warmed in the tummy. And eventually, Kellen stops. Stops questioning himself. Stops grinding his teeth, and relaxes his appendages one by one, gives in. He lets himself enjoy the touch from his brother as if he were a part of himself, as if it were natural. He knows he can enjoy it only because he banishes his guilt; the longing for, maybe, more goes unspoken and still not entirely understood. If he has learned anything recently, it is that families are held together by the secrets they keep from each other, and even themselves, more than those they share. After a bit, the hand moves away and with a final sigh, Kellen returns to lying on his back.
"Sorry," he mutters belatedly. "'s just…ever since I can remember, it's like…fuck. I dunno, it's stupid."
"Not stupid 'cuz of you," Leech offers, that same tone again prickling Kellen's senses.
"I used to try, y'know? I tried to do better," Kellen continues as if Leech hadn't spoken. "But after a while it seemed so pointless. Keiran would get another award, for excellence in athletics, or rhetoric, or be put on some important bullshit list of academic superiority, and they'd lavish her in attention, throw her a party, whatever. And, y'know, compared to that - I study for fucking weeks and get a decent grade on a math test, so fucking what? It's just not worth fuckin' it."
Staring at the TSOL poster above the bed, Leech debates his reply. There is no easy response, particularly for one who never was concerned with living up to the expectations of any authority figure or guardian. He gnaws on the inside of his cheek, sighs, and then eventually speaks without looking at Kellen.
"I can draw arrite, sometimes…"
Turning, Kellen looks askance at Leech, and although Leech is not looking at him he can practically hear the question not spoken. So he replies. "I didn' mean to bring it up. Sorry."
"It's okay," Kellen says, uncertainly. "But…I mean, where's the shit I do well gunna get me? Keiran'll find some career that makes her tons of money, or become the CEO of her own company, and I'll…"
When Kellen doesn't continue, Leech finally turns to look at him with that crooked smile in place once more. "You'll do what ya want, an' mebbe you'll even be happy doin it. That's all anyone can hope for."
Kellen stares at him, uncertainly, somewhat disbelieving. Leech flutters a sigh and resists the urge to inch closer to Kellen, to comfort him more physically; he knows the longing is more selfish than selfless and in any case, does not need to tempt himself. This is his brother. He finds it necessary to remind himself of this occasionally.
"Don' worry 'bout what yer gunna find from the things you're exceptionally well at; just make sure whatever you find makes ya happy."
"Are you happy?" Kellen inquires impulsively.
Leech opens his mouth as if to answer, then shuts it promptly to chew at his cheek once more. Eventually, sneering, he replies. "That's a big question fer such a late hour."
Having regretted the question the second he asked it, Kellen is glad for the cop-out. "You're right. Didn't realize how late it had gotten."
"Tsk. An' a school night, too. Bad boy," Leech teases. Kellen idly flips him off, then, since Leech makes no move to, he sits up once more to reach over him. He switches the lamp off, and his hand accidentally brushes Leech's shoulder as he returns to his own side of the bed. He feels Leech shiver, suppressing one in response himself.
It is not an accident when Leech reaches across the bed to ruffle Kellen's hair affectionately, nor is it thoughtless. "'night, Killer. Thanks fer savin' me from the children on the beach of the apocalypse."
Kellen laughs quietly for the analogy, murmuring in return. "Sure thing. Goodnight…bro."
The term causes a corner of Leech's mouth to quirk up; it seems as unnatural as it is unusual. But somehow, it does not bother him. And the warmth of his brother at his side doesn't bother him either, and there are no exuberant, terrifying children staring down from the walls, no vibrant red lights making his closed eyelids pointless, and he soon falls asleep. It takes Kellen a considerably longer amount of time to doze, but it is a sacrifice he's willing to make.