EIGHTEEN (II)

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   Vincent sat on Ethan's bed, waiting patiently as he watched the boy pace. "Listen, I know you're supposed to wait until Christmas morning, or whatever, but it's two A.M. That's basically the same thing...right?"

   They'd been in the room for about fifteen minutes, and Ethan had yet to show Vincent the thing he dragged him away from the living room for. At first, the boy was excited, but seeing how nervous Ethan was, had him slightly scared. 

   Was Ethan about to show him a dead body?

   Ethan took a deep breath before turning around and walking into his closet. He rummaged around for a few minutes, then returned with a small, blue box. Vincent raised an eyebrow skeptically.

   "Before you say anything, this isn't your actual gift. It's just—I don't know—a little something special? That sounded corny," Ethan grimaced as he dropped the box in Vincent's lap. "Look, it's stupid, I know. It's also not very good, but I tried, okay?"

   Vincent was beyond confused. He didn't know what to make of Ethan's words, so instead, he turned his attention to the box. Tentatively—he was still worried it would be an explosion of some sort—he opened it, setting the lid aside.

   Slowly, he picked the sketch paper up, inspecting it closely. Letting out a gasp, he almost couldn't believe what he was seeing. He ran his fingers across it gently, trying to carve the texture into his memory. It was, hands down, the most thoughtful thing anyone had ever done for him. 

   "Ethan," he whispered. "Did you paint this?"

    Ethan nodded shyly. "Yeah, I mean...It's the Starry Night, and—and you're Van Gogh, get it? I thought it would be cute..." he rambled self-consciously.

   "Is that supposed to be us?" Vincent asked, pointing to the little boys on the cliff. 

   "Remember the first time you came over? When we looked at the stars with my telescope? Yeah..." his voice sounded small. "Sorry it's not that great," he scratched the back of his neck awkwardly. 

   "Yeah, it's not great," Vincent agreed, and Ethan silently winced. Ouch.

   "It's perfect," he corrected, turning to face Ethan. "And I'm not just saying that. This is the best gift I've ever received. No one's ever put so much thought and work into giving me something. This is just...wow. I really don't know what to say, Ethan."

   Ethan blushed, smiling bashfully. "I'm glad you like it. Took me ages."

   Before Ethan knew what was happening, Vincent had wrapped his arms around the jock's neck and embraced him. Ethan froze for a second, then circled Vincent's waist and hugged him back. "I love it," his voice was muffled against Ethan's skin. "Thank you."

   Vincent pulled back, only so he could appreciate the painting some more. Honestly, for someone who had as little experience with painting as Ethan did, it was pretty impressive. Sure, the strokes might have been a bit too thick and the stars weren't perfect, but at least it looked somewhat similar to the original. 

   "Okay, so it's great and all, but I just have one question," Vincent broke the silence. Ethan hummed in response before the boy continued, "Why does your head look like a melon?"

   Ethan shoved Vincent's shoulder playfully as the latter erupted into a fit of teasing chuckles. Though Ethan was embarrassed, he was still smiling and couldn't really find it in him to be offended. Not when he knew all along that it wasn't phenomenal.

   Instead, he joined in on the fun. "I thought you were going to ask why the stars look like eggs. Sunny side up, am I right?"

   This made Vincent laugh harder, hard enough that his stomach started to hurt. He leaned his head against Ethan's shoulder and smiled up at the boy, who was already looking down on him with a matching grin.

   Somehow, they found themselves leaning into one another, gazes trained to each other's lips. Right before they could touch, though, Ethan's eyes went wide, and he flinched away from Vincent. The sudden movement seemed to also bring the other boy back to reality, because he lowered his head, trying to hide his hurt expression.

   "I—I need to go grab some water!" Ethan blurted out, rushing out of the room. Once the door was shut behind him, he leaned against it, letting a stream of muttered curses flow from his mouth. He buried his face in his hands, moving to tug at his hair out of frustration.

   Why did he have to be such a fucking coward? 

   He couldn't even kiss the boy he liked, without literally running away. His head was—once again—waging war, caging him in what seemed to be eternal turmoil. Naturally, he did the one thing anyone as pathetic as him would do: he ran to his mommy.

   When Ethan got to the living room, Steven was nowhere to be seen, but Stephanie was still scarfing down popcorn—must've been her fourth bowl—but had switched from Christmas movies to a bad soap-opera. She looked up when she heard Ethan, smile immediately dropping once she saw his face.

   "Baby? What's wrong?" she moved the enormous bowl of popcorn from her lap, opening her arms to Ethan who crawled into her with no shame. He buried his head in her chest as she rubbed his back soothingly, waiting for him to speak. 

   "Your son's a fucking pussy; that's what's wrong," he muttered.

   "Hey!" she scolded, partly because of his language and partly because he was being self-deprecating. "Why would you say that?"

   "Because I run away from everything," he grumbled. "Even things I really want."

   "Is this about Vincent?" she asked softly, sighing when she saw him nod. "What happened?"

   "We almost kissed," he admitted, cheeks growing hot. "But then I ran away from him. Again."

   She raised an eyebrow. "Again?"

   Ethan sighed, rolling his eyes. "When I was at his place...I kissed him...And then I freaked out, yelled some nasty things at him, and ran. That's all I ever do. Run."

   "But what are you running from?"

   "I don't know, Mom. It's just, every time I'm around him, I always end up hurting him. I try to apologize, and even I can tell it's half-assed, but he's so sweet that he always forgives me. I don't even think he knows how bad I feel."

   "Why don't you tell him, then?" she suggested.

   "Because—Because what if I just end up hurting him again?"

   Stephanie sighed. "Listen, Ethan. I know you. I know when you truly care about someone, and I know when it's just a fling. You wanna know why I liked Vincent so much the first time I met him?" He nodded. "Because, even though you were still in denial, I could see how much he meant to you. And so if you don't want to hurt him, then you totally have the power to do that. I didn't raise you to intentionally hurt anyone, let alone the people you care about, did I?"

   "But that's the thing!" he protested, looking at the verge of tears. "It's never intentional! I just—I get these random bursts of anger, and my head gets all twisted up and I never know what to do or feel, so I just snap at him. Then I realize what I'm doing and I feel really bad, but, by then, the damage is already done."

   "So let's think about it. All the times you've gotten angry and hurt Vincent—why? What was the reason?"

   Ethan took a minute before he started talking, "I guess, at first, it was because he's a boy and I knew I liked him but I didn't wanna admit it, so I tried to push him away," he said. "But, now, I don't care that he's a boy anymore. I like him so much, Mom, but I know I don't deserve him. I know I'm just gonna hurt him, and I'm so scared of getting too close, or maybe—maybe..."

   "Or maybe he'll hurt you?" she finished.

   He nodded, his eyes prickling. "Maybe he'll realize I'm not worth it, realize he'll always be too good for me. And then he'd leave me. Just like that."

   Truth was, Ethan had never allowed himself to be vulnerable. Sure, he'd been with a lot of people—some he actually liked, for that matter—but whenever he'd feel himself starting to care a bit too much, he'd up and leave them. He'd never trusted anyone to hold so much power over him, and he'd lived his entire life thinking he never would.

   But then, a certain blue-eyed boy waltzed into his life and messed all of that up for him. Suddenly, Ethan wasn't sure what he wanted, and that terrified him. Ethan was always sure. And so, naturally, he wanted to push the source of discomfort out of his life. And it worked. For only a little while.

   What quickly proved to be a fatal error in his plan was that his 'source of discomfort' was also one of the only things in his life that brought him true joy. And so his brain battled: between wanting to push away all signs of potential danger and wanting to hold onto the delicious happiness it brought him.

   Vincent was just so amazing: cute and witty and funny and talented. Ethan, on the other hand, was none of those things. Sure, he was the popular quarterback, but he had nothing else going for him. He was good at football, maybe, but he didn't like it enough to want to pursue it professionally. He didn't have school smarts, street smarts, or any smarts. Why would anyone want him? 

   Stephanie retracted her embrace so she could look Ethan in the eye. "I know what's going on up there," she tapped his head. "Stop it. You are worth it, baby. And not just because I'm your mom. You're loving and caring and passionate and funny and determined and handsome," she listed. "Sweet—when you want to be. And I'm sure Vincent sees all of that in you. Otherwise, he wouldn't be upstairs waiting for you, not after you hurt him."

   Ethan sighed, "...I guess so..."

   "I know so," she asserted. "I get it, he holds so much power over you, and it's scary, I know. But without our vulnerability, would we even be human? Would anything be real? We've got to be raw sometimes, otherwise, we're going to shrink in on ourselves and we'll never find a way out. You won't even know who you are, if you spend your whole life pretending. Sure, opening up might screw us over, might break our hearts, but how else will we learn? How else will we love and grow and start families? How else can we better ourselves? Your vulnerability doesn't make you weak, baby. It makes you human. It makes you beautiful."

   Ethan was speechless, he couldn't formulate coherent thoughts, but he didn't need to, because his tears had already begun falling. "I'm so sorry..." 

   He didn't know what he was apologizing for, only felt that he needed to get that off his chest. Stephanie shook her head. "I'm not the one you should be saying that to. There's a beautiful boy up there—probably worried out of his mind thinking he did something wrong. Are you gonna make it up to him?"

   Ethan nodded. He was tired of running, tired of not being able to catch his breath. He wiped at his face, making a move to stand up. He couldn't get far, though, because Stephanie grabbed his arm and pulled him back. Confused, he felt her place something in his hand. Smiling cheekily, she added, "This might come in handy."

   Ethan chuckled, shaking his head. "You know I love you, right?"

   When Ethan stepped back in his room, Vincent—who had been pacing—rushed over to him frantically. "Listen, Ethan, I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have—"

   "Stop," Ethan interrupted, effectively silencing him. "You have nothing to apologize for."

   "But—"

   "Can you close your eyes for a second?" Ethan asked. Vincent raised a suspicious eyebrow, but did as he was told nonetheless. Ethan took a step closer and raised the hand that was holding Stephanie's gift, allowing the ornament to dangle above their heads. Then, "Open your eyes."

   Vincent's attention was instantaneously drawn to Ethan's hand above his head, that he didn't notice how close the other boy was. Ethan admired Vincent's face, watching as his reaction changed from confusion to understanding then shock. He finally looked back at Ethan, a silent question dancing behind his bright eyes. Before Ethan could talk himself out of it, he whispered,

   "You're under the mistletoe." Then he kissed him.


special thanks to @sadening for the amazing painting.  


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