The Connection

The alarm didn’t wake him up today.

Usually the obnoxious tweeting from his cell blared for a whole fifteen minutes before he pressed snooze. But today, the smoky, almost burn pork smell of bacon jarred him from sleep. This was really odd. He reached for his phone in the dusky gray light of his bedroom, and then squinted at the too bright screen. It was nearly seven. His mother should be gone by now. Unless she had another manger take her shift at Common Grounds… but why? And why bacon? That was a sometimes food… reserved only for holidays and special occasions. Like Christmas and the first day of school and birthdays.

Oh.

Avery looked through beady, sleep crusted eyes at his phone’s face. In front of the Batman wallpaper the date was clear in tiny white letters, September 26th. Avery buried his face into his pillow, ignoring the tiny wet spot of his own saliva. Now that he was awake, he could feel the acute pain underneath his messy mop of dark hair, right at the crown of his head. He rolled his sleep stiffened shoulders, causing the down comforter to slip. He immediately regretted that decision, as a sharp, jagged pain shot through his shoulder blade. He groaned against his pillow, both from pain and from pure exhaustion. Which was pretty fucking sad, the day hadn’t even really began. He ignored the stabbing jolts in his shoulder, pulling the blankets back over his head. Maybe if he lay here, no one notice him. No, they definitely would. Who would drive Quinn to school? From below the three layers of blankets, he heard the bedroom door squeak open. Probably his mother.

“Rise and Shine, Asshole!”

Okay, defiantly not his mother.

“You’d better not let Mom hear you. It’d break her fragile heart to hear her little girl’s sailor talk.” His voice is muffled beneath his nest of blankets, and he’s pretty sure that his little sister can’t hear him, anyway.

“Funny, I pretty sure mom won’t give a shit, considering g what day it is.” Quinn says smugly, flopping down on the end of his bed. A monstrous groan rips through Avery. He clutches the pillow tighter around his head.

“Oh come on. Today’s really exciting, Avy!” Quinn cheers, tugging the blankets, layer by layer off her older brother. Avery makes a noncommittal sort of noise, refusing to move as Quinn rips back his blankets. When she finally rips the last fleece throw off of him, and his pajama clad body is met with the new harsh coldness of his room, he sits up. Quinn giggles.

“God, your bedhead is crazy.” She smirks, ruffling the hair on the back of his head. Avery jerks away, both at the pain of contact and the pure annoyance.

“Yours is just as bad. It would look like mine if you didn’t primp so much.” Avery snaps, trudging towards their bathroom. And it’s true. The resemblance between the Reeve siblings is so much so, that they’ve been mistaken for twins more than once. They both have their mother’s petite facial features and sharp chin. They both have her round, dark blue eyes, too. And they both have the wild, not quite curly, not quite straight, almost black hair of their father (except Quinn’s is long and usually flat ironed into submission and Avery’s is short in the back, long in the front and always looks like he just had very vigorous sex). They’re both short and too skinny for their own good, something that’s an advantage to Quinn, but a curse to Avery. He can feel Quinn roll her eyes behind his back.

“Well, aren’t you just a ray of sunshine.” Quinn mutters dryly. Avery rolls his eyes, yanking his baggy sleep tee over his head. Quinn stands, looking at him through his mirror.

“Anyway, happy birthday, Avy.” She smiles widely. And with a flip of her long hair, she glides from the room, leaving Avery to call after her.

“Leave me some coffee!”

________

“Well, look at you. Mr. Seventeen and looking for love.”

Avery pauses from twisting in his locker combination only to shoot Kat a nasty glare. Avery never gives his best friend a ride to school, and strangely, she’s never asked. She says she has a prior transportation agreement with a fellow junior, although she will never tell him who. All he knows is that when asked who this Good Samaritan is, Kat’s pale cheeks with turn an uncharacteristic scarlet and she’ll tell him to piss off.

“Not likely to find it here, anyway.” Avery mutters, pulling at the collar of his navy blue button down, anyway.

“You never know, I think the swim team captain swings that way. He dresses snappier than most.” Kat reflects, raising a dark brown eyebrow that contrast with the purple-y red of her hair. Avery rolls his eyes. He’s never told Kat (or anyone, for that matter) in explicit terms about his sexuality. And Kat’s never needed to be told, really. She knows him better than almost everyone, and probably knew it before he did.

“A jock? No, thanks.” Avery scowls instead, pulling out his two bulky Chemistry books. Kat opens her arms willingly, and without further invitation Avery dumps the two volumes into her arms, as he fishes for his binder.

“Hey, they’re not all bad. And I’m sure there’s at least one Sport-o you wouldn’t mind bumping fuzzies with.” She says with a suggestive smirk pulling at her red stained lips. He said that Max Matthews was cute one time, and she’s never let it go. His neck flushes an unflattering pink, which he ignores pinning Kat with a look of pure loathing. But instead of making her flinch, she snickers, dumping his books unceremoniously back into him. He hurriedly uncrosses his arms to appropriate the weight, still glaring holes through Kat’s bespectacled face. She rolls her pale eyes, leaning her shoulder against the locker next to his.

“It’s rude not to laugh at my unfaltering whit.” She says offhandedly, studying her nails with a smirk on her face.

“I’m sure someone has to find you funny, statistically speaking.” Avery says acidly.

“I think you’re hilarious, Wright.” A boy with three day old stubble and long blond hair pushed out of his eyes grins in passing, craning his neck to wink at a frowning Kat. And without missing a beat…

“It’s still a negative, Cleft.” She calls dully after his broad Letterman jacket covered back. And even in the chaotic pre-class hallway, Cooper Cleft’s booming cackle can be heard; his shoulders rolling in laughter.

“Geeze, the guy can’t let junior high go—“

“You let him feel you up in a closet.” Avery laughs. Kat crosses her arms over her ample chest.

“Don’t spread slanderous lies about me.” She frowns. Avery grins, he can’t help it.

“It was a big deal in eighth grade. Right up there with that weird rumor about Jayson Lee and his dog.” Avery reminds her with a smirk. Kat’s frown deepens.

“I think Lee’s first sexual experience with Fido is much more noteworthy than mine with Cleft.” She replies acidly, shoving his shoulder lightly against his locker. Avery chuckles, giving her a gentle shove back. The first bell rings, and the milling students start heading to their respective classes. Avery shifts his two textbooks and thick binder, shutting his locker with his free hand.

“If you met him before lunch, then he’s free to join our table, God knows there’s room.” Her voice is harsh, but her smile is warm. She throws her arms around his neck, pulling him into a sudden hug.

“Happy birthday, Avy.” She says into his hair. Avery smiles, wrapping his free arm around Kat’s flannel covered back.

“Thanks, Kit Kat.” He gives her a gentle squeeze. The five minute bell chimes overhead.

“Shit. I’m going to be late.” Kat sighs, releasing her hold on Avery’s bony frame. She turns to leave, calling out to him to tell her everything if he meets Prince Charming in the next four hours.

Avery rolls his eyes and head the other way.

________

Someone wolf whistles.

It echoes in the cavernous pool, bouncing off the high vaulted ceilings and the greasy filmed water. Avery’s already sweating in the humid stuffiness, despite only wearing a pair of trunks and an old gray tank top. Kat glares, flipping off the gangly freshman with the impressive whistling skills. Its times like this where Avery really admires his best friend. Instead of crossing her arms over her chest in shy nervousness, the short redhead juts her double D chest forward, head held high, a single red violet curl falling out of her loose bun. And you would think that the slightly overweight, bespectacled girl who’s terrified of spiders and doesn’t have her driver’s license, even though she’ll be seventeen in a couple months would be scared and shy away from the mockery she receives. But Kat is different. She’s the poster girl of not giving a single fuck. And maybe that’s why Avery and Kat have been best friends since the first week of middle school.

“God, the power your chest has.” Avery remarks causally as Kat sits next to him on the metal bench bolted against the wall in front of the deep end.

“And the kicker is, if they asked nicely instead of being gross, I might pop a nip.” She says, tugging up the plunging neckline of the wife beater that covers her pudgy stomach, but hardly does anything for her bikini clad breasts.

“I hate swimming days.” She adds, head dropping against his bare shoulder.

“Couldn’t you cry period?” Avery asks, only cringing slightly at the thought. He’s not as squeamish as he could be… having to buy a box of Super Absorbance tampons and a bag of mini Milky Ways while Kat was curled into a ball in his backseat can do that to a guy.

“Nah. Period’s don’t usually last for two whole months; I think someone might catch on.”

She’s lying. Avery knows better than anyone how Kat’s abrasive personality can turn to doe-eyed innocence when she needs it to. And he also knows that when the subject of menstruation comes up, men and boys alike would rather give one of their arms than think about it. Kat could simply mutter the word ‘spotting’ and she’d be able to walk laps instead without so much as a peep. But for all Kat’s bitchiness, she’s loyal. And she wouldn’t make Avery swim alone, especially on his birthday. Avery glances over Kat’s still resting head. Max Matthews’ eyes are on him and Kat, hard and bright green in the late afternoon sun light streaming through the foggy pool windows. And Avery can’t help but stare at his face, refusing to let his eyes drift further down to his broad, perfectly sculpted, perfectly tanned, lightly freckled chest. They stare at each other for more than is necessary for a bully to intimidate a victim. And although Max’s eyes are hard, the rest of his face is passive, betraying neither disgust nor malice.

A shrill whistle breaks their staring contest.

“Alright. Swim test today. Let’s go.” Coach what’s-his-face says, ignoring the groans and splashes of the over eager, jumping into the deep end.

“Fuck.” Kat hisses from his shoulder. Avery snickers, standing up and offering Kat one of his huge hands.

“Wow, such a gentleman.” She rolls her eyes, but places her small hand in his and allows him to pull her up from the bench. Kat stands just as a hard body collides with Avery, shoving him towards the unnatural blue of the pool. He falters, but before he has time to correct his stance, he’s submersed by the frigid, slightly greasy feeling water. He resurfaces quickly, coughing and sputtering, rubbing his stinging eyes behind his dripping glasses. Everyone is laughing, and the freshman Fledgling that whistled at Kat is holding up his hand in order to give Max Matthews a high five.

Max ignores his teammate’s eager gesture, giving Avery a hard eyed smirk instead. Avery tries his best to look bored with the whole thing, but his neck is glowing from more than just the humidity of the pool. With wild eyes, Kat hisses something at Max’s triumphant face. And although Avery can’t hear it over the humiliated rush of blood in his ears, he notices Max’s reaction. Wide eyes and a faint pink blush coloring his cheeks underneath the smattering of dark freckles, before he narrows his eyes at her and twist on his heel, barreling through the class, all of whom laughingly seem to be unaware of anything Kat might have said. Avery shoves his soaked hair from his face, as Kat kneels on the deck in front of him.

“Give me your glasses.” She says her voice is just as soft and caring as her eyes are hard and blazing. Avery complies, grasping onto the edge of the pool and handing Kat his streaming glasses. Everyone’s at the opposite end of the pool, dividing into lanes for the swim test. She wipes them with the hem of her tank top, before setting them gingerly on the bench, right on top of Avery’s neatly folded towel.

“Reeves! Wright! Get down here, now!” Coach what’s-his-face yells. He doesn’t ask Avery if he’s okay, or scold Max. Simply ushers them down to the shallow end, wanting to get on with his day. Avery feels a bubbling in his chest, white hot and nuclear, burring behind his heart. He’s mad at everyone. Coach what’s-his-face, his peers, and even a little at Kat for her patience and righteous anger for him.

But nobody more than Max Matthews, who looked at him smugly, dryly from across the pool.

________

“See you in a bit.” Kat tosses over her shoulder as she follows a group of drenched drama club girls into the locker room.

Avery nods tightly. Coach what’s-his-face wouldn’t let him help roll up the lane markers, and now he has to dress faster than usual and try to avoid Max. You’d think that’d after the poolside mockery, he’d be done for the day, but Avery has three years of hard proof that Max will do no such thing. He’ll visit Avery again, with Fledglings in tow and make a bigger laughingstock of him. Avery pushes open the locker room door to hear the hiss of showers and the laughter and catcalls of his peers. He won’t shower, even though the film of oily pool water is drying on his skin, leaving it dry and itchy and he would like nothing more than to stand under the steaming water and washing away the layer of grime and humiliation. But there are too many guys in the shower. And although none of them interest him (well, maybe not none), the sure to follow mockery would be more than he could handle today… or for the next two years of high school.

So instead, he towels off quickly, running his fingers through his sodden mop of hair, before peeling off the tank top and shucking his trunks, dreaming of his bathroom at home with its fluffy towels and good water pressure. He shimmies into his boxer briefs, and then into his skinny jeans. And God what a stupid idea. The jeans are tight tight, and they stick to his damp thighs and refuse to slip over his hips. And alright, maybe he thought, on the off chance he did meet Prince Charming; he could at least make a good impression with his favorite button down and his favorite pair of jeans. But that was dumb. What the hell was he thinking? He jumps slightly to force the jeans up. And it thankfully the denim scrapes unwillingly over his hips. Avery sighs in relief, and buttons them quickly, hoping he hasn’t wasted too much time. He listens: the showers are still running and the voices are still booming. Okay, good.

“I didn’t think that you did girls too, Reeves. Is Wright the man?”

Okay. Not so good.

“I wouldn’t know, as I’ve never had sex with her. But I’d assume her assertive personality would make her a top, or in your more barbaric terms, the man.” Avery says, turning slightly, focusing on the bunched up button down in his fists. It’s okay to make fun of him; he’s used to it, anyway. But Kat did nothing wrong… other than say something that made him flustered, and then wouldn’t tell Avery. And she’s his best friend. His only friend, if he’s being totally honest. She’s an innocent in this.

“Why? Are you jealous, Matthews?” Avery taunts, smirking. He should have known. He really should have, but he really wasn’t aware of what he was saying and what it implied. But the reality came quickly, probably at the moment that Max grabbed a fistful of Avery’s still dripping hair and slammed him with venomous force against his locker. And fuck, wearing a shirt really does make a difference. Avery squeaks despite himself, and Max’s hold on his hair tightens, a light pink tinge in his freckled cheeks.

“Shut the fuck up, faggot.” His usually gruff voice is low and deadly, radiating heat that Avery can feel deep in his chest. And Avery knows. He knows that he needs to shut up, take the beating, drive Kat and Quinn home, take a shower and move on with his life. But he can’t, he can’t let Max win.

“It’s not healthy to keep feeling bottled up like that, Matthews.” Avery says lightly, his eyes dancing with laughter. Max’s face flames, and he slams Avery’s already throbbing head against the rusted, cobalt blue metal of the lockers. The showers are still pelting the tile floor, creating a melodic din… there’s no laughter of football Fledglings, or of passerby’s. There’s only far away good natured yelling and showers sounds. And Avery vaguely thinks that, should Max kill him, no one would hear him or witness the crime. And oddly, Avery hopes Max does kills him now instead of later… that way his last memory would be of besting Max Matthews, and hey, at least he’d get to see a pretty face before he croaked.

“I swear to fucking God, if you don’t stop talking I’ll make you wish you were dead.” Max all but yells. His face inches away from Avery’s. And Avery has a reply in his throat, ready to keep pushing, prodding.

And then it starts.

A bubble of heat seems to stick behind his ribs, right next to his heavily beating heart. But the heat doesn’t spread; it stays rooted in his chest. And he feels so warm, almost too much so. But it isn’t an unpleasant heat. It reminds him of milky sweet coffee in front of the fireplace and being wrapped in his blankets on a cold winter’s night and lying in spring grass with his sketchbook as he squeezes the sun warmed wood of the pencil between his fingers. It feels like the hug Kat gave him just this morning when she wished him a happy birthday. Warm and safe and undeniably happy. And just like the story his mother has told so many times before, a dim light glows beneath the pale skin of Avery’s bony chest. The light is so dim that Max doesn’t notice right away.

That is, until a soft white light glows in the middle of his chest, penetrating the fabric of his tank top.

“Y-Your chest—“Avery stutters. He can hardly breathe.

“Wait… No—SHIT!” Max’s voice becomes louder, and he jerks away, releasing Avery’s damp hair. And distantly in his brain, (like somewhere not totally dumbfounded by this whole absurd situation) Avery is reminded of fire flies in the early summer. He read when he was younger that the patterns that fire flies’ flash are a sort of a calling to a potential mate. They dance and their flickering yellow lights respond to each other… just like Max and Avery’s chests, which seems to be trying to glow brighter than the other. Avery’s (or maybe Max’s, he’s not really sure) chest is glowing like the sun, lighting up the sparse space between the two, throwing both their faces and stellar blushes into the harsh white light. And Avery feels the heat uncomfortably now. His chest is burning and he feels like he might be swallowed by the light and burned in its wake. Max is staring down at his own heaving chest, the damp upturn of his bangs seemingly wilting in the intense light. And then, when the light is so bright that Avery has to close his eyes to escape the burn, they flicker in time.

Once. Twice. A shuttering … and the lights are gone.

They stand staring at each other; wide green eyes boring into even wider dark blue bespectacled ones. The sound of showers and boisterous laughter seem out of place and rude in the throbbing silence surrounding the School Jock, Football Admiral Max Matthews and Geeky Art Kid, School Homo Avery Reeves. Avery grasps at any straw of himself in the wake of this new, downright terrifying development. He laughs shakily; it sound weak and scared. Almost hysterically. This is so not happening.

“So, we’re Soul—“

The almost deafening sound of bone on metal cuts off Avery’s escape to normalcy, and still raw from the whole thing, Avery jumps emitting a terrified gasp. Max stares down at his clenched fist, bright red and knuckles flecked with blood from the lockers grate. There’ll be a dreadful bruise there tomorrow. Max is breathing like he’s just run a marathon, his usually carefully coiffed hair falling into his wild green eyes. His whole, hugely muscular body shaking. Avery’s shaking too, but he fears if he moves from the anchor of the lockers, he’ll drown. Max shoots him one last lingering look, one that Avery can’t read… and for once he’s glad, before he storms away, the back of his neck and tips of his ear glowing red. Avery finally sinks to the concrete floor, just as the locker room door slams. It reminds Avery of a mighty clap of thunder.

Like when you’re too close to a fast brewing storm.