Lee's hand shakes around his phone. The action seems so frighteningly mundane, so desperately everyday, as if his whole world hasn't just been flipped on its head and ripped apart. Trembling fingers, as if they're trying to cling on to normalcy, as if they're trying to grasp the words pouring out of his father's mouth, as if they're trying to erase all the years of hoping and praying and losing and fuck, it hurts, it hurts, it hurts---

"When did you decide you were going to invite her over?" His words comes out soft, shattered, frayed at the edges. He's trying---so hard---to push away all the emotions bubbling in his throat, all the tears he hasn't been able to cry in years, all the hurt and pain and disappointment...but it's not working. It's not working, and Lee's feelings are a tap he can't turn off, and they're leaking over his face and pooling at his feet and bleeding into his voice.

It's a strange sensation to find yourself drowning again after filling your lungs with air, but Lee feels it. He feels the water crashing over his head and sucking all the oxygen from his lungs. He feels each wave like a hurricane as it suplexes him deeper beneath the surface every time. He feels the current slipping between his fingers, an endless riptide he can't clasp, and it sweeps him away, down, down, down.

"I thought it would help if you met her in person, and---" his father continues, and frustration builds up in Lee's chest. You're not listening to me. You're not listening to me. You're not listening to me. Eighteen years, and you've never listened to me.

"I didn't ask what you were thinking," Lee cuts in, doing his best to keep his voice stable. It burns, like a knife, searing right through his heart. "I asked when you thought of this."

His father is silent for a minute. Then, slowly, hesitantly, he admits, "After our conversation last week."

Anger is an art. Lee feels every splatter of paint against his chest, red as blood, brushes stroking his ribs and tinting them bright vermillion. The stars crumble around his ears, shattering like glass, crashing through the perfect little universe Lee's fabricated for himself. His blood boils, the urge to throw his phone into the wall reverberating through his veins. Unlike it had been with Danny, the rage is no longer dull, no longer throbs and burns. It's sharp, flickering against each organ and puncturing holes through his vitals. It scorches every part of him and chars it black.

"Then why are you only telling me now?" Lee questions bitterly, letting a fragment of his fury seep into his voice, bleeding over the messy kitchen floor until he's sure his father can hear it too. "So you could have an excuse to bring your little girl toy over and I wouldn't have time to protest?"

"Leroy, that's not nice."

"Yeah, well, you haven't been very nice to me, so I don't see why I have to be nice to you."

"Leroy, if you're not okay with her coming over, it's alright. I can change it to another day if you're not ready."

"No, it's fine." Lee lets out a chuckle that sears his tongue like acid, bitter and sour at the same time. It scrapes his skin off and sets fire to his lips. "It doesn't matter what I want. You wouldn't listen to me anyway, right?"

"Leroy---"

"Shut up. Shut up shut up shut up. Shut the fuck up. I don't want to listen to you anymore. Bring your girlfriend over whenever you want to, okay? I don't give a shit." Lee's words are ragged now, the bad kind of breathless, punctuated with the pain puncturing his chest until it bleeds. It's a constant type of pain, always there---steady, red-hot, burning away his lungs. I hate you. I love you. I never want to see you again. Please come home. I don't need your love. Why don't you love me?

"Leroy! I'm just trying to---"

"I told you to shut up!" Lee yells. He wants to cry---wants to collapse on the floor and sob his brains out---but his eyes remain as dry as they've been since his mother left. His throat feels raw, fuelled by the rage boiling in his veins. "Shut up, okay? Shut up! I hate you!"

I hate you.

There's a pause from the other side. Lee can almost envision the startled expression scrawled on his father's face in his messy, loopy handwriting, gold cufflinks clinking against his oak-wood table in shock. He imagines that very table yawning open in rows of jagged cedar teeth and swallowing his father alive. His flesh is suddenly too heavy for his bones, hanging off the polished ivory in melted clumps.

Lee's father takes a deep breath, as if preparing to lecture Lee the way he'd done when he was a child, back when he actually gave a shit about his kid. Lee misses those days. He almost craves to hear the sternness in his father's voice, almost yearns for the disappointment in his ever-ready life lessons. Begs to know that he still cares.

Instead, all he gets is more shattered hope.

"I'll call you back later, okay? When you've calmed down a bit. We're all a little riled up right now, and the best thing is for us to step back from the situation and come back to it later," his father says. Avoidant. Hesitant. Too caught up in the glitz and glamour of his money-minded, city-slicker life to actually parent his son.

Yet another disappointment. Nowadays, Lee's too used to disappointment.

"We'll talk about it later," his father declares decisively. Then, softer, "Okay, Leroy?"

"Okay." The word spills out from between numb lips and gritted teeth. A dangerous thing in the dark. So many promises. Lee's lies are loud, and yet, no one ever seems to be able to hear them. "Okay." Just: okay, okay, okay. Safe. Non-committal. All his anger locked up and sealed away, ready to burst out again any second.

"I love you."

"Okay."

He hangs up before his father can.

Somewhere between the lines of fury and sadness, Lee's slumped down onto the ground, phone still trembling between his fingers, cheek pressed against the cold kitchen floor. The white tiles, so pristine and yet so dirty, glitter with chunks of flyaway kibble. Socks licks the side of his face, whining all the while.

Lee manages to pull himself up into a sitting position, lifting a whimpering Socks into his lap. "Shh, honey. I'm sorry. Lost my cool for a moment there." He runs his hand over her soft brown fur. Tries to cry again, but just like before, his eyes are dry. "Sorry. I didn't mean to scare you. I just..." He stretches one arm against the sink, yawning languidly, a futile attempt to calm himself down. "Hate it here. You're the only good thing about this place, honey. Sometimes I just wish I could..."

Run away.

His fingers scrabble for his phone again, closing around the device with cold determination. Jack would slap me if I even suggested this to him. Yumeko probably won't leave her mom alone for too long. So there's only one option left.

Click. "Hello?" comes the reply, crackly and lax as ever, the voice alone shooting tranquility into Lee's bloodstream.

"Hey, Jon," Lee says. Normally, he'd pause a little. Hesitate a bit to think over just how bad this idea is. Ponder the consequences for a second, at the very least. But the taste of suppressed rage on his tongue is too bitter, too fresh for him to think about anything except getting out and away and travelling to the moon.

He's done with being careful.

"Lee! What's up?" Jon's as casually cheerful as always, greeting him like it's eleven in the morning instead of nearly ten at night.

Lee's grip tightens around his phone, devil-may-care impulsivity slipping into his mind. I don't give a shit, he'd told his father. He's shocked to realise how much he means it.

"Are you and Cory up for a little road trip?"

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"Mierda. This is such a bad idea," Cory frets, scuffed shoes rubbing against Lee's doorstep frantically.

Lee clips Socks' leash onto her collar, running his hand over her soft fur quickly. "Sorry. I did say you could say no."

"Nonsense. It's a great idea." Jon leans down to kiss his best friend's---right, boyfriend---forehead gently. "Besides, it's a great way for Cory to get out of the house, no matter how much he claims he wants to stay inside."

Cory blushes madly. Lee assumes Jon's right.

"How long are you going to be gone?" Cory asks nervously. "I have a Chemistry project due on Friday."

"I have no idea. Maybe forever." Lee grins. "Of course, that's just me. I just wanted some company for the first night or so."

"I think we can keep you company for a few days. It's only Monday, after all. Remind me exactly why you're running away again?" Jon questions.

"Dad's got a new lady. Invited her over for dinner tomorrow. Didn't tell me until just now." The words feel a little too real when they come out of Lee's mouth, as if saying it's solidifying something that's only been in his nightmares all along.

"Ah." Jon nods sympathetically, glasses nearly falling off his face. "Understandable."

Lee slings his backpack over his shoulder---filled with spare clothes, dog food, membership cards, and as much money as he can fit inside, mainly because he figures his father won't even notice it's missing, and even if he did, he probably wouldn't care---and puffs his blue bangs out of his eyes. The thought of cutting them briefly crosses his mind---pushing them back, at least. Maybe some hairclips.

"You really do look better without bangs," Jack had said. And then he shoves the thought of Jack out of his head, because him running away is not about him. Because not everything's about Jack Sang and the stick up his ass and the motherfuckingly gorgeous face that Lee's not sure whether to kiss or punch. Even though it feels like everything's about him sometimes.

"How'd you get your dad to drop you guys over here, anyway?" Lee inquires.

Jon grins. He has really straight teeth---unlike him himself, evidently. Lee's a sucker for guys with great teeth. He mentally slaps himself. He's taken, dumbass. "We're here for a sleepover! At least, that's what I told Dad." He winks. "I hope you can do a good parental impression. I gave him your number and told him it was your dad's."

Lee laughs. I can definitely do a pretty damn good impression of a chronic disappointment. The thought makes him sad all over again, so he pushes it into the back of his head and sets it on fire.

He mentally runs through his Running Away From Your Disappointment Of A Sperm Donor checklist again. Call friends who hopefully have a little more experience with being away from home, check. Steal cash Dad would never miss, check. Find temporary lodgings for Socks, also check.

After Jon and Cory had agreed to come over, Lee had called Yumeko, who'd been in a shockingly good mood.

"I'm running away from home," he'd said.

"About damn time," his best friend had instantly replied. And then, because she loves him and he loves her and she always seems to know what to say, "He doesn't deserve you, anyway. Shit fathers don't deserve sons too good for this world. So, what do you need?"

"Can you keep Socks for a night or so?"

"Sure," Yumeko had answered. No hesitation whatsoever. It's one of the many things Lee loves about her---how she's so rough, and yet so sincere. "Maya's coming over tonight, anyway. She'll love Socks." A pause, ever so light. "Take care of yourself, okay?"

"I'll try. Love you, Yu."

She'd snorted so loud that it had reverberated around Lee's bedroom and forced warmth into his chest, yanking a string of laughter from his dry lips. That's my girl, alright. "Don't be a sappy fuck, Leroy."

"So, where do you want to go?" Jon asks.

Lee shrugs. "Where'd you suggest?"

Behind his chunky glasses, Jon's eyes glint mischievously. "Do you like video games?"

Lee lifts his shoulders and drops them again. "Maybe?" Truth be told, he doesn't really know. His father's bought him a few over the years, as well as a Switch, but he just---never bothered to play. His mother had always preferred books, and her love of crisp paper and woody scents and pinecone dreams had lived on in him too. "I don't know. I don't really play them."

"Me estás tomando el pelo?" Cory raises an eyebrow incredulously. "Are you fifty? I've never met a teenager alive who doesn't play video games. Even Jon's a computer game addict, and he's boring as hell."

"Hey." Jon lightly smacks the side of Cory's head. "I'm probably more boring than hell. Get it right."

Cory rolls his eyes, pushing himself up on his tiptoes to peck his boyfriend on the cheek. (Suddenly, Lee's jealous all over again.) "Damn right you are, cabrón."

Jon sighs. "I'm going to have to learn Spanish one day to know what you're really calling me, don't I?"

"It means sweetheart." (The snicker Cory lets out after lets Lee know it definitely doesn't.)

"Oi, lovebirds. You can't just bring up video games and leave me hanging to flirt with each other," Lee whines. "I'm feeling way too single here, you know."

Cory sticks out his tongue at him. The action radiates camaraderie, so naturally teasing that Lee could have shed a tear if his eyes weren't so fucking dry. "Deal with it."

Lee replies with a dramatic eye roll. "Man, I hate couples."

"I'd have said the same two years back, but now I've got this little darling." Jon bends down to kiss his boyfriend's forehead, glasses gently knocking against Cory's cheek. The seed of jealousy blooms in Lee's chest again, twisting around his ribs like a serpentine vine, cherry blossoms sprouting from its branches and squeezing his organs until they burst. Then Jon's looking at him again, eyes bright behind his blocky frames. "How do you feel about going to an Internet café?"

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"You mean you've never been to one of these?" Jon asks as Lee pushes the glass door open curiously, a blast of cold air instantly hitting him in the face.

"You mean you have?" Lee shoots back.

"Duh. Me and Cory used to come here all the time to get some alone time."

"You probably spent more time making out than gaming," Lee teases. Cory blushes hard enough for him to know he's hit the nail on the head.

Jon snaps his fingers, striding over to an empty row of computers. "Our love life aside, have you ever played Call of Duty?"

"No?" Lee answers, sliding into the seat next to him. The chairs are shockingly comfortable---if people really do spend the whole night there, he supposes they'd have to be.

"Qué?" Cory shrieks. "You're kidding me. Jamás?"

"Cory's literally addicted." Jon powers up the computer in front of him. "It's okay, though! We'll teach you how to play!"

Video games, Lee soon realises, after he's died for the sixty-ninth time, are definitely not his forte. Especially when Cory kicks him off his team after Lee's dropped his ranking by about ten places. (Cory, Lee notes, is extremely scary when he's gaming.)

Still, it's something crazily new to him, being away from home without even leaving a text behind and hanging out with friends his father would almost certainly disapprove of, so exciting it sends adrenaline flowing through his blood. High on the dopamine rush and the colourful, foreign pixels lining the screen before him, Lee slips out his phone and blocks his father's contact without a second thought, gratified to find that the usual tang of copper lingering on his tongue is nowhere to be found.

The ghost of the night wraps around his bones and fills him with golden immortality, soothing his shaking hands until they lay still on the mouse. ("Too still," as Cory keeps complaining. "Move your fucking fingers or we'll all die.")

In the cool, almost heavy air, Lee is a giant, untouchable in his stone shell. For a moment, nothing can take away his grin. He watches Jon and Cory alternate between holding hands and shouting, "Oh, you fucking idiot!" each time one of them dies in battle royale, and he feels more alive than he's ever been.

translations!
me estás tomando el pelo — are you kidding me
cabrón — dumbass (masculine)
qué — what
jamás — never (at no time)

in today's news i have a fanclub now

BECAUSE THE PERFORMANCE WENT SUPER WELL!!!

i messed up kinda bad on one part BUT everyone was cheering so loudly it covered it up! i got called 'hot' so many times (one of my juniors said her classmates were like "omg who is that person??? he's so hot!!!" when i came out) and people were literally ambushing me after to hug me and take pics with me! (even people i didn't know!)

like people were complimenting me randomly about my looks and singing and getting excited when i thanked them or blew kisses! i felt like such a celebrity and my friends even had to act like bodyguards to keep me from getting mobbed lol. the teachers complimented me too and like literally everyone loved it so much, me and my other friend (who also performed) were getting mobbed all day xD

okay SO i was having super bad writer's block so i took a nap! now the thing about me is that i'm usually aware that i'm dreaming (i think because i dream quite rarely so i'm aware that i'm dreaming when i dream). so anygays i was dreaming, and i knew it was a dream, and i realised that i was dreaming out THE ENTIRE PLOT OF CRACKERBOX. and i was so happy because i was like "omg!!! i dreamed out the entire plot of CB! i can just write it down from beginning to end now!!!"

then i woke up and i rushed to my phone to write schist down and i was like...WAAAIT A MINUTE...Lee isn't in the middle of a love triangle??!?? and he isn't a detective investigating Young Living cults??!??!?

tl;dr: dreamed up the entire rest of the plot of Crackerbox. woke up. realised it was entirely useless because it was THE WRONG PLOT and the only ways to proceed were to either scrap the dream completely or to turn Lee into a teen detective busting Young Living murder cults who also so happens to be in the middle of a love triangle between a bear and a twink

NOW i have never been to an internet cafe or played Call of Duty in my entire life. therefore, i consulted my wonderful gaming expert, who also so happens to be my ex. so shoutout to him for putting up with and answering all my frantic 12.30am texts about like "so can you kill your teammates or not" and "is it ACTUALLY called battle royale or is that just a nickname". any mistakes may be directed to him.

anygays, lmk what you thought of this chapter, as always! i'd love to hear your opinions and thoughts and any criticism <3 hope everyone's doing well, and don't forget to drink lots of water!

xoxo, Alex