A/N contains mature subject matter, reader discretion is advised...

My name is Christopher and this is my story. People are going to hate it and people are going to love it, but it doesn't change the simple fact that this is my story. It could have turned out differently, but it didn't. It just was what it was.

So try not to judge me. Try not to condemn the players. Look past the words and see what a beautiful and terrible time it was. Consider what I am telling you, and if you have room for it in your heart then that is great. If you do not, then walk away no less than what you were.

I don't know what it is like for other people, but I knew what love was long before they tell you that you should. Whenever I would try to explain that I felt it, I was always told 'you are too young' or 'you don't know what you are talking about.' But I did. I knew exactly what I was talking about.

It was that feeling like you want to scream or cry at the thought of being apart. It was not wanting to disappoint them, ever. It was the utter despair at the thought of hurting them or making them cry. It was wanting to be with them, no matter what.

The first time I felt that way about someone was in grade school. I know what you are thinking. You were too young to fall in love. I can't even remember the number of times I heard that from other people. As if you could look into my soul and really know that what I felt wasn't love.

Even worse, it was for a teacher. Though why exactly loving someone could be worse or better is beyond me even now. I remember the first time I saw him at the school. He was young and fresh off of summer holidays. His face was tanned and his smile bright.

He welcomed the students in the class back and let them all sit next to their friends with a warning that disruptions would mean they would be moved. Then he introduced himself. His name was Andrew Birchwood. He had been teaching as a substitute for three years before being hired at our school.

I felt sorry for him, having to be a substitute for other classes. I know what we were like when our teachers left and it wasn't well behaved. I admired him for not quitting teaching entirely and becoming something easier instead.

Then he had us go around and introduce ourselves to him. He wanted to know our favourite colour, favourite food, and the last thing we had watched on tv. I thought about it the whole time the other students were telling him theirs until he got to me.

"My name is Christopher. My favourite colour is yellow like my mom painted our kitchen. My favourite food is spaghetti because I like to twirl the noodles. The last thing I watched on tv was Voltron with my older sister, but I don't like watching with her. She yells at the tv too much." I grinned as the class laughed.

Mr. B chuckled and thanked me with a nice smile before going on to the next student. I really wanted to make him laugh again. It was a nice sound. His voice was great too. I tried to pay attention in class with him because I wanted him to feel like he was doing a good job.

When you are young, time doesn't feel like a real thing. It passes without your notice until you are in a situation where you want it to fly. Then it goes slowly as you watch the hands of the clock tick by or wait for the digital number to switch.

*

"What are you doing?" The girl Alison who sat next to me on the left leaned over to see what I was writing. We were making cards out of construction paper and I had made a very nice blue one with a heart on it.

"I'm making a card, like he told us to." I replied, feeling a little weirded out that she was staring at my work so intently.

"What kind of card is that? I made a Christmas card for my parents. I don't know what kind of card that is. It looks stupid." She was frowning at me and I furrowed my brow, but didn't look over or say anything back. "Hey Charlie, did you see Christopher's card? It is so stupid. He didn't even do it for a holiday!"

"What? Really? Lemmie see." He came over and stood next to my seat, watching as I coloured in a flower with markers.

"See? What's it for? He won't tell me." She pouted from her seat and Mr. B noticed the commotion she was causing now, so he came over to investigate.

"Charlie, if you aren't done your own card then you should go back and work on it. What seems to be the problem Alison?" He looked at her and she looked away guiltily.

"She says my card is stupid because I won't show it to her." I told him while I continued to finish the flowers on the front. I sat back and looked at it with a sense of relief. It didn't actually look half bad. You could tell the flowers were flowers at least.

"Is that true Alison?" He asked her for her side of the story, like he always does. She started to cry, and it made me feel a little angry. She was just trying not to get into trouble. At least she admitted it though, with a little nod of her head.

"But he was being mean and not telling me what it was for!" She griped. Mr. B. gave a look for a second then had her take her things to another desk further away from mine to finish her own card. She had been covering it with glitter, so the desk was still sparkling with the leftover pieces.

I spaced out, now that my card was done. I just watched Mr. B. walk around the classroom and smile at the different cards the other students made. When he got to me, I shyly covered it up so he couldn't see. His eyes twinkled mischievously and I blushed under his gaze.

I knew I would have to hand it in at the end of class for marking anyways, but I wanted it to be a surprise for then. It may not have been the most beautiful or imaginative card I could make, but it was special to me.

"If anyone is done, clean up your desk and put any supplies back on the shelf. You can head out for recess as soon as you are done cleaning and your card is handed in to my desk." Mr. B. called out with five minutes left before the bell rang.

I hurried to put the scraps of paper into the recycling box and my markers back in the bin on the shelf. Then I was scurrying up to the front to put my card on his desk, my face a solid shade of red while he watched me with interest.

Then I went outside with relief to feel the breeze on my face. My heart was thudding erratically, like I had run much further than I had. I smiled when I thought about how happy Mr. B would be when he saw my card.

*

He gave me a good mark on that card. Said it was a great example of a thank you and I did a great job. Alison never forgave me for getting a better mark than her, despite the fact that her card was pretty much a sheet of glitter.

When the end of the year came and I discovered I had to leave his class, I was devastated like only a child can be. My world was ending. The teacher that I loved was done his job teaching me, and I couldn't stay in that grade forever.

You would think that a child could just take the summer off to do things completely unrelated and bounce back from it in no time. But I didn't. I sulked, I am ashamed to say. I was determined that nothing could fix my sadness over changing classes.

I was wrong. There was something that could fix it, not entirely, but enough that I could get on with my life. The next year I went to classes with Mrs. Jenson and to my surprise I saw Mr. B. at recess. He was on recess duty all that year and I was able to talk to him and laugh again.

It was enough. Just to be able to see him and reassure myself that he hadn't forgotten about me either. He remembered my name. He had that card standing up on his desk still, keeping it when I refused to take it back because it was for him. Each time I saw it, I smiled to think he remembered.

I was coping well with it all the next two years too. I could cruise through my life in school as long as I could see his smiling face and hear his melodic voice. He was right down the hall from me. He always waved to the students he still spoke to often.

*

After that I was with Ms. Holland. She was a hard task-master. I had more homework than I had ever seen before and I admit it was a struggle to keep my marks up. Mr. B would help us a little at recess to get through the loads of papers so we wouldn't get into trouble. I played hockey in the evening so I never got my homework done then.

It was starting to sink in to me that I was going to be leaving this school soon. I would have to head over to the high school and start taking classes with them. That meant I would no longer get to see Mr. B. wandering the halls and my recess wouldn't be at the same time so I could chat with him outside. I was going to be cut off from seeing him in under a year.

That made me sad. Not just while I was thinking about it, but all the time. There was a weight on my chest as I thought about him forgetting about me and never seeing him again. Other boys were talking about how cute the girls were, and here I was worried about whether a middle aged man would remember me in a year.

I was different. I felt it keenly and tried my best to hide it with fake smiles and agreeing with those other boys. I couldn't see what they saw, but I smiled and agreed all the same. I was worried what would happen if I didn't. Even my mother expected me to feel that way after all. She teased me about our neighbour's daughter all the time now.

I didn't get it. I preferred the study sessions on the lawn at the school, where Mr. B. tried to explain to me why I needed to memorise my math and how it might benefit me in the future. He was talking about a world I couldn't even conceive yet though, so I just listened to his voice and took his advice to study hard anyways.

He was a good influence to us kids. He always tried to get us to do our best in our school work and anything else we tried to achieve in our lives. That's why, whenever people questioned me about being close to him, I shrugged it off as casually as possible. I was discovering, through people around me and the all powerful internet, that what I was feeling was considered taboo.

I could get him into trouble. Just by feeling this way myself, I could ruin his life. I thought it was ridiculous. How terrible was it that another person falling in love with you could make your life a living hell? They put people in jail because of it. They fired people from their jobs because of it. All because of love. I was starting to hate that word, love, or at least all the things it brought with it.

It was a terrible thing. It destroyed people. I read books about the horrors that people went though because of that stupid emotion. It seemed surreal to me that I wasn't allowed to love another human being just because other people who were supposedly so much smarter than me said so. It was love! Keeping myself from it was making me miserable, so how much worse could it be to give in to it?

Were they worried about me handling heartbreak? Well, guess what? I was feeling it anyways, only without having ever had hope for my love to become anything. It was devastating. Knowing that even if I asked I would be rejected. Knowing that everyone around me would hate us both if I asked. Feeling this way and knowing that others would think I was deviant, manipulated or worse.

I cried a lot that year. My parents thought I was depressed. They took me to a doctor, but I knew I couldn't tell him anything. He would tell others and god knew what could happen to the two of us. I hated it. All of it. Eventually I told my parents that I didn't like the doctor and I would probably grow out of it. I guess they decided that was good enough for them, or more like they got tired of fighting with me to go see him every time.

I understood where I stood though. Between a rock and a hard place, as the saying went. I buried my head in my work, my phone, and my fantasies. It had to be enough. When the last day of school came, I was going to tell Mr. B. He already said I could come over anytime to chat, but we both knew the chances of that were pretty slim. I made a promise to myself that I would make the effort to do it anyways.

Even if it destroyed me to see him and have my hands tied like that. I had to keep strong. I had to hope that maybe one day I would be able to stand in front of him as an adult in the eyes of the world. All I had to do before I went to high school was find out if I had a chance. Was he homophobic? Was he even gay, like me? Maybe he would laugh in my face, but I had to know before I put my whole life on hold for this man. Before I hoped too much.

So here I was, on graduation day at the school with all the other students and teachers milling about, looking for my chance to speak to him alone. Waiting for my parents to look the other way. Hoping I would have just that one second to say what had been building and weighing on me for years. Praying that he wouldn't tear my heart to pieces in one terrible instant. So nervous that my hands were shaking and my legs twitching with it.

Then, like a sign from heaven, he snapped his fingers and took off down the hall. My parents turned to speak to my teacher and my mother only nodded when I muttered about going to the washroom. I bolted down the hall after him, as though I really had to go. I just caught sight of him slipping inside his classroom at the end of the hall when I came around the corner. I tried to run quietly in my dress shoes down to the door that beckoned me.

I raised a hand to knock and froze. My mind was getting the better of me. Society's words pounded behind my eyes, deviant, pedophile, manipulator, shame! I gulped and second guessed myself. Then the door opened and there he was, standing right in front of me and looking surprised. I felt the blood drain from my face and I opened my mouth without being able to push any words past my lips. Those bastards had silenced me with their words of hate, against my will.

"Christopher? Are you okay? Do you need to come in and sit down?" He asked me gently. I nodded my head and fought back the tears that verged on the edge of spilling down my cheeks. I sat in one of the small desks that I once sat in years before and just concentrated on my breathing. Mr. B. was so patient, just sitting on the desk next to mine and waiting for me to be ready. It was just one more reason I loved him at that moment.

"I am afraid to say anything." I admitted. I looked up at him sitting there and his calmness seemed to rub off on me slowly.

"You can say anything to me Christopher. Whatever it is, I will try to be as understanding as I can." He said to me. I nodded. Maybe he would. It didn't lessen my fear any though. There was only one way to find out though.

"You might have heard that I have been depressed lately, but it isn't true. I mean, not the way everyone else seems to think. I have a really good reason to be feeling sad, but I don't feel I can tell anyone why." I started to explain to him. He watched me seriously and nodded his head so I would know he was listening to me so far.

"Do you feel like you can tell me then?" He asked. I nodded, but took my time thinking it through before I spoke. This was it. The last moment where I would be in the dark about how this man truly felt. In a moment, I would know enough to move forward in my life. Whether that was in sadness or hope was up to him. I took a deep breath, closing my eyes so I could picture his smiling face once more in order to give myself courage. I opened them and spoke.

"I love you. I know you want to say that I don't know what love is, and maybe you are right. But I know that I feel happy and safe when you are with me. I know that it makes me want to cry when I think about not seeing you, or if you were sent to jail because of me. I know that I want to kiss you, like my mom kisses my dad, and hold you close so I can hear your heartbeat. Maybe that isn't love, but I feel it every day and I don't know what else I can do to express it except tell you that I love you."

There was a minute of silence. Just me looking at him, with my whole heart in my eyes. Just him looking at me, searching for something and trying to process what I had just said. I could almost feel the sudden tension in the room as he decided what he was going to say to me. I waited, almost not breathing for the next moment to come. The moment when my dreams would end. The moment when reality would come crashing back down on us. The moment when he spoke.

"That is beautiful. I am honoured that you feel this way about me. Right now, there is nothing I can say to express my own feelings. There is one thing I can do though." He got up and walked over to his desk. I watched as he opened his drawer and took out a sheaf of paper and an envelope. I couldn't see what he wrote down from where I was sitting and by the time I got up to go see, he was folding it up and sealing it inside the envelope. He scrawled his signature across the flap and a date.

"What I can do is give you this. It is an envelope, and inside is my personal contact information. I have sealed it shut, and written a date across the flap. If you still feel that way when the date written here comes, you may choose to open it. If I should hear from you before that date, I will not answer you. I may even block you entirely. Do you understand? Do you want it?" He held it out to me seriously. I gulped at the thought. He was giving me this responsibility and I wanted to be trustworthy.

"Yes Mr. B. Thank you sir." I took the envelope and tucked it into my pocket carefully. I bit my lip so I wouldn't say anything more and turned to the door. One last time I looked back at the desk and the man who sat in it. He looked haunted, his hands covering his mouth as he warred with himself. I understood what he was going through, truly I did. So I left. I walked out that door without another word. I didn't look back again.

*

I didn't date. I was a teenage boy who smiled and made friends but never had a girlfriend. It was bound to make my parents suspicious eventually, I had just hoped that I would have more time. It was sophomore year at the high school when I was asked out by the next door neighbour's daughter right in front of my house. I turned her down as gently as I could, but she still cried and ran back to her house to complain to her father.

The whole family began to glare at me as I came and went from my own house. As if it was my fault that the girl decided to ask me out. I was nice to everyone equally, so she couldn't say I paid her special attention or anything. Even my friends at school thought it was pretty funny how they were making it out to be my fault. We weren't making fun of her or anything, don't get me wrong. I just thought it was strange that I was suddenly a bad guy to them.

Then a rumour started up at the school. We can all guess who was at the forefront of that one, right? Apparently the only reason to turn down a pretty next door neighbour was if you were gay. So instead of not being interested in her because I didn't know her that well... I was gay. She told all her friends, her friends told all their friends, who posted it on social media, which is seen by all their relatives and our parents, and ended up with me sitting in the kitchen with said parents.

"Is it true? Christopher, did you really turn down Meagan because you are gay?" My mother sat there with a tissue in her hands, a sad look on her face and red eyes as though she had been crying. What the heck was I supposed to say to that? I was so confused.

"Is what true? Did I turn her down? Yeah. I said no when she asked me out. That's it. I don't know where you got that last part, because I sure as hell didn't say that to her." I griped across the kitchen island. I couldn't believe I was sitting here now getting grilled because of this.

"Language Christopher. We want to know the truth. Are you gay?" My father was staring me down with an odd look on his face. Somewhere between fear and anger. I didn't want to answer that. Why would they ask me like this?

"I... I don't know? I never really thought about it before. There haven't been any girls that I've liked before but that doesn't mean there won't be some day." I tried to sit on the fence but my mother just sobbed and my dad just huffed.

"Have there been any guys that you've liked before?" My father finally asked the one question that I definitely didn't want to answer in this situation. I knew he could tell if I lied. I think just by my hesitation I was answering his question.

"No no no." My mother whined and buried her head into my father's shoulder as though the world was coming to an end. I couldn't meet their eyes. The disappointment that I read in them was like a knife in my heart. Was it really such a big deal? Was it so bad? Why!?

"Pack up your stuff. I will give you a couple of days to get out." His tone was firm and the pronouncement was like a sentence. Life without chance of reconciliation. It was sudden, finding out your parents are giant asshole homophobes.

"You know, I thought about dating her to make you happy. Then I realised something. If I live my whole life making you happy, I won't be happy. I will be out tonight. Don't worry. I will figure something out." I turned from the sickening scene in front of me and made my way upstairs.

I stared at the bed with a thick blue comforter for a good five minutes without moving. I looked around at my bookshelves and my dresser. I calculated how much I could take with me. I pulled out my old suitcase from our vacation travels and thanked god I had something to pack up my things in.

I put all my clothes into it. It was a tight fit, but I managed somehow. I put all my toiletries into my gym bag and stashed my shoes in the side pockets. I strapped that to the top of the suitcase and turned to my school knapsack. I filled it with all the books I couldn't live without.

I rolled my comforter up, laid a pillow next to it and strapped them with my belts, just in case. I didn't have a whole lot left. Some things would be hard to travel with so I left them behind. I was debating on some electronics when my mother threw another bag into my room.

It was my father's old duffle bag, so I filled it up with some last minute things. I sat on my bed, staring at my phone. Where was I going to go? I called a few friends, but two didn't pick up and the third said his parents wouldn't let me stay there when he asked.

I hauled my bags downstairs and out the front door. As I was arranging my things so I could leave, Meagan came home in a friend's car. She looked over at me, concerned. I glared at her, glared at my house, and walked in the opposite direction.

"Chris? Chris, I'm sorry!" I heard her call after me. I shook my head. Stupid girl. Stupid parents. Stupid world. What the hell was I supposed to do? I had no idea where I was going. It wasn't cold yet, but it was going to be.

In the meantime, I was loaded down with my stuff and my winter jacket hanging off the suitcase with nowhere to go. I pulled out my phone outside the coffee shop and stole their free wifi so I could look up where the shelter was.

It was five blocks away and I was already tired. I waited there until a staff member came out and told me I wasn't allowed to loiter outside the shop. Then I picked up my stuff and walked all the way to the homeless shelter.

There was a sign outside, it read 'ring for entrance' so I pushed the button. An older lady came out and looked at me suspiciously. I had dropped my bags on their lawn to give my shoulders and hands a break. She eyed my stuff and looked me over.

"Go home kid. Whatever it is, it isn't worth running away about." She grumbled at me. I stopped her when she was about to go back inside.

"I can't. I'm not a runaway. I got kicked out for being gay. I really need a place to sleep." I told her. She flung my hand off her like I had the plague and sneered.

"Well you aren't sleeping here, demon. Go find your boyfriend and sleep with him." She slammed the door behind her and I stared at it in shock.

I felt the tears of frustration beginning to fill my eyes and I blinked them back furiously. You have got to be kidding me. I was at a loss.

"You can sleep under the bridge at Central. Just be cleared out by morning." I heard a gravelly voice say to me from the shadows.

"What about my stuff? Won't it get stolen?" I sat down on the sidewalk in despair. I looked at my stuff wearily and thought about the long walk to Central.

"You can lock it up at the station on the corner of fifth. Costs two dollars for a big storage locker. Good luck kid." He wandered off muttering to himself and spitting at the building that claimed to help people. I guess it only helped their kind of people.

I hauled my things onto my shoulders and walked downtown. By the time I got there I was exhausted. The station was deserted at this time of night and the security guard looked at me suspiciously as I made my way to the lockers.

I read the rules on the door carefully. I had to pay two dollars every time I needed something from the locker, so I would have to store what I could live without and carry what I needed regularly. I switched my bags around, putting changes of clothes into my gym bag and necessities in my knapsack.

The rest I locked up in the station. I took my two bags and blanket with pillow with me. There were about six people under the bridge. They barely spared me a glance as I set up my sleeping spot. I laid my blanket down, put my bags inside with my pillow, then wrapped myself in next to them.

It was the only way I figured I could make sure no one touched my stuff without me knowing. I couldn't sleep most of the night anyways. I set an alarm so I would make it to school on time at least. I turned off anything I didn't need to save my battery. Hopefully I could charge it tomorrow at school.

Today, today at school. I watched as the sky lightened and noticed when the others began packing up their things. I got up and rolled my blanket and pillow back into a roll. I strapped it onto my gym bag and refreshed my deodorant from my knapsack.

"Hey kid. Got any spare change?" One of the guys asked as we left the bridge. I looked over at him in surprise. I was there same as him, so why would he ask that? I shook my head, but rooted around in my pocket anyways. I found a coupon for a McDonald's meal and offered it to him. He grinned at me and nodded his thanks as he headed in that direction.

I went in the other direction towards my school. My stomach was rumbling by the time I got there, so I grabbed an apple from the cafeteria for 50 cents. Any way I looked at it, I was going to run out of money too soon. Even with my bank account, I figured I could only last a year tops. That wouldn't get me to the end of high school.

I would have to get a part-time job. Hopefully I could find someone who would hire a teenager without any experience. My head was spinning so badly from all the new thoughts and problems that I had encountered I didn't even notice that my friends didn't seem to be around. I didn't notice all the looks from the other students either.

I had bigger problems now. Like how I was going to eat.

*

It was my third interview. My phone was proving to be invaluable, when I could keep it charged. I would go into the public library and charge it there while I did my homework out of the cold. The woman at the desk made a deal with me to keep my bags at the front while I worked, as long as I was quiet. I was grateful for her understanding.

I pulled my lighter jacket around my torso and stepped into the small shop. I looked around at the empty tables and then smiled when an older man came forward to see me. He sat me down and explained their situation. They needed someone to help out part time in the evenings. It was student wage, because they weren't doing well, and it was going to be late into the night.

I said it was okay. I just needed something, anything really, to keep me going. It would be somewhere warm that I could stay for most of the evening, and I could get food at a discount if I ate there. It was an alright deal for both of us. He didn't ask me why I wanted the job, and I didn't ask for more than he was willing to give me.

It was exhausting. Going to school, homework at the library until dinner, work from dinner until midnight, try to sleep under the bridge, get up at sunrise and go to school. I lost a lot of weight. I had dark circles under my eyes. Nobody said anything to me though. It was like it wasn't even happening as far as the school was concerned. Don't ask, don't tell.

I did my own laundry at the laundry mat on the weekends. I sold the books I thought I couldn't live without. Turns out you can live with a lot less than you thought when you are starving. I sold my video games. I sold my console. That fed me for almost a month when I stretched it out. My clothes were wearing out, but I did my best to patch them back together with a needle and thread when I could.

I layered up for the nights. It was so cold I thought I would wake up with frostbite some days. The food kitchen gave out mittens at the last meal I went to, so I had something at least. I switched to my boots and used an old hat that I found behind the shop when I was taking out the trash. It was ugly, but it was warm and fine once I gave it a good wash.

The security guard at the station gave me a scarf one night. His look of pity almost killed me, but I was too tired to be prideful about it. I thanked him and gave him one of my rare smiles. He said not to think about it, it was just an old extra from the lost and found. I was still grateful. People like him were the only things that gave me hope in humanity these days.

Besides, I just had to get through one more year and a half. Just one more year. I pulled out the small white envelope and stared at the signature and date scrawled across the seal. So close, yet so far away.

*

I sat in the back of the shop and cried. I had waited all day before I broke down, to give me credit. I had left my bag strap sticking out the bottom and in the morning it was gone. It was an expense I couldn't afford right now. I had lost some toiletries, some clothes, a pair of sandals for showering and worst of all... my phone. I had tossed it in there when I left the library without thinking, and slept well enough that I didn't feel them take it.

I had stopped by the phone place and told them it was stolen so they would put a hold on my account. I wasn't about to pay for their phone calls. Now that it was gone, I had no morning alarm and no way for the shop to get a hold of me. The old man didn't seem too worried, said he would figure something out for me and had me eat a sandwich before I started my shift. He didn't even charge me for it, even though I tried to pay him.

When I was leaving, he passed me an old flip phone. It was tired looking, but he said it still worked fine and gave me the charging cable to go with it. I wiped my eyes and thanked him for his generosity. He had saved me yet again, without even realising it. I was nearly at the end of my rope, you see. He gave me just enough hope to keep on going. He gave me just enough kindness to keep me sane. I went to the bridge that day wary but stable.

I didn't sleep well for the following weeks. It cost me more than I wanted to spend for a new sim card to get the phone working, but I needed something. The store was good about hooking it up to my old account and everything. The girl flirted with me a little and I admit I might have flirted back a little so she would help me out for free. A guy has to do what he has to do for his job though. The thing had an annoying alarm set up on it, but it worked.

The shop helped me find another job over the summer months. It was brutal, doing landscaping and mowing lawns in the heat, but it was money in the bank. I kept very little actual cash on me, and had to shower at the public pool when I had time. I made a couple of friends at the Bridge and we watched each others' backs during the night, taking turns so we weren't robbed again. They didn't lose as much as I did that one night, but every little bit hurts when you have so little.

Soon I had reduced to a small locker at the station. It only cost a dollar. I picked up some clothes at the second hand shop since most of my pants were too short now and the waists too big. The kitchen handed out some black socks for awhile, but I went to a local store and bought myself a bulk package of thermal ones out of my summer pay as a treat. They would keep me warm this winter along with my new-ish sweaters.

The old man complimented me on my new wardrobe when I came in. I spun around to show him and he laughed. I had a bit of a bounce in my step when I served customers that day. I felt pretty good about myself this year. I managed to survive this long. I hadn't starved to death. I hadn't given up. I went to school, got mail in my postal box, did my homework at the library, went to work, used my old flip phone, kept track of my stuff, got a little sleep, and waited.

The days got colder. The coldest winter in history they said. The station let you stay inside as long as you were quiet, didn't make a mess, and didn't cause trouble. I spent some nights talking to the security guard about philosophy and life. I wanted to go to college. I was working really hard on my school work so I might get a scholarship to get in. My math teacher said I had a very good chance to get in to the local place. They had a really good scholarship program there according to the guard.

He thought I was a runaway at first, but I told him I was kicked out. He didn't flinch at the fact that I was gay. It was relieving in a way to have someone be okay with it. In fact, his cousin was gay and going to University the next city over, or so he said. He gave me a website address on the back of a card for a support group. I wasn't sure if I was going to check it out. I didn't really need support for being gay, I needed support for everyday living.

Six more months. I was almost there. I took the envelope out of storage and carried it in my pocket like a talisman. Every once in a while, I would take it out to look at. When my fingers were cold even through my gloves. When I stepped in a puddle and had to walk four blocks to the café to use the blow dryer in the washroom to dry my boots so my feet wouldn't freeze. When I forgot to take out money and had to skip breakfast before school and spent lunch going to the bank and back.

I kept it clean and dry when I slept in the snow covered with the sand and salt of the winter. I kept it close as I wandered my way towards exams. I smiled at it when I was accepted to college on scholarship based on my interim marks. It was my hope. It made me smile when there really wasn't anything to smile about. I thought I was invincible, or at least invisible. It turns out I wasn't. Someone at the Bridge thought I was carrying a secret worth knowing. That's when things got scary.

They followed me from school to the library. I couldn't see them, but I felt uneasy. I went to the station next, to change out some things at my locker. It was when I was halfway to work that they jumped me. I didn't see it coming really. I was pushed into the alleyway and beaten. I didn't know what they were looking for, they couldn't understand why I wouldn't know. It was all just a big mistake. But there I was, broken and bleeding by the time they left.

They didn't take anything from me. There was nothing to take but some clothes, school books, a cheap, worthless phone and a tattered white envelope. I stared at the smear of red across the glaring white, dizzy and afraid. My hand reached over to take the piece of paper from inside. I unfolded it and saw his name, a phone number, and an email address in bold writing.

I took out my flip phone and hesitated. I lay back, the pain washing over me until I was faint from it. My fingers shook a little as I typed in the numbers. It rang.

"Hello?" I heard his voice on the other end. I closed my eyes and held back my tears.

"Please. Please don't hang up. I need help. Please help me." I gasped. I could hear him asking who this was and I could barely form words. This wasn't good. I was passing out. "Hardware... Seventh Avenue... alley."

*

"Chr... Chris... Christopher!" I heard the voice calling my name. I clutched the phone tightly in my hand, thinking it was coming from it. Then I felt someone grab onto me. I panicked for a second before realising the voice was coming from the person above me. He was trying to get me up but I shook my head, refusing. It hurt too much to get up.

I felt him scoop me up and carry me, each footstep was like daggers and throbbing in various parts of my body. I was put into a warm car and I heard reassuring words as we drove away. I was in and out of consciousness, but I felt safe again. For the first time in years, I felt safe. He brought me to the hospital and they put me in a wheelchair to take me inside.

My chest was hurting really badly, and I started to cry when they tried to take my phone and paper from me. They made me hand them to Mr. B. so they could check me. Each time they prodded me, it felt like they were stabbing me. I heard someone say that I had to get in right away. They asked for parents and I shook my head no.

When they asked about a guardian I pointed back where I came from. Let them think Mr. B. was my guardian. Hopefully he would get the hint. Either way, I was slipping away again. I wouldn't come back for a long time now. When I woke up I was wrapped in bandages and feeling woozy on drugs. I was in a general recovery room by the looks of it.

Three broken bones, bruised lung, extensive bruising on my limbs and I was lucky I didn't puncture a lung. Mr. B. didn't say a word while I was told all this. There was a police officer there who wanted to know who had done this, but I couldn't do more than give a few descriptions of the guys who jumped me. He looked like he knew exactly who they were after the second description, if I am one to gauge expressions.

I had to stay for four days before they let me go and it was boring. Now they were letting me go in the morning, only in the care of my 'guardian' and if I stayed on bed rest. I looked askance at Mr. B. but he told the doctor that would be fine. It surprised me. I didn't actually expect him to look after me. I was in a panic when I had called him. I should have just called emergency services, but we do crazy things when we are hurt. Like call someone before the date on the envelope.

I fully expected him to walk out with that piece of paper and leave me with nothing. I had been warned after all. He didn't though. He sat by me all that last night, despite warnings from the nurse. In the morning he helped me into a wheelchair and took me out to his car. I cringed at the spot of dried blood I saw on the back seat as I climbed in. He buckled me up and wordlessly drove me to his home. Neither of us said a word as he helped me to the couch. I noticed my phone on the table and picked it up.

"Your boss called. I answered it, I hope you don't mind, and told him you were in the hospital. You should call him and let him know that you are alright." He mumbled from a chair across from me.

"Thanks, I will do that. I should probably call the school too?" I looked at the old phone with worry, since it was the first time I had been off sick or something and I wasn't sure if the school would give me a hard time.

"I... uh, I called them for you. I hope that wasn't out of line. I didn't think..." He was staring at me and biting his lip in consternation.

"No that's fine. Thank you. It saves me the trouble. Are they going to get together some homework for me? I really can't miss any school work right now." I gulped, hoping this wouldn't kill my chances of getting that scholarship.

"It's alright. I will go over there and work something out with your teachers, okay? Give me a class list and I will talk to them for you. If you have any problems, well I may be a bit rusty but I will try to tutor you." He scratched the back of his head and I nodded. I looked around a little and saw my battered old school bag in the front hall.

"Can I see my bag?" I asked him. He got up and brought me the old knapsack. I dug through it to see what might be missing. Only an old leather belt and about twenty dollars was gone. All the clothes were still there. I pulled out a clean sweater and tried to get it over my head with one hand, my left useless in the cast they put over it. Mr. B. got up and helped me get it on, which had me blushing up a storm. Even the slightest graze of his hands was enough to set me off, hurt as I was.

"What happened to you? I'm sorry, I promised myself I wouldn't say anything but I can't just sit here and see you like this and say nothing. I thought... when you didn't come by I thought maybe you moved on... but this." He gestured to me with one hand and clasped it to his mouth as if to stop his words. He was looking at me like he was seeing a ghost. His eyes held a wealth of pain and confusion. I cringed inside at the thought that he might pity me now.

"I didn't forget. I've just been busy. My parents kicked me out, so I had to get a job. I'm sorry I called you early. I just didn't know what else to do at the time." I looked away from him. He came and sat next to me, I felt his tentative hand stroke my hair and it took everything I had not to sob out my fears and frustrations onto his shoulder in that instant. I just closed my eyes and let myself relax. I let his arm pull me against his side and laid my dirty head on his strong shoulder.

"Don't be sorry. You did the right thing. I know there is more to all this than you are telling me. I have lots of questions, but I will wait for you to tell me in your own time. Okay?" He rubbed my shoulder comfortingly and I nodded silently. I wasn't ready to admit to him all I had been through. Not yet anyways. Maybe some day I would tell him everything and cry it all out on his shoulder, but not today. Not when I still felt like an invader in his home.

My stomach took the cue and rumbled threateningly at us both. I would usually ignore it, but Mr. B. got up and went to the kitchen to feed me. He asked what I wanted and I had no idea. He made me a big sandwich with cheese and lettuce. I could only manage to eat half at the time. He gave me a look and asked me to try and eat the rest in a bit if I was able. I wrote down my locker number for him and fished the key out of the hiding spot in my jacket.

He frowned, but said he would pick up my things on his way home from work when I asked him. I could feel the question in his eyes. I wasn't going to be able to get there for weeks, so I wanted to bring all my stuff here instead. Then at least I wouldn't have to borrow clothes again. Not that I minded wearing the t-shirt and oversized sweatpants that Mr. B. had brought me at the hospital. They were comfortable, and although they smelled different than my own clothes, they were clean.

Mr. B. was really thoughtful. He gave me a container so I wouldn't have to run to the toilet every time I had to pee. He made sure I had lots of drinks and snacks by the couch. He gave me a clean, fresh pillow and a couple blankets to curl up with. He let me watch whatever I wanted on television. He brought me homework and took my completed sheets in to my teachers. He tried to feed me until I felt like I was bursting.

I was healthier for it. I will admit that. I gained some weight back and he smiled one day when I noted that my eye-bags were disappearing too. I could actually sleep and I did that a lot. It was like my body was trying to make up for all the missed time. Or the medication I was on made me sleepy. Either way, the boy who showed up that first day had all but disappeared by the time exams were upon me. I had to go in to the school to write those, and I did with my cast still on my leg and everything.

The other kids all stared at me as I moved through the hallway. My arm cast was off, so I only had to hobble on my crutches down to the exam room they set up for me to write my tests. My bruises were pretty much all healed, and I had gained at least twenty pounds in the last months. It made my face less hollow and my hair full and healthy. My teachers were all smiles when they saw me, glad that I was doing so well even if my leg was broken.

I had a special schedule because of my time off. They had me write my exams over two days, one day apart, in a special room set up just for me. One of the vice principals watched me do them, which was slightly intimidating, but the room was quiet and I got a little extra time so I could get up and move if I was in pain. I felt really good about the end result when I was all done. I was pretty sure that my expert tutor had served me well.

Mr. B. stayed true to his word and made sure I was okay with all my homework. We spent hours in the living room going over my calculus homework. He tried to swap me for his bedroom, saying we could take turns sleeping on the couch in the small house, but I refused to hear it. I finally told him that it was far better than sleeping under the bridge at Central, and that seemed to shut him up. It embarrassed me to no end to admit it to him though.

He was starting to understand my circumstances though. Between the suitcase and the remaining bags of my dwindling pile of possessions that he picked up from the station, my battered blanket and pillow, and my tired old phone... it became obvious that I was now just a poor as dirt street kid with high hopes. I gave him the key to my postal box and he came back with my report card and package from the college welcoming me.

If I maintained an average of 80 percent or better, then tuition was free. It was better than I could have hoped for, and a relief. All I had to worry about was feeding myself and finding a place to sleep when Mr. B. kicked me out. I figured it would be fine once I got the cast off, I could figure something out and maybe find somewhere closer to the college campus that was safe. The shop said they would still have me back when I was better, part time again but at adult minimum wage.

"Hey, do you want spaghetti Bolognese for dinner tonight?" Mr. B. popped his head in the living room and I grinned at him.

"Whatever is fine. You don't have to go to any trouble for me." I replied. He scoffed at me.

"Are you kidding? We have to celebrate. You got yourself a full-ride scholarship. Those marks are better than mine were in school." He ducked back out of the room and left me to blush furiously on the couch. I could hear him moving around in the kitchen and decided to get up to watch. I hobbled with my cane to the doorway and he raised a brow at me as I leaned against the counter.

"You should be resting your leg, not walking around on it yet." He cautioned me. I shrugged.

"I'm tired of resting it. I'll just stand on my other leg. It will be fine." He huffed at my response and came back with a step stool for me to sit on.

"Sit. I want to see you get all better. These breaks are tricky if you don't take care of them." Then he went back to making dinner. I wondered if he was saying that so he could get rid of me faster or make me stay longer. I was utterly confused. He never spoke about me leaving, I just figured it was inevitable. I mean, he hadn't said a word about the envelope or how he really felt. It all seemed up in the air right now. I didn't know what to think or feel, let alone what to say about it.

I just smiled and enjoyed his company. I ate his food and slept on his couch. I watched his television and read his books. I carefully showered and dressed myself each day without thinking too hard about the future and what it might bring. I enjoyed things as they were while it lasted, because who knew what tomorrow would bring.

*

Therapy was hell. I felt stiff and sore all the time. My leg was doing well, and my arm was back to normal. I didn't need the cast anymore, but I was supposed to 'be careful' according to both the doctor and Mr. B. The latter was spending most of the summer going to classes himself and making up next year's class schedule. I got to watch and listen to him as he told me about his day. When I brought up leaving, he waved it off.

"No way. You are staying here. I won't have you hurt yourself out there. Please. I don't mind having you here." He insisted. I felt a bit weird about it.

"Can I at least help pay for some stuff? Like groceries or something? I saved up a bit for college in case I didn't get a full scholarship." I offered. He gave me a look like he was insulted.

"Nope. I tell you what though... I could use some help keeping this place clean. Do you mind taking on some household chores?" He asked me. I was relieved at the suggestion. I mean I really felt useless.

"I don't mind at all. I can even do laundry if you like. I am a real pro at that." I said proudly. He laughed and nodded.

"Okay, that sounds good. I might get you to clean the bathroom too. How do you feel about that?" He smirked. I shrugged.

"It doesn't bother me. You will have to show me what to use where though. I have no idea what you clean with." I admitted with a blush. I felt really strange bonding over bathroom cleaners and scrub brushes, but in a way it was nice. It screamed domestic bliss to me. Maybe it was just my imagination though.

The days ticked by without me noticing, and then it was my birthday. I hadn't celebrated it in years now. I was surprised that Mr. B. remembered when my birthday was. He brought home a small cake, made my favourite chicken dinner, and even gave me a small wrapped gift. I was so blown away that I cried. Not the cute little tears kind of crying, but the nose-snotting, red-eyes, deep chest sobbing kind.

He held me against him and let me get it all out. I felt him rub circles on my back soothingly and it felt like something inside me broke open. I sat down on the couch that was my bed for months and told him everything. I watched as his eyes grew wide. I saw him get angry. I watched him shed a tear or two in frustration and sadness. I saw his eyes filling up with admiration and...

"I love you. You are the bravest person I have ever met, Christopher. I want you to stay with me. It is going to be hard. There are going to be people who give us a hard time because you are so much younger than me. If you want to stay, if you still love me, I would be honoured to have you by my side." His words came out in a rush as he held my hands. My tears were gone, washed away by his.

"Really?" I squeaked out in a voice I barely recognized as my own. He nodded his head seriously and bumped his forehead against mine. I watched him watching me with a feeling of unreality about the whole thing. "Can... can I kiss you now?" I was hesitant to ask him that, but after everything I felt like this might be the right moment. He smiled at the question and I felt his hand come up to stroke my hair gently.

"Oh Christopher. You don't need to ask anymore. I'm your boyfriend now." He teasingly explained. I admit I might have been a little too excited at the announcement and managed to clink teeth with him and bite my own lip in my efforts to kiss him. It was embarrassing, and maybe a little funny. He laughed at me at least, and I found it in myself to laugh at it too. What was a confession without a little mishap or two?

"Hey boyfriend..." I said shyly after I managed a decent kiss or two.

"Yes boyfriend?" He replied back cheekily. I smiled at him.

"I think I am still going to need you to teach me a thing or two..." I responded with a furious blush. He gave me an uncertain look and raised his brow. I shrugged and bit my lip. His eyes widened once again.

"You mean you haven't..." He began to say before trailing off without finishing.

"Nope. I am afraid not. After all... I've always been in love with you."