〖 chapter four ⋆ the golden boy 〗

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He liked to think that it didn't matter. That nothing mattered and nothing was wrong. The secrets he kept, everything that happened between him and Peter, it didn't matter. He could keep it locked away in a closet, a room locked away in the back of his mind, and it would never haunt his dreams. He liked to think that this looming figure always present in his mind to remind him of what he was doing and how wrong he was didn't matter.

It wasn't wrong. He knew that sometimes, he knew that there were protestors and signs and those who cheered that love was love and it was wonderful. He knew that there were people who were happy with themselves, free, and spread that joy around with others. He knew that he should be proud of himself, happy that he could at least admit to someone who he truly was when the lights turned off, but he wasn't.

Because the truth was that he was never so openly free and he could never be. It wasn't that he liked the grave he dug out for himself so long ago when he was growing up and realizing what maybe he wasn't like everyone around him, it was just that he had and others had helped. Unintentionally, of course. But he was the golden son of his family, their pride and joy, the one who would continue on with their name, and he couldn't let them down. He didn't like letting anyone down, so he wouldn't.

He would live the two lives he had created for himself. There was the image he projected onto others, the prized golden child and then there was Icarus, burning too bright and trying to reach what he truly wanted until he would be burnt. But not yet, he was still pushing forward, still flying towards the sun and it had not yet gotten him. In time, it would, but that time was not now.

And it didn't matter, it wasn't a huge deal that he created two people for himself to live through. It got tiring, yes, but he could unwind as Icarus to brave the day as the golden son. It would get easier, in time, when he wouldn't have to switch back and forth so frequently. Icarus could come out to play for longer periods of time and he could let himself pretend to be okay with who he was.

He wasn't.

And that was okay, he liked to think. He didn't have to be proud of himself, he didn't have to preach as others did or hold up signs of protest, signs to show that he was a human being alike many others. He could be so terribly disgusted with himself and still indulge his desires and that had to be okay. He convinced himself in vain that it was okay.

No one needed to know that there were two different people. No one needed to know he had Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde or Hulk and Bruce Banner, they could just know him as the golden son or Icarus and never meet the other. That would be fine enough for him, he could live with that, he thought.

It was easy to pretend. It was easy to play himself off as the golden son because he had been that way for so long, Icarus only being introduced so recently to him. It wasn't that Icarus had been freshly created, no he had been there for so long, but it was only so shortly that Icarus started to become a regular in his life. He blamed Peter for that, not that it was really a bad thing. It just felt like that sometimes.

But he liked the pretending, it was much easier than being honest. Honesty was such a chore that brought on terrible words about his true character, honesty brought disappointment to his family – no longer their golden child, their pride – and honesty deprived him of everything he had worked so hard for.

They called honesty freedom, but it seemed like such a fall. That seemed like his sun, not Peter, not who he knew he truly was. No, honesty seemed like the sun. And he didn't want to burn.

The golden son spent so much time out, took control the most in his life. Icarus only came out for hours at a time before disappearing back from where he came from, allowing the golden son to take the reins again. And the golden son stood proud in the park, kicking a soccer ball back to Clayton.

Doing this wasn't out of the ordinary for him, they usually did this once a week to hang out since it wasn't exactly soccer season yet so they didn't have practice. They didn't always have time to hang out, with him going to Patty's to annoy Tatiana and Clayton hanging out with the other guys since he was always closer with them.

Clayton was good at talking to people, opening up enough and making everyone feel special. He had that ability that he sorely lacked. He stood next to Clayton looking awkward, he went off to stand near the wall and just observe. Observing was always easier, he could imagine conversations with people where he was smooth and knew exactly what to say, but he when he put it into practice nothing went right. The person sounded different, they didn't say what he rehearsed in his brain and everything fell apart.

So it was easier to just observe and let Clayton do the talking. It was easier to talk to Peter late at night when Icarus took over and he didn't have to be the esteemed golden boy anymore. But he's making it out to seem horrible, that the golden boy everyone praised and his father loved so much was this terrible thing that was the bane of his existence even though that wasn't true.

The golden boy was apart of him and he liked it most of the time. The golden boy had friends and a family that loved him, Icarus was alone with terrible memories and realizations that kept him scared and alone except for one person. They were very different and he couldn't see the ever merging together.

"You okay, bro?" Clayton asked him when he had to go run to the ball he had missed only seconds before.

"Yeah, of course," he said back, the immediate reply ready on his tongue. It was automatic, rehearsed. Of course he was fine, of course he was okay, he couldn't have any other feeling. "Everything's fine."

Clayton looked at him as if he didn't believe the boy, "Alright...you just seemed distracted."

"AP Chem is kicking my ass a bit, that's all," he said back, knowing that was probably the only class that he and Clayton didn't share, the other boy taking it last year.

"Ah, I understand. Mr. Harris was an asshole sometimes with assignments. I mean, I get it's an AP class and everything's harder and goes so much faster, but it went so fast that I couldn't separate the equations and everything," Clayton nodded, "But he was better than Jameston sophomore year."

"She just couldn't teach," he agreed, thinking back to their Honors Chemistry teacher.

"If you need to go and study, we can end this early," Clayton said, "I don't wanna be the reason your grades drop. Your mom would have my ass on a silver platter if I did that."

He chuckled, knowing just how true that statement could be. His mother, Emmaline, had expectations for her children, as did his father. They wanted their children to succeed and went harsh when the fell behind what was wanted by them. He hated to think about it.

"Nah, it's fine. But I don't think it's good to keep playing, I might miss again and someone'll trip over the ball," he said and Clayton nodded.

The West boy picked up his ball and then joined his friend, the two of them standing beside each other as they looked around the park. Of course, the nature was beautiful, but he had never been concerned with how green plans were or what shape clouds formed; the people were much more interesting.

People were different, people were like snowflakes. He liked watching snow fall as a child and now he liked watching people, seeing them. Observing them. There was an elderly couple holding hands as they made their way to the fountain in the middle of the park, there was a mother and her child in a stroller, and there were two men holding hands. Being together; being happy. Being his Icarus.

He swallowed, looking away as a pain began to hit his heart. He wanted that, deep down, he wanted to do that. Wanted to be free enough to do that, but he was just so trapped. So terrible trapped in himself and he couldn't be that. He was the golden boy, he was not Icarus, and Icarus had always been a coward. He had always been a coward.

The two of them moved so that they were sitting on a bench. To relieve his pain, he took out his pack of cigarettes and a lighter, taking a swing before turning the pack towards Clayton. "You want one?" he offered.

Clayton shook his head, "I'm good. I didn't know you smoked, Lockwood."

He tried to act nonchalant as he shrugged. "I have for a while now. Guess you don't know everything about me," so careless, so casual, so damaging. Clayton didn't know everything about him because Clayton knew the golden boy, the one who loved soccer and hated Spanish with a little sister as a freshman. He knew the golden boy, who sucked at Calculus and didn't talk much because that was just so hard and nothing went as he planned, who wore a Leatherman jacket and smiled at everyone because smiling always seemed to make people think you were happy.

(He didn't know that, but that was okay. Only Garrett needed to know that.)

"What? You're saying that you have eleven toes or something?" Clayton teased, leaning closer so that they bumped shoulders before moving apart.

He rolled his eyes, "That's exactly what I'm saying. Sorry you never noticed, although it'd be pretty weird if you did. Then I'd think you have a foot fetish."

"Well, if you must know, I do not have a foot fetish but that doesn't mean I am a kink free man," Clayton cackled at his wrinkled up nose, "Dude, I'm not gonna tell you my list or anything! That's strictly between me and the people I'd consider sleeping with. And, sorry man, but you're not on my list."

"Good, I don't wanna be," and he wasn't lying. Clayton was a great friend and that was he needed – and wanted – him to be. "No offense, you're disgusting."

"For some reason, I don't find that offensive at all. I probably should, though, shouldn't I?" Clayton questioned, "I mean, we're bros and I'm not gay, but I should probably think you not wanting to fuck me even if we were gay is offensive. But it's good."

"Good," he teasingly replied back even though it wasn't a fun conversation anymore. It was supposed to be light and fun – the golden boy as supposed to be light and fun! – but it wasn't that anymore. Because he wasn't straight, he didn't like girls, and the same gender as him and Clayton seemed so much more appealing.

Fuck, he was horrible. So terribly horrible, that's what he was. It was a lighthearted conversation and now he was adding something more to it that wasn't needed.

Clayton bumped his shoulder again and it was okay again. Because this was a light hearted conversation and he was having fun, he was the golden boy. Golden boys always had fun.

°°°

When it was dinner time, Laurel came up to get him. Garrett had been sitting at his desk with a Word document pulled up that was meant for his essay in English, not that he had actually started it by then, but staring and wondering what exactly he was going to write had to count for something.

She had knocked at his door before entering, not even letting him reply first, and telling him to come downstairs which he did without a complaint. He'd finish the essay later, it would be fine. His parents were already at the dining room table when the siblings got down, taking their own seats at the table as they began passing around food and filling their plates.

Idle conversation was made, Garrett's dad asked him about Clayton and Tatiana. "I just don't think girls can be friends with guys without something else going on, are you sure you don't like her?" he asked and Garrett had shaken his head. No, he didn't like Tatiana in that way and he never would.

Laurel fumed beside him for that and he took a small pleasure in that while their mother remained ignorant to what her husband said. He then asked about Peter and their supposed tutoring sessions and Garrett kept his answers short.

"They're going fine. He's really smart, actually," Garrett had said before taking a sip of his drink, hoping that's where it would end.

His father seemed pleased with the response and moved on and Garrett let out a small sigh of relief. He was glad, for a moment, that his dad wasn't the biggest fan of Peter. His dad started talking to his mom about work and the two children listened in and out while eating their hamburgers.

And after dinner, when everyone had finished their meal and had run out of shallow things to converse about, Garrett started on the dishes since it was his night. It was something he hated but at least he didn't have to stare at his screen for hours longer while trying to come out with the perfect words that always seemed to escape him.

Laurel had gone upstairs again to her room, bouncing as she did and his parents stayed in the dining room for a moment longer. And Garrett didn't mean to overhear their conversation, eavesdrop, but it happened.

"Greg, I don't see why you're so hung up about this," Emmaline, his mother, sighed quietly.

"I just don't see why Garrett's offering to tutor this kid, Emma, it doesn't look good," his dad said back.

"Tutoring looks good on a college application."

"You mean the ones he isn't sending? Emma, you know that he hasn't even considered a school yet and hasn't even worked on his application to Colombia," Greg said back to her.

"Well...they will look good on a college application, and those aren't due for another month or two. He has time," his mother defended him.

And he hated that they were talking about college, talking about his future like it was theirs to decide. He might be their golden boy, but he was not their puppet. He was his own person (or persons, seeing as he had divided himself) and he could make his own choices. But going somewhere other than Colombia would disappoint his dad and he couldn't do that. He wanted to be their pride and joy and the only way to achieve that was letting them decide, doing what they wanted even if he wanted something different.

He would be their pride, he wouldn't disappoint them. He couldn't.

"But him tutoring looks back. You heard Peter, he doesn't play any sports, just does Decathlon," Greg stressed.

"Oh my – all of this because Peter is different from Garrett? Greg, you've gone mad. People are different."

"I know that, Emma, but Garrett needs everything to be perfect for him to get into Colombia," Greg said back, no guilt with what he was deciding.

"Does he even want to go there? He's never once talked about it unless you're there. What if – what if he wants to go somewhere else?" Emmaline asked him.

"That's crazy talk. Of course Garrett wants to go to Colombia, why wouldn't he?"

Why wouldn't he? Why wouldn't he? That talk, that phrasing, there was no way of getting out of the grave he dug himself. He had agreed so many times with his dad and now it was decided that his heart was set on that school because of it. And saying something that disagreed with that statement would cause disappointment and he wouldn't disappoint.

He was their golden boy, after all. He couldn't fail that. And eventually, he would be okay with that decision.