〖 chapter eight ⋆ quivering lip 〗

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         "I just want to feel right again."

         He didn't know why he added 'again', as if there was a time when he did feel right. But it seemed right, it seemed that adding it might lessen the blow of how he actually felt. It wouldn't seem so bad if he said again, referring to a time when he felt on top of the world, the king of the universe. When the sky was the limit and he could smile without care and he wasn't hiding or pretending or trying to be someone that everyone else wanted. It seemed easier for them to digest if he said that, added that to his confession.

         It wasn't the truth, though. He never had a time when he was on top of the world and he was truly himself. Maybe when he was much younger and the pressure to be someone else wasn't placed on him but that was so long ago he couldn't remember. He had to be the perfect son, the boy who loved sports and watched football with his dad and went to baseball games and enjoyed every minute. The boy who didn't complain about dinner or where they were going out to eat, who would pick something off the menu without 'they don't have anything I like here!' because that would embarrass his parents and he couldn't.

         Shut up and accept it. Eat without complaining – who cares about what you actually think? Opinions don't matter here.

         And those were silly examples. Food isn't important and he could muscle through a meal of sea food or Italian even though he'd rather just have chips at home, but it grew into something more. So much more. Is that alright? No. Every time he got asked that the true, honest answer was no but he always said yes because that's what everyone wanted to here. They wanted him to be okay so he would. At least, in their eyes he would allow them to believe that.

         But the blow of his father got to him. You're not doing the damn musical. The way his father stared at him, looking into his soul with such sternness. Deciding and forcing him to stay silent and accept it the same way he used to look at him when he tried to complain about dinner or where they went to eat. So he accepted it again. Fuck your wants, to hell with what you want to do with your life – Columbia will be good for you.

         Columbia would be hell for him and he knew already.

         He squeezed his eyes shut, wanting to cry but knowing he couldn't. He couldn't cry because he never cried. The Golden Boy didn't have a reason to cry and neither did Icarus, not really, so he didn't need to. But he needed to, him – Garrett Lockwood – needed to cry because everything was piling up and there was so much pressure now and he needed a release.

         He had to start applications for colleges, he had to maintain grades, he had to be perfect for everyone. He had to be the same old Golden Boy who always knew what to say and do, who never had any problems and made people envious because he was so goddamn perfect. That was who he had to be. There was no other option.

         And Peter was coming over soon, he couldn't cry. He couldn't be so selfish to let Peter come through his window again and see his boyfriend crying, that would be terrible. But it was so hard to keep the tears in when every thought looming in his head was about his dad and the musical, college, and life. There was no escaping the sadness and he just needed to cry.

         So, he did.

         The tears started streaming and he wanted to open his mouth and release the sobs clawing at his throat but everyone was home and Laurel might hear him crying and he couldn't do that to her. She didn't deserve to see him so troubled or broken down, she deserved to see her brother in light and happiness. She deserved the Golden Boy.

         His lips parted slightly, though, and small sounds escaped and he cried harder. Already, he stopped attempting to try and wipe them away when so much more was already coming, it was no use. So wrapped up in the frustration, he didn't hear the window open as Peter walked in. He didn't see the dawn of realization that dropped on his face when he realized his boyfriend was crying and sobbing until he felt arms around him startling him.

         He looked back terrified only to see Peter who was hugging him and attempting to be sweet. Because it was sweet and to anyone else this was a dream come true; their boyfriend stepping in to comfort them but for him...it was a nightmare. The guard was down, he wasn't perfect Icarus or Golden Boy – he was the crying and pathetic Garrett Lockwood who was weak. Weak and pitiful, crying.

         "Peter?" he asked, sobs racking his body because he couldn't stop no matter how badly he wanted to. The cover was gone and someone was here and they saw him, they saw this mess and somehow Peter wasn't running away or telling everyone...he was comforting him.

         "Come on, let's move you to the bed," and Peter stood him up to walk him away from his desk and to his bed, ignoring the calling of his name from him.

         And he looked so nice. He was right there and willing and it had been so long since he cried, longer since he had someone there to comfort him as he did so, he threw himself into Peter's arms and let his lips part more as the sobs came all while Peter ran a hand down his back in comforting motions.

         He didn't want this, he knew that. He wanted the perfect image he tried to project for so long to come forth and stop his crying so that he could continue living his lie but it was so hard. His dad's gaze was returning and how he was deciding everything. He wouldn't do the musical even though he wanted to, he wouldn't be able to look at other colleges because of course he would be picked for Columbia and of course he would go and love it so much. He would the love of his life, a nice woman, and laugh about the times before when he had been confused and the thought of Columbia sent him into spirals. It would be an old joke because his life was so great.

         Greg Lockwood would smugly state that he made it all happen, that it was because of his own ambitions that his son was molded into this and had this amazing life. He would take all the credit. That was the dream, that was what his dad wanted and what his was falling into even though it seemed like he was falling into a never-ending abyss. That was the dream.

         But for the moment he wasn't the perfect son Greg Lockwood had dreamed of, he was the boy crying into his boyfriend's arms because there was too much pressure and he was crumbling under it. Not thriving – crumbling.

         "What happened?" Peter asked him quietly, concern dripping in his voice because he wanted to know but didn't want to force him to speak if he didn't want to. God, how was he so effortlessly perfect?

         Nothing could pass through his lips except for sobs and even then he didn't want to tell Peter. Everything else would crumble along with him if he let one person knew the truth. He wanted to desperately to let him in but he couldn't, that wouldn't be right for Peter.

         "You don't have to tell me if you don't want to, but if you need to let it out I'm here," Peter whispered, pressing a kiss to his head which made it so much worse.

         Peter was so great, he didn't deserve someone like him. He deserved someone who was ready to be out and open with him, who would hold his hand in public and take him out on a nice date and smile at him so nicely and be the boyfriend/girlfriend that he deserved. Because Peter was great like that, he deserved that greatness to be returned. He couldn't give that to him.

         He deserved nothing. He didn't deserve this kindness or just the overall amazingness and patience of Peter. He deserved to be left along forever and have the unhappy, loveless marriage that would make his parents happy and no one else. Especially not him. That was what he deserved and yet he got Peter. He'd only have Peter for a short time, they'd crumble soon enough.

         But then he let it slip. The feeling that he kept inside and decreed to never let out slipped:

         "I just want to feel right again."

         The confession was quiet, a whisper in the night that would be ignored under all the blunt screams and exclamations. But Peter heard it and held him tighter.

         "What happened? Why don't you feel right?" Peter asked him, bringing his head up to look into his eyes, "Gar?"

         Staring made it worse. The concern pooled in his eyes as well and he had such a big heart, why was he giving away to him? He didn't deserve this. "My dad," he had to confess, because how could he not when staring into Peter's eyes.

         "What about him? What did he do?" Peter asked calmly, patiently, giving him time to decide if he wanted to share and allowing him to know that it was okay if he didn't.

         And he didn't. He didn't want to answer because this was his secret, his prison. It would be okay in college, he always promised himself, but he knew it wouldn't. That was all a lie because Columbia would never allow him his freedom, it would hold him captive for all his life and he knew that. He knew that so his promise of college and what it stood for was so untrue. Such a lie, such a liar.

         There would be no escaping no matter what he did, so why not? Why not let go with someone, let the mask of Icarus drop and clash to the floor to be crushed under the uncaring feet of those who passed. It would so much easier, just one mask to worry about and nothing else. He wouldn't have to switch, he could keep it forever.

         "It's just – there's so much pressure and I can't handle it," he started, "My dad wants me to go to Columbia and just play soccer and find someone perfect for me – no, not someone, a girl – he wanted me to be find the perfect girl at college and to be a lawyer or a doctor or something. He doesn't care. He's never cared. And I know this and I have for so long but I can't – I can't."

         He was greeted with Peter's grip tightening around him, holding him so close and letting him know that he was there and trying to comfort him even though he found no comfort. This wasn't a savior, this wasn't an escape because he was still stuck but there was nothing Peter could do and asking him for help would be useless. He was stuck.

         "You don't have to go to Columbia, Garrett," Peter whispered in his ear, "You don't have to be a lawyer or a doctor or date someone you don't want to. You can go somewhere else and quit soccer if you don't like it."

         He shook his head because he couldn't.

         "But I do," he stressed, "I have to because if I don't he'll be so disappointed in me and he'll get so angry and I don't want that. I don't want him to be disappointed in me, I don't want anyone to be disappointed in me."

         "Nobody's disappointed in you," Peter assured him, "I'm not disappointed in you."

         "Yes, you are. I know that you are because I'm not the perfect boyfriend. I don't kiss you or hold your hand in public. I ran off after I kissed you for the first time and told you everything was a mistake. I-I, fuck, I'm still hiding and I can't be open or happy and anything because nothing's okay," he rambled on, spilling more tears as he did.

         Peter was quiet for a moment and he knew that he was right. "I'm not disappointed in you. Yes, I want to be open and tell people that you're my boyfriend...but you're not ready and I'm not going to force you out. I wouldn't do that."

         "I know. I know you won't even though you want to. You want someone who's out and happy to be around you and sticks up for you and I'm not that. I'm the opposite of that," he cried.

         "I don't need you to be, I like you and like being with you. I'm okay with this," okay. That word again. He was okay and that meant it was all a lie; he wasn't okay at all. Nothing was okay and nothing was fine and he was just pretending when he was crumbling.

         "I'm sorry," he apologized.

         Peter shook his head, "You don't need to apologize. You did nothing wrong."

         "Yes, I did," he said back, "I'm always in the wrong and I'm always hiding and I'm sorry that you have to deal with this and I'm sorry that you like me enough to stay. You should leave and never come back and be fine with it but you won't. I'm sorry that you like me and this is what you're getting through dating me."

         Peter frowned. He continued, "You deserve the world, Peter Parker, and I can't give you that. I can never give you that no matter how much I want to. I'm sorry this is who I am and I'm sorry that you like this because I'm a mess and I don't deserve this."

         Peter brought him into a hug again. "I don't need you to give me the world, I like mine the way it is. And you aren't a total and complete mess, you're an amazing person who jokes around with his sister and protects her against guys who make her uncomfortable. And I see the way you beat yourself up when you're rude to someone and how much you help Clayton with Gov. That's who you are."

         No, that was the Golden Boy. The Golden Boy was who he was describing, not him. But he didn't exactly know who he was to begin with, so he didn't say anything. He could accept this, so he nodded.

         He wasn't okay, Peter knew that now, but Peter was staying and that was all that mattered.