i dunno why, but twelve just makes me think of trees. and since i already titled a chapter tree, i figured, "WHY NOT!?"

so here you are, 

so sorry to keep you waiting so frickin' long.

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Damian's Mom:

The door is unlocked and the driveway is clear of cars.

Damian must be home.  What a surprise.  I hardly see my boy go to school anymore.  To be honest, I hardly see my youngest at all.

Something's different this time, though.  The air doesn't hang still with the depression that engulfs him in a cloud where ever he goes.  I know he hasn't been taking his pills.  I'm not stupid.

In fact, I could swear I hear laughter.

Damian:

Timmy and I are still laughing when there's a knock on my door.

Shit.

I stop all noise almost instantly.  Thankfully, Timmy picks up on what to do.

"Come on in!" he calls to the person on the other side of the door, namely, my mother.

"Hello," she says to Timmy, and surveys the whole situation before giving him a smile.  "Are you a friend of Damian's?"

"Yes ma'am.  I'm Timmy.  I just moved here two and a half weeks ago."

"Oh, lovely!  It's a pleasure to meet you."  She shakes his outstretched hand without any hesitation.

I have to give her some credit-- she's adjusted to my sexuality and choice of friends quite nicely.

"I could have sworn I heard laughter."

"Oh yeah!" Timmy exclaims.  "Damian was trying to lick his elbow.  We were playing truth or dare."

"My Damian...well, just keep the door open, okay boys?"

"Yes ma'am.  It was nice to meet you!"

He jumps up to give her a quick hug before she can leave.

"Why...yes.  It's nice to meet you as well."

Damian's Mom:

I really hope he's the one to pull him through- Timmy.  That boy could do a lot worse than having an overly happy new boyfriend.  It wouldn't hurt for him to smile a bit more.

Damian:

"She was nice," Timmy smiles at me.  "And she seemed pretty cool, knowing your whole sexual preference thing and all."

"That's because your pants were still on, darlin'.

"She won't catch us," Justin assured.  "It's the middle of the day.  She's at work until four, right?"

I nodded.  "But, what if she does?"

"Then she walks in, closes her eyes and pretends she didn't see anything.  You think your mom wants to see that?"

I laughed at the thought of her catching the two of us engaged in the most intimate of behaviors.  The farthest she'd ever seen us go was a quick kiss to say hello.

"I promise, okay?  I won't let anything bad happen."

"You swear?"

"I swear."

I remember how hard I shook, how long it took for us to get all the way there.  He held me so close, telling me how much he loved me, about how it was going to be okay.  He even paused, and asked me if I wanted to stop.  I didn't.  I wanted it just as much as him.

I also remember the look on her face when she walked in.  It wasn't disgust, and it wasn't disapproval.  It wasn't even really surprise.

It was let-down.  It was the look of a child who'd just been told that the Tooth Fairy didn't exist.  She just wanted to go back to a world where she'd never seen her son with another boy inside him.

"Hey, should we go somewhere else?" Timmy whispers and breaks the memory.  "Do you want to go for a walk?"

It's raining and you lack a jacket.  I nod.

"Can I borrow a jacket?  My sweatshirt was in the wash, and now it's all wet.  I had to walk to school in short sleeves.  Do you have any idea how cold it was this morning?  I swore I was going to freeze.  My fingers were as blue as my hair!"

I toss him a hoodie from under my bed.  It's the first one my fingers grab, and I don't know which one it is until he pulls it over his head and messes up his already messy hair.

The sweatshirt is huge, and hangs loosely over his skinny frame.  It's white, with the two word name of a band scrawled in practically unreadable writing across the front.  When Timmy turns to fix his hair in my unused mirror, I'm able to read the four letters printed in bold across the back.  

Pull the trigger bitch.

I can't help but to laugh and let loose a tear at the same time.  He looks far too innocent for all the anger Suicide Silence put into those lyrics.

"What?"  Timmy turns to face me.  "Does my hair look bad or something?  You're the one who gave me a pullover.  Darn it, Damian, stop laughing!"

I can't stop.

He whips around to examine his hair in the mirror, and upon seeing nothing, glares at me.

"Just tell me already!"

Look for yourself, kid.

The black lettering once again comes into view.  He can't figure it out for himself, so I reach out and tug at the fabric.

"What."I tug again, and then motion for him to check his back.

"I have something on my back?  On my butt?"  Timmy looks into the mirror.  His expressions heighten when he sees what he's wearing.

"Damian!  I am not wearing this!  It's got bad words on it!  Where did you even get this, anyway?  Your parents let you wear this kind of stuff?"

My parents don't give a shit what I do anymore.  "Justin."  

"Oh."  His face falls and he snuggles into the material.  "Thanks for letting me wear it."

I follow him down the stairs.  On our way out, we run into my mom in the kitchen.

"You boys going out?"

"Yes ma'am," Timmy responds for the two of us, and darts to the other side of the doorframe to hide the sweatshirt.  "Alright, don't get too wet."

Only girls get wet, mom, I want to say, but don't.

"Bye!  We'll be back later!"

It's not raining outside, just overcast.  Timmy pulls the sleeves over his hands and shoves them in the oversized pocket.

"So did he like, give you this jacket, or did it used to be his?  It's too big for either of you."

"He bought it for me when we went to go see them.  It was the only size left."

"Who'd you go see?  I can't read this writing at all.  Why do hardcore bands pick such messy logos?"

"Suicide Silence."

"Was it fun?"

"The concert?"

"Yeah."

"It was beyond fun.  It was amazing.  Life changing.  You ever been to a hardcore show before?"

He shrugs.  "Zachary and I went to Warped once.  But we only saw like, Never Shout Never and stuff."

"It's not even close to the same thing.  Warped is too broad, too many different types of music.  They gotta appeal to all sorts of kids, the emos and the punks and the indie kids and the goths and the metal heads.  This one was just, just angry.  A whole bunch of angry kids who are angry at the world and angry at all the people who don't accept them."

"Are you angry, Damian?"

Timmy looks up at me.

Am I angry?  I'm not sure.  I've never really thought about it before.

Sure, there's stuff that bothers me, and stuff that pisses me off, but I'm not angry all the time.  Every little thing doesn't set me off.  When something bad happens, I don't turn to anger to deal with it.

I'd say sadness is more my emotion.

I reach out and take Timmy's hand from its hiding spot. The spaces between my fingers are right where his fit perfectly.

"I don't think so."

He smiles, and squeezes my grip.  "Tell me about your favorite memory?"

"Alright."