If boy on boy situations with varying degrees of intensity, religious parents, sarcastic teachers, copious amounts of fluff, British spellings, downright daft humour and the exuberantly plentiful use of profanity offends you in any way, shape, or form, this story is probably Not for You. I regret nothing.
The utterly amazing PandaGutxo is a wonderful person, who drew loads of goreous fanart for this story. She's a gift to the human race *3* . I'll post each picture with it's corresponding chapter, and you can view them all via the external link, should you feel so inclined.
Despite the fact that I was indeed fifteen years old, my mother and father still thought that if they sent me up to my bedroom while they 'discussed things' in low hushed tones, I wouldn't twig that something was going on. Which was why, at ten o'clock on a Saturday night, instead of hanging out with my non-existent mates, I had my face pressed up against the keyhole, trying to make out their quiet whispering.
"Well they've taken her into hospital."
I frowned. That was my mother's voice. She sounded stressed and more than slightly worried.
"And they don't know how long she'll be in but they're guessing at least another month or so."
My dad coughed and the couch squeaked, meaning he must have shifted over to sit beside my mum. I closed one eye and squinted into the keyhole, but I couldn't get a good view through the fine gap in the metal.
"Look Tracey, everything will be fine," my dad shushed, trying to halt my mum's soft sobbing. "Linda will be ok. And for the meantime, I've got no problem taking in Jay for a while... We're his Godparents after all, so it really is our responsibility."
"Yeah," my mum sniffed, wringing her hands. "Why don't you go collect him after we explain everything to Ash?"
At the mention of my name I stood up a little straighter... and knocked the door open in the process.
"Um... Explain what?" I asked cautiously, trying desperately to keep my expression blank. Both my mum and dad saw right through the act and exchanged a panicked look, wondering how much I'd heard. I sighed.
"Look, explain what? Who's Jay?"
"How long have you been listening at that keyhole?" my dad demanded. I rolled my eyes. He was obviously trying to change the subject and I wasn't going to let him get away with it.
"Long enough," I murmured, shrugging casually as though it was the most natural thing in the world. My dad however, wasn't going to let me away that easily.
"How long have you been doing that? What if we'd been talking about something private?"
"Like what?" I snorted. I guess I was being rude, but I really didn't care. "My birthday present?"
"Family matters," my dad snapped. I raised an eyebrow.
"It's real nice that you don't consider me part of your family, dad. Thanks a lot."
Rather than the shocked reaction I was hoping for my dad simply glared at me like he was telepathically scolding me. He was used to my sarcastic remarks and dry humour by now. Everyone was. I was just that kid who made snarky comments in the corner for the kicks.
"Ok, ok, I get the point," I grumbled, raising my hands in defeat. I considered taking out a hankie from my back pocket and waving it like a white flag, but I didn't think my humour would be appreciated at this particular moment in time.
And the tissue wasn't exactly clean either...
"Right, you remember Linda McCallion?" my mum started. "Tall lady, blonde hair, got you that gold baby bracelet that's lying in my jewellery drawer?"
"I've got a gold baby bracelet?" I asked. "Since when? Can I sell it?"
"Not appropriate," my dad interjected, sending me a warning look. I scowled.
"What? I'm not exactly gonna use it, am I?"
My dad opened his mouth to respond, probably to tell me to shut up, when my mum interrupted.
"Linda's got lung cancer. And she took a stroke and now she's in... she's in hospital."
Her voice finished several tones higher than normal and she bit back a sob, tears welling at her eyes. I stood uncomfortably, unsure of what to do, what to say. I'd never had anyone close to me even just sick before, never mind on their deathbed.
"Oh... Uh, I'm sorry?"
My pitiful attempt at comforting my mother totally backfired, and soon thick salty tears were dribbling down her cheeks. Awkwardly, my dad wrapped an arm around her shoulders, whispering consoling words in her ear. I put my hands in my pockets and stared out the window. I was a pretty useless teenager. Just a surly, snarky git.