There was something almost ceremonial about the return to his old house, Knuckles decided as he walked down the familiar concrete path. Matt flanked him half a step behind, and Knuckles could tell that he too was sensing the importance of the occasion. It was a moment for Knuckles, a defining moment in his life that he would probably remember clearly for years to come. He took in the yellow-green of the shrubbery fading into its autumn browns and the pattern in the corkboard that covered the left window.
The door was just as it always had been. Knuckles wasn't going to go inside. The new owners would have painted over all his work by now, and much as he adopted an air of apathy he wasn't sure that was something he wanted to see first-hand just yet. The knuckle duster, his first and only, still hung from the door, rough with rust and blunted beyond any use other than as a door knocker.
It took a few knocks to get it off the nail, the metal so corroded into the iron, and for a moment Knuckles was scared he would alert the residents of the small house; but then it was in his palm and in his pocket and walking quickly back down the path. It wasn't really stealing. It didn't belong to the council, he had installed it himself, and it certainly wouldn't be in the inventory should the new owners complain.
Matt had waited at the end of the path, and now he slipped his hand into Knuckles'.
"Are you going to tell me the story now?" He murmured.
"It's not really a story," Knuckles grunted, his tone a little coarser than he'd intended. "Not an interesting one least ways." They rounded the corner and set the course for home. Knuckles paused for a moment before beginning.
"I was walking back from the shops with my sister. I was only like, seven or eight. Some guy yelled something awful at her. The same thing she probably hears every time she leaves the house, but it was the first time little me had ever heard anything like that. I was horrified, more so that my sister didn't say anything to defend herself and the guy's friends just laughed along with him. So little me marched straight up to the guy who'd yelled and punched him square in the stomach. Had I been a little taller I'd have probably aimed for his face.
"I think my sister just about shit her pants, she thought we were both dead right then and there, but the guy just laughed. He said 'you got quite a set of knuckles on you, little man. Felt like I was being jabbed with a fork. What's your name?' I said Ned, because like I said, I was only young then and that's what everyone used to call me. Just a baby name. So the guy goes, 'Knuckles Ned. All you need now is to learn how to throw a punch.' Obviously I completely forgot the original problem and was over the moon. This big ass guy with tattoos and a cigarette had given me a nickname. I told all my friends at school, and they were dead impressed. I punched an adult. That's not taken lightly at primary school. And the name stuck. I dropped the 'Ned' part as soon as I realised how appalling it was. Honestly, I started to hate the name pretty quickly, but trying to revert back from 'Knuckles' to 'Edward' in this part of town isn't exactly easy."
They walked in thoughtful silence, Matt digesting the information in his slow, thorough way. "What about Ed?" He asked after a while. "Not as formal. Edward doesn't really suit you, anyway. You're too cool for Edward. But Ed, Ed is like a cool uncle name."
Knuckles snorted. "You can call me whatever you want."
"Eddy?"
"Don't push it."
*
Ed felt like he'd signed enough paperwork to fell a forest, but finally he was here, in the white-walled corridors with Matt at his side and a baby car seat hanging awkwardly off one arm. He was jumpy and trembling ever so slightly, but Matt rubbed his arm soothingly. They met the midwife at the door, rubbing sanitizer through her fingers, and she smiled at the pair with tired but triumphant eyes.
"It's a little girl." She said softly.
Ed breathed in a huge gulp of air all at once and it took a squeeze from Matt's hand to remind him to let it out again.
They washed their hands quickly and, hearts racing, pushed open the heavy door.
Celeste, the teenage mother of their new baby, lay slumped exhausted on the bed, her hair damp with sweat and her cheeks pink. Held to her chest was a bundle of blankets, moving ever so slightly as the tiny girl breathed.
Ed and Matt hovered in the doorway, poised on their toes but not sure whether or not to approach.
"Come and hold her." Celeste said, her voice hoarse.
The pain in her eyes was heart-wrenchingly apparent as she handed the bundle to Ed. It was the pain of someone emotionally unable to abort their child, but without the financial security to raise it. Knuckles and Matt had assured her that if ever she found herself in the position to become a mother they would not hold that from her, but she had promised that, while she might like to visit occasionally, she would never do that to them.
Celeste had gone through labour with only the midwives to hold her hand, and would be returning home to a family that had refused to speak a word to her for the last nine months. But, for the first time in a while, a small smile spread across her lips as the baby girl took a firm grasp of Ed's little finger and let out a gurgle.
"Do you have a name yet?" Celeste asked.
Matt shook his head, taking the baby from Ed. She felt incredibly warm in his arms, and that warmth spread through him until it rose in his cheeks and a huge smile spread across his face. "We wanted to meet the baby first," he said softly. "I don't think you can name something without knowing anything about it. The name reflects the person so much."
Celeste nodded. "Will you let me know when you decide? I don't want to be involved too much, at least for now I don't think I could bear it, but I'd like to know the name."
"Yes, of course," Ed said sincerely, wrapping the teenager in a hug he'd wanted to give the moment he'd set eyes on her tired, aching body.
Celeste rested her head comfortably on his thick arms and closed her eyes. "You guys are going to be better parents than I ever could, at least now at seventeen. I just hope that one day I'll be able to raise a child as well as you raise mine."
Tears welled up and spilled over in both Matt and Ed's eyes, tears of joy and sadness and the powerful, intense emotions that were swirling in their chests. Knuckles sat down abruptly on the plastic sheets with a thump and Matt joined them, pressing four warm, beating hearts close together.
*
"Daddy!" Phoebe screamed, using her stumpy legs to launch herself into Ed's arms.
"Hello, you," He said with a grunt, heaving her up into the air and spinning on the spot. "What adventures did you get up to today?"
"I killed a dragon."
"Oh really? That's a bit mean. Why'd you have to kill it?"
"It was going to kill Kayla. I had no choice. It was for the good of the realm." The four year old said solemnly.
Ed held back a snort and wiped the grin off his face. "I see," he said, his voice grave. "You have a realm now, do you?"
"Yes. I'm the queen."
"And is Kayla the princess?"
"No, don't be silly, daddy. She's not my daughter."
"Of course not. Who's Kayla, then?" Ed hoisted Phoebe up onto one shoulder as easily as if she'd been a bag of potatoes and set off towards home.
"Kayla's just some peasant girl from the village."
Ed laughed. "How come you get to be queen while Kayla's a peasant girl?"
"Because I'm queen so I decide."
"Ok. That makes sense. Did the dragon take her because she was a peasant?"
"No, it's because she's a virgin."
Ed choked on his response, his eyes bulging a little. "Jesus, Phoebe. That's quite a word for such a small girl. Do you know what it means?"
"It means she's the one that gets sacrificed to the dragon, only I saved her and killed the dragon so we don't have to do that anymore." Phoebe curled an auburn tendril of hair around her thumb absentmindedly as she watched the world go by from the great height of her Daddy's shoulder.
"Well, I guess you're not wrong," Ed chuckled. "How did you kill the dragon?"
"With a gun."
"Oh."
*
The smell of roasting turkey and simmering gravy wafted through the house like a warm bath, mingling with the sound of children's laughter and the rise and fall of conversation. A Christmas cracker snapped and two men paused in a doorway to bump cheeks under the mistletoe.
In front of the fire, Ellie Mansford had six year-old Phoebe on one knee and two year-old Eleanor on the other. Mostly, Ed and Matt called their youngest Ellie, but while her namesake was visiting she became Eleanor. They weren't sure how Ellie would react to them naming their second daughter after her, and so were breaking it slowly.
On the armchair opposite sat Celeste, officially named Phoebe's Godmother, playing with the family kitten. She was slowly distancing herself from her family and this was the first Christmas she'd spent away from them, and so was glad of the loud and boisterous atmosphere.
A sea of colourful wrapping paper covered most of the floor, but after a heavy Christmas lunch no one had had the energy to tackle it. Ed bustled into the room (sporting a red polka dot apron and a ladle) and scooped Eleanor into his arms.
"Daddy I need to go potty." She informed him.
"I know, that's why I'm here." He bopped Matt on the head with the ladle as he turned back to leave.
"How could you possibly know that?" Ellie asked incredulously, braiding Phoebe's hair.
"My Dad senses were tingling."
"You're such a Dad, it's unreal. What happened to the hard-nut teen thug I used to know?! Those were the good old days." Ellie teased.
"I turned straight-edge. I'm just as ashamed as you are, I abandoned everything I believed in for these two cuddly balls of trouble."
Ellie sighed. "Literally. Such a Dad."
Ed winked as he disappeared up the stairs, and Matt drifted over to admire Phoebe's new hairstyle.
"Very pretty, pheebs." He murmured, tucking an escaped wisp behind her ear. "Can you do that for me some time?"
Phoebe nodded earnestly. "Ellie's going to teach me how. Then I can make you look like Legolas."
"Legolas is very pretty," Matt agreed. "I'd like to look like him."
"I like how you look like now. You look like Dad."
"Well, I suppose that's alright too. What about Daddy, can we make him look like Legolas?"
"He looks more like Aragorn."
Matt laughed. "He'll like that. Aragorn's very pretty, too."
Phoebe shook her head adamantly. "No, Legolas is pretty. Aragorn is beautiful."
Matt raised an eyebrow. "A very important distinction. I think so, too."
"What, that Aragorn is beautiful?"
"Well, yes. But I was talking about Daddy."
"You're soppy. That's what Ellie says."
"Does she now? Well, soppy is okay sometimes." Matt took Phoebe into his arms as she slipped off Ellie's lap and joined him on the floor. Absentmindedly he fixed a buckle that had come undone on her dungarees.
"You and Daddy look at each other really soppy all the time," Phoebe complained, grabbing his cheek in a small hand. "Most of the other parents don't do that. Kayla says they get bored eventually. When are you going to get bored? It's embarrassing."
"Hopefully never," Matt said with a wry smile. "I want to tell your Daddy he's beautiful every day."
"Ewww." Phoebe said emphatically, and Matt sniggered.
"What's wrong with that?" He protested. "I love him. That's why I married him. When you marry someone, you promise to love them forever. That means you're not allowed to get bored."
"I'm glad you married him. He's cooler than any of the other dads."
"And what about me?"
"You're alright. You're just weird. But Daddy is cool. Most of the Dads are fat and boring. Daddy's big, but he's not fat and he's not boring. He has big muscles. All the mums fancy him." Phoebe said matter-of-factly.
"Do they now?" Matt laughed. "Am I going to have to fight them off?"
"No. He only loves you."
"Well, that's reassuring."
"They think you're mysterious."
"Am I?"
"I think that's what they call weird."
"Ah. Well, as an old friend once told me, normalness leads to sadness. I'd much rather be weird. At least it's not boring."
Ed had returned with Eleanor and was now serving plates piled high with roast potatoes and steaming vegetables, calling one and all to the table. Phoebe pulled Matt up by the hand and they settled themselves down in the circle of close friends. It was perhaps the only house on the street that played host to many friends but only one family member – Ed's sister, Gwen. It was a gathering just as full of joy and love as any other however, and Matt highly suspected there were less arguments here than at any reunion of distant family members.
Ed finished carving the turkey and sat down with a contented sigh, leaning his head onto Matt's shoulder.
"Happy Christmas, weirdo." He murmured.
"Happy Christmas, loser." Matt smiled back.
"EWWW." Phoebe said.
The End.