[Vanilla]
The strangest thing about having a brain is having it cease to exist in the most important of times, quite literally forgetting its own presence in the head and allowing, instead, a dark silence to fill the void. I was fortunate enough to have never been on the receiving end of this shadowy abyss, scrambling for ground and having every next possible solution fall through. To confess: I did not know what to do next.
And as though standing in the doorway, just barely out of sight, was going to somehow provide me with a concrete answer to an endless question, I'd dug my feet into the floor and stayed in that exact position for a near minute or two—waiting for the recovery of my mind and listening to the faint laughter coming from the living room.
We had to talk. That much, I knew; yet the steps in which I would have to take seemed almost frenzied and warped in panicked thoughts, somehow involving the immediate kidnapping of Leroy regardless of the consequences or the stopping of the entire thanksgiving dinner.
Those thoughts, they were child-like and selfish—as though for a moment, my mind had been reduced to the workings of a four-year-old on the brink of losing his only friend. This was no mind.
"Nillie?" Chip had neared the blind spot I'd chosen to think in, returning to the kitchen with two empty glasses. "Did you find the souvenirs? Is everything okay?"
I threw parts of myself together, straightening up and adjusting my glasses. "Oh yes. Yes, everything's fine. I had to, um, recall where I put them and I was just admiring the design of this archway. Distracted. I-it's a beautiful archway."
My godfather was the most unsuspecting person to ever exist. Yet, he'd paused in his tracks and placed the glasses on the bar top before slowly turning to me with gentle eyes. "Giselle designed it. There's an eagle and a sparrow carved into the wood on both sides. Miki loves it. But... the Nillie I know doesn't have to recall where he's put his things, does he?"
Those words were heavy and at present, I was at a loss for truth and lies. "The bag's in a cabinet by the entrance."
"But, so," he searched my eyes. "You're going to get the goodies or... is there something you'd like to tell me?"
"I-it's nothing," I settled quickly, relieved he'd given the option of an urgent escape. "Thank you. I'll be right there in the living room."
Then I was fetching everything from the cabinet and handing them out one by one—trinkets, the soapstone figurines I'd got from Brazil, the exclusive culinary handbooks—consciously avoiding the gaze of anyone specific, fearing that the look in my eyes were dead giveaway of the rocky waves within.
I'd managed a private conversation with Uncle Al upon handing him a handwoven trinket basket for his cufflinks, conveying my general discomfort. "It's a migraine. I'm really sorry."
"Goodness gracious. Sit down, I'll ask Chip for some medication."
"O-oh I wouldn't want to cause any trouble..." I held on to his arm, panicking slightly. "I probably just need to lie down. Would it... could we perhaps head to the hotel anytime soon?"
It was half-past ten. Any later than eleven, I wasn't quite comfortable with. The sooner I could speak to Leroy alone in our room, the sooner we could have this resolved. And I say that, 'resolve', but I really mean explaining myself and hoping he'd see where I was coming from after, of course, listening to his side of things.
"But we haven't had Chip's pumpkin pie just yet, Vanille," the critic in my uncle never seemed to have a day off. "You know we can't leave without having a slice of it. Those mochi waffles of his... one would never think they were bake by the same person. We'll leave right after."
Chewing on my lip in unease, I gave in without another word. Uncle Al was well aware of my unconditional support for any sort of pastry made by my godfather and insisting on my request would have seemed all the more unnatural. Either way, an additional ten to twenty minutes of pumpkin pie couldn't possibly hurt and might even put Leroy in a better mood, as Chip's food often does to the human heart.
I had to, in the meantime, distract myself from the various probable instances that had, already, unfolded in my head like a deadly storm. Revealing our relationship or going as far as to be as open about it as my godfathers were at present entailed many other questions to be asked and answers, demanded. There was, among many other things, the expectation of 'coming out'—of revealing one's orientation having introduced a partner whose gender wasn't quite as society would expect. And if that should be the case, I, too, would have to be sure of my own sexuality, apart from never having raised the matter in a conversation with Leroy. Therein lies the truth: that I had no answers to these questions, regardless of their seeming importance.
"How is it?" I noticed how Chip had decided to seek the opinion of Leroy before everyone else, after handing out slices of pumpkin pie on dessert plates. He'd even added a dollop of whipped cream on top of every slice. "The crust and the filling?"
Most of the room had started digging into their pie and Leroy had been one of the first to do so, slicing through the perfectly-set filling and tender, flaky crust. It came to me, and perhaps, to everyone else, a surprise when my companion's final verdict had been put across in a manner so blunt and monotonous.
"It's a little bland. But I like it."
Stunned by his comment, the rest of the room had momentarily paused and glanced down at their slices of pie, perhaps even wondering if he had been given a different, store-bought serving. I scrambled for a forkful of it, knowing exactly how precise the culinary students at school had trained their taste buds to be, but he was wrong. As expected, the pumpkin pie was, objectively speaking, gently spiced but bursting with the flavour and sweetness of fresh pumpkin, rich and smooth.
I'd even went as far as to consider the inconsistency of the filling but logically speaking, that was impossible given the fact that every slice had come from the exact same pie. Further, Chip was that experienced of a baker not to make such a mistake.
"I disagree. I think it's quite perfectly flavourful," said my uncle, unable to resist an honest opinion. Aunt Julie had given his shoulder a nudge.
"O-oh, but... hm, tasting it now, I see what Leroy means." My godfather, as usual, was the kind to mediate. His husband sat beside him, surprisingly quiet. "I was um, a little light-handed on spicing it."
"Yes but the trick is not to over-spice it or that would only ruin the true flavour of the pumpkin. Spices are meant to bring out the flavour of the dish's highlight, not overpower it."
"Alright Alfred, now that you got us educated can you just enjoy your pumpkin pie?" Nana got to prodding Uncle Al with the back of her fork. "Boy's said it himself. He likes how it tastes so I don't know what you're defending." The room fell silent soon after, save the faint clinking of forks against plates. Miki and Rory had resorted to hiding behind Atlas and nibbling on their shared slice of pie. The former feeding the latter.
Needless to say, I'd found myself both a little confused, crossed, and ultimately, disappointed. Leroy had never once come across as someone particularly petty or childish enough to be taking out his emotions on any external entity, let alone, my family. No matter how upset or piqued he was with me or my words, I would have pegged him as having decent control over himself.
Or... or perhaps he would only show this side of him to certain people, if, at all, I say to convince myself. Maybe our relationship was something so important, something he cared so much about to warrant such emotions and behaviour. After all, we were, admittedly, amateurs at the whole thing. These were emotions, new, and how to handle them was not necessarily something that could have been picked up in books and TV.
"Aunt Julie?" I approached my request from a different angle this time. She smiled, leaning in. "Do you think we could..."
"Get going soon?" She finished knowingly, sighing. "Yes dear. The check-in period ends at eleven too. And your nana's doctor said she shouldn't be staying up past midnight either."
Aunt Julie then spoke to Xander and Chip aside, exchanging hugs and kisses with the latter. I felt my heart sink a little, knowing that this was all far too brief, far too sudden a parting for my liking. Uncle Al on the other hand, was a fair bit tipsy and had in the midst of goodbyes given each and every one of Chip's dishes a verdict on the way out.
"Will we see you for Christmas?" Miki tugged at my sleeve, peering up with his large, cinnamon eyes. He was unconsciously doing the tippy-toe thing yet again. "I like decorating the tree."
"Of course, Miki." I told him, opening my arms for a hug. He settled in gently. At the corner of my eye, in the far back, I spotted Leroy speaking to my godfather's husband. Neither were smiling, nor did they seem to express any form of aggression or displeasure. It seemed like a neutral exchange and yet, not knowing the exact contents did strike me as fairly worrying.
"Promise you'll call me," Chip had said into my shoulder during our hug, and I'd given him my pinky for reassurance—something he'd taught me when I was a lot younger. How promises were to be made.
And after several rounds of goodbyes that never seemed to be enough, the five of us, including Nana, headed out the front door and down the path towards the gate. Aunt Julie was slightly ahead with the car keys, while Uncle Al busied himself with guiding Nana's wheelchair. Past the gate, Leroy had stopped in his tracks and looked up, knowing we were our of earshot.
"I'm that way," he said, jerking his head in the opposite direction and causing quite the earthquake in my chest.
"Oh. U-um, what do you mean? The car's—"
"I'll sleep at my old place. You should take care of Betsy."
The horror that seized my mind at the sound of those words felt very much like a terrible, burning flame. "No but we were supposed to be sharing a room. It's really just going to be the two of us."
"And I guess the reason why your uncle agreed to that is because he thinks we're friends," he stared, straight into my eyes.
If this was a war of words, no doubt, Leroy had emerged victorious. Yet, the candles inside burned much lower than before. As though in defeat. I scrambled for protests.
"Vanille? Nana's ready," Aunt Julie called over her shoulder, waving at the two of us several feet away from the car. "Let's go!"
"Thanks for the dinner, Julie," Leroy went up to her before I could stop him. "But I think three in the backseat's going to make the ride a little tough. I'll sleep at my mom's diner." Behind his back, I was shaking my head and waving my hands, quietly hoping Aunt Julie would refuse his sudden change in plans but she'd glanced, uneasily between us, before offering my companion a ride at the very least.
That, too, he'd declined. "Betsy's tired. She'll need the space."
"Leroy—"
"Thanks again." He backed away, starting in the opposite direction. Then, lowered his gaze at me. "See you."
I was looking at his back in less than a second, watching it shrink as the distance between us grew farther and father and then, it was that odd feeling; so painfully familiar—the feeling of only knowing the way he looked from behind. Far, far away.
============
No luxurious cranberry bubble bath or silken cosy pyjamas could rid of the storm inside my head, resulting in both an inner and outer tossing and turning, the ultimate enemy of sleep.
I was in bed, closing my eyes to the faint playing of Clair de Lune on my phone; which defeated its purpose since I'd placed it on the nightstand, within my reach, and was checking the lock screen every minute or so. Nothing, for the past two hours.
It was midnight by the time we'd arrived at our rooms, having taken some time checking in and ensuring Nana was comfy and settled in her suite. Washing up and getting into bed had taken about half an hour. Sending him a couple of texts and waiting had taken another half and, after giving up at exactly one in the morning, I'd ended up being unable to sleep for the next hour or so.
I'd even drafted and sent my godfather a 'thank you' text to distract my mind from wandering, frenzied thoughts. It unfortunately had not helped very much.
Leroy, sleeping in his old house—his mother's closed diner—alone, most likely without any form of electric heating since, clearly, no one had been living there for at least the past one and a half years. Was there even a bed? Knowing him, he'd settle for three old, dusty diner chairs put together but what of the cold? And hot water to shower in? I'd offered my very own bottles of shower gel and shampoo for his use and it was the very reason he hadn't packed his own.
A brief calculation of exactly how long he'd been away provided several answers to my questions, sparking a couple more along the way. Not only was there going to be an absence of electric heating, the building's insulation would have needed to be checked for repairs. And since he'd lived with his father before high school, was there even...?
I sat up and reached for my phone, googling for current wind speeds. They were strong. Possibly a little too cold for his liking.
Leroy. He'd made a trade; sought to reduce the intensity and destruction of his fire into a single, burning flame of a candle, all for the sake of protecting others from himself but could a candle survive against the might of the wind?
Alas, this very thought had me out of bed and pacing in the room. I had to see him. Still, I couldn't possibly go running to Uncle Al or Aunt Julie at nearly two in the morning. They'd only be anxious and worried about my state and it wasn't as though I was going to be any good at explaining myself and the entire situation at present.
Not Nana. And certainly not Chip either since he, too, was as prone to overthinking as I was and would eventually not be able to hide it from both my uncle and my aunt, knowing his inability to tell any sort of white lie. He probably wouldn't even be able to get a good night's rest just from thinking about my worries. Plus, he must've been exhausted from a day's worth of thanksgiving preparations... and so I had my answer.
There was only one person I could settle for.
=========
(A/N:I wanted to write this in Xander's POV for old time's sake but then I realized it would be unfair to those who don't read the Baked series, there are some readers who don't, so I didn't eep)
He'd picked up on the fourth ring and was the kind to wait for the other person to start speaking first. "Mr, um, Xander?" I'd started off in a whisper, standing idly by the only chair in the room, huddled in a corner for some odd reason.
"You don't have to whisper, Julian," I heard him say in a non-committal voice. He sounded surprisingly awake. "This is a phone call."
"Oh. R-right." I cleared my throat, struggling to gather my thoughts despite knowing how it was with my godfather's husband when it came to telling him things. He needed them fast and straight-to-the-point. "Well it's nearly two in the morning so, I'd thought..."
"There's no point in whispering if you've already decided to call someone past midnight and they answer the phone, awake. Anyway, you sleep at three when you're a parent. Atlas' light only just went off."
"O-oh no. I meant... I meant you and Chip." This had been the foremost concern on my mind before making the call. "I wasn't, um, interrupting... anything, was I?" It would've put Xander in probably the worst mood and at the same time alerted my godfather to the help I was seeking.
After all, most of our phone calls had for some reason summoned the devil's work in the middle of it and would often end with him being unable to keep his hands to himself. That, or Chip would choose to pick up the phone in the middle of their night-time activities in a heartbeat. Everyone knows how time difference can be the greatest enemy of phone calls.
I heard a snort on the other end. "I don't force my husband to have sex with me when he's that tired, Julian."
"Ah. I see." It should now be obvious to anyone reading this; how I have remained a speechless little pebble in terms of my ability to have a conversation with my godfather's husband. I was never truly able to get over just how intimidating he can be in the absence of Chip but in all truth, he was the one remaining adult I could go to for help.
I explained my situation, reading out the concise, revised summary I'd written on the hotel notepad and doing my best to appeal to whatever that was left of his human heart. "He's probably sleeping in a chair. Without proper heating. And I'm... well I'm just, really... really worried."
I heard him sigh on the other end and, as I have come to learn, understood it as him giving in. "You shits. I'll be there in fifteen."
Relieved and absolutely drained by the pressure I was under throughout making my request and just praying he gets where I was coming from, I breathed a trembly 'thank you' into the receiver—only to realize that he'd already hung up.
And as promised, a family seven-seater pulled up at driveway of the hotel a little more than fifteen minutes later. I'd changed out of my pyjamas and headed down to the lobby right after the phone call so by the time I was downstairs, Xander had just turned in.
He nodded at the passenger seat after meeting my gaze so I took that as permission to get in. "Thank you. Um. Here's the address." I showed him the map on the screen of my phone and he waved it aside after taking a glimpse. I fastened my seatbelt.
"No one said having kids meant driving them to their boyfriend's place at two in the morning," he said, straight-faced, moments after hitting the main road.
Granted, I hadn't exactly been the best godson to him and Chip; and hearing him say that, including me in the same category as Rory, Miki and Atlas, made me feel absolutely terrible. "I'm sorry. I... I was really going to wait till seven to call but I couldn't, well... I couldn't—"
"Not talking about the time. I mean I didn't sign up for this in general."
I felt the weight on my shoulders grow. "O-oh."
And all of a sudden I was back to being that four-year-old child outside kindergarten, waiting for his uncle to pick him up. Just how was I stammering so much? Perhaps I was beginning to see why Chip hadn't quite kicked his habit even after twenty years of knowing his husband.
"I'm really sorry for dragging you into this," I thought of apologizing yet again, not wanting to be dubbed as the unappreciative child taking the adults around him for granted. And, well, honestly because I was truly grateful and sorry for adding to his troubles. "He's not... we're not usually like this. It happened because I was... I wasn't ready to tell everyone about us. No one else knows except for you and Chip, by the way. A-and Leroy didn't... he didn't take it very well when I told him that. Which is perfectly understandable. I mean I invited him to thanksgiving so it's only natural for him to think that the rest of my family knows about us."
My godfather's husband did not say a word in response. Keeping his eyes on the road.
"I was hoping we could talk about it but he was really upset and... and I don't want, I mean I can't stand the thought of him resenting me because he's really the only person my age who would... who would put up with my nonsense and poor social skills and still so openly express his affection for me.
"I-it's just a plus that he's so disarmingly attractive and criminally good at what he does, aside from being highly knowledgeable and skilled at anything related to the culinary world. Anything that isn't math, I would say.
"I simply have no idea how to go about telling anyone about this, about us, without them questioning my orientation or, or expecting me to... 'come out.' A-and honestly, I don't quite know if he's the only person who'd ever want to spend the rest of his life with me, but... but I'm pretty sure I'd very much like that."
Somewhere along the way, my vision had started to blur and after releasing my knotted emotions in the form of words, received a plain silence in return. Xander had kept his eyes on the road all the time, and when I chanced a glimpse at his face in an attempt to gauge his reaction—whether I should be apologizing for going off—I observed a cross between a weary look of frustration and monotony.
"Okay look," he sighed. "Like I said to you when you were four, you're still young." He'd started off very slowly, as though speaking to that very four-year-old he was talking about. "You're fifteen for fuck's sake, you don't need to be figuring out whatever it is you're worried about."
"But—!"
"Yeah, there's gonna be a lot of people expecting the shit they want to expect and answers to the questions they have, sure. And you're the worst kind of person to live in a world like this because you like having answers to every question around but some questions don't have answers and people need to learn to deal with that shit. You don't owe them anything and those people can just fuck off. Nicely. "
I had to pause for a moment, filtering out the curses and deciphering his philosophy before finally taking it in. Naturally, I wasn't at my maximum capacity for thought and to be lectured honestly felt so much better than being the one doing the lecturing, which was the effect Xander tended to have on myself, specifically. He and Chip had very different ways of parenting.
"Thanks Mr. Handsome." I sniffled.
"I'm your godfather, you little shit." I saw him swipe at the tissue box through blurred vision before shoving a bunch of whites in my face. "Stop crying or I'll send you back to kindergarten."
*
"Do you have a brain?" The girl answering the door had on a nightgown and curlers in her hair. "Who'd be selling anything at two in the morning??"
Moments ago, Xander had pulled up across the street right outside the diner and I'd taken a moment to recognize the storefront I had frequented nearly thrice a week back in the day. It looked shabby now. Almost dilapidated without the warm lights coming from within and the homely hand-painted sign that used to welcome every customer.
I'd peered through the display window while Xander insisted he wait in the car, not wanting to be part of our 'romantic reunion'. Well, he was wrong. There's nothing romantic about staring into pitch black darkness and searching for a doorbell only to realize that all they had was an old-fashioned knocker. And since Leroy had neither responded nor read any of my text messages, I'd knocked several times in urgent concern, wondering if something ill had happened to him. O-or that he was just sleeping.
Unfortunately, I had narrowly missed a probable scenario—one that happened to include a stranger answering the door.
"I... hello, I'm sorry," I said to the girl, stunned and deeply apologetic but unable to stop myself from glancing over her shoulder. "This is an ungodly hour. I um. I was wondering if anyone by the name of Leroy Cox has um... do you know him?"
She frowned, inching the door shut. "Yeah and I don't think he's in the mood to see anyone right now."
I placed a hand on the wood. "He's here? W-well, I'm his closest friend. That is to say, he's very important to me. Could you, um, perhaps tell him that I'm here, waiting for him? I'd very much like to speak with him. Just for a moment—ah, unless he's asleep. In a bed. Comfortably." Again, I chanced a glimpse over her shoulder, but all I could see were empty tables and chairs in disarray.
"He's not here," she said, clicking her tongue. I did a double take.
"But... you mean to say, he... um. Hold on, do you own this diner?"
"No, it's been closed since like, the ice age," she scoffed, rubbing one of her eyes. "My mom's the landlady. We live upstairs. Can I go now?"
But then, Leroy and Annie... they no longer own this place? Wouldn't he have the rights to the diner by now? Then... then where exactly did he go after dinner, and, did he even come by at all? But since she did say he wasn't in the mood to see anyone, she must have seen him, at the very least.
"I'm really sorry about this," I tried one last time, doing my best to keep the door open. She was leaning on it. "But could you please tell me where he went? He dropped by, is that correct?"
The poor girl seemed increasingly exasperated by my constant efforts, which was understandable considering the fact that she was nice enough to actually answer the door and try to converse half asleep. "I don't know. He didn't look very happy, that's for sure. Picked up some of the old things they left here and left like, two hours ago. Why would he tell anyone where he went?" She closed the door in my face, officially ending the conversation. I hadn't even gotten the chance to say thanks.
I'd returned to the car and sent Leroy another text along the way, telling him about the diner and asking where he was. Deep down, I was struggling to come up with any other option he had in these parts of town, at this hour. At some point, I'd even considered having to make a police report.
"He's not—Xander? Are you, um," I tapped my godfather's husband on his shoulder. He looked more than half asleep. "Are you alright? Again, I'm so sorry for roping you into this... but Leroy isn't at the diner. I don't know where he could've went." I watched him open a bottle of water and after a couple of gulps, poured some right over his face.
"Fucking idiot," he breathed, slapping himself awake before taking the wheel. "You sure he hasn't got other family in these parts?"
I was about to shake my head. "I... well... he's never mentioned anyone."
"You guys are a mess," he concluded, starting the car and heading down the street in a crawl. "He can't have gone very far. There's no bus operating at this hour and the cabs around here don't drive around past midnight that often."
I was, once again, on the verge of dreadful tears. To be witnessed in such a poor and distasteful state was downright embarrassing. Xander did not seem to care very much about my reputation, however, which was the only blessing amidst this chaos.
"Evergreen Kindergarten for Future Leaders." I heard all of a sudden and looked up, passing the back of my hand across my eyes to clear my vision. "That's your school, right? We used to live further down, right up the hill. The only bus stop nearby was the one opposite this kindergarten."
It was. Xander must have remembered since he'd used to walk and take the bus around instead of driving a car. They didn't have one back then. And then there was that one time he'd offered to send me home. O-or rather, wasn't really given a choice.
"That's... where you first met him too," I told Xander. "Leroy. He was there beside me."
My godfather's husband rolled his eyes, as though I'd stated the obvious. "Yeah, but more importantly isn't that where you first met him too?"
Slightly dazed, I'd given him a blank look in return before glancing over his shoulder and across the road. The gates were closed. Everything else about it, however, had remained quite the same. Even the benches that my fellow classmates would hang around after school, waiting for their parents to pick them up. It was either there, jumping up and down and balancing on the back rests or busying themselves at the playground by the...
I lowered my gaze to the screen of my phone. Nothing.
"Do you think he's—"
"The dumbass basically has nowhere else." Xander put forth bluntly, pulling over and reclining his seat. "Just go. I'll wait."
Alas, I was, yet again, on the verge of tears. "Thank you so much. I-I'll be right back." I hopped out of the car, closing the door behind me and making my way across the street towards the kindergarten—down the fenced-up area and all the way to the back where I remembered the playground was.
The November breeze had the foliage of red and burning leaves above swaying in its wake, heavy and crisp. The ground, cloaked in a flurry of dead and dried leaves, browned and papery, trembled at every passing gust of wind, picking up bits and pieces of whatever that was stray in a momentary, floating whirl until it led my eyes to him—crouched up in one of those hollow crawl tunnels meant for children, head between his knees in the most uncomfortable position.
I crossed the distance but he soon noticed, raising his head a little and uncrossing his arms, presumably in surprise.
"Vanilla?"
He made an attempt to straighten up, ready to turn and slide himself out of the tunnel but I stopped him just in time, crawling in and stubbornly blocking his way out. He stared.
"How did you know?"
I fidgeted uncomfortably. Seconds in and this was not doing well for my neck. "You're an idiot for not answering my texts. I was about to involve the police!" I'd started rather frankly, only to observe a twinkle of amusement in his eyes. I reached out to give his forehead a taste of its own medicine.
"The diner," I went on. "It doesn't belong to your mother anymore?"
Leroy nodded. "She sold it for the extra cash so that we could move to someplace near school... then came the coma so I had to spent quite a bit on the bills."
"Does your father know about this?" I asked, chewing on my lip.
"I don't like asking him for help." As expected.
I sighed. Uneasy. Glancing over at my companion, I unfolded my arms and shifted slowly to face him with open arms. He stared, then met my gaze with a hint of his signature smirk.
"What's this?"
"W-well I was offering you a hug."
"Dumbass." He leaned over, closing the distance and gently taking control. He tasted surprisingly of... of alcohol—only that I wasn't exactly sure what kind.
I confronted him at once. "Was... was that...?"
He seemed to pause, guilty. "Early evening. Your godfather's husband gave me some over dinner to cook with," he explained, holding up a silver flask. Gobsmacked into outer space I was.
"B-but you drank it?"
"I was cold," he reasoned, candle in his eyes flickering again and again and naturally had me soft and anxious beyond belief. "The wind's fucking me up."
Almost immediately, I'd removed my coat and draped it over his shoulders, confiscating the flask and replacing it with a hand warmer in my back pocket. "I can't believe you were willing to spend the night out here over... over some silly misunderstanding."
He slapped my hand aside. I looked up, frightened. His eyes had darkened.
"Because I'm scared of loving someone more than they will ever love me?"
Those words stole every string of thought I supposedly had, locked and loaded for firing upon seeing him. In a broken voice, I told him that I was sorry. That I knew he'd always been the one so willing to express his affection in such brave and honest ways and that these had been the very walls I could hide behind.
"But please don't think that I... that the extent of my emotions are any less than yours because I do, very much... more than you'll ever imagine, I do love you.
"A-and you, walking away like that, turning your back, I used to think I could put up with the distance—that I could be happy, satisfied, contented just by watching you from afar while you walk ahead but I've come to realize that I would very much prefer to be... to be beside, or... or seated across like when we were—"
"Playing on that seesaw." He finished, staring straight into my eyes with a flame that was now bright and intense. This continued for some time and I, somewhat affixed, enchanted by the flame, began to feel the words fade into silence.
His eyes then rested on something over my shoulder. I followed his gaze.
"Leroy, um. We're too heavy for that."
He laughed low, taking my hand. "You never know."
================
A/N: I've always quite liked Leroy and Vanilla's problem-solving abilities despite the fact that they are younger than a whole lot of my characters across the board, save Iolani Tori—who is hands down, best question-poser, answer-giver. SeeSaw have a certain way of thinking that makes it so easy for one to understand the other precisely because no one else their age can get the two in a heartbeat.
The one issue that, like the imagery used in this book, has been brought up time and again is the fact that Leroy and Vanilla's relationship must be built on ultimate sacrifice. Both Fire and Ice cannot exist in the same space unless they compromise. On a seesaw, both cannot be up at the same time. One must propel the other into the air and each must take turns being on the lower end.
The surprising thing about Leroy is that he is very willing to give up many things for the people he loves. He could have easily let go of his mother by legally pushing the responsibility onto his father and letting him solve all their financial issues so that he can concentrate on getting better in school. He could also have let loose on his fiery personality and character and burn his way into early success, destroy everyone in his path.
Though Leroy doesn't take things lying down, he doesn't light people up either (Xander is more of the kind who does that). He could have gone up to Violet and given her a good flaunting of their skills or blew up at the authorities who'd obviously been involved in some underhanded matters during the cross-year but he's learnt how to reduce his forest fire into a candle.
And like what Vanilla says in the chapter: but can a candle withstand the Wind?
Had Leroy stayed a forest fire, the wind would be his greatest ally, spreading his flames and allowing him to propagate and grow. But once he's made the sacrifice to be the candle so that he wouldn't hurt the people he loves, he is actually much weaker than we make him out to be.
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[Extra]
Both Vanilla and Leroy were shivering by the time they'd arrived back in Xander's car, each crawling into the back seat with frozen fingers and chattering teeth.
"Sorry we. Took so long."
Chip's husband did not say a word, only raised a hand and started down the road back to the hotel they'd come from. Vanilla leaned forward a little, rubbing the sides of his arms. "I-I don't know how I can ever th-thank you for—"
"Tell Chip every single thing I did for you and leave the flask out of it," said the adult, as though he'd spent the entire waiting time thinking about exactly what to ask for. "Don't forget the great advice and the waiting."
The bespectacled bean had turned to his companion. The latter met Xander's gaze in the rear-view mirror.
"Deal but we're keeping the flask."