Eye to Eye

Isaac freezes, having absolutely no idea what to say to his mom; on the one hand, what could he possibly say that wouldn’t be a lie, but also wouldn’t give them away? On the other hand, she did bring him a Kit Kat, his absolute favorite candy bar.

Before Isaac can spend too much time contemplating either of those things, Vin says, "I told Isaac why I’m in here, and…​he’s really one of the best friends I could ever have, heh. Thanks for the hug, Isaac — it helps a lot."

Isaac’s mom makes her way to the table and sits across from them, passing the Kit Kat to Isaac. "I picked up a Heath bar and a Snickers, but I wasn’t sure what you like. They did say you were allowed to have something from the vending machines, so…​do either of those sound good to you? I’ll be happy to take the remaining one."

With a smile, Vin reaches for the Snickers. "I see where Isaac gets it. You both are too kind."

Meanwhile, Isaac is already unwrapping the Kit Kat. He breaks one of the four pieces off and hands it to his mom, leaving three perfectly-sized bars for himself. He busies himself measuring and breaking one of the bars into thirds and eating the pieces, enjoying the texture of the wafers and chocolate.

Eileen smiles at Vin in return, placing the Kit Kat in reserve while she enjoys the Heath bar.

Everyone takes a few bites in relative silence, punctuated by the crunching of wafer, the crackle of toffee, and the crinkling of wrappers. Vin gets about halfway done and stares at the remainder of his candy bar, examining it as if to find some new information from it. He finally says to Ms. Brooks, "So I’m sure you’re wondering why I’m in the psych branch of the hospital."

"It’s your story to tell, or not to tell," she replies. "I’m just the ride."

"You deserve to know, though," he admits somberly. "I tried to commit suicide."

She doesn’t respond or even stop chewing; Isaac watches her watch Vin, though he cannot tell from her blank expression how she is taking the news. Vin continues, "I almost killed Jason, and…​it’s not the first time someone has died, or almost died or whatever, from me. I kinda, y’know, thought some really stupid things, and then did some really stupid things, and that ended up with me here."

"I’m glad that you’re still here to tell me," she responds. "You’re too good of a person to deserve that."

"I dunno 'bout that," he says. "If you don’t want me hangin' 'round your boy anymore, I’d understand."

Isaac’s eyes shoot open, and he looks at his mom fearfully. "Mom --"

She talks right over Isaac’s intended protest, "Now why would I take away the one thing that makes Isaac happier than anything or anyone else I’ve ever seen?"

Both boys look at her for a moment; Isaac isn’t sure whether to feel embarrassed by being pointed out, or relieved that his mom wouldn’t do something so horrible as to take his now-boyfriend away from him. Vin, however, stares at her for a few seconds before giving a half smile. "Thanks. …​He’s a really good friend."

She reaches over and rubs Isaac’s arm for a moment. "You don’t know how happy it makes me to hear that." Isaac notices that while it sounds like she’s responding to Vin, he notices that she is looking straight at him, not Vin. He doesn’t meet her eyes, but he logs the moment for further analysis.

"Excuse me," announces a voice from behind them. "Visiting hours are over soon." Isaac turns and sees the person who led them here, breathing a mental sigh of relief that he won’t have to navigate the hallways alone.

Vin, however, sighs more audibly. "A’right, well…​thanks, you two, for comin' out. I really appreciate it. Um, actually, I was wondering…​Isaac, would you wanna maybe have dinner tomorrow night? Not here, of course — I’m trying to see if I can get outta here by tomorrow, and maybe, yeah, we could go get dinner or somethin', you could maybe even spend the night."

Isaac looks to his mom, heart skipping up a few beats. "Can I?! Can I go to dinner and spend—​wait, but if I spend the night tomorrow, then th-the next day is Monday."

Vin flashes that half-smile again. "Yeah, but it’s a holiday. 'Fall Holiday,' or whatever, where the teachers hafta come in and work but we get to stay home."

Isaac stares off, racking his brain for memory of this. He begins to wonder if he should actually check the calendar sometime. "I didn’t know."

"They didn’t announce it on the loudspeakers on Friday?"

Again, Isaac tries to remember anything of the sort; he remembers the sound of the principal’s voice near dismissal, but he never bothered to listen to what he said, figuring that his mother would keep him informed. "I don’t remember. Mom, did you know that it was a holiday on Monday?"

Smiling with an expression that almost looks like laughter, she replies, "Yes, Doodlebug. I wouldn’t have taken you to school on Monday, if that’s what you’re wondering. I would have reminded you tomorrow."

Isaac would feel frustrated at his lack of knowledge if it wasn’t such good news. "Oh. So can I?!" he asks eagerly.

"Yes, if he’s dismissed tomorrow. I’m not saying that it won’t happen, but try not to be too disappointed if it doesn’t, either of you. These things can take time, sometimes."

"Oh, don’t worry," Vin reassures them, "the doc basically already told me that if my parents come in and do the paperwork, I should be fine to go. I mean there’s some talking an' all that to do, but he said he doesn’t think I’m a danger to myself or others for now."

"Do you feel that way?" Ms. Brooks asks.

"Oh, no ma’am, I don’t," Vin says with a rapid shake of his head. "It was really stupid o' me — like, really stupid — and, an' I feel bad about what happened, but the doc an' I talked, and he had some, he made some good points. I’m not a killer, and…​I don’t think I need to die."

"That’s good to hear," she says. "You’re really a wonderful boy, and losing you would make a lot of people very sad. I’ve had to deal with sudden loss; nobody should have to go through that. Nobody should have to feel like they don’t deserve to live, either. You make sure you go to therapy, okay? And you listen well to what they say."

He smiles and laughs a thin, quick laugh; he darts a glance at Isaac, who feels a melange of emotions with that thin, yellow nervousness threaded throughout. "Heh, yes ma’am," he replies.

"Okay. Isaac, are you ready to go?"

Isaac sits and stares at his remaining Kit Kats silently. The very last thing he wants to do right now is leave Vin. He picks at his thumb, putting up whatever futile, nonviolent protest he can. He looks up at Vin, hoping against hope for him to say something that would allow him to stay here, but instead he receives a heavy lump of disappointment and longing that matches his own perfectly, though with a rolling tide of warm, giddy excitement and anticipation cutting its bitterness.

Vin, eyes still locked, says to him, "Tomorrow, yeah? It’ll be a lotta fun! We could both definitely use it, amirite? Heh."

Smiling in spite of himself, he responds, "Yeah, Vin. Tomorrow, Vin." With one final look at the Kit Kats, he takes one for himself and hands the other to Vin as they stand up.

"Dude, I love Kit Kats!" Vin says as he stuffs the entire thing in his mouth. "Fanks!" he says with an awkward, chewing smile, at which Isaac can only laugh. After he finishes — surprisingly quickly, to Isaac — he licks his fingers and opens his arms. "Hey," he says, "thanks for coming."

Isaac looks at Vin’s arms with trepidation; he doesn’t want his mom to think that they’re going out, but few things in the world sound as good as hugging Vin right now. He glances up at Vin’s eyes, which fill him with reassurance and warmth. Deciding that the risk is worth it, he walks over (slowly, so as not to seem too excited) and hugs Vin; being in his arms and feeling the comfort and heat from his body is the hardest feeling to want to leave, so he holds the hug for a few seconds longer than he normally would. Just one more second. Or two.

"A’right, Isaac, the orderly’s givin' me the stink eye over there, so I gotta go, heh," Vin says, finally relinquishing the embrace. "See ya tomorrow, a’right?"

"See ya tomorrow," he says, unable to stop grinning. He bites off a third of his remaining Kit Kat as he heads out with his mom, licking the melted chocolate off his palm as they go.

Thankfully, there’s not a lot of time left in the day, because every minute goes excruciatingly slow, even dinner. Bath time is filled with emotion — as is every other minute of the day — but with more time to sit and think, he finally takes a moment to process his own thoughts about the day. Vin said he wants to be my boyfriend, he muses. No, he is my boyfriend. We are boyfriends. We’re going out. I’m going out with Vin. He tries every permutation of the words to see if one combination of them makes him feel any differently than the others. None ring any more true than another, but repeating the sentiment enough fills him with an almost uncomfortable giddiness, one that he attempts to wash away through paddling his hands in the water. Running over the moments of the encounter in his head leaves him almost hyperventilating, and he finds himself making a strange combination of stress-whining and giggling occasionally that he can’t ever remember having done before.

He takes a deep breath and sinks down to water level, blowing it all out in bubbles just at the surface of the water; the vibration of his lips and the kickback of the water help center his runaway emotions, and he sits, staring down his body at the lapping water cresting his torso. He thinks again of the hug, the feeling of belonging and comfort suffusing him, the strength and warmth of Vin’s arms, and it is no surprise to him that he gets as erect as he did during the hug itself. At his level of emotion, it’s not a difficult choice; all he has to do is jack off while imagining Vin’s hands moving up his back, through his hair, down his chest, sliding one hand down his front and slipping his fingers into the band of his — 

The orgasm hits him hard enough to make him splash in the water, his abs crunching and hips thrusting forward as he oozes a few dribbles of semen onto his thumb. When the stars clear from his eyes, he still feels the thrill of that last thought keeping his heart pumping quickly. He even considers whether he should masturbate again, but his excitement no longer carries the urge. Still, thinking of Vin’s long fingers traveling around Isaac’s body is a sure-fire way to leave himself lightheaded.

After finishing clean-up and winding down, Isaac heads to bed at the usual time, though he feels surprisingly tired as he climbs into bed. Sleep overtakes him quickly.

The next day, Isaac can hardly sit still through any activity: he rocks on the floor while watching cartoons, he switches positions on the chair at least four times while eating his sandwich for lunch, and his bed is the least comfortable it has ever felt while playing Clash Royale. He goes to check his binder, digging into the far back reaches of the side pocket to find the calendar he was given at the beginning of the year; sure enough, Monday is a "Staff Work Day," so the students have the day off. Just knowing that he has another day to not only not go to school, but potentially spend a lot of time with Vin, does absolutely nothing to make the wait until evening any easier.

Eventually, as the time goes by, Isaac begins to wonder when exactly Vin will actually contact him. Or, for that matter, if he’ll be able to. He did say that it was "basically" going to happen, but does that really mean it’s guaranteed? What if his parents don’t get a chance to fill out the paperwork? What if they decide he needs to stay another day? …​What if he tries to do something to himself again?

Isaac tries his very best to tell himself that the last scenario is impossible, that there’s no way that he would possibly hurt himself again. He said so. He said he thought it was stupid, and that he’s not a danger to himself anymore.

He manages to convince himself that Vin wouldn’t do that, but somehow, it doesn’t make him feel any better. Instead, his mind fixates on whether or not Vin will actually be released. The thought erodes his patience further, until, as he’s blankly staring at whatever nonsense is on the TV — he’s fairly certain it’s supposed to be some sitcom — he is startled by the sound of motion from the couch behind him. He looks back quickly to see his mom coming over and sitting on her legs next to him. "How are you doing, Doodlebug?"

He thinks about the answer. "I’m worried, Mom."

"Are you worried that Vin isn’t going to be okay?"

He shakes his head.

"What’s worrying you?"

"I’m worried that he won’t get to get—​to g-go home. …​I really want to see him."

"Well, we should know fairly quickly whether he is going home or not; I don’t think they would release him if it gets too late. Besides, I know he was really looking forward to dinner, so I’m sure he’ll tell you as soon as he knows one way or--"

Isaac interrupts her with a loud gasp as his pocket starts playing music. He frantically scrabbles to get his phone out; looking at the screen just to make sure, he sees "Vin Ward" as the caller. He immediately accepts the call and almost yells, "Hello?!"

"Hey, Isaac! I’m free!"

"I know, Vin, 'cuz it said your name on my phone, so you called from your cellphone, and then so they gave your cellphone back, which means you got out." Isaac hears his mom snicker a bit as she stands up and heads back to the couch.

Vin laughs over the phone, as well. "Master Detective Brooks over here. So, uh, how do you feel about seafood?"

"…​I don’t really like fish," Isaac admits.

"What about fried shrimp?"

Isaac stops. He knows shrimp come from the sea, but for some reason, he never really thinks of them as seafood per se. "I like fried shrimp, Vin," he agrees happily.

"So I’m thinking I could seriously use a big bucket of popcorn shrimp, and I’d be happy to share with ya. Hold—​hold on a sec." Isaac hears Vin talking to someone else, but it’s muffled to where he cannot make out any words. He comes back on the phone with, "Howzabout you come meet me in the hospital lobby and we can go to dinner from there?"

"Yes, Vin, I can meet you in the hospital lobby." Isaac catches himself rocking side to side, almost giggling at the prospect of spending time with Vin — with his boyfriend.

"Great! See you soon?"

"See you soon, Vin!"

"A’right, bye."

"Bye, Vin." He hangs up and turns toward his mom, who is taking a pair of sunglasses out of her purse. "Mom."

"Yes, dear?" she asks as she slips on a pair of white sandals.

"Can you take me to the hospital?"

"Oh, are you feeling okay?"

It takes a moment for Isaac to prepare an answer. "No, Mom, I’m not feeling okay. I—​I want to go see Vin."

She laughs a short, tinkling laugh. "Well, I don’t think the hospital normally has a cure for that. Maybe they can help this time, though." At Isaac’s silent, blank stare, she adds, "You should go get your overnight stuff ready."

Isaac almost races into his room to pack his little suitcase. He makes sure to have tomorrow’s set of clothes, his various toiletries (a word he always found weird — one does not use toothpaste in a toilet, for example), and his backup favorite towel (since his current one is in the wash) neatly folded within; there’s plenty of room left, but having nothing else he can think of to bring, he zips it up and wheels it behind him straight into the kitchen ahead of his mom. They get in the car and head out, Isaac nearly vibrating with excitement.

Isaac gets out of the car and, after a kiss goodbye from his mother, enters the lobby to find Vin and his family sitting in the chairs in the waiting area. Vin, dressed in a dark red v-neck sleeveless shirt and gray sweatpants, stands up immediately upon seeing Isaac. As he walks up, Isaac instinctively throws both of his arms out to hug him, but realizes quickly that he might look wrong in front of Vin’s family, so he awkwardly lets both of his arms drop to his sides and just looks at Vin helplessly.

Vin’s twinkling eyes infuse Isaac with a feeling of excitement, of relief, and of a momentary flash of concern before those are all pushed aside by a wall of confidence, backed by Vin’s smile and outstretched hand. "Hey, my man!" Vin calls out with a grin as he telegraphs a slap-and-tap to Isaac.

Isaac meets his greeting and responds, "Hey, Vin," trying and mostly succeeding at not smiling too much.

"Sorry I’m not super dressed up for the occasion," Vin says with a gesture toward his clothing, "but we’re just going to The Sea Shanty, so, y’know, I think this’ll be fine. Besides," he says with a flex and a turn of his head, "I make this look good."

"If by 'good' you mean 'like a dish towel on a scarecrow,' then sure," his brother comments.

"Oh, shutcha face, ya skinhead."

"Yep," Brandon continues with a nod, "only scary to birds. If that."

"Boys!" their mother snaps, standing with her purse. "Shut up and get in the car already. Good to see you, Isaac," she adds with a nod as she walks past him.

As they all file out of the lobby, Isaac is less interested in the conversation happening around him, and much more in how Vin’s shoulders and arms look in that tank top, especially when he was flexing.

Vin helps Isaac load his roller suitcase into the cargo area of the Wards' hatchback SUV and hops into the back seat, patting the opposite side. "You can sit back here so you don’t have to sit next to Brandon," he suggests. Brandon raises an eyebrow and gives the lightest half-smile before climbing in, himself; Isaac has no idea what that combination means.

Isaac follows Brandon in and joins Vin in the back seat, and they ride in relative conversational silence to the restaurant. The father turns the radio on instead, turning it to the oldies station. They join in the middle of the radio jockey talking to another person on the phone; the jockey herself speaks with a lower female voice, with the color and texture of the darker beige pantyhose that Isaac’s mother would sometimes wear to meetings with clients.

Isaac hears her say, "So how long have you two been together?"

A man with a higher, yellower, rounder voice than hers replies, "We started going steady about fifteen months ago."

"Aw, that’s sweet. So what are you calling in for?"

"Well, she’s just about to move away to go to college in another state, and--"

"Where is she going?"

"She made it into Stanford, for law school."

"Oh, wow!" She holds the last word for a while. "That’s impressive! But she’ll be halfway across the nation for a while, huh?"

"Yeah. She’s really worried that it’ll mess up what we have going for us, but I’m not about to let that happen. We can make this work."

"That’s the spirit! Well, let me play a special song for you both; I know just the thing."

"Thank you so much."

The radio jockey says, "This is 'I Won’t Give up' by Jason Mraz and Straight No Chaser. Enjoy. You’re listening to 'Deloris.'" As she finishes, a chorus of men’s voices swells up in a landscape of a rich oaken wood bass drone with a beige, silken tenor duet gently layering above, in a golden chord that chimes like a grandfather clock of serenity. After the third toll, the chord shifts opens wide, scooping under Isaac’s feet and flying over his head, making way for the soloist’s honey voice:

The bass rejoins with its subterranean note as the tenors float like a leaf on the wind; then they join to the soloist in shimmering, opalescent chords behind his words:

Delicate downward strokes of the background harmonies drag their fingers down Isaac’s spine, standing every hair on his arms and neck on end as the movement begins to slowly drive the beat into his very core.

A sweet, violet duet rides atop the next verse, as a black drum beat pulses like a heart with a soft white shaker sound subdividing the rhythm. Just as Isaac squints to dive deeper into the song, Vin asks, "Are you cold?"

Thrown back into reality, Isaac inhales sharply. "Um, no, I’m…​not cold."

"You sure? You have goosebumps all over." Vin takes a finger and lightly brushes Isaac’s arm, only heightening the effect.

Isaac firmly rubs his hand over his arm, forcing his hair to sit down. "Oh, sometimes I get g-goosebumps when it’s, when a song is…​really good." He can’t figure out a better way to describe it, but it seems decent enough of an explanation.

"Oh," Vin says with his characteristic half-smile, "I get that sometimes. It’s gotta be a pretty good song, though, yeah?"

"Yeah, Vin," Isaac says, just in time for the lead singer to jump up an octave, with the same opalescent chords emphasizing his words:

The song begins to swell even more, but Brandon’s rocky voice interrupts it, wiping the synesthetic scene away. "Can we listen to something that doesn’t suck?"

His dad answers back, "Everything you wanna listen to sucks, Brandon."

"Not as hard as this does. At least put on classic rock. C’mon."

After a moment, the dad replies, "A’right, that I can do." He switches the channel to something with a lot more serrated guitars and fuzzy brown electric basses, all muddled by the thick whitish fog of crash cymbals and hi-hats. Isaac, beyond disinterested, tunes it out as best he can.

The rest of the ride is spent listening to the mother bicker with the other two men about their taste in music. Isaac looks over once in a while at Vin, finding himself drawn to the strangest parts of his body: his muscles, sure, but also just the angle and curve of his shoulders from his neck outward, complete with the soft groove delineating his shoulder from his bicep; the length of his eyelashes; the smooth gradient of his hair from neck to scalp; the little bit of hair Isaac can see from this angle in Vin’s armpit. He hasn’t the first clue why such small things make him feel so intensely, especially since they’re not even the typical things that everyone always talks about when they talk about "hot chicks" or "hot guys." It’s not Vin’s chest, or his butt, or his legs, or whatever other people always look at, that makes Isaac keep staring. He begins to wonder if it’s just one more way he’s different; after all, he can’t remember anyone ever saying, "Check out those eyelashes!" or anything.

Vin, meanwhile, intently watches the rest of his family in their arguing, but Isaac catches him looking down quickly at the space between their seats before locking his eyes back up front. Isaac worries for a moment that the argument is going to turn violent; usually, he reasons, arguments don’t last this long before someone starts getting mad. Still, they seem to be keeping their volume at reasonable levels, at least for Vin’s family. Isaac has noticed that they often tend to just be louder people in general, not unlike Christian--

Suddenly, Isaac feels the gentlest tap of Vin’s fingers landing on the back of his own hand resting on the seat. He glances over to see Vin still staring as if nothing had happened at all, but Vin’s fingers continue to crawl across Isaac’s hand and wrap around it. Then he squeezes, hard enough to squish Isaac’s fingers together but not enough to hurt. He holds it that way for a few seconds, eyes glued forward, before he releases Isaac’s hand and slowly moves back to put his own hand in his lap. Isaac searches the side of Vin’s face for any indication, but it is as if the short moment never happened.

A moment later, though, Vin glances sidelong and meets Isaac’s eyes: buzzing excitement, surging relief, and an intense importance, the kind of way that Isaac might feel when promising his mother that he would make absolutely sure to give a note to a teacher, or to stay completely quiet during an important part of a lesson. Fading quickly from it all is a vibrating, eager sort of fear, closer to the kind of feeling that Isaac might have when watching a suspenseful moment in a movie — almost as if the fear itself were its own form of excitement. The moment passes quickly as Vin locks his eyes forward again, but Isaac is left with those emotions tangled up in his own, giving him plenty to think about for the last minute of the ride.

They pull into the parking lot of the restaurant in silence, the radio having been turned off in an "everybody loses" sort of compromise. Still, to Isaac’s surprise, nobody seems that irritated or upset by the fact; instead, everybody just goes about their business as if they had never argued. Isaac actually ends up a bit irritated at how seemingly unpredictable Vin’s family is with their emotions.

The restaurant itself is fascinating to Isaac: it is shaped like a ship, though clearly most ships don’t have a pair of glass doors in their hulls. Inside, the primary motif is old, aged wood, from the benches and tables to the walls and stairs. There are a good number of people already sitting and eating; Isaac scans the room and sees fewer kids, and the ones he does see are much younger than himself. He doesn’t pay any more attention to the other patrons, tuning them out like the din of the school cafeteria.

Shortly after entering, a young-looking guy dressed in a sailor’s uniform complete with little white hat comes up to them and leads them to their table near the middle of the "deck." The parents order waters, Brandon gets a Dr Pepper without ice, and Vin gets a Coke.

"And for you?" the sailor asks Isaac.

Isaac knows that if his mother were here, he’d be getting a water, maybe an unsweetened tea if he were lucky. He looks over at Vin, imagining just for a moment the prospect of sharing a Coke with him again, but decides quickly that that would be one of the worst possible ideas. "I would like a Coke, please," he announces.

The server wordlessly writes something down on his pad of paper and exits with a smile. Conversation stays low for a while, and Isaac takes the time to study the various fixtures on the walls of the restaurant: some very old-looking pictures of sailors lined up and smiling, some paintings of boats on turbulent waters, a red-and-white life-saver, a large shark jaw, and a few other objects that Isaac has seen associated with, or floating in, the ocean.

Not only can Isaac not swim, but he has also never been interested in boats or anything maritime; sea creatures are interesting enough, but a shark jawbone isn’t by itself intriguing. He turns his attention instead to surreptitiously examining the Ward family. Across the table, Brandon has wireless earbuds in his ears and is messing with his phone; even over the din of other people eating and chatting, Isaac can hear the hissing rhythm of snares and cymbals from his music. The parents are having a low conversation with each other, from which Isaac can only catch a few words: "counselor," "covered," and "copay." The rest is swallowed by the sound of chatter and the clinking of silverware and porcelain.

He looks next to him to see Vin also on his phone; though he knows it is rude to pry, he still finds himself looking at Vin’s screen as he scrolls through Instagram. Pictures of selfies, basketball games, and memes that Isaac doesn’t have enough time to read all go flying by with swipe after swipe.

Vin glances sidelong and explains, "Just checking up on what I missed over the weekend. Not much, it looks like." He scrolls a bit more. "You don’t have one, do you? An Instagram."

"No, Vin, I don’t have an Instagram."

"Eh, it’s probably for the best, heh," he admits as he clicks his phone off. "Mostly just a waste of time."

The drinks arrive, and everyone places their orders. Isaac realizes he hasn’t even looked at the menu yet and panics, scrambling to get it open, but Vin takes it and slowly lowers it back down to the table. "We’re going to share the large bucket of popcorn shrimp and fries," Vin tells the server before looking over and meeting Isaac’s confused gaze. Seeing Vin’s half-smile and feeling his confidence and mild amusement remind Isaac that this was their original plan, and Isaac can’t help but feel lightly embarrassed; still, Vin’s mood is contagious, and for once, Isaac finds himself smiling at his own mistake rather than being aggravated at it.

After ordering, the Wards collectively return to their phones, this time including the father; Mrs. Ward, however, digs in her purse for something for a while, and Isaac goes back to people-watching. He examines Brandon for a while, watching him idly play with his phone; he really does look quite a bit like Vin, only with sharper features. He can see that Brandon’s nose is more like their father’s, while his mouth and jaw shape almost matches that of Vin and their mother. He notices that the shoulders are even more broad than Vin’s, and his build is a good bit more muscular, though Isaac wouldn’t consider him to be "ripped," as he has heard bodybuilders and actors called. He never understood how a word that usually means "torn apart" could end up meaning the same as "very muscular."

"Vin," the mother suddenly says, though the inflection seems off to Isaac. "Why didn’t you say something?"

Without looking up, Vin grunts, "Hm?"

"Why didn’t you say something? Why didn’t you tell us you were…​having problems?"

Vin glances across the family at her, but doesn’t answer immediately. "I dunno," he finally says, looking back at his phone.

"Don’t give me that attitude," she responds sharply. "You scared me to death. The least I deserve is an explanation."

"Can we not talk about this right now?" Vin asks.

"Now is a fine time," she retorts. "I don’t think you realize how much I care about—​how much we care about you, son."

Vin stares at his phone, not scrolling anymore. "Maybe I don’t."

His mother’s jaw drops speechlessly. She sputters, "Wh—​how dare you?! After everything we do for you, you wanna act like that?! We love you, we—​we support you doing what you love, we go to your games, we--"

"Wednesday, two weeks from now," he says over her, putting his phone down. "First game of the year. Both Adler teams playing against each other. You gonna be there?"

She opens her mouth wordlessly for a few seconds before making a sort of voiceless grunt, saying, "Honey, you know Wednesday nights are church nights."

"And Dad?"

"I’m gonna be in Missouri that week. You know I’d rather be here watching you than in Missouri, though."

Vin stares at them silently.

With a quick sigh and a roll of her eyes, his mother continues, "Besides, we’ve done everything we can to make sure you lead a comfortable life. There’re a lotta people out there that don’t have nearly what you do. You wanted your own piano keyboard, we got you a brand new one. When you asked for a new pair of shoes, we got the top of the line for you. The least you could--"

"Oh, these?" Vin snaps, pulling one foot up into his lap. "Last I checked, these don’t say 'I love you' on them," he says loudly, turning his foot this way and that. Putting it down, he continues even louder, "Not even sure why you spent that money on me — last I heard, I wasn’t a good investment for Dad. Bad for business. Cost him all kinds o' money. Just think of all the money you guys woulda saved if I didn’t wake up!"

Vin’s father takes in a deep breath and stares at Vin, but his mother is the first to talk. "Irvin Patrick Ward!!" she barks, spitting out each word. "I have had enough of this attitude! Gary, let’s leave. We can drop Isaac off at home and continue this conversation at home, where I can--"

"Deborah," the father says strangely slowly, staring at Vin, "Vin is still recovering from a very traumatic experience. We all are. We’re all…​very high-strung right now, and I think that having a nice, calm dinner and talking about all this tomorrow would be a…​really good idea."

The parents stare at each other for a long, silent moment. "Fine," she finally says, slightly more calmly. "I just dunno why we’re getting this attitude. I don’t understand—​Everything is fine, and then suddenly you’re on the bed--" She stops, suddenly putting her napkin over her mouth and squinting.

Everything goes silent a moment, accompanied only by Brandon’s quiet, rhythmic cymbal-crashing. His mother sniffles a few times into her napkin. Isaac looks over and sees a tear drip from Vin’s eye as he blinks, still staring at his mother. Brandon finally looks up and scans the table before returning to whatever he was doing.

Vin puts his napkin on the table and pockets his phone. "I’ma go wash my hands," he mutters before quickly striding off toward the "Restrooms" sign.

After an awkward moment of watching Mr. Ward argue with his wife while trying to comfort her, Isaac asks, "May I be excused? I need to wash my hands, too."

"Yes, go ahead," Mr. Ward replies.

Isaac gets up and walks toward the sign as well, trying his best to quell the bubbling anxieties of being in a new place and navigating it alone. He gets to the restrooms and checks very carefully to go into the men’s room, where he finds Vin sitting with his back up against the wall opposite the urinals, his knees brought up to his chest, his hands pressed up against his eyes with his fingers making furrows in his hair.

Isaac walks over and sits next to him, checking the floor to make sure he doesn’t sit in someone else’s bad aim. "Are you okay?" he asks tentatively.

Vin sniffles loudly and nods a bit. "I will be in a sec," he says through his hands. He rubs his face firmly, sniffles again, and smoothes his hair. "Sorry for causing a scene," he mumbles. "Sometimes she pisses me off."

"It’s okay," Isaac replies. He has plenty of questions about what all just happened, but he can’t find the words or the courage to voice them.

Vin sighs loudly through his nose. "No, it’s really not. You dunno how much she just ignores me," he says. "Dad too, even more him than her. They think that buying me things is the same as 'supporting' me. I bet they show up to one out of every four games I play, if that. I can think of a few times they didn’t even show up to big ones, like the last games of the year." After a silent few seconds, he adds, "They weren’t even the ones who found me. Brandon did."

Isaac isn’t sure what to say at first, but one bit about the story bugs him enough to ask. "What do your parents do?"

"Dad works for a law firm. Not the owner, but he’s way up there. That sends him all around. Not really sure what his job title is or what specifically he does, but he’s not like the lawyers you see in court. He works for businesses an' stuff. …​Anyway, he’s gone a lot, and Mom is at the church like three nights a week or more—​it’s ridiculous, like she’s playing some stupid card games or whatever one night, and worshiping another night, and I dunno what the hell on the other ones. She always seems to have a reason not to drive out and be there for me. But God forbid I don’t go to church once in a while. …​Don’t even wanna go to church at all."

The bathroom door opens, and a man walks in, stepping over their legs to get to the toilet. Vin stands up, offering a hand to Isaac, which he takes. Vin goes over to the urinal and pulls down his sweatpants. "Might as well pee since I’m here," he shrugs, hosing down the porcelain.

Isaac doesn’t need to go very bad, and the toilet is taken, so he instead busies himself with washing his hands. Vin follows suit, and just as they’re walking out, the door opens to reveal Brandon. "You fall in or something?" he asks Vin.

Vin responds by flicking water at his face.

Brandon responds by popping Vin upside the head.

Vin tries to retaliate, but Brandon dodges the slap with a narrow-eyed smirk and says, "You don’t wanna get in a slap match with me, and you know it."

Grinding his teeth a bit, Vin actually smiles with a small laugh. Judging by the similarly narrowed eyes, though, Isaac doesn’t think Vin is really all that amused.

They all return to the table to find food waiting for them. Everyone suddenly acts as if nothing had happened between them; not a single word more is spoken about the fight. Instead, everyone settles in to a mostly quiet dinner. Isaac simply cannot wrap his head around how strange Vin’s family can be, sometimes. Regardless, popcorn shrimp is delicious, and Isaac’s attention is soon diverted to counting the tasty little balls of joy as he eats them, alternating with having a few fries to vary it up a bit. He finishes his Coke, but both Vin and Brandon manage to go through two glasses completely and half of another before they finally tap out. Isaac wonders where it all fits; he never has that kind of room to eat and drink. Soon enough, the group piles back in the vehicle and drives to the real destination of the evening.

End of Chapter 15

My dearest readers, thank you so much for sticking in there and waiting the agonizing months for a new installment. Springtime sucks all of my time away, this year more than ever before, and that was before…​well, before the world stopped. But hey — more time to write, eh?

Speaking of which, if you are disappointed in the size of this update, fear not! It is but the herald, the harbinger of the beast to come. (The prototype chapter actually ended up big enough to split into two pieces, albeit unevenly, so there you go.) I’ll have the next one prettied up and ready to go as of next week, so hopefully this back-to-back special will help out with the withdrawal symptoms. ;)

Thank you again for everything you are and all that you do, and I hope you and yours are staying safe and healthy. <3 XPud