Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

"We are not what other people say we are. We are

who we know ourselves to be, and we are what we love.

That’s okay." — Laverne Cox

You and I. Two as one. 
Beyond the clouds, flowers blooming after the fire. 
Another me, the you who makes me sing.
The you who makes me laugh. The you who paints my world bright, freeing me from the black and white. 
To you, I sing. To you, my “one”, as two.
I dedicate this to you.
But I is another.

On the left side, on the third row, next to an empty chair. In front of that chair sat a boy, and behind him, yet another.
Rude Ralph’d always had a reputation for being cheeky and impolite, being crude and inconsiderate to most a majority of the time. Complementing his rudeness sat horrid Henry, a boy whose sobriquet served as testament to his colourful personality. One could argue they were drawn to each other because of their proclivities, or perhaps that them being drawn to each other is what incites them to behave as they do. Tied around with the string of fate, bound together since they’d considered themselves people, both boys can’t exist without one another; two halves of the same person.

Ms. Battleaxe continued her lesson, droning on as the two boys walked on in their own minds, exploring places and ideas far removed from the mind numbingly tedious lecture being delivered by the so-called “fossil”. As Ralph scribbled fashion ideas on his notebook, Henry scribbled obscenities and inappropriate whispers into a note that he then passed onto the one in front of him. Ralph read it and quickly chuckled, “that’s really rude!” he whispered excitedly toward his best friend. This idle fun that’d kept them sane for years during the torture that they consider the school system was only one part of their relationship. Outside of the classroom, they’d serve not only as partners in crime, but would also be there for each other, no matter what happened. It’s a given that they would sometimes play pranks on each other, but the number of times they’ve had arguments is far below what most people would even consider normal in a friendship. Neither had a perfect life at home, but in spite of that, they found happiness in each other. 
The classroom was buzzing with silent whispers and chatter from all the children present; Weepy William cuddled his toy sock Socky while chatting with his best friend Anxious Andrew; Sour Susan and Moody Margaret discussed their plans for the evening at the Secret Club hideout; and Brainy Brian prototyped a contraption of some sort with questionable materials, even if stellar design. Old Battleaxe would berate someone for talking every now and then, but the students would for the most part just pretend to care and resume their dialogue not but a few moments later, which always prompted Henry do his best to fill the air with his own chatter so he’d be unable to hear theirs, or at least to plug his ears. He never dealt well with the noise of his classroom and all the interweaving voices flowing through his eardrums.
The class bell rang, signalling to the “diligent” students of the school that it’s now time to play and to eat, leaving classrooms empty with nothing left but the dust left behind by the hurried footsteps of children running away from their perceived torment in the form of boredom incarnate. Henry winced at the loud sound and whimpered silently, taking a second to complain to himself before going about the rest of his day.

Henry and Ralph both walked the halls together, the hallway being occupied by a pleasing yet contrasting mix of blue, yellow, and red. Absentmindedly, they’d chatter about their favourite TV shows, pranks they’re planning, and about their previous hijinks together. The two ruled the Purple Hand gang; the rulers of their own little kingdom, one where they committed all sorts of mischievous infractions. On their way, they came across a “smelly nappy baby”, otherwise known as “worm”; Henry’s younger brother, “Perfect Peter”, who despite being the Chief Secretary of the Gang, never escaped from Henry’s tricks and schemes – being so innocent as to even unknowingly aid him in them at times. Henry sneaks a glance at Ralph and lets out an evil giggle; he turns his glance back toward Peter, who on his end, is joyfully greeting his big brother. “Good morning, Henry!” let out an ever-so-excited Peter. “Out of my way, worm!” blurted Henry. Henry reached into his pocket and grabbed a piece of gum he’d mixed with some slime. Henry glanced at Ralph and smiled, thinking about the crime he was about to impose onto the boy. An unsuspecting Peter innocently turned his back to the boys as he headed back to the cafeteria – Henry seizes this opportunity and sticks the wad of gum-slime onto his hair! Peter let out a deafening wail, ruining both the boys’ cacophony of laughter, and replacing it with frowning and annoyance. Henry and Ralph looked at each other and silently agreed: “Run!” they said, as they took off running!

The rest of the school day went about as normal, which is to say, stifling and boring. Were it not for Ralph, Henry would likely go insane! The two boys walked home from school together, Henry’s arm supported by Ralph as they walked and chatted.

“Did you catch the new episode of Gross Class Zero?”, asked Ralph.

“No, I’ve been all but banned from using the TV… it’s always Peter’s turn!”, bemoaned Henry.

“It’s alright Henry, I can keep you up to date on the episodes!”, interjected Ralph with a kindly smile. 

“Sounds good to me! My parents keep nagging me every day, so it’s hard to even have fun around that boring old house…” replied Henry.

“Well, good thing you make sure to keep busy playing pranks at school!” said a giggly Ralph as they high-fived and parted ways. Henry entered his house and greeted his parents. Peter’d already arrived a short while ago, given he was always more diligent about being timely. Henry’s parents scolded him as usual for having tormented his brother at school, which caused the boy to give a thinly-veiled half-apology that he didn’t really mean.

Henry went into his room and immediately closed his door and all the curtains. He took a peek outside to make sure Peter wasn’t around the upstairs and that Margaret wasn’t outside trying to look through his window, and upon verifying both those facts, he sat down at the edge of his bed with a cryptic expression. Henry buried his face into his hands, and felt as if his throat was going to explode, backed up with words that he couldn’t define; words that for him, didn’t even exist. Henry’s racing mind overtook control of his body entirely and translated the mental anguish he’d faced every day for what feels like at least three years by now, into a pain his body could understand and replicate. It hurt. Not in the same way a toothache or tummy ache did, but in the same way Henry imagined being strangled would, or being blind during a shootout. An agonising mixture of pain, confusion, rage, frustration, and sadness. Cheeks red as a beet, the first signs started showing – Henry began to sob. The sobbing escalated into full-on crying. Henry had the hiccups, and his face was now streaming with tears, snot, and drool; quite an unsightly thing, even for a boy as gross and horrid as he was. Henry tried his best to stop it, to control himself and put on the brave face he puts on every day around him, but the one person he could never fool, was himself.

“Why won’t you stop? Stop crying, stop stop stop stop stop!”, Henry blurted out, punching himself on the cheek. All the anger he’d felt was now being deposited solely within this one single act, masking his own pain with even more pain – but at least now a pain that he could make sense of, his cheeks now dyeing his skin a sanguinary colour. After a few minutes of this, Henry gave up on his futility, continuing to cry, except now also holding his cheek in pain.
Defeated, Henry did his best to wipe his tears, and laid down onto the warm comfort of bed, doing his best to ignore the world.

“Why… do I feel like… this? ‘This?’ I don’t even know what– there’s no way that’s… NO!!” – Henry wouldn’t even give himself the brain power needed to recognize such a thought as ever being valid, much less to allow his mouth to work to externalise it.
Henry took off his clothes and changed into his pyjamas, before laying down in his bed once more, facing the wall, and hugging Mr. Kill.

“Don’t be Horrid, Henry… N-O spells NO, Henry… You should be more like your brother, Henry… can’t they just pretend to care, for once? If I disappeared tomorrow, I bet they’d be happy. They’ve already got Perfect Peter – they don’t need Horrid Henry. I don’t think someone like Ralph would, either. I wish I wasn’t born sometimes… then I wouldn’t have to smother you and everyone else around me.”

Henry almost shed a tear. He tightened his grip on the plush toy in his hand and steadied his nerves. Every day felt like a different battle on the same battlefield, and every day he’d find a new way to get by, he’d be met by the same impossible obstacles the next day. The incessant noise of annoyingly familiar voices, bright yellow-tinted lights, incessant nagging and lecturing, and Henry’s conflicting feelings. He felt numb even in the safety of his own castle.

Henry woke up in the afternoon without knowing how many hours had passed since he lost consciousness, disoriented and upset. He bent down to the floor and picked up the least crummy looking clothes from his “floordrobe” before getting dressed. He took another glance outside his room to make sure he wouldn’t be seen, before making a beeline rush to the bathroom as quickly yet quietly as he could. He splashed some water on his face and took an unintentional glance at himself in the mirror. He froze, in a curious yet disgusted state of mind, almost as if unable to recognize the person staring back at him. Henry wasn’t used to seeing himself in a place of emotional vulnerability, and he hated that side of himself. He dreaded what this would do to his reputation if anyone were to ever see this; and so he thought to hide it well and dear. After refreshing himself, Henry put on his usual persona as if it were clothing and headed to Peter’s room. Henry’s hand shook as it hovered over his brother’s door handle, wondering to himself “what the hell am I doing here?” Henry never thought he’d ask Peter for advice – not in a million, trillion years. Henry swallowed up his pride, and put his hand on the doorknob, twisting it with uncertainty in his mind. The door opened to blinding blue-pink wallpaper, and a nauseating scent of cleanliness and tidiness. Contrasting Henry’s now sorrowful and messy room, Peter’s exuded a sense of duty that Henry detested; it felt like even his room was snobby, looking down at him. Sitting on the floor smack-dab in the middle of the room was Peter – with a little less volume in his hair and a pair of pink coloured scissors coated in a small amount of golden hair at his desk – playing with his dolls and Mr. Bunny, as usual for the blonde.

“Hello, Henry!” said Peter gleefully

“Do you need something?”

Henry took a deep breath, and stared directly at Peter. Peter’s expression changed to that of worry. Whenever Henry entered his room, it usually meant he was up to no good, and so naturally, Peter learned to fear his brother’s change in demeanour around him.

“Y-You can calm down, worm…”, said an embarrassed Henry. 

“Um, are you blushing, Henry?”, asked Peter, bemused.

“No I’m not, worm! I’m just… um… you know.”

“You are! You’re… blushing?” Peter bemusingly said with a simpering smile.

“N-NO!!! Look worm, I just wanted to, to… ask you for a favour, okay?!”, Henry said, with a frustrated and embarrassed expression.

Peter tried to control his smiling, and did his best to take Henry at his word. Henry was very visibly irritated at this, but knew he had no other choice if he wanted Peter’s wisdom.
Henry closed the door and sat at the edge of Peter’s bed, Peter following suit.

“So, what is it that you need, Henry?” Peter asked, excitement brimming from his grin.

“What… what’s, um… what’s love feel like?”

Henry couldn’t say it with a straight face. He’d turned away from Peter in an effort to hide his beet-red face and guileless expression.

“What’s love feel like…?”

The question puzzled Peter. He knew what something like parental love felt like, but he didn’t know how he could properly explain it. But above that, why was Henry of all people interested in a topic like that? The same Henry who would make fun of him for liking girly shows – THAT Henry? It just felt so absurd to Peter, leaving him discombobulated and incredulous. “Why is Henry asking me this? Is he being sincere? Why would he wanna know what love is like? How would I even explain it to him? Is it… does he have a crush on someone? Does he wanna know what it feels like so he can tell if he has a crush on someone? Is it…”

“WORM!!!” 
Henry shouted abruptly, snapping Peter out of his thought process. 

…Nevermind, I shouldn’t have asked a smelly nappy baby for help.”
Henry got up in a fuss and angrily stomped towards the exit.

…

“Um… love is…”

Henry turned around in mild amusement, only to find a clammy Peter struggling to find the words to express his thoughts.
And almost as if in a sudden flash of inspiration, Peter’s expression changed from that of uncertainty, to that of unwavering will and unyielding confidence.
Wordlessly, Peter rushed to tackle Henry. Tackle…? Henry suddenly felt a warm mass cling to him gently, only to find Peter with his arms wrapped around his big brother in a reassuring, firm hug. Were it any other situation, with any other person, Henry would’ve been fed up by this point. But puzzlingly, Henry felt oddly at peace. Almost as if he didn’t want Peter to let go. Was that…?

“Love is… like a warm hug! Or, or playing with your friends, smelling the flowers… love is like a hug to your heart!”

“Does… that mean you love me, worm? Eeeew, gross!” he said, trying to push Peter away in disgust, causing his brother some distress. Peter tried to understand Henry’s ignorance and withstand it, continuing in his explanation;

“I do love you Henry, but it’s not THAT kind of love, silly. I love you like family. It’s kind of like… windflowers kinda look like poppies, but if you smell them, they smell tooootally different! And you can’t get them to grow in the same way, either! You need to treat them differently so they can blossom nicely!”

“That’s a girly way to put it — even for you, worm. But…”

Henry’s heart fluttered. Although Peter’s explanation wasn’t exactly the easiest one for Henry to wrap his head around, he put together enough to realise he’d felt things like that before. He felt that way with Peter, but surely that wasn’t the same as what he felt with… Ralph. There was always a different feeling whenever he was around Ralph. His every touch made his skin feel warm, his every word made his heart skip a beat, and whenever they’d hug or high-five, Henry would feel a happiness and sense of comfort and security that he never even knew he could feel. He’d have nightmares, but would sometimes see a lighthouse shining a beacon of light onto a dim beach, hearing a voice calling him back from the darkness to warm comfort, making him wake up feeling better than he had that entire week. That voice was probably…
No hand was as warm as his. No smell was as soothing as his. No embrace was as safe as his. No voice was as beatific as his. All he wanted in that moment was to be enveloped by the calm Ralph gave him, hearing his voice reassure him just like he would in his head at times. A comforting sin; one he can’t imagine life without. It felt wrong, but if this was evil, then he’d embody all of it.
Henry clenched his fists, blushing, visibly anxious, and scared, a single stream from a teardrop emanated from his right eye. And then the left. Henry’s stomach started to sink. Peter's attention was piqued once he noticed Henry’s expression and blush, but once he’d heard sniffling… Peter let go of the hug.
Peter’s arm was in response, grasped by Henry, with a gentle yet firm hold. This was different from the other times Henry would hold him. Peter saw in his eyes an emotion he’d never seen his brother feel before. For the first time, he didn’t see simply Horrid Henry. He saw only Henry, his brother; a window once obscured by drapes now finally shining a weak beam of hope, drowned out by shadow and mildew. It was hope; despair; strength; weakness; ecstasy; depression; resolution; confusion; an interwoven thread of a multitude of feelings burning an intense, searing mark into Henry’s small heart; so painful and overwhelming that he couldn’t help but feel like his whole world was crumbling. Everything he once thought he knew wasn’t a certainty any longer. And yet, he doesn’t understand – a thread too densely packed with too many strands to be able to be untied and studied.
And so, Peter teared up. He leapt into Henry’s arms once more and the two hugged like they never thought they could, much less would. They both fell to their knees and cried together, neither speaking a single word, yet having a conversation only they could understand; a song only they could hear; a poem only they could read.
A love only they could feel.

Henry lay awake well into the night, Mr. Kill being crushed between his arms. He couldn’t process everything that he’d experienced and come to understand today. It was all ringing in his head; images without order; sounds without rhythm; all garbled and jumbled into an indistinguishable mess of abstract colours and a deafening cacophony. Henry was too exhausted, yet all he wanted to do was cry and break everything around him. There was a lingering sense of frustration over how complicated and hard to understand human emotions can be ー but most of all, there remained an aftertaste of bitter anger toward himself for feeling the way he did. 
“I can’t let Ralph ever know”, thought Henry.
There were only a few hours left until morning came, and from then on it’d only be a little while longer until he had to go to school and eventually face him again. Was he ready for that?
Henry curled up into a ball. Frustration flowed through his mind like a broken vial, echoing his every fear and insecurity. Losing Ralph would be like losing a piece of himself, and there was no way Ralph would ever like him back. How could Ralph love someone who can’t even love themself? Henry felt that Ralph was always more confident and well-liked. Why would Ralph wanna be with a loser like him? Even Henry’s parents were awful. Would Ralph really wanna add them to his family? This and a slew of other questions crept up on his mind, whispers of voices not his own. Henry looked out of the window as he caught the first glimpse of the golden hour.

Ralph awoke to his usual alarm; his butler knocking on his door. He groggily looked toward the source of the sound, and told the servant to come in. As usual, he’d brought him his favourite red hoodie as well as his breakfast. Ralph sluggishly sat up against his pillows and stared at the platter of food now on his lap, warm sunlight filtering through his window and shining gently on his face. Ralph took his time eating his breakfast and going about his morning routine. He got a text from Henry warning him he wouldn’t be walking with him to school today, telling him to just go on without him. Ralph didn’t think much of it and just replied “Alright Henry!” He greeted his parents as he finished getting ready to head for school. He went out the front door and entered his parents’ limousine as his chauffeur got ready to drive away.
Ralph turned on the car’s TV and grabbed a glass of soda from the mini-fridge built in, idly reading a fashion magazine as he sipped from his beverage and listened to a rerun of a Gross Class Zero episode he’d already watched. As he flipped each page, his eyes would carefully analyse the trends in each attire, inspecting every detail for potential inspiration. This, in a way, makes him feel closer to his parents than anything else.

Eventually, they arrived at school. His chauffeur opened his door and led him out of the vehicle, safely dropping him off at the gate. Ralph greeted all the boys as he went on his way to class, finding it weird to not have seen Henry on the way. Going inside of the classroom, Ralph found Henry sitting almost entirely by himself, before even the bell rang. This was really uncommon for Henry, who usually hated class; especially being early for it. Ralph greeted him in his usual friendly tone.

“Hello Henry!”, Ralph said with a wave and affable smile.

Henry raised his head up from his desk, looking at Ralph with a beaten expression. Ralph immediately could tell something was off.
Henry weakly waved without a sound before looking away, a bland yet tired expression on his face.
Ralph felt dejected by this reaction, sparking concern over Henry. He put his hand on Henry’s shoulder with a concerned expression worn on his face.
Henry looked up toward him with an unemotional, pragmatic expression, before forcing a weak, pained smile.
“I’m fine, Ralph.” said his small and unconvincing quivering voice, slowly but firmly pushing Ralph’s hand away.
“But Henry–” interjected Ralph, only to be met by a frazzled, pained, and sad reflection. Ralph was taken aback for a while, but pulled his hand back and decided to drop the subject for now. 
Ralph seated himself in front of Henry, but couldn’t shake off his concern over his best friend. He felt rejected. This brought him back to how he felt regarding Henry. There could be a myriad of reasons why Henry’s like this, he thought. That didn’t stop him from feeling crushed regardless, however. He’d sneak longing glances at Henry, the same looking away almost as if repulsed. Why was this happening? He couldn’t understand it. Before he realised it, class had already started, yet all he could do was overthink and try to find an explanation for Henry’s behaviour. Ms. Battleaxe spouted her usual nonsense. He couldn’t care less. Class went by in what felt like seconds, but an eternity all the same.
As soon as class ended, Ralph went back to Henry to prod him for answers.

“Henry, did something happen?”

“No!! I already said I’m okay, didn’t I?”

Henry raised his voice, visibly upset at Ralph for his insistence. People stop their chattering and turn to stare.

“Well, that’s what worries me! You usually don’t deal well with all the noise.”

“Why won’t you just leave me be?! I… I don’t need you to worry about me, bogey brain!”

The whole classroom gasped in shock, even old Battleaxe. 
Ralph was frozen solid, holding his breath.
Henry stormed out of the classroom, pushing away everyone in his way. Battleaxe yelled at him in vain, as the frustrated boy just kept going. Henry cried as he ran down the hall, doing his best to hide it from others passing by. The transparent teardrops overflowing from his tired eyes, streaming down his red cheeks, falling down to the floor. Henry threw open the door to the bathroom and locked himself in. He couldn’t breathe; he started to feel funny; and his vision became blurry. He balled his hands into fists. 
“Why? Why? Why can’t I just… why can’t I fucking…”
Henry let out a scream unlike anything he’d ever done. He screamed, and screamed, and screamed. He stared at the mirror containing his look of abandonment. This torn visage impairing his eyesight with an ugly hint of reality made it all too clear for Henry – that it was all an act – an act that he would put on every single day without even so much as realising it. Henry punched the mirror with all his might. He stared at the cracked image reflecting his self back at him, with cold, uncaring eyes. An eye of shame and judgement, who instead of reflecting Henry’s fear and sadness, reflected his broken sense of control and his affliction.

“He doesn’t love you!”, pounding another hit onto the mirror.

“You just ruin everything that you touch!”
Pound.

Henry let out yet another scream as his fists bled, broken glass scattered all over the sink and on the floor, scattering a million pieces of himself onto the cold and indiscriminate bathroom floor.  Henry pulled out a sharpie pen from his back pocket and started staring at all the bathroom’s walls, stall doors, and the remaining mirrors. He methodically destroyed and broke off almost all of the sinks, kicked the soap dispensers down, smashed the porcelain of the toilets until they chipped, and ran his hand all over the walls. His crying intensified with each escalating action. 
“Don’t be horrid, Henry!”; “Buttercups and Daisies are flowers that hurt.”; “Stamps can’t fix broken hearts”; “I don’t know if red is your colour, or just my blood”; and other similar writings were scribbled by Henry in a fit of anger, on every conceivable surface in the bathroom. An anger he’d never felt before – but not an anger that can be described as merely “anger.” it was… sad. And it was a little bit confused, too. An anger that badly wanted a hug, but never knew how to ask for one. An anger that just needs to be told that it matters. An anger that just needs to be told it’s deserving of love. An anger that just wants to be… happy.
Henry collapsed to the floor, his hands full of dried blood. He didn’t even know how long he’d been in there. His bleeding had stopped, but his tears hadn’t. 
“I just… I just need him so much. Why can’t I just say that? Why am I like this? Why am I so unlikeable? Why do I…?”
Overwhelmed, he became choked up with tears.
Sunlight shone through the bathroom’s small window, casting shadow on the rubble. Teardrops refracting light into a small, distorted rainbow; and there sat a broken boy amidst the seam between light and dark.

“Can I ever be happy?”

He washed the dried blood and smeared pen ink from his hands under the water from the few remaining sinks, and washed his face in a half-assed attempt at masking his eyebags and red eyes. His shirt was soiled, his shoes covered in drops of blood, and his hand full of small cuts. Henry’s contorted face reflected in what remained of the broken mirror.
Henry felt exhausted and numb, both physically as well as mentally. Swallowing felt agonising, like he was swallowing broken glass. He felt knives poking at his stomach; pliers ripping apart his ribcage; his stomach contorting into knots and spirals. His head hurt, he felt sick. He felt a burning sensation running up his throat, and before he knew it, he threw up, and once his stomach had been emptied out, he threw up once again, now bile. The air had been tinged with a distinct smell of iron, soap, dust, and vomit. His shirt now had some additional stains, now a yellow-green in colour. Henry couldn’t care about looks by this point. He took his time recovering from this all, his mind blank. He stumbled through the bathroom, almost falling over in the process. He put his hand on the doorknob, unprepared to face the world again. A world that didn’t want him; or maybe a world that he didn’t want. He opened the door and was blinded by light, and the sight of people smiling, going about their day without a care in the world. Henry felt like running, but he didn’t know where or why. His breathing once again destabilised, until he felt a warm touch gently pull him out of the bathroom.

“Henry…?! What happened to you?”

“...Peter…?”

Henry was overwhelmed. All the sights, sensations, and emotions he was feeling all converging into an explosion of sensory overload. He jumped back at Peter’s touch, skittish like an animal at the brink of death. His eyes were puffy, wide in a daze like a deer in headlights; his heart shivering and in a syncopated rhythm, his hair frazzled and wet from the amount of water the burst sink pipes covered him in. Henry looked at Peter’s figure as if a ghost came to his front. Peter wore a puzzled expression, masking his concern and worry for his big brother. Peter was startled at Henry’s sudden recoil, and apologised as he withdrew his limbs back toward himself. Henry fell to the floor, trembling, and then sat up against the hallway’s wall next to the bathroom door and began to slap his own head at a rhythm, repeating mostly unintelligible sounds with a few words spread out in intervals. “I’m scared” and “Alone” being some of the most frequent, attracting the attention of passersby from various different classes and grades alike. Peter tried to hold down Henry’s hand so he’d stop hurting himself, but he would wrestle himself free of Peter’s control with relative ease. This was causing a ruckus big enough to cause students in their own class to notice.

“Henry, what’s wrong Henry? Talk to me!”
Peter pleaded in vain, as Henry started crying again, his entire face a crimson red.

“Someone help! P-Please!” shouted Peter, looking around for any authority figure he could rely on – until his eyes froze on Ms. Lovely and immediately motioned for her, still trying to wrestle Henry out of his shutdown. Ms. Lovely rushed past the fast mounting crowd to his side, trying to hold Henry’s hand down as well. She succeeded for a brief moment, but Henry was pulling with enough strength to accidentally slap her in the face and break free of her hold. A small drip of blood oozed from Henry’s arm as Ms. Lovely had accidentally scratched him slightly in the scuffle. Some of the spectators gasp. In a panic, Ms. Lovely starts apologising profusely.
Peter hugs Henry as tight as he can, suppressing his arms at his sides and supporting his head against his shoulder. Henry kept hitting Peter’s sides to try to get him to let go, but he failed, as everyone else watched in shock and concern as Peter quietly moaned, trying to suppress the pain. In an instant, Henry stopped moving as he stared behind Peter and saw Ralph, staring at him from the classroom door. Ralph rushed toward him.

“Henry! I’m so sorry Henry, I’m so sorry… I had… I didn’t know… I’m here mate, I’m here…”

Ralph looked at Peter almost as if signalling him to give them space, and as Peter backed off, Ralph dove to once again restrain Henry in a hug, shushing him in a soothing, melodious voice. 
Henry continued to thrash like a desperate animal, throwing his head back toward the wall in an attempt to hit it, which was quickly thwarted by Ralph cushioning the blows with his hand.
It felt like it was an eternity, but eventually, Henry’s screams and thrashing subsided. Ralph kept holding him, looking at him in a compassionate way devoid of judgement and replete with love and kindness. 

“It’s okay Henry, you’re okay now. I’ve got you. I’ve got you. You’ll be alright, y’hear me?”

Ralph’s voice rang in Henry’s head like a scratched disk on a loop, mixing in the cacophony of sounds all around him of students and teachers yelling and trying to mediate the situation and disperse the students. He heard a deafening ringing sound in his left ear, and almost as if everything as a whole was muffled and drowned out. He was there in body, but not in mind. He couldn’t process anything that was going on, even if his brain and body were doing their best to.
Miss Oddbod had called Henry and Peter’s parents to pick them up so Henry could calm down at home, and until then, Ralph and Henry sat together on the floor as he rested. The teachers nearby had tried to help the boy to a more comfortable place to rest, but Ralph stopped them as to avoid overwhelming Henry again. Henry's chest expanded and contracted at a fast but stable rate, his breathing short, laboured, and quick, his eyes closed. Ralph had one arm wrapped around his best friend, their heads resting against each other’s as Ralph held Henry’s other hand and gently caressed it. They sat there together, in silence, until Henry’s parents arrived.
Peter thanked Ralph profusely, drying off his own tears still as he followed his brother outside towards their parents’ car.

The car ride home was mostly silent. His parents had never seen Henry in such a state; they had no idea what to do. Peter was still perturbed. He tried to sing to calm everyone’s moods; an attempt that was quickly shut down by his parents’ chorus of “Not now, Peter!”. Henry hadn’t made a single sound since getting in the car, voicelessly staring out of the window with a blank, enigmatic expression, pretending his fingers, bandaged at the principal’s office shortly before he boarded the vehicle, were doing parkour on the passing foliage and power lines. 

“You do not understand how embarrassed I am right now.” A voice broke the silence – that of Henry’s mother, as angry as ever.

“I mean, you have a total meltdown at school and break over five-thousand pounds worth of infrastructure and then, not satisfied, tag all the walls? Do you understand what that’s going to cost for us to pay back?”

Peter looked disappointed in his own mother, although Henry merely ignored her reprimands.

“Your mother’s right, Henry. We’ll discuss this later at home and decide on a punishment for you.”

Once the family got home, Henry’s mom sat down at the kitchen table and pressed her hand onto her forehead. She looked absolutely lost as to where to go from here. Simon on that matter, just told Peter to help Henry to his room. Peter hated feeling this helpless and powerless, but he looked at Henry and saw something felt perturbed within him. Right about now, he’d probably give a snarky comment like “I know the way, worm!” or similar; but instead, he just lowered his head and went upstairs without resistance. This worried Peter.

“I think you went a bit too far with them this time, honey.”

“I know, but… no, you’re right.”

Once both boys got upstairs, Peter led Henry to his room. Peter looked as Henry entered, but he didn’t feel right just leaving him to his own devices after witnessing an outburst of that scale. Henry laid down in bed and stared at the ceiling. Peter looked at him longingly from the door. 

“D-Don’t you wanna take a bath, Henry? Your face is…”

…

“Henry? Do you want a change of clothes, maybe?”
No response.

“...Could I maybe come in and sit down with you?”
Peter waited with bated breath, as a weak sound reverberated through his small ears.

“Alright.”

Peter expressed relief, taking a step forward into his brother’s room and sitting down at the foot of the bed. They both sat there in silence for a while, before Peter’s orotund voice cut the silence in the air.

“What happened today, Henry?”

Henry flipped over to the other side of the bed, facing the wall, rocking his body back and forth.

“...Henry… What’s been troubling you?
I want to be here for you, no matter what it is.”

Henry moaned a burdened cry. It sounded sad, frustrated, and seeking warmth. Peter only heard it as a grumble however, and didn’t think much of it. With each attempt Peter made to ask Henry about what’d happened at school, Henry would simply make another pained sound while holding his knees to his chest, still looking away and rocking almost as if in a trance.
Peter’s eyes narrowed and his brows furrowed, puzzled over how best to navigate the situation and help his brother, and most of all, understand him. 

“Do you… need a hug?”

Henry turned to look at him, but quickly turned back toward the wall, nodding his head a mellow “yes”. Peter wrapped his arms around his brother’s frail body, and although he smelled…not so pleasant; the clean-freak Peter put that aside for his brother’s sake.
Henry didn’t really react at first, only whimpering in increasing frequency as he was held.

“Sorry, was that bad…?”

Henry’s whimper croaked, and contorted into sobbing. 
“It’s not that…”, he sobbed, choking on his own tears.
Peter couldn’t quite understand, but as he saw it, his brother didn’t seem bothered by it, so he elected to keep going. Henry somehow seemed more at ease because of this gesture, relieving Peter’s worries a small amount. 
Henry turned back toward his brother, and with small, red eyes, he hugged him back, his cries growing louder and crescendoing in response. Whether this was helping or not, Peter couldn’t tell. But what he was certain of is that this might be one of the few times Henry hugged him - certainly the first time he did so with such intensity and emotional vulnerability. That meant something to Peter. And so, he chose to keep that memory dear, and cherish it. 
Henry loosened his grip on Peter after a while, which prompted the boys to let go.  Henry and Peter kept staring at each other, the heavy air being cut through by the feeling of warmth the care they had for each other emitted. Henry sat up as properly as he could given his current condition. He turned his head to look at Peter with a sad, meek, but trusting expression.

“I think I can talk about it… it’s… really stupid. You have to promise to not tell anyone… okay?”

Peter quietly nodded along, and then interjected with a swear of fealty.
Henry lowered his head gently, finding it hard to maintain eye contact while being so emotionally vulnerable - ESPECIALLY in front of his younger brother. Even so, Henry sojourned ahead. Unsure of his vocabulary’s ability to express the mess of concepts and ideas within his little brain, he stammered and struggled to even start. 

“It’s… Ralph. It’s always been Ralph. I don’t, I don’t know what to do and I got overwhelmed and… some other things too.”

“What about Ralph, Henry? He’s your best friend, isn’t he?”

“Yes… and that’s… the problem, you see. He’s… my best friend…”

Peter’s face expressed his confusion explicitly enough. Henry realised this, but couldn’t bring himself to be more obtuse with his wording. Not now. Not to Peter.
As he sat and thought about it, Peter’s mind raced with a million ideas of what could be the problem. Is something wrong with their relationship? A fight, maybe? But they’ve had those before and it was never a problem… had Ralph found a new friend? Is Henry jealous? But one instant, his wildly firing synapses hit just the right spot - “Oh my goodness!” thought Peter. But before he could act on that thought, he had something else unresolved within his mind to address.

“What other things, Henry?”

“It’s… it’s mum. And dad. And, and… and you.”

“Me…?”

“YES! YOU! It’s always been you! Or maybe it’s just… I just want to feel like I have somewhere I belong to, but why would mum and dad ever want me when they have you? You’re perfect and I’m… I’m not. I never will be.”

Henry continued.

“Every day I wake up and walk through that kitchen, I see that drawing of us… with me in the corner. Alone. Why did you draw that, Peter? Why am I not allowed to just be near everyone? Why? Do you… do you hate me that much?”

“Oh, Henry… I don’t hate you… I’m… why did I draw that? That’s… I’m sorry I made you feel like that. I…”

“You don’t have to be perfect. You’re already Henry, and that’s already perfect in its own right. Mum and dad just want to make sure that you have a good future, Henry. They’re just… clumsy. Like earlier in the car.”

Peter couldn’t process what he was feeling, being blatantly called out. He needed time to get his thoughts and emotions in order.

“We… can we talk about that some other time, please? I promise. But, aside from that…”

“Henry… I think I might know why you asked me that weird question earlier…” 

Henry blushed hard, and averted his gaze yet again. Often cheeky, this time the boy felt nothing but shyness. He tried to stare at Peter, he really did! But much to his dismay, it’s almost as if his very soul wouldn’t let that slide without making him wretch in his own skin.

“Do you… do you think you fancy Ralph…? Is that why you said…”

“...I think so… and I don’t know what that means yet. I don’t WANT to be like that, I really don’t! But I can’t help it! My heart beats out of my chest when I get so much as close to him, and I keep thinking about him all the time! It’s so frustrating!”

Henry let out a sob as Peter gasped, taken aback by the thought. Henry recoiled and withdrew himself - mentally, and physically. The once-menace was now only a little boy crying, curled up in a ball. Peter tried to collect himself but so many things were racing through his mind. He barely minded keeping an expression on, allowing his face to express a full range of emotion concerning his quick thinking of all his racing thoughts.
Peter sat there, panicking, but upon seeing Henry’s face, muddied with tears, Peter cried too. There was an indescribable feeling pouring awash the two of them, a deep sadness and agony that neither could bear. Their chests tightened, their throat closed up, and before Peter realised it, his hands balled up into fists. He threw himself at Henry and coddled him, stroking his hair and assuring him that he’s okay. “I’m here.”, resounded around the expanse of their room. Both boys cried together despite their attempts at containing the tears, Henry being held firmly by Peter, both boys afraid of losing one another, each vowing to themselves that they’d never let the other go - that they’d always protect one another, no matter what.
With the passage of time, the tears dried up, and the sobbing stopped. All that remained was exhaustion, and a lingering feeling of worry. Both boys were still grasping each other tenderly, still burdened by their conundrum. Peter slowly started to let go, and sat up on the bed once again. Henry raised his head like a curious puppy, perking his ears and shifting his focus toward the blonde.

“Are you okay, Henry…?”

Henry managed a weak smile, and put his hand on Peter’s shoulder, now his turn to comfort his brother.

“I’ll be okay… worm.”

He smirked, and Peter let out a giggle. Peter put his hand on top of Henry’s, and beamed a tired smile right back at him.

“I’m glad… you’re… a good brother, Henry.”

“Y-You too…”, said a flushed Henry.

Henry sat up next to Peter, and both boys were apprehensive. They didn’t even know where to start. They both knew how loaded a topic this was to be, but they still knew they had to talk about it. For a while, silence filled the air, and the two kids stood there, almost as if waiting for someone else to steer the conversation for them. 
Henry was the one to break the silence.

“I think I really do like him. I just… I’m scared it’ll change things. And I don’t wanna be… you know. What’s mom gonna think?! I don’t wanna lose him, and I don’t want to be a freak.
What am I gonna do…?”

Henry covered his face with his hands. 

Peter reached a hand out toward his brother, but quickly withdrew it. He was still not quite used to being there for Henry in that way.

“You’re not a freak for that, Henry. You’re not a freak at all. And you won’t lose Ralph either, silly.”

“B-But what if he finds out? What do I do then? What if he stops talking to me, and then I’m all alone, and then, and…”

Henry started hyperventilating as his brain sped up his thinking, his eyes darting around the room… before Peter put his hands on both of his shoulders, and gave him a stern yet kind gaze.

“There’s no point in stressing that hard, Henry. We’ll figure it out, okay?”

Henry stopped, and while still visibly agitated, he looked at Peter and felt a tiny bit more grounded. They were fire and water; yin and yang. They both had unique perspectives and experiences in life that they could offer each other. They needed each other equally, both as brothers and as people.

“Do you think I should… no, that’s stupid.”

“What, Henry?”

“Do you think I should ever tell him…? Ever?”

Peter stood silent.

The question stumped Peter. He sat and thought about it quietly, weighing it all out in his mind. He knew life wasn’t some movie - there was zero guarantee Ralph’d reciprocate his brother’s feelings. But he also knew there was no way to find out aside from trying. This could break Henry. Both not knowing and being rejected seemed like awful outcomes for the boy, and Peter knew this well. Just that instant however, Henry’s phone buzzed. Bling!

It was a text from Ralph.

“oi henry, r u alright? this was the worst one yet, ive never seen u try to hurt yourself before, or cry that much… do u want me to come over?”

Henry’s face went from anxious to mortified. Peter questioned him on what happened, only to be answered by a dreadful Henry with the gaze of a child who’d seen hell itself. Wordless. Peter shuffled up to his big brother’s side and peered into the view of his phone screen, and read the message himself. Now he understands. 

Henry kept staring at Peter, looking for an answer to his previous question. 

Peter was stunned, still unsure as to what to say. He told Henry to just act like normal, for now. Henry gulped and gave a quick nod.

“Sorry i didnt want for you to see that. Today was really stressful for me you know”

Henry fumbled with his thumbs until he finally managed to type something. He could barely press “Send” as his digits trembled under the pressure. Peter watched in amusement and worry as his brother typed away. They both sat there in utter silence, both glued to the phone screen. For minutes, nothing.
After a short little while came another buzz. Bling!

“if you need, i could come over today?”

Henry audibly gasped as Peter sucked in air through his teeth. Yikes. This was… decidedly a tough situation. It wasn’t as if he didn’t WANT Ralph over, but was Henry ready? What would he say to him? With all those and a million more thoughts bouncing around in his dome, it felt like his fingers moved independently of him.

“Ok.”

Send.

“Henry…?”

Henry didn’t reply. Catatonic, he simply kept staring at the phone screen, inarticulate and stiff.

“Oh my g… I told him to show up. I told him to show up? …Nooooooo!! What do I do now?! Can I dele-”

Before Peter had a chance to respond, a bright blue tick showed up under the message. “Read just now.”
Too late.

Peter jumped onto Henry with a hug, smiling.

“There you go! You did the hard part already!”

“NO!!! I’m not ready yet! What am I even gonna say to him? What should I even do? What if I-”

“Oh silly, don’t worry about all that now! Go take a shower and get dressed before he shows up, and just be yourself! That’s the Henry he knows and loves, right?”

“The Henry I hope he loves…”, retorted Henry.

“Well you won’t know until you try, will you?”

Henry got up and picked up the least smelly clothes he could find in his “floordrobe” and hurried off to the bathroom to shower. Leaving a giddy Peter behind, whose face went from joy to worry as soon as Henry was out of his eyesight. 

“Oh Henry… You’ll be okay, right?”

Henry hated showers, but for this, he knew he had to be at his best. He sprayed on his mom’s cologne and coughed from the smell. He shoddily tried to fix his hair, although it just ended up staying messy but in a different configuration. He looked into the mirror reflecting his own worry, and slapped himself hard on both cheeks to psych himself up. He shook his head and slammed his hands down on the sink. 

“You can do this.”

Henry came out of the shower with newfound confidence - even if a lot of it was faked. He walked back into his room where Peter sat eagerly waiting, and walked in jumping and giggling. He was still nervous of course, but the more he gave into that feeling, the worse it got. So, he decided to do his best to not let himself fall into despair and proceed with his most optimistic self. Peter was amazed! 

“Wow Henry, you’re glowing! And… you actually smell nice! You’re really taking this seriously for a change!”

“Of course I’d take it seriously, worm…!”
Henry blushed and lowered his head, ruining any hope he might’ve had of seeming confident and tough. He was horrified, and embarrassed, and now they both knew it for a fact.

“I’ll be okay. I’m Horrid Henry!!!”, shouted the boy, attempting to regain control both internally and externally. Peter was worried, but he couldn’t help but find it cute how sensitive his tough big brother actually was. 

Peter got up from the bed and peppily sauntered over to Henry, before trying to fix his hair, which led to the brothers playing a bit of impromptu keep-away. Eventually Henry relented, but negotiated that Peter keep it at least a little bit messy.
For the first time in a while, the boy actually looked presentable, much to Peter’s joy, and Henry’s chagrin. 
Then came a lousy knock at the door, a knock so lousy that Henry only knew one person besides himself who’d be this incompetent – a certain Rude Ralph had finally arrived. Accompanied by the sound of his phone’s buzzing once more, he received confirmation that the time for him to confront this part of himself had come. All the self-doubt, self-hatred, anxiety, and fear. All of it festered in Henry’s mind, every day amplified by how unwanted he would feel at times. A pariah to his school peers and a missed opportunity to his parents, a freak and a horrid failure to himself. He wasn’t sure if he deserved the happiness he wanted, but he would do anything to be able to have even a single moment of the love of someone like Ralph. Someone who truly understood him, stood by him like nobody else had in lieu of his failures. He didn’t care if he wasn’t an ideal child. He was there for him, always. Be it in mischief or in crisis, Henry could always rely on him to be his rock. It was like a warm melody, calming the arrhythmia of his heart – petals drifting through crossing winds, scenting the rivers and clearing the mildew in his mind. His fears, his desires… he would put them all aside for this. For him.

With newfound confidence, Henry took an unstable step forward.
He opened the door to blinding light and corroding darkness, cleared away by the passionate red of his hoodie and soothing brown of his eyes. Equanimity washed over Henry, dampening the sound of his own failing heartbeat with a melodious love song of his own making. One without lyrics or even sound, but one that they both had composed together without even realising it.

“Hello Henry!”, blurted out Rude Ralph, who, oxymoronically, was never quite as rude as his title would imply.

Henry audibly gulped. His face of discomfort betrayed his seemingly calm masquerade, almost as if he would break down into tears at any instant. 

“Um, Henry, are you… okay over there? Really okay?” prodded a concerned Ralph.

“U-Uh, yes! I’m just um. Still a bit shaken up, is all… ‘s just, you know how I can be sometimes, it’s um…”

“Yes, Henry?”

Peter watched from the top of the stairs, just barely out of Ralph’s field of view. He got more and more anxious every time Henry’s lips opened, but couldn’t stop watching. It was like a train wreck that you couldn’t pull away from. Cringing internally, Peter could only hope that his brother wouldn’t utterly bungle this up.

“I just um, got overwhelmed is all. I have uh—”

“Sensory issues?”

“Y-Yeah! T-That… ahem… s-sorry…”

“You’re alright mate, I understand. ‘D ya… mind if I come in?”

“Oh, of course! Come right on in!”
…is what Henry wanted to say. In reality, he just bit his tongue on accident and nodded violently toward Ralph, his reassuring smile giving Henry the bit of strength he needed to not pass out. 
Peter ran back to his room and shut the door, praying that all goes well. Ralph went up the stairs first, sneaking back caring glances toward a perturbed Henry, doing his best to not fall down the stairs as they ascended. 

Ralph waited for Henry in front of his room, to which Henry shyly invited him into, following behind him and shuttering the door. Henry realised his room was still a pigsty, but truth be told, neither of the boys truly cared. 

“You… look nice, Henry. And you smell like it, too! Your room’s still the same as always, but looking tidy was never your thing. Is something going on?”

Henry only managed a forced laugh, before shaking his head a stern no. Ralph looked uneasy, but sat down on the boy’s bed and tried to shake off his sense of discomfort at how uncharacteristically well-groomed Henry was – which is to say, he was just barely better than the bare minimum, which to him is a lot. 

“Don’t you wanna have a sit down, Henry?”

“O-Oh, me? N-No, I’m q-quite fine actually!”

Henry couldn’t bear the thought of sitting so close to Ralph, not when he’s feeling this sheepish. 

“...Well no, I do wanna sit down…”

And yet, he also couldn’t bring himself to say no.

Ralph politely smiled in return, as Henry scratched the back of his head and awkwardly sat next to Ralph. Their thighs were touching, their hands dangerously close to being on top of each other. Henry felt butterflies in his stomach, and his face started to redden like a blooming rose. Averting his gaze, Ralph took notice of this and grabbed Henry’s hand. Henry flinched and jumped slightly at the surprise, and his eyes dilated like a cat’s. 

“...You’re not okay, are you Henry? Why won’t you trust me?”

Henry couldn’t handle the boy’s touch. It felt so gentle and loving, but so wrong. Almost as if giving into it is already a crime of the highest dishonour. It’s not as if Ralph thinks of this gesture the same way as Henry does anyway.
Henry broke away from Ralph’s grasp and, still blushing, looked to the other side and pouted.

“...because… I’m a freak.”

“Freak? Says who?”

“Well, you’d think it too if you knew.”

“Knew what, Henry?”

Henry froze in horror. He didn’t mean to let that slip, and for a second, he lost his composure.

“Listen, Ralph, I just… I’ve got a lot going on, so sometimes I might say something that doesn't m-make much s-sense and I, um…”

“Henry? Could you look at me, Henry?”

The sunlight filtering through the window refracted light through Henry’s rosy cheeks, highlighting his pallid skin dyed into a crimson complexion. He turned his eyes toward Ralph, slowly drifting his head toward him, shyly and fearfully expecting to be met with anger and judgement.
Instead, he only found a bright smile that could warm up even the coldest of nights. A face devoid of any hatred or malice, the same face he’d see in his dreams most nights. The same light that would guide him from the darkness, the smile that gave everyday meaning. If he lived only to see that smile again, then he would gladly wake up every morning to brave even the harshest pain Hell could muster.

Ralph stared at Henry, and felt the mask slip. Henry no longer needed to wear a persona, for he knew Ralph saw right through it as if he was wholly transparent. Ralph put his hand to Henry’s warm cheek and started caressing it, looking into his eyes as he did so. At that moment, everything made sense to him. All of it. Every question to every answer, even to the ones he’d never asked; the solution to every problem, even to the ones he’d never had.
Ralph extended his hand towards the boy. Henry froze, but this time he had more determination and willpower than maybe he’d ever had his entire life. The starstruck child put his hand on top of the boy’s, and felt as if he could cry. Ralph got up, and with a caring smile on his face, looked at Henry awaiting his response to the silent invitation. Henry got up slowly, and Ralph did not look away.
Ralph grabbed the boy’s other hand, and interlaced their fingers. Henry was silently guided by Ralph without contesting a single movement, allowing himself to be fully taken in by this sin. They were one. One with every atom; every being; every colour and every sound; he’d seen it all and felt it all. He just never had the words to describe it. Melding; becoming; becoming; becoming… dancing in the moonlight to the sounds of one’s own footsteps, one person in two bodies. A child dreaming of seeing the sun, blinded by the moon, ignorant of its light; a spinning universe of gears and cogs. 
Ralph grabbed Henry by the hip with one hand, while the other remained firmly yet gently holding the boy’s hand. With steps clumsy but full of intent, Ralph began to conduct Henry, swaying from side to side in a dance. Henry did not protest, and followed obediently, eyes full of love and a yearning for affection. This was the happiest the two of them had ever felt in their life. 
Ralph momentarily let go of Henry’s hand, which made the boy whimper in protest as he tried to pull it back, but Ralph simply had moved it to his head, petting the other boy gently and ruffling his hair back to its natural messy state; the way things should be - the Henry that he loves. There was no more need for falsehoods; only two naked souls showing each other their true character, and being in love in spite of it all. Each imperfection made beautiful by the fact that it was that special someone.
Henry had two left feet, but he tried his best to play along with Ralph and predict his movements, although he mostly failed, which lended itself to making the moment funnier for both of them, even if Henry was a bit embarrassed. Ralph grabbed Henry’s hand again, but moved his other hand from his hips, to his lumbar. Henry moves even closer toward Ralph, as Ralph pulls him by his hips until they’re chest-to-chest. They can feel each other’s heartbeats, ramping up in intensity and quickening pace with each glance; like two drums in the grey. As they dance, their movements become more effortless and less telegraphed; a silent soliloquy. They touch their two foreheads together, leaving nothing to stare at but each other’s beaming eyes. The two of them kept staring unflinching for a few moments; moments that lasted several lifetimes each. A moment that was anything but a moment.
Henry rested both of his arms on Ralph’s shoulders, interlacing his fingers as he did. He smiled tenderly at the boy, feeling more relaxed and comfortable than he ever thought he could. Ralph tilted his head, and started moving closer to Henry’s lips. Henry’s heart started beating irregularly, yet with a speed far beyond what was normal for him. He utterly froze, and unprepared as he was, he couldn’t tell the boy to wait. Ralph gently guided Henry’s head forward, and they touched lips, sharing a tender, innocent kiss of blooming, youthful first love. The two boys cried as if one, freezing on the kiss for as long as they could, savouring every moment of it and searing it into their minds. Everything felt right. The world turned quiet, and the room around them ceased to exist. In that moment, all that mattered was having each other close. Elation flowed through the two of them; every colour more vibrant; every smell more pleasant; every touch enough to cure every wound. Flashes of past memories ran through Henry’s wounded soul - images of the nights he’d spend crying alone in his room or in the bath, the running water masking his sounds of resignation. Someday, he thought, in the dark, he’d meet his creators; and they’d all agree:
God had called his name, but it wasn’t him. And yet, he had one thing going, and it was the only thing worth knowing; even when his bones had decayed and trees sprouted for the children to rest upon; he’d know he was loved, even if only by a single someone. They’d run far together, until they were old and grey.

The two boys slowly opened their eyes and held each other’s cheeks, releasing their lips. With each passing instant, the reality of what had just transpired set in, and both boys sat down in bed once more.

“So um, how’s Gross Class Zero been…?”