A/N: Ha guess who finally updated a month later-

Jeremy's POV

My dad stares at me expectantly.

Michael kicks my shin gently under the table, as if trying to provoke me into saying something.

"Um. Hi, Dad."

Michael reaches across the table to take my hand. Even though he just wants to help, I pull away. My dad is right here and what if...There are so many ways he could react, and I'm not sure I'm ready for any of them. And there's a chance he didn't see us kiss, right?

"Hello, Michael."

The boy's face flushes, but he manages a greeting.

"Hi, Mr. Heere."

"Nice eyeliner."

Even if the words sounded like they could form a compliment, there is an underlying scoff in my father's voice. The hurt shines through in Michael's eyes, but he refocuses and thanks my father anyway.

It's awful.

"So," my dad begins, "What are you two boys doing on this fine evening?"

When Michael doesn't respond right away, I start to speak.

"We're just...uh...hanging out, Dad."

"That's what you're doing?" His eyes wander over to Michael's fingers, which have somehow become intertwined with mine.

My hand releases from his comforting grasp and finds its way under the table. Good. Now he won't be able to see how much they're shaking.

The table is quiet once again.

"Jeremy," the man standing next to me commands, "Come with me. Let's talk."

"No."

The defiance I muster surprises me a little.

"Jeremy."

His voice is stronger now.

"Dad, if you have to say something, just say it now."

We both glance over at Michael, who is looking at his lap.

My dad looks hesitant, and for a second, I see pain flash in his eyes. But then he speaks, and if he had any remorse, it's gone now.

"I don't ever want to see you do what I just saw with a boy again. Is that clear?"

I look at Michael, who's eyes meet mine, his face crowded with concern and hurt.

He takes a breath as if to speak, but is cut off by an impatient grunt of my father.

"Jeremy," my dad starts, his voice rigid and irate, "Why don't I take you home?"

It's not a question.

I look from the boy whom I trust with all my heart, to the man who raised me with all he had.

Michael's POV

I've been bullied and tossed around all my life. Whether it was the whole gay thing, the geek thing, the loser thing, or whatever, it always hurts.

But this...this is something else.

This is Jeremy's father.

A father is someone who is supposed to love and support, to help.

Mr. Heere is like a dad to me. He was there when my parents couldn't be. When I was little he'd sometimes tuck me in, or sing me songs. He was like the dad I never had, or needed, at least in the beginning. But we've grown close over the years.

And I've been nothing but a son to him. Or more importantly, I helped him get his son back. 

And though I'm not a parent, I know that this is how you can lose a child all over again.

Jeremy is torn. You don't need to be his best friend of forever to see that.

He looks back and forth between Mr. Heere and me. A troubled and scared expression is blatant on his face, taking away the bashful boy I kissed minutes before.

Our eyes meet and neither of us waiver, trying to figure out what the other is thinking.

I don't want him to go. Everything in my body is telling me to fight, to run off with Jeremy, and never look back. To flip Mr. Heere off. To kiss Jer in front of his stupid face. To lecture him about how he needs to let his son live. To do something—anything—to make this stop.

But I know deep down how selfish this is, and how much it would hurt Jeremy if he chose me.

So I swallow my feelings, and nod my head, letting Jeremy go. He nods back, heartbroken, tears threatening to spill.

My eyes linger on his back as he walks out of the arcade, a place where we have made so many happy memories.

Today we've made a memory, sure.

But it's not exactly a happy one.

Jeremy's POV

Each step away from Michael is a million times more excruciating then anything else I've ever experienced.

It's not like it's the end of us. I refuse to believe that. This is just a roadblock. Just a pause. Just a roadblock.

At least, this is what I'm telling myself over and over again as I move further and further away from Michael.

I don't even remember stepping into the car. As we drive across the freeway, my dad keeps taking a breath as if he's going to speak, and then thinks otherwise.

"Son," my father says.

He looks to me. As if I'd give him a response. As if he deserves one.

"I know this may seem like a big deal now. But in a few years, you'll forget about all of this. Whatever thing you have with Michael, it'll all be in the past someday. It'll...be like some dream, some distant memory."

He pauses before he whispers, more to himself than me, "I would know."

Michael's POV

A drop of water lands on the pant leg of my jeans, and it takes a second to realize that I'm crying. I sniff and wipe the tears away with the sleeve of my hoodie. Even if this table is a bit secluded, there are still people who could see. Including Christine, who could still be somewhere in here.

Someone places an arm timidly around my shoulder. Was I that obvious?

"Oh, Michael," a voice that can only belong to Christine soothes, rubbing my arm in solidarity. "I..."

She doesn't continue, but she holds me a little tighter. I ease into her, a few teardrops landing on the front of her dress.

"I'll take you home, okay?" She whispers gently, wrapping her arm around mine and attempting to pull me out of the booth.

I let her lead me across the arcade, out of the doors, and into her car. We drive onto the freeway, each of us lost in our own thoughts. I must've looked really devastated if Christine was able to not talk for this long.

"Why were you there?" I ask impulsively. "At the arcade?"

She hesitates.

"Well, I actually asked Jenna out and we agreed to meet here. She, um, never showed up. So, yeah. So that's, uh, that's why I was there."

Oh.

"Christine, I'm so sorry. I...I know what it's like to be forgotten."

Her eyes move from the road to meet mine. She gives me an empathetic look, and I can tell she would hug me if we weren't driving.

A minute or two passes before she speaks again, her tone happier.

"You know, I've always shipped you and Jeremy," she giggles playfully.

I let a chuckle escape my lips.

"I guess I did too," I grin back.

She glances at me and smiles.

"How long did you have a crush on Jer?" She asks tentatively.

"Uh. That's a good question. I...I guess in...maybe since eighth grade?"

Maybe even earlier. Back then I didn't want to call it a crush, because then it would make it official that I had feelings for a boy. And you'd think the fact that I had two wonderful women raising me would stop me from hating myself. But it didn't.

And I hated myself. It's crushing to think about; I was just a kid. Some nights I remember lying in bed, wondering to myself, asking God—or anyone really—why it had to be me. Why I had to like boys. Why I had to have two moms. Why I had to be ignored. And when I wasn't ignored, made fun of. Why my brother had to die. Why math didn't make sense. Why teachers didn't like me.

But Jeremy was there for me. He helped me out of the mess I was in. He saved me.

And at times, maybe I do get a little dependent on him. But, I can't imagine life without him. In fact, I don't know if I would even be alive if he hadn't been with me.

"Michael, are you okay?" Christine says gently.

"I...I don't know," I respond truthfully.

"Well...we're almost home, alright?"

"Okay."

A few minutes later, we pull into my driveway, her headlights reflecting in the front windows.

"Are your parents home? Do you want me to come in with you?"

"They...should be home. But could you go with me?"

"Of course, Michael."

We climb out of the car and start walking toward the door. I take out my key and unlock it, and in we go.

I see my nanay asleep, curled up against my mama as they watch TV.

"Mickey Mouse!" My mama calls quietly from the couch, craning her neck to look at me. "Back so soon?"

I try to speak, but the words don't come. Where do I even start?

"Jeremy ended up having to leave. I'm gonna take Michael upstairs, if that's okay?"

God bless that girl.

"Oh, Christine! Is that you? Good to see you, love. Yes, go ahead." Despite her happy demeanor, a touch of worry made its way into her words.

She takes my hand and we amble awkwardly up the stairs, into my room. She looks around, smiling at a photo of us near my desk. She turns to me, her lips moving back to a relaxed line, but the happiness still present in her eyes.

"Will you be alright, Michael?"

She's already done so much for me. And even though I don't know the answer, she deserves to go home.

"Yeah. Thanks for everything, Chris."

"No problem, Micha." She states sternly, looking me dead in the eye. "This is what friends are for."

I nod, and she walks over to me, pulling me into a tight hug. I return the embrace.

"I know we've never been the best of friends, but I'll always be here for you, okay?"

"Okay," I respond, wanting to cry.

We let go at the same time, and Christine takes a step back. She touches my cheek lightly, whispering a quiet 'goodbye', before leaving the room.

I just want to sleep. I take off my jeans, throwing them on the floor. I start to unzip my jacket. Screw it. I keep it on.

Climbing into bed, I pull the sheets over my body, and desperately try to get comfortable. My eyes squeeze shut, forcing myself to go to sleep.

It's going to be a long night.

Word count: 1864

A/N: From the time of the last update to now, this book has gone from under 1k reads and under 100 votes to over 250 votes and over 4K reads. That's fricking insane, guys! I cannot express my gratitude enough. You guys are awesome!