Belly full, Grayson meandered back to his room a very satisfied young man, a bouquet of flowers tucked in the crook of his arm with all the care that he would afford a prized possession. They had been a gift, after all, and gifts were meant to be appreciated and treated well. He got a couple of snickers as he went down the hall, but he was used to them by now; when you were the son of two very loud and proud homosexual men, you tended to get a lot of second looks, some nicer than others. He'd long ago given up even entertaining the idea of pleasing everyone, and instead, spent most of his time doing what he wanted to, other people's opinions be damned.
It worked well enough. He was friendly with a lot of people, but didn't have all that many close friends. That suited him, really; less obligation to go bowling, or do karaoke, or shoot hoops after class all the time. Once in a while was fine, and he had just the right amount of active friends to keep his life interesting.
He opened the door to his room, frowned a little at the holy mess that greeted him, and stepped inside. Thankfully, there were no powerfully terrible smells - the majority of the mess was laundry, unfolded and mostly clean, if he was the judge of it. In the corner was a pile of school books and papers, likely the most organized area of the room, simply because it was just about never touched.
Wrinking his nose a bit, he debated on picking up, decided against it. His bed was still mostly clean, and that was his phone in the middle of it, wasn't it?
Setting his flowers gently on top of his desk, he stripped down, tossing his uniform in the general direction of the rest of the dirty clothes on the floor. He tried to designate one half of his room to those that needed laundering, and for the most part, his aim was pretty good. Slowly, the balance of power was shifting to "dirty" once more, and he'd have to take a trip to the washing machines somewhere in the vicinity of the week. Ah, well. A necessary evil.
Throwing himself on his bed, he kicked his legs up, planting bare feet against the wall as he dialed home. It took only two rings before he heard an irritated, "Hello?"
"Hey, Dad." Smiling, Gray looked up at the ceiling, tracing patterns with his free hand as they went through the regular motions of their conversation. School was good, fire spinning was good, he'd learned belly dancing actually, yes he'd ring if he needed money, love you too Dad, okay put Pop on.
And then came much of the same thing, though this time, when he got to the question of the prom, Gray was actually able to say "I have a date, Pop."
There was a long silence, a scratching sound like Van had pressed the mouthpiece of the phone to his sweater, maybe, and then some muffled shouting. Apparently, this was news indeed, and after the brief flurry of excitement came the twenty questions.
"Who is it?"
"Benson Beldon."
"A boy?" A brief pause, surprise, and then, "Did you ask him?"
"No, he asked me at dinner, and gave me flowers."
More excited chattering ensued between his parents, and Gray's eyes drifted closed, his attention beginning to slip. He continued to answer questions, as truthfully and thoroughly as he could, though Van was far from satisfied with the little he apparently knew about Benson Beldon.
By the time the conversation began to dwindle, Gray was half-asleep, phone tucked against his shoulder and cheek, muttering nonsensical things to attempt to give the impression he was still invested. A knock on his door startled him enough that he sat up, peering at it in mild confusion for a moment.
"Hey, Pop." He was interrupting the billionth question, probably, but a man had to have priorities. "Someone's here, okay? I'll call you in a week or so."
There was a long sigh. "All right, Grayson. Were you listening? We're wiring you some funds to get a nice and tasteful tuxedo, no sequins or ribbons like you wear when you're dancing, all right? Pick out something dashing. And for heaven's sake, buy yourself a new pair of jeans, yours are probably still wearing out at the stress points just like they were when you came home on holiday last."
Plugging his unoccupied ear with his finger, he swung his legs over the bed, meandering toward the door. "Okay. Thanks, by the way. I'll get something nice. And I'll pick out some more clothes, too. I made a little cash on my last show, so I might as well work on dressing myself."
"Good idea. Have fun and be safe." A bit of irritation entered Van's done. "And for God's sake, do your homework, or I'm going to shove one of your poi up your a**."
Used to the threats, Gray simply murmured, "Love you too, I will, bye." and clicked the phone off. Despite still being in his bright red boxer shorts, he opened the door with no trace of embarrassment on his face, scratching his hip as he did so.
He offered a smile to the person on the other side. "Yo, Melody. Need something?"
It worked well enough. He was friendly with a lot of people, but didn't have all that many close friends. That suited him, really; less obligation to go bowling, or do karaoke, or shoot hoops after class all the time. Once in a while was fine, and he had just the right amount of active friends to keep his life interesting.
He opened the door to his room, frowned a little at the holy mess that greeted him, and stepped inside. Thankfully, there were no powerfully terrible smells - the majority of the mess was laundry, unfolded and mostly clean, if he was the judge of it. In the corner was a pile of school books and papers, likely the most organized area of the room, simply because it was just about never touched.
Wrinking his nose a bit, he debated on picking up, decided against it. His bed was still mostly clean, and that was his phone in the middle of it, wasn't it?
Setting his flowers gently on top of his desk, he stripped down, tossing his uniform in the general direction of the rest of the dirty clothes on the floor. He tried to designate one half of his room to those that needed laundering, and for the most part, his aim was pretty good. Slowly, the balance of power was shifting to "dirty" once more, and he'd have to take a trip to the washing machines somewhere in the vicinity of the week. Ah, well. A necessary evil.
Throwing himself on his bed, he kicked his legs up, planting bare feet against the wall as he dialed home. It took only two rings before he heard an irritated, "Hello?"
"Hey, Dad." Smiling, Gray looked up at the ceiling, tracing patterns with his free hand as they went through the regular motions of their conversation. School was good, fire spinning was good, he'd learned belly dancing actually, yes he'd ring if he needed money, love you too Dad, okay put Pop on.
And then came much of the same thing, though this time, when he got to the question of the prom, Gray was actually able to say "I have a date, Pop."
There was a long silence, a scratching sound like Van had pressed the mouthpiece of the phone to his sweater, maybe, and then some muffled shouting. Apparently, this was news indeed, and after the brief flurry of excitement came the twenty questions.
"Who is it?"
"Benson Beldon."
"A boy?" A brief pause, surprise, and then, "Did you ask him?"
"No, he asked me at dinner, and gave me flowers."
More excited chattering ensued between his parents, and Gray's eyes drifted closed, his attention beginning to slip. He continued to answer questions, as truthfully and thoroughly as he could, though Van was far from satisfied with the little he apparently knew about Benson Beldon.
By the time the conversation began to dwindle, Gray was half-asleep, phone tucked against his shoulder and cheek, muttering nonsensical things to attempt to give the impression he was still invested. A knock on his door startled him enough that he sat up, peering at it in mild confusion for a moment.
"Hey, Pop." He was interrupting the billionth question, probably, but a man had to have priorities. "Someone's here, okay? I'll call you in a week or so."
There was a long sigh. "All right, Grayson. Were you listening? We're wiring you some funds to get a nice and tasteful tuxedo, no sequins or ribbons like you wear when you're dancing, all right? Pick out something dashing. And for heaven's sake, buy yourself a new pair of jeans, yours are probably still wearing out at the stress points just like they were when you came home on holiday last."
Plugging his unoccupied ear with his finger, he swung his legs over the bed, meandering toward the door. "Okay. Thanks, by the way. I'll get something nice. And I'll pick out some more clothes, too. I made a little cash on my last show, so I might as well work on dressing myself."
"Good idea. Have fun and be safe." A bit of irritation entered Van's done. "And for God's sake, do your homework, or I'm going to shove one of your poi up your a**."
Used to the threats, Gray simply murmured, "Love you too, I will, bye." and clicked the phone off. Despite still being in his bright red boxer shorts, he opened the door with no trace of embarrassment on his face, scratching his hip as he did so.
He offered a smile to the person on the other side. "Yo, Melody. Need something?"
