Word Count: 3170

“Thank you for watching your brother, Pumpkin. I know you two don’t always get along.”

Chris glanced back over to his mother, tearing his eyes away from the couple of pairs of legs (scored 8 and 7, respectively) on display across the aisle.

“Hmm? Oh, no problem,” he mumbled, deciding it probably wasn’t a good time to tell her that it wasn’t so much of a case of him being nice as it was that he hadn’t had much of a choice. Peter had been turned into a cat. He couldn’t exactly let his parents know about that — it was all too complicated and their mother would only worry more than she did already.

Most of her worrying was pointless to begin with. He’d rather keep it that way and not give her any real reason to experience anxiety.

“Peter says you were hurt?” her concerned voice broke into his thoughts again immediately after. Chris couldn’t hold back a cringe.

He didn’t have to look over at her to know that she was looking at him with a quivering lower lip and wide, concerned golden eyes. He should have known that Peter wouldn’t have been able to keep something like that a secret. She’d have known soon enough, in any case, once the insurance company caught up with them and the bills started coming in.

“I’m fine,” he tried to assure her.

At the moment, he really was fine. Thanks to the increased rate of healing he’d acquired as the knight of a celestial body, all that was left of Painite’s attack were two faint scars he doubted would ever completely go away. He was lucky she hadn’t hit anything vital. The gash across his shoulder had come a little too close to his neck for comfort.

“Really, I’m fine,” he quickly reassured her again. He knew his mother wouldn’t just accept such a measly answer when Peter was sure to have told her about the sling he’d been in, as well as the fact that he could hardly walk without assistance for a few days.

That little brat… Peter was lucky Chris didn’t tell their mother about him tearing up some of the feather pillows she’d bought for his apartment with his tiny, razor sharp kitten claws.

“Someone was getting mugged and I stepped in to stop them,” he lied, avoiding eye contact with her as he did so. He thought about just telling her he’d been mugged himself, but it stung his pride a little to admit to something like that. Maybe that was arrogant of him. He figured common criminals typically went after people who looked more vulnerable or made easy targets—like old folks and women. Who in their right mind would really try to mug someone who was over six feet tall and had almost two hundred pounds of athletic muscle…?

Whatever his true reasoning, it kept him from naming himself as the original victim. It sounded like something he’d do, anyway. If he saw someone being mugged, he wouldn’t hesitate to jump in and help them. He was sure that, despite the fact that she didn’t like the thought of her baby being hurt, his mother knew he’d do it, too.

“They had a knife and I got a couple cuts, but it’s okay. Really…”

“Well, what happened to the mugger? Should I call your lawyer? Are they going to have you look at a lineup?”

“No, it’s fine, Mom. They’re still looking for the guy,” he lied again, knowing that she would only get more flustered if he didn’t. “I’m fine, and I’m not going to press charges. The other guy was okay, so… don’t worry about it.”

He could tell his mother was pouting still, but he didn’t look over at her. Instead, he glanced back over across the aisle, staring with vague interest at the “8” and “7” sets of legs attached to the pretty girls in the midst of their pedicures.

Okay, so he wasn’t about to admit that he went out with his mom and got pedicures to any of the guys in the locker room, but after all her begging and pleading and watching her come close to tears, Chris didn’t have the heart to deny her a chance to spend some time with him, especially when she pulled the “I see Paris more than I see my own son” card.

So he grinned and bared it. Even if it meant getting his nails done.

It wasn’t quite as bad when she convinced his father to go with them, but since the Admiral was away on business, and Peter was at a friend’s house, Chris was left in his mother’s clutches all on his own.

If he were honest with himself, he admit that it actually felt kind of nice. He didn’t think he’d mind it so much if it weren’t so stereotypically girly.

Not that that should matter at all. He couldn’t be the only guy in the world who went along with his mom or his girlfriend or his female best friend to the nail salon. And even then, it wasn’t like he particularly cared what anyone thought of him for agreeing to go. He was just being a nice guy and a good son. It shouldn’t matter what people thought of his efforts to do so, and it didn’t. Not usually. But there were times when he cared more than others.

At the moment, he was wavering somewhere in the middle.

“Has Paris said anything about the flowers?”

Chris felt his face turn red before he even had a chance to process the change of conversation, and he couldn’t hold back a sputter as he turned to her. “Jeez, mom. Do you have to bring that up? It’s not like they’re anything special. I mean, they’re not meant to be romantic or whatever,” he nearly stumbled through an explanation, although he knew his mother wouldn’t try to interrupt him, so there was no need for him to rush through his words.

“And no, I haven’t even told him that I saw him perform, so of course he wouldn’t say anything. He’s got a thing for blue roses, okay?” he forced through his teeth, feeling his give-a-s**t meter rising a few levels, especially since he was sure that the lady working on buffing his nails had glanced up at him when Paris was mentioned.

Or maybe that was just his imagination.

It didn’t help that his mother had him cornered, and in a public place, no less—and if he was right and the woman buffing his nails had looked up at him when Paris had been brought into the conversation, he could only assume his mother had either talked to these people about their relationship on one of her previous appointments.

Either that, ir she’d brought Paris with her before.

Chris couldn’t decide which was worse.

“They mean a lot to him,” his mother cautioned once she was sure Chris wasn’t about to say anything else. Her voice was soft, almost sympathetic, as if she was trying to let him know that it was okay for him to talk to her. But there just… wasn’t anything he could think of that he felt all that uncomfortable talking to her about. Unless it was the fact that he wasn’t really Christopher Gallo, but that he also had an alter-ego who just happened to be a knight of Jupiter and he spent almost every night fighting youma and risking his life while trying to talk to Negaverse officers.

Luckily, he hadn’t ever needed to explain to his mother that the pretty girl he’d been dating for four months was really a very lovely boy. Somehow his mother had found out on her own. How much, he didn’t know, but he hadn’t felt the need to explain to her how Paris had lied, especially since he knew she and Paris had a pretty good relationship. He could only assume that Paris had explained everything to her.

Although he had the feeling that Paris had… mixed up a few facts when he heard his mother say, “It’s okay if you want to date him, you know. Your father and I will never think less than the world of you.”

Chris turned halfway in his seat to fully face her, staring at her with what he was sure was a mixed look of disbelief and utter confusion. “What??” he sputtered, watching as she ducked her head sheepishly away from his direct line of view, a light blush covering her cheeks.

For someone in her mid-fifties, Chris often thought that his mother acted more like a teenage girl than the mature, sophisticated woman she was known for being. Not only that, but if it wasn’t for the blush he would have been completely convinced that the awkward shame she was showing was just an act, one she had perfected to get her way with the four men in her daily life. Maybe it was a skill she’d learned as a means of getting by as one of six children.

Actually, he wouldn’t be surprised if her blushing was a learned skill as well.

“I don’t want you to think you have to… you know… pretend to be someone you’re not,” she pouted as she glanced back over at him.

Chris continued to stare at her, shutting his mouth only when he realized it had been open, and turning back to face forward when the lady working on his nails needed his other hand. He had no idea what was going on in this conversation now. For one, he didn’t even realize that his mother thought he was pretending to be someone he wasn’t. For another thing… was his mother insinuating that he was gay?!

Okay, yeah, he had some questionable friends—who, were his life some Hollywood movie, might have triggered a few stereotypes that inevitably led the audience to think he might be gay. There was Daniel, who’d only recently gotten a girlfriend and who was far from macho, and then there was Zia—and he’d heard the “your best friend’s a girl?” comment enough to know what direction some people’s thoughts took when they realized that.

As if they were having tea parties or getting their nails done together.

Okay, so maybe he’d gotten his nails done with Zia before, too.

But whatever. This wasn’t Hollywood and he thought the stereotypes were pretty bogus anyway. Like when people called him a dumb jock because he happened to be pretty good at baseball, as if that somehow prevented him from being good at other, more educational pursuits. He was a bit shocked that his mother would assume that he liked guys when he didn’t think he’d given her any indication of it. What? Did she think Skye had turned him off from girls?

Or maybe she just didn’t realize that Paris had been lying to all of them.

He muttered a curse in Paris’s name under his breath and shifted uncomfortably in his chair.

“Do we have to talk about this here?” he mumbled. He realized after he said it that it might seem as though he was somehow admitting to her assumptions simply because he didn’t want to have an embarrassing conversation in public.

“No, of course not,” she relented, although she pouted all the same.

To make himself feel better, Chris glanced back across the aisle to see if the “8” and the “7” were still there. He wondered if it made him a pervert for purposefully staring, but he reassured himself with the thought that they were both at least over eighteen.

“He still likes you, you know… even if you’re not together anymore.”

Chris had to try very hard not to let out an exasperated sigh. Instead, he held his breath and gritted his teeth against his now rising temper. He loved his mother, sure, but sometimes she just didn’t know when to drop things when he wasn’t in the mood to talk about them. Especially in a public place.

He told himself that if it weren’t for that, the conversation wouldn’t bother him as much. If she wanted to talk to him about it at home, sure, fine, he could do that, even if it might make him a little uncomfortable still. It wasn’t that he was uncomfortable by homosexuality itself. It happened. Some people might think it unnatural, but he wasn’t one of those people. Except… now that it was being suggested about him, he didn’t know what to do but to shift around awkwardly in his chair some more. Even if he was, that didn’t suddenly make it bad, did it?

Of course not. He was just being a ******** hypocrite.

Chris was glad that his hands were freed once his mother was getting her nails painted, and he leaned back in his chair and did his best not to encourage her to continue the conversation. It wasn’t that he didn’t like Paris… Of course he liked him. He’d been attracted to him, too… when he’d thought he was a girl.

But knowing now didn’t make Paris any less beautiful to him, and he couldn’t be sure if it was purely aesthetic or if it implied some sort of lingering interest that everyone else saw but him.

“He cried when he realized you saw him perform –”

“And how would he know I was there??” Chris snapped. With another sudden flare in temper, he was surprised that he managed to keep his voice lowered to a reasonable level instead of shouting for the entire salon to hear.

His mother looked sheepish again, as if she’d just realized she’d spoiled a huge surprise. “I… accidentally let it slip when Marissa and I were talking to him after the show.”

Great. Just great. Now he was going to have a hell of a time trying to avoid that conversation with Paris, because there was no way the other boy wouldn’t be able to guess that he was the one getting him flowers if he knew he’d been there.

Chris hadn’t thought it was such a big deal at first, but apparently to his mother and Paris it was. He’d been operating under the assumption that other people would be getting Paris flowers, too—and Paris’s mother had. If the blue roses happened to be more meaningful, it was only because he knew Paris liked them so much, and if he knew Paris liked them, why wouldn’t he try to get some for him?

He just… wanted to see that Paris was happy. That was all.

He opened his mouth to say something in response, but decided nothing could possibly prevent this conversation from taking a sharp turn into an even more awkward area. He forced his attention away and tried not push all thoughts of Paris out of his mind, swerving his attention back over to the two girls he’d been covertly looking at before.

Only, as they stood up to make their way over to the checkout counter, his eyes actually managed to lift up from their legs to get a look at the rest of them, and he realized that, while the buxom brunette was definitely female, the person who accompanied her was not.

He could have cursed to himself. Instead, he lifted a hand to his face and rubbed at his temples.

This entire conversation and the thoughts that came with it made his head hurt. He didn’t want to have to worry about these sorts of things when he had plenty else on his mind—more important things like youma and war and what the ******** he was going to do about it all. Stressing over Paris and anything Paris may or may not make him feel was not something he felt like doing when the world was full of so much insanity.

When the young man whose legs rated an eight out of ten caught his gaze and gave him a flirty wink before leaving, Chris forced an awkward smile and then quickly looked away, doing his best to hide the color rising in his cheeks. His mother often wondered why he didn’t bother to get a haircut. If he were to be honest with himself, he might admit that his preference for the shaggy style he’d developed had something to do with the ability to hide behind it when he really wanted to.

He didn’t even know what to think anymore and that pissed him off. If his mother hadn’t called his actions into question, he didn’t think he’d have to worry about it so much. Maybe the answers would have come more naturally. Instead, his brain was stuck in a constant cycle of “what if”.

What if his mother had a reason to be suspicious? What if this Paris thing was more than he was playing it off as?

He liked girls. He knew he did. Skye hadn’t stamped any of that out of him when she’d cheated on him. He still looked at girls. He still thought about girls. He still wanted to tumble into bed with girls.

But he wasn’t incapable of acknowledging that certain guys were attractive, and now he wasn’t sure if that was just a general observation or if he might actually sort of like the way some guys looked.

Did he look at guys’ legs? Okay, yes, sometimes. If he was at the beach, or walking Anna in the park, or hanging out by the pool, or, obviously, sitting with his mother at the nail salon when another decent looking guy happened to walk in with their sister or their girlfriend or their female best friend.

Did he look at other guys in the locker room?

Maybe.

Possibly.

Okay, yes. Sometimes. When they were worth looking at.

Did he still look at Paris the way he’d looked at him before he knew the truth?

He wasn’t sure. The anger and the left over feelings of hurt and betrayal still got in the way sometimes. They made it hard to think—as if he didn’t have enough problems with that already.

Yeah, he still thought Paris was beautiful. Not just physically, but as a human being—though he would never get over how large and vibrant his eyes were, or how pretty he looked when he smiled. Paris had this passion that was just… amazing. Chris couldn’t remember ever seeing something like that in anyone else, and he wasn’t sure if that was because it was something that was unique to Paris—it couldn’t be, could it?—or if he’d just never bothered to look for it in others before. Whatever the case, he saw it every time he looked at him, and he couldn’t seem to stop himself from being completely in awe of it.

He still cared about him, too, whether or not he wanted to. He trusted him. In some ways Chris thought he needed him.

When he took the time to remember the months before Paris had revealed his secret, Chris realized that in many ways the things he felt for Paris hadn’t changed much.

He simply wouldn’t let himself admit it.