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 Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 7:55 pm
The Gallos’ house remained Paris temporary home for as long as he needed it to be.
After spending a week at his mother’s new house fighting for space with his cousin, Paris had made his departure and resumed his stay in one of the Gallos’ guest rooms the week before Chris’s birthday, returning to something of the life he’d had before his brief stay in the hospital. There were notable differences now, of course. He and Chris were back together for one; for another, his professional dancing had come to an end in the interim. While his health remained unfavorable he had been advised to take things slowly, and spend as much of his time resting as he could before school started.
His therapy sessions were going about as well as could be expected—which was moderately helpful some days and terribly difficult on others. He thought he was progressing, but of course that could always be wishful thinking on his part.
One of the few things Paris had shown a dedication to working on was regaining some control over a life that had spun wildly off center. It was thought that a little more structure in his life would provide him with that very opportunity. Even Paris had to admit he’d functioned better when he’d spent his days going between dance and work. Thus, schedules and routines had been encouraged by his therapist. His life was slowly being broken down hour by hour—meal times, leisure time, exercise time, bed time. It wasn’t always easy when one considered how little he had to do these days, but as school would be starting up again in little less than a week, a proper routine would be much easier to follow in the coming days.
So it was that Paris found himself sitting at the counter bar in the Gallos’ kitchen one Tuesday afternoon, copying his upcoming class schedule into a newly purchased day-planner.
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 8:24 pm
School was coming up, and that meant getting ready for another year of listening to dull teachers and dull children giving their equally dull opinions on topics he was sure could be learned just as easily using an online guide. Yeah, sure... Fifth grade didn't suck as much as he had expected it to, but who knew what would happen now that he was going into the sixth.
At the moment, Peter had taken up the entirety of the breakfast table in the kitchen, his backpack completely emptied of all trash that had collected at the bottom, and all the old pencil shavings thrown out, and pieces of usable lead placed into appropriate, tiny containers. As for the rest of his supplies... he was busy taking an inventory.
He had his five subject notebook out with the tabs for each class labeled via a convenient label maker his mother had, his set of pencils, pens, and highlighters were all waiting to be stored into their appropriate compartments of his pencil pouch. His senshi pen was among them, placed off to the side for the moment so he was sure he would actually put it away.
Over the summer he kept it in his desk drawer in his room, but now that school was starting up... well... he didn't want to risk forgetting it and then be s**t out of luck when his teacher turned into a youma.
"This is pretty, is it a marker?" he heard his mother ask and watched in horror as she picked up the pen in question. He made a grab for it, but his enthusiasm for getting it back had her pulling it away from his grasp.
"MOOOOMMM, leave my stuff alone!!" he whined, glancing over to Paris for help, but her knew he had set this up on his own. Damn nosey mothers.
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 8:37 pm
Paris had a few other papers stacked beside his elbow. Some of his soon-to-be professors had already emailed out syllabi or else posted them for their students’ perusal online, and Paris had dutifully printed them all out. He’d never been a particularly good student, but for college he would do his best to try and care like it mattered.
And it did matter. Because it was his decision to return to school and it had taken a lot of hard work to do it.
He’d just finished transferring his schedule into his day-planner and was about to move on to the first syllabus to begin adding in important dates when the sound of Peter’s voice jarred him from his work. Paris turned to see what was going on and noted the unmistakable form of a senshi pen resting securely in Momma’s hand. For just a moment he was overcome with the horrible thought that something had happened and Momma was suddenly one of them, but he was reassured by the fact that she was much too old to be a senshi—he’d never seen one beyond their early twenties, he was sure—and when he looked closely enough he noted that the pen in question was actually Peter’s.
Paris swiveled around in the bar chair to take in the scene. He might have gotten up and snagged the pen from Momma while she wasn’t paying attention if he’d actually thought it was something to worry about. She’d likely have no idea what it was, nor would she be able to use it.
Not that Peter needed to be flashing his pen around for everyone to see.
He eyed his Chibi friend with a look that said “What are you thinking leaving your pen out like that?” when he noticed someone standing a little ways behind Momma, having just come in through the entryway.
“Mom?” he wondered, giving her an odd look. “What are you doing here?”
“Claire invited me for dinner,” she easily replied, showing him a little smile.
Paris tried not to roll his eyes and wonder how it was his mother and Chris’s mother had become such easy friends. He supposed he shouldn’t complain about it since the fact that their families got along made things easier on he and Chris, but it just seemed so… convenient.
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 9:03 pm
"Come in! Sit down!" his mother gushed, placing the pen back down in the distraction of Paris's mother's arrival, and he quickly snatched it back up and held it tightly in his hands, against his chest. Ugh... yeah, he knew he needed to be more careful with it. But sorry! He was only eleven. Give him a break!
Peter scowled in his mother's direction as he carefully slid the pen into the pencil pouch and dumped the rest of the writing utensils on top of it. If he really needed it, he would be able to take it out. He doubted he'd be going anywhere without his backpack for long as long as the school year went on.
Still, it would be nice if his mother would leave his stuff alone. Currently she was now gushing over Marissa, who looked like she was getting bigger by the day. Jeez... how did pregnant people do anything? She looked like she would lose her balance with a small gust of wind.
The roar of a motorcycle engine caught his attention after another minute or so of trying to get his heart to stop racing, and he slid off his chair with a mumble of "finally" and made his way towards the front door.
It wouldn't have taken so long if someone hadn't been a baby about riding a bike. It wasn't like it was the most difficult thing in the world to do.
Michael slowed his bike to a stop outside the front of his parent's house, removing his helmet as he flipped out the kickstand. He had to go slow so that Chris wouldn't get lost... or did something stupid. There was probably a reason why Chris had a car instead of a motorcycle, anyway.
He grinned as Peter appeared in the doorway. "Is mom coming?" he asked, making sure the engine of his bike was turned off. Sure enough, he could hear the clicking of his mother's heels as she made her way to the front, probably grabbing Paris's arm or something on the way.
Sorry for not wanting to ruin his boyfriend's present, jeez! Chris showed up less than a minute after Michael on a powder pink and white, 1950s inspired scooter. It seemed to ride rather well, and even though he hadn't really driven a scooter before, he didn't think there would be any problem for Paris. He adapted well to things, after all.
"You can at least stop all the way at stop signs," Chris grumbled as he pulled up next to his brother and took off the helmet he'd borrowed before awkwardly running a hand through his hair. Ugh... helmet hair... that was probably one of the reasons he didn't have a motorcycle... Because he didn't want to deal with ruining his hair every time he rode. "You're supposed to have a least a five second stop." Not that he always abided to that, depending on who he was stuck behind or trying to get in front of, but generally speaking.
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 9:17 pm
Paris was content to go back to his day-planner as soon as Peter’s pen had been returned to him, ignoring the sound of the approaching motorcycle since it could only mean that Michael was here and he wasn’t all that fond of Michael in the first place. He’d just flipped to the appropriate day and month to write down one of his test days when Momma came over to him with a girlish little giggle and snatched his pen—thankfully not his senshi one—away from him, too.
“Come outside with me, Precious, I want to show you something,” she said, setting his pen aside and ushering him off of his stool.
Paris looked at her strangely for a moment but did as she bid, hopping off to follow her. He switched his gaze to his mother when Marissa moved to follow, really wishing she’d stop smiling at him like she knew something he didn’t. He hated when people did that, even more so when it came from his mother, given how very often she tended to hide things from him.
He did his best not to look at her stomach too much. She hadn’t been able to hide it for a while now and it seemed to be growing large by the day. It looked rather uncomfortable, but he tried not to feel too bad since it was her own damned fault to begin with. His arm accidentally brushed against it when she drew close to him and he snatched it away like he’d been burned. He didn’t like to be reminded of it if he didn’t have to. Mostly he tried to ignore that it was even there.
“So, what are we doing?” he asked, as Momma led him to the front of the house and Mom waddled along beside him as if to keep him from darting off.
Momma just giggled and said, “You’ll see,” before opening the front door and ushering him outside.
Paris immediately rolled his eyes upon seeing that Michael was indeed there, sitting astride his motorcycle like the badass he thought he was. He was about to ask what was so interesting that the women felt the need to disturb his day-planner organizing when he noticed that Chris was sitting astride something, too, only it didn’t quite look like a motorcycle and it was… pink.
“What is that?” he asked, confused.
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 9:32 pm
"It's a scooter," Peter pointed out the obvious, rolling his eyes at his mother's giggling and excitement, she could at least let Paris see what it was before bouncing around like a teenager. It wasn't for her.
"Well, Precious..." his mom started, not bothering to contain her giddiness. "Since you're going to college now, Marissa and I thought it would be a good idea to get you something you can get around with!" she explained, absently brushing at Paris's shoulder as if he was some kind of animal.
Peter rolled his eyes and ducked back inside. He had something to get, but then he would be coming back.
"'Sup?" Michael grinned, leaning on the handlebars of his bike, sending a wink and a little nod to both Paris and his mother. What? He didn't mind older women. And Paris was just fun to annoy. "Hopefully you'll be better on it than Pumpkin," he said with a jab of his thumb over to his brother. "I swear he took a good thirty minutes to ride it around the parking lot before being comfortable to get on the road."
Chris smiled immediately upon seeing his boyfriend at the door, but his expression quickly turned exasperated as his brother poked fun at him. "I was making sure it was running okay," he insisted, finally swinging his leg over the seat so he could climb off. He took the keys with him, a pink cover over the thicker part of the key, and attached to a keychain of what looked like Sleeping Beauty... in her blue dress, of course. He wasn't about to get into that argument with Paris...
"It's, uh... so you don't have to rely on me for rides..." he said with a small shrug as he drew closer to the front door, offering a hand to Paris to take, wanting to lead him over to see the scooter for himself. "Uh... I hope you like it... I mean, I wasn't sure, but... I mean, I thought you'd like this best... out of the other options... It's kinda old looking, but I swear it's new. If you don't like it we can get something different," he quickly added, not knowing what the expression on Paris's face meant.
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 10:21 pm
At first Paris wondered what Chris was doing getting a pink scooter. Not that he minded pink—he didn’t… at all… it was his favorite color—but if Chris was going to get a bike of any sort, whether it was a motorcycle or a scooter, he would have expected his boyfriend to get a color that was a little more neutral, like black or navy… or red if he was feeling especially adventurous.
Then it actually sunk in and Paris realized it wasn’t for Chris at all, it was for him.
Well, that made a lot more sense.
“You got me a scooter?” he asked, just to clarify.
“Well, we knew you wouldn’t want a car,” Marissa pointed out, “so we thought this would be the next best thing.”
For a moment Paris looked between Momma, Mom, and Chris and thought they must be getting tired of carting his a** around everywhere when he didn’t feel like going the public transportation route. Then he realized this meant he wouldn’t have to rely on them anymore if he didn’t have to, because he could cart his own a** around. He did have a pretty big thing for personal responsibility and independence, so this could actually end up working out great. They wouldn’t have to worry about him on a crowded bus, he wouldn’t have to worry about inconveniencing them if he needed a ride—it was pretty much a win-win.
Very quickly his mouth curved into a wide smile and he brought a hand to his face in surprise, taking Chris’s hand with his free one and looking at the scooter—his scooter—with excitement shining in his eyes.
“You got me a scooter?!” he asked again, much more exuberantly this time.
Momma kept giggling as if she couldn’t contain herself. “Your mother and I came up with the idea. We thought you might like it, and you’ve been through so much and you’ve been working so hard, and we just wanted to get you something for you to enjoy!”
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Posted: Tue Aug 14, 2012 10:49 pm
"What? Were you expecting a pony?" Michael snorted, dismounting his own bike and taking the extra helmet is brother had been wearing before he could carelessly drop it or something else equally stupid. "As adorable as that would be, I don't think keeping a pony tied up on school property would be that good of an idea."
Chris ignored Michael, taking Paris's hand to lead him over to the scooter instead. It was easy to push everything else to the background when Paris was smiling like that. It made his heart flutter... And maybe he was sappy and pathetic like that, but at this time in his life, he was happiest when his boyfriend was happy.
"It wasn't my idea," Chris admitted, although he wish he had been the one to think of it, first. "But I picked it out. Mostly... I picked the color at least." That had to count for something, right? He knew Paris liked pink, after all.
"Look, you can open the seat... and put your bookbag or whatever inside," he pointed out, lifting up the seat with his free hand to show Paris how to work it. "It doesn't go faster than about fifty, but that'll be okay since speed limits in the city and around campus only go up to forty-five. I picked out the keychain, too," he said as an afterthought, handing over the key and Disney figure.
"Hey! I helped, too!" Peter called from the door, hopping down the stairs with a helmet in his hands, cupped like a bowl, because there was something else inside. Not only did Paris get a Hello Kitty helmet to match the bike, but a pair of white leather riding gloves.
"I picked out these," he said, offering the helmet to Paris to try on. "And so you don't get blisters..." That, and he thought they looked cool.
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Posted: Wed Aug 15, 2012 8:52 am
Paris was so shocked and thrilled that he completely missed the obnoxiously sarcastic tone of Michael’s voice. He was much too busy staring at the scooter—his scooter—or looking at Chris or glancing between Marissa and Claire.
He’d never thought he’d ever really want a scooter. He was usually pretty satisfied with public transportation—or at least he’d never really had anything to complain about. He was well used to figuring out how to get around the city on his own, but now that he didn’t have to it was a pretty novel idea. He could just imagine himself riding around town, stopping at the grocery store or rolling up to campus in style.
He followed Chris over and watched with patience and interest. When he noticed the keychain and thought about how sweet and thoughtful his boyfriend was, Paris couldn’t contain himself any more. He jumped on him and kissed him hard, clinging tight and causing him to stumble back a few steps—Paris might be light, but the suddenness and surprise of it tended to take its toll—but luckily Michael was close enough to help Chris keep his balance with a hand on his back.
Then Paris released him just as quickly and moved to throw his arms around his mother. He didn’t kiss her because that was just weird and gross, but he hugged her tighter than he had in a long time and tried not to be bothered by the fact that her swollen stomach was getting in the way. He followed that up with a hug for Momma as well, and one for Peter when he came bounding back outside again with even more presents, and even one for Michael, though it was quick and perhaps not quite as exuberant.
He returned to Chris again, babbling a repetitive “thank you, thank you, thank you” and took the keys from his boyfriend before just sort of standing there and doing a happy little dance that was part wiggling around and part real dancing.
The helmet and gloves he took from Peter as well, excitedly jamming the helmet onto his head without any concern for his hair—though he didn’t yet strap it beneath his chin—and pulling the leather gloves onto his hands with a few more “thank you, thank you, thank you”s.
“Can I try it out?” he continued to babble excitedly. “Just around the driveway to start with? It’s not too hard, right? And then can I take it out on the street? Can I fit two people on it? Oh! I have to get a parking space on campus! Do you think there’re any left?”
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Posted: Sat Aug 18, 2012 9:00 am
Unprepared for the lunge, Chris caught Paris awkwardly as he tried his best to return the affection, as well as not bust his a**. Thankfully he had Michael to watch his back. Literally.
Of course, that didn't last for long because soon his boyfriend was off hugging their moms and his brothers. He spared Michael an exasperated look, to which he got a shrug and returned expression of 'it's your boyfriend, don't look at me.'
But this was a good thing. He wanted Paris to be happy. Hopefully this would be enough to distract him from everything that was going on and they could somehow move past the crappy things in their lives. Being magical super heros on top of their normal lives wasn't exactly the easiest thing to accomplish.
"Yeah, just let me help you get this adjusted," Chris told him, stepping forward to try and get the straps of the helmet to fit right around Paris's chin. As if he was going to let him ride around without a helmet... ha!
"Ugh... yeah you're welcome. Okay get o--" Peter couldn't even finish the sentence before Paris moved from him to Michael, not sure if he was disappointed or relieved that the hug didn't last long at all. He didn't particularly like hugs. He was eleven, almost twelve!
"There's a visor... and you can plug in your iPod," he pointed out as Chris fussed over Paris and the helmet. "And yeah, look, there's two seats." He could understand Paris not paying attention to things like that since he was obviously excited, so he'd give him a bit of a break.
"You could park with Chris if you can't get a good spot," Michael suggested, not minding the hug, but a little surprised that he got one, of all people. "You should be able to park it at the front of the spot and Chris could fit his car behind it. Or, if you want to go more by the rule book," he added, meeting Chris's small glare with a grin. "Chris can get another spot and you can take the good one."
He was sure Chris would mind that a lot less than illegally sharing paid spots. Dude needed to lighten up.
Michael moved away from his own bike to inspect the scooter, pointing out various place Paris would need to know. "You put the keys in and turn it until the engine catches. Here's the accelerator. Don't jerk it, though. It'll be touchy until you get used to it. Here's the brakes. Same thing applies. Turn signals are here, but you'll still have to motion with your hand to make sure you're seen."
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Posted: Sat Aug 18, 2012 4:50 pm
Paris did his best to pay attention to what everyone was saying, standing as still as he could while Chris fiddled with the straps of his helmet to get it to fit correctly, but he was still a bit too overwhelmed by the excitement and was pretty sure he was going to need it all explained to him again while he was getting some practice in, which he planned on doing as soon as they let him.
Turning to the scooter once his helmet was secure, Paris looked it over before cautiously climbing on. The kickstand had been put down when Chris had come to a stopp in the driveway. Paris left it in place for the time being. He wanted to get used to sitting on it and make sure he knew all the controls before he actually did anything.
Out of the corner of his eye he noticed his mom take a nervous step forward. Paris rolled his eyes at her and let himself look mildly annoyed.
“I’m okay, Mom, seriously,” he said.
“Just be careful,” she told him.
“Okay, okay, jeez. It was your idea. Let me figure it out. I’m not stupid. I’m not going to go zooming down the street before I know what I’m doing.”
He looked over the breaks, the accelerator, the speedometer, adjusted his feet along the bottom until he was comfortable, though it didn’t feel too bad to begin with. It was a good size for him, he noted, and the color was perfect. Pink was his favorite—because it was a happy color, and because it happened to look good with his coloring. Although, truthfully, he wouldn’t have cared if the scooter had been black or blue or yellow. He would have enjoyed it either way, but knowing that Chris had picked it out with his favorite color in mind was very touching.
“Key in, accelerator, breaks, turn signal,” Paris recited to himself. “I don’t have to worry about changing gears or anything, do I?”
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Posted: Sun Aug 19, 2012 12:20 pm
"Don't worry," Michael said with a wink. "It's an automatic." He ignored the other small glare from his middle brother, finding it amusing that teasing his little boyfriend didn't seem to be on the top of his list of things he found humorous. It was all just innocent fun, after all.
"Just don't hit my bike when you peel out," he joked. Even if his bike was damaged, it wasn't like he couldn't just get it fixed. Hell, if he wanted to get a whole new bike he could. But that really wasn't something he worried about.
"You'll be fine," Chris said with a small smile when he was finished fussing over Paris and his helmet. "Does it fit okay? It's not too tight? I mean, it's supposed to be tight, but not enough to strangle you. Just make sure you push up the kickstand when you're ready to go, okay?"
He felt just as nervous as he was sure Paris's mother and his own mother felt, but that was just because he didn't want Paris getting hurt. Oh God, maybe this was a bad idea. What if he ended up crashing and had to go to the hospital or worse and then Chris would just have that guilt with him for the rest of his miserable life and that would just be horrible.
"Uh..." he started, making an awkward step forward as if to stop Paris from getting on, but stopped and held himself back. "Just... go slow..."
"I wanna ride!!" Peter chirped, staring up at Paris with big eyes that he hoped would be convincing. "Can I get on the back??" Because uh... he helped pick out the helmet and stuff. So why not??
What? He was perfectly capable of riding on the back of a motorcycle or scooter! He'd ridden on the back of Michael's before, after all! Just don't tell his mother...
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Posted: Mon Aug 20, 2012 4:48 pm
Paris rolled his eyes at Michael but otherwise had little reaction to his teasing except to nod and smile and think about how awesome having a scooter was going to be. He couldn’t wait to drive around town and take himself places, though he wasn’t so stupid as to think he’d get the hang of it right away.
“Okay, Chris, I got it,” he said, with much less annoyance in his voice than he would have used on someone like his mother, but that was because Chris was Chris and his mom was… well, Mom. Sometimes it felt like he was required to be annoyed with her when she got into one of her weird smothering moods.
He made no move to kick the kickstand back up for the time being, settling for making sure he knew what everything was before he had any intention of zooming right out of there. As excited as he was for it, he wasn’t so distracted by the thrill and the surprise that he forgot to be careful. He wasn’t always so cautious by nature, but when it came to things that could potentially hurt him he took a little more time to acclimate himself. The last thing he needed was to crash into the mailbox or wreck the damned thing before he was even able to really use it.
“Give me a little while to get used to it, and then maybe I’ll let you on,” Paris told Peter with a grin, and then joked, “Tough guy like you wouldn’t want to be caught by your friends on a pink scooter anyway.”
“Pink used to be considered a masculine color,” Marissa announced with something a disgruntled frown on her face, “until modern society decided they didn’t like that.”
Paris snorted and rolled his eyes, but it wasn’t directed toward his mother this time. “Thanks for the support, Mom, but it's not that I particularly care what anyone thinks,” he pointed out, turning forward to grip onto the handles and psyche himself up to give this a try. He took a settling breath before looking at Chris and Michael, not sure whose help he’d prefer most. Chris was much less of an annoying jerk, but Michael was the one who actually rode motorcycles and the like on a daily basis. “This thing isn’t going to fall over when I kick the stand up, is it?”
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Posted: Sun Aug 26, 2012 8:16 am
Peter pouted in response to Paris and crossed his arms over his chest. "I don't care what color it is," he grumbled, although it was mostly to himself. If the kids at his school wanted to make fun of him for riding around on a pink scooter, then they were clearly wasting their lives. Besides... they made fun of him already for various reasons, so what did it matter to him?
As for friends...? He... could probably name them on one hand. But that was okay, because he was fine by himself.
"Ever riden a bike before...?" Michael snorted, but lifted a hand to wave it off as if it wasn't a concern. "You've gotta get it moving to make sure it doesn't fall over. But don't worry about it too much. You use your hands to make it go, so you can put your feet out to stop it from falling until you start moving."
It was simple, really. But he could definitely remember his first time riding a motorcycle. It wasn't just like a bike, but it was the closest comparison, obviously.
"Just take it slow. Nothing too jerky. But don't be afraid to get it going, either. Keep it around fifteen mph to get used to it."
Yeah, he knew nothing about bikes, but he'd at least ridden it to make sure it was okay, right?? "You'll be fine," Chris insisted, moving up to stand by him, reaching out to hold onto the back seat. "I can hold is steady until you're used to it...?" he offered, hoping that would be good enough to give Paris the confidence he needed.
How silly would it be for them to get him a scooter that Paris didn't know how to ride, much less feel comfortable on?
"I won't let you fall," he promised, although he thought that was a given.
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Posted: Sun Aug 26, 2012 3:52 pm
“Depends on what kind of bike you’re talking about,” Paris said in reply to Michael.
He’d ridden a regular bike when he was little, taught by his mom around the same time the other neighborhood kids his age had been learning—mostly on hand-me-down bikes. He hadn’t even bothered with training wheels, just hopped on and crashed quite a few times before he’d finally gotten the hang of it, though he hadn’t ever ridden very far (usually only a block or two before turning back around and doing the same in the opposite direction) and he’d never had a bike of his own, simply shared with his cousin and his neighbors. After his mother had left he’d lost interest and moved on to other things.
Motorcycles and scooters he’d never set foot on in his life. He’d always admired them when they passed—not because he had any particular interest in owning one, but because he imagined it might be fun to ride along with someone else. Motorcycles tended to bring to mind the “bad boys” he used to find appealing, though when he looked back he realized he’d never spent much time with anyone who owned one. Those sorts of thought were long gone, of course, replaced by Chris and all that Chris had come to represent.
Paris smiled at his boyfriend and felt giddy again. He was a little nervous, and he was sort of concerned about Chris standing so close—he didn’t want to screw up and accidentally hurt him—but he would be lying if he tried to pretend as if Chris’s promise didn’t make him feel a little more confident in his abilities to ride.
“Alright, let’s do this,” he said.
Finally he slid the key into the ignition and turned it on.
It would take some getting used to, he knew, and it would require some practice to get it right, but as Paris began to slowly ride his way ride his way up and down the Gallos’ long drive he looked at this as another opportunity to further his acquisition of control over his own life.
Sometimes change could be a good thing.
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