#better safe than sry am i right ladies

[lanasaved]

gibson 1959 | self

 “I think that’s everything, chicken. Yeah? You got everything, Caleb?”

Eyes dim on a patch of grey linoleum, it took a gentle tug of the larger hand Lana had clasped in hers for her brother to dawn back to reality.

“Hm? Oh... Yeah. Yeah, think so.”

Down by his side, a clear plastic rubbish bag dangled limp from a loose fist, contents occasionally rustling whenever he so much as cleared his throat.

“He does,” Lana interjected, face soaked in the kind of sunshine bright optimism you’d expect from a Labrador puppy anticipating its lunch bowl. “I checked and, like… folded everything, so. Yeah! We’re good. He’s good.”

She wouldn’t have been able to hide the pride in that statement if she’d been trying to, eyes skimming his features with her dimples so pronounced, you could have stashed an entire football trophy cabinet in them. 

“Yeah,” he repeated, gaze flitting over after a pregnant pause to find the nurse’s, regurgitating her polite smile in the seamless way he’d learned he had to. “I’m good.”

He’d been in the hospital for a grand total of two hundred and eighty four days, six hours and twelve minutes.

It seemed like years since she’d seen him outdoors, at all -- he’d been offered trips outside of the facility, if he wanted to, but he’d always declined under the grounds that he wasn’t ready yet. 

It was strange, unlocking their front door after an Uber ride home in which she blabbered endlessly and he merely nodded and listened, occasionally resisting a smile when she got her tongue tied and mispronounced something because she was too excited to talk any slower than supersonic.

She felt kind of like a child that had smuggled a candy bar off the corner shop counter, fingers continuously sifting the crinkles of wrapper inside her pocket just to check that she’d actually had the guts, that she hadn’t just dreamt it. 

“Welcome back to the lurv shack, bay-bee,” Lana enunciated with a lame kick of one leg in halfhearted cancan, forgetting to finish the routine and turning back, instead, to make sure he’d made it through the door okay.

After such an extended period of bed rest -- due to many contributing factors, he’d had to have restraints that sporadically forced him to be mattress bound for days and nights at a time -- his joints were somewhat stiff. He’d joked in monotone on the front steps that he was the Wizard of Oz’s Tin Man in dire need of oiling, and while Lana had returned his small smile, she’d also made sure to squeeze his hand as a wordless encouragement.

“Come on, Ol’ McCreaky.” Flashing him a grin, it was with a lone nod down the corridor that she started shrugging off one sleeve of her faux fur jacket, black and white star print slipping another three inches to reveal a narrow shoulder. Even then, schlepping down the hall with her hair in a barely combed tangle around her cheeks, she looked like a burlesque girl intent on providing a show, framed photos on the walls practically blushing over every glimpse of skin they managed to reflect back.

“I got those dinosaur shaped pancakes you say you hate. So juvenile, those pancakes!” she impersonated, laughter bubbling up from her throat like caramel brought to boil. Twisting around so she could face him as she walked backwards, she quickly reviewed the shuffle of his feet as she continued speaking, monitoring for any lulls in pace. “Honestly, you’re such a fake. I saw you gobble a pterodactyl off my plate, once, when you thought I was peeing. Jokes on you, hombre! She’s a urine scammer. I didn’t even have to go, I totally just spied on you from the banister.”

“That’s a lie.”

Grin only doubling, she started prancing from foot to foot like an evil little hobgoblin delighting in a wicked scheme, red cowboy boots echoing a wild patter around the walls. 

Lips tweaking in a lame attempt to match hers, he rolled his eyes as he continued to follow her towards the kitchen. “Alright, stop that.”

Regardless, she continued, drenched with so much giddy energy that she felt like a jack-in-the-box wound one time too many, rocking around its mechanism in a dangerous frenzy that threatened to break the spring.

“Fucking hell,” he exhaled, unable to help but let out a short laugh, for once. She wasn’t half ridiculous. “I hate this, Lana. That looks horrible.”

Finally ceasing, it was with a breathless swipe at her skirt to right the fluttering pleats that she spun back to yank at the next door handle, jacket still dangling off just one shoulder since she’d forgotten to finish removing it.

“That was my Niall Horan on bath salts impression, actually. If you knew your Irish jigs, that would’ve been obvious. Point deducted, yer wee cunty!”

She felt like she had a firefly jarred inside her chest for the entire duration of their back and forth banter, body of it bumping and glowing against the confines of her rib cage as she clattered into the kitchen.

In fact, she’d been so wrapped up in the fact that Caleb was finally home -- her Caleb, her entire world -- that she hadn’t even noticed the murmur of voices drifting in from the large conservatory, the room their parents reserved for dinner parties given the long table and the view overlooking the garden. 

It was only once she’d turned back from rustling within her shopping bag to produce a carton of eggs that she noticed how tense Caleb’s shoulders were, eyes stuck on something past the wall, staring further into the heart of the house -- if you could even call it that.

A heart implied life. Warmth. 

“They’re here.”

“Fucking hell, is that Caleb Jameson? Fuck me. Just take a look at him! There’s nothing of him!”

Screeching back from his chair to get to his feet once they’d entered the room, Jensen Peters lumbered sideways over the leg he’d somehow managed to position as an obstacle, clearly already drunk at a mere three in the afternoon.

Shirt unbuttoned to just above his belly button, chest hair rampant and just a lone middle finger flecked with black nail polish, he looked like a long lost rock oracle washed ashore on a desert island, eyes red rimmed from salt water and the terror of a stormy shipwreck.

He had a raven’s face, long and thin -- all beak and peck and black, somehow, despite his pale eyes and sandy hair to match.

Next to Caleb, Lana shrank like an under watered tulip, immediately fascinated by the panels of the hardwood.

“Hi. Teeth still unbrushed as ever, I see,” Caleb commented, eyes moving from the hand that Jensen extended to shake his to the face of his father. He made no effort to reach out and complete the greeting, ignoring him completely. “I’m home, Robert. Are you shitting yourself with excitement, yet? Or did you already wipe yourself down so you wouldn’t stink out the dinner table? Incontinence woes.”

Unimpressed, their father merely took a sip from his glass and exchanged an apologetic look with another member of company. 

Gnawing on her bottom lip, Lana held Caleb’s hand a fraction tighter as she shuffled slightly forwards to glance around the occupants of the table, shooting them all a brief smile. 

“Hi. Sorry, Caleb has a migraine. We were just, um... I mean, we’ll get out of your hair and stuff. Nice to see you all, though. Caleb? Should w--”

“Lana, Lana, Laaaaa-naaaa. Lana!” Enamel of his teeth blotted with plaque stains from chain smoking and gargling whiskey for breakfast in the place of Listerine, Jensen thrust his hands out in exclamation, acting as if he’d just been bestowed with a vision of Christ to inform him about his immaculate conception. “Look at you! A fuckin’... tiny thing. Could pick you up and put you in my pocket, couldn’t I?!”

Heart thumping inside her throat, she peeled back her lips to reveal her teeth, a take on a grin that looked more like an animal baring its fangs after it’d been backed against a wall.

 “C’mere,” he enthused, fingers waggling her in. “You gonna give me a fuckin’ hug, or what?”

“Um... Yeah, of course. Yeah, sorry,” she forced out after a stuttered delay, about to take a step forwards when Caleb yanked her back by the hand she’d forgotten she was still holding, startled yelp parting her lips.

“I don’t think she feels like it,” he interrupted, shoulders tense and eyes burning so intently into Jensen’s that it was as if he was willing them to sear black holes through the sockets. “Feel free to sit down and stop talking. Robert,” came as his chin flinched sideways, focus returning to their father as he sat wordlessly at the head of the table, observing the situation in the odd glance before he resumed his thumbing at his phone screen. “We’re gonna go. Just wanted to say hi.”

For as long as Lana could remember, Caleb had never referred to their father by name.

“Mhm?” He barely lifted his eyes from his phone.

Stomaching a scoff, Caleb shook his head and stared briefly at the floor by his shoes.

Lana could sense the frustration unfurling inside his stomach like a fighter’s fist, knuckles twitching every time Jensen dared to so much as look at her.

“Dad,” she started softly, gently letting go of Caleb’s hand so that she could take a step forwards and rest both on the back of a stately designed dining chair, easily priced within three figures to buy just one. “Caleb got discharged today, remember? I, um... I called you, about it. We spoke on the phone. Remember?”

Lie. She’d circled it thrice in red on the calendar, texted him seven times over the past month, and tried to ring eighteen only to be put through to voicemail. But it was better, this way, for Caleb to have a pitiful scrap of compassion for him to gnaw on to keep the starvation at bay, to think that their father had actually been invested at all in his recovery, enough to check in.

“Ah... Yeah,” came as he clicked his lock screen shut, lips a thin line that quivered into action like it took him a great exertion of effort to do so -- the smile he produced was condescendingly pitiful, easily the equivalent of a kindergarten doodle submitted to a university grade portfolio. “Yeah, of course.”

“Fuckin’ right! Yeah, yeah. Fresh out the loony bin, isn’t he? Fuck me,” Jensen got out with a snort, clapping a hand down onto Caleb’s shoulder after closing into his personal space once more. With it, he shook him gently, a carnival guest rapping at the bars of a tiger’s cage to incite a snarl. “Our own resident Girl, Interrupted. Forgot about the whole... slittarooski. Damn. Not quite got the tits for Jolie, though, do you? Then again,” he chided, voice lowering as he shot Caleb a wink, “neither do any of the Jameson’s.”

“That’s enough,” Robert nipped in the bud after his eyes drifted to observe the way Lana’s expression faltered, voice surprisingly apathetic given the derogatory observations of his own wife and daughter. Holding his hands up in mock surrender, Jensen backed up and took a seat at the table once more, immediately tracking a thumb down one of the strings of his 1959 Gibson. Attention back on Caleb, it was as if, to Robert, Jensen had never said anything at all. “That’s great. Well done.”

Dull twangs reverberating whenever Jensen’s rings clacked against the neck of his Gibson, Lana could physically feel Caleb’s rage stilling the air around them, almost suffocated by the dead silence that came with standing in the heart of a hurricane.

“Yeah, um... Anyway, yeah,” she attempted to brush it off, apples of her cheeks so flushed that they almost looked darker than the mahogany tabletop her father propped his elbows against. “It is great. He did really good. And he’s basically, um... You know. Like, all better, now, kind of. So... yeah. Won’t keep you, or anything. Just wanted to... let you know -- that he’s home, I mean.”

“Yeah, great.” He barely cared enough to keep his eyes away from the table. “Cool stuff. I’ll call Stella, in a bit.” Their mother. “She’ll be happy to know.”

“Yeah, ‘cause she’ll take the time out of sunning topless in Monaco to take that call,” Jensen joked with his back turned, shoulders quivering slightly with the effort it took to subdue a laugh. “Fucking drag.” Still dusting down his strings with a soft, mottled cloth, he craned his neck slightly in order to throw a distracted question back over his shoulder, eyes straining to remain on his handiwork all the while. “Say, Lana? About this, uh... facility. You happen to volunteer there, at all? Get about in a little pinstripe thing, give any sponge baths to the rest of the cabbages?”

“Um...” trailed off as her eyes flit to watch Caleb, three casual steps seeing him moving to reach Jensen’s side. “No,” she admitted, hands clasped together like she was front row in a local church choir, fingers clutching one another until they glowed red from the amount of pressure. “No, nothing like that. I don’t think they do, um... a pinstripe, like, thing on--... Caleb, what’re you doing?”

Blinking up at Caleb as Lana’s question prompted him to, Jensen furrowed his eyebrows.

Above him, Caleb loomed like a pillar about to topple down any second and crush someone.

Unblinking, he simply stared. 

“Yeah, Caleb,” he began, delightfully curious at the fact he’d managed to rile enough life out of him at all. On his face, a shit eating grin began to creep into view as he echoed her same sentiment. “What’re you doing?”

It was only when Caleb reached down and wrenched the guitar from his hands that he lost his smugness.

“Wait,” Jensen quickly objected, but Caleb was already gripping the neck in both fists and marching towards the conservatory door, unlocked and looking out over the rest of the garden. “I said fucking-- Rob, stop him. Rob, fucking stop him, that’s my Gibson. That’s my fucking Gibson!”

“Caleb,” Robert warned, chair legs scraping as he rose to his feet, finally paying attention. “That’s enough.”

Racing after him with hands outstretched, Lana almost managed to trip and fall three times in the length it took to reach the patio Caleb had just strode across, chill of the air outside enough to coax goosebumps from her forearms.

“Yeah? Is it your fucking Gibson, is it? It’s your fucking Gibson?” Caleb shouted back, military issue boots clunking hard against power washed stone. “Not the fucking Gibson.”

“Caleb--”

“--Anything but the fucking Gibson, am I right? The Gibson!”

Wrenching the vintage model up and above his head, it was with a sky splitting yell from Jensen that Caleb smashed it down as forcefully as he could against the ground, wood immediately erupting into a catastrophic splinter.

Within another deafening whack, a dial pinged off and landed in the pool.

“Fuck, there goes the fucking Gibson, Jensen!” came heaved breathlessly from a tired chest, arms trembling as he did it again and again, over and over, buttons and strings scattering. In front of Lana, Robert gripped hard at Jensen’s arm in order to keep him from racing forwards and killing him, too wary of the potential newspaper headlines should he have to ring an ambulance. “Whatever will you do without the fucking Gibson, Jensen? Form an actual personality? Brush your fucking teeth with all the extra free time, maybe? Did you a fucking favour, you ugly fucking cunt.”

Tossing the last of the mess into the pool, Caleb wrenched his eyes to review Lana’s wide pair that were merely blinking back at him, completely stunned. 

All her life, she’d never dared to stand up to any of them. 

She’d only ever managed to cower with her tail between her legs in the face of those men with their oily palms and dirty fingernails, a kicked puppy still intent on nuzzling at your ankles, afterwards, to try and earn its favour back.

As much as Caleb hated him personally, she knew this was for her.

Guilt welled up in her chest like a helium balloon.

“Jesus,” Robert whispered, disbelief reducing his face to a blank and gaping slate. Hand up to clasp his forehead, he dropped the one checking Jensen as another of his associates tread forwards to take over the responsibility. “You’re a fucking... disgrace.”

“Yeah?” came out ragged, eyes wilder than a caged fox as Caleb stared down his father in the face, ignoring the blathering expletives that Jensen was still barking in the background like an Alsatian that just heard the house alarm. “Take a look at who you fucking keep around you, Robert. You’re the disgrace.” Tossing the last bit of jagged wood he held clutched in a trembling fist, it landed gracelessly by their father’s feet. “You’re the fucking disgrace.”

Silence settled like a wet blanket to smother the stove fire, pieces of guitar still bobbing about the pool’s surface like the shrapnel pieces Caleb had to have plucked out of his right leg after his abrupt discharge from duty, nerves salvageable enough that he was only left with a slight limp.

The association had something dark fluttering across his face, although Lana had already hurried forwards to take his hand, again, a panicked glance tossed back between Caleb and their father to assess the potential damage.

“Get out,” Robert breathed after a significant delay, barely able to look either of them in the face as his voice was reduced to a mere whisper.

“Both of you, get out,” he repeated, eyes complete devoid of warmth as they flit between the both of them. “I mean it.”

“But dad, he didn’t me--”

Holding up a hand to cut Lana off, he used the same one to point at her, jaw completely tense.

“Lana, get him the fuck out of here before I call the cops.”

[frisbee-camp]

Let Me Help

AO3 Link//Wattpad Link

Tj and Cyrus have been friends for a long time, but will that change after life comes crashing down and impulsive decisions catch up to them? (Angst, Ambi, love notes, slow burn, aged up so they're all in high school, god tier ships, mental health, and like a whole bunch more ladies! Let’s get this angst.)

Chapter 9 Unresolved 

"What do you mean you saw them kiss!?" Cyrus had practically yelled, Nala jumped. Andi and Buffy had told Cyrus that they saw Jonah with Walker the entire night, practically attached to the hip. "He's been avoiding us a lot lately," Andi frowned and bit her lip. Buffy nodded and added, "Plus, Marty said there were rumors that Walker was dating a boy." "But, Jonah?" Cyrus said, slumped, "Jonah Hercules Beck is straight..." "No one's straight Cy," Andi said as they pointed between themselves and Cyrus, "we would know." "Yea, but..." Cyrus trailed off. He had totally believed Jonah Beck™ was 100% straight. But now that he knew he was with Walker, he felt a sudden urge of jealousy. He was the complicated one, he was the gay one, not perfect and popular Jonah Beck. Cyrus grimaced, his cheeks felt hot. "Cyrus?" Buffy said, "are you alright? It's OK to be jealous." "Yeah Cy, we all know you liked Jonah, it was pretty obvious," Andi said smiling, "but now that means you can focus on TJ! Who has a total massive humungo crush on you!"  "Guys, I don't know why I said I liked him, I think it's because he defended me. It's because he defended me right? I mean no guy will ever like me," Cyrus said as his friends gave him shocked looks. "You've got to be kidding right! You've got the toughest guy in all of Jefferson basically in love with you and you don't even see it? You're all he sees Cyrus! D'you think he'd punch his longest friend over anyone? Don't be so oblivious," Buffy huffed, clearly over Cyrus' lack of self-esteem. After that, their conversation shifted to Buffy complaining about all of the girls that flirted with Marty and Andi complaining about never being able to see Amber because of her work schedule. Cyrus stayed silent for most of it, thinking back to when he woke up in his own sweater. Any other jock would have thought it was embarrassing or dorky, but TJ had kept it. His heart skipped a beat. Maybe he did like TJ? But, at the same time, he thought about how Jonah was going out with Walker, and that made his skin burn. It was worse than when Andi dated him, at least then he thought he had no chance, but now? Now that Jonah was, bi? pan? questioning? Whatever, Cyrus was still bitter. He envied Walker. What did he have that Cyrus didn't? Art skills? He could take a class. He's an artist! He'd won an award for his screenplay. Whatever, he thought, I'll just make Jonah jealous, we'll see how he feels then.  When his friends had left after telling him that their "relationship intervention" was over, Cyrus received a text from TJ.  From Cool Basketball Guy!!!: Hey Cy, hope you got home safe and everything, I'm sorry I punched Reed... Are we still cool? 😬 To Cool Basketball Guy!!!: Yes :0 thanks again,,,,,sry i was a mess lol. see you tomorrow?  From Cool Basketball Guy!!!: Of course :) See you at lunch? To Cool Basketball Guy!!!: Yup WOOP WOOp 💥 Cyrus couldn't help but frown at his own text message. Ugh, I'm such a dork. He immediately texted Buffy and Andi for help.  To GHC👩🏻👩🏾‍🦱🌈❣️: Cyrus 💕🕍✨: I think I just said I liked him because he defended me, so I'm overthinking it right? Like we're friends, so nothing will happen PLUS HES A HET!!1 ANDIII😽: cyrus stop overthinking everything, this happened with me and amber too remember???? BufFY 😩🙆🏽‍♀️: HE LIKES YOU DONT BE A DUMBBASSSSSS, THE ENTIRE SCHOOL KNOWSSSSSSSS LOOK AT THE VIDEO I DMD YOU ON IG GODDAMN  ANDIII😽: Buffyyyy we weren't supposed to show him that.... BufFY 😩🙆🏽‍♀️: he needs to know Cyrus was never into social media, he only went on to comment encouraging things on his friend's new posts. He even had his notifications off, but once he opened the underused app, his screen was filled with dm's, new followers, and comments. He quickly scrolled through most of them. Many of them asked if he was Dating TJ?! One said Hi cy i know u dont know me but ur like really brave another said idk who ur kidding, tj is straight lmaooo and another said hey is it true? His heart raced, he suddenly needed to stand up. Where would people get such an idea? Sure, people must have seen TJ fighting with Reed, but he didn't think people would connect that to him. TJ was respected, Cyrus wasn't, why would Tj's actions be caused by Cyrus? Cyrus opened Buffy's direct message, which had been pushed to the bottom of his feed by the time he went looking for it. It was a dark video, but Cyrus managed to catch an out of focus TJ and Reed standing in Iris' living room. He turned up the volume,  "-somewhere else!"  He heard Tj say, he looked disheveled and sweaty. "GOD, What is with you. Do you like him or something?" Cyrus gasped at the same time as the camera person. Is this the source Buffy and Andi were talking about? "So we were right, you do like him! And now you're choosing him over us?! We've been friends longer than you have with that loser-" Cyrus' eyebrows raised as he saw TJ's fist come in contact with Reed's face. The rest of the video was a blur of curse words and drunk teenagers chanting "FIGHT! FIGHT! FIGHT!"  Cyrus sat down on his bed, unable to comprehend what had just seen. Now he knew why he was getting so many notifications. He didn't know TJ could resort to violence like that. Hearing about a fight is much different than seeing that. But, he smiled. TJ had defended him, plus someone liked him! Him! Anxious, depressed, confused Cyrus Goodman who hated loud noises and sports. He felt light and airy, but most importantly he felt needed, more needed than ever. He had almost wanted to come out to his parents right then and there. They were all there, of course, sipping their wine about twenty feet away. He had quickly texted his friends a shocked cat gif and turned off his phone as he walked out of his room with newfound confidence.  "Hey Cy," one of his parents had called to him suspiciously, he didn't care which. TJ Kippen liked him and maybe he liked him back.  "Hello parentals," Cyrus said cheerily as he sat in an empty dining room seat, they were still having brunch, which had now turned into wine and ice cream. Cyrus picked at the leftover grapes and popped them into his mouth grinning.  "You look very happy today Cy, what did those girls do to you in there?" Norman joked. Cyrus shrugged and chucked uncomfortably.  "Whatever happened to that girlfriend of yours Cy? Ilene was her name?" a mom said. "No Sharron, it was Ivy," Todd said. "No, I'm pretty sure it's Isa," Leslie said. "Guys, you're all wrong. It's Iris. And we were never really together and I don't want to talk about this with my parents right now," Cyrus got up to leave, but one of his parents called out to him.  "Wait! Cy! Don't close us off so quickly. Just tell us, are there any new girls we should know about?" Shannon wiggled her eyebrows, Leslie nudged her side. Cyrus laughed a little too loud, "NO," he said, "no girls mom, never."  "Never?" Todd said, quizzically. Cyrus stopped. Did I just out myself through a joke? Am I really boo boo the fool?  "Cyrus?" His mom said, "do you want to tell us something we might already know? You know you can trust us." Cyrus thought about how his parents were trained in observing and analyzing. He knew that if he didn't answer, then they'd know he was hiding something if he answered too quickly they'd also know, and if he said anything at all they'd also know. He stood still instead, hoping that some being would impossibly teleport him to a different planet. Maybe Pluto? he thought Pluto is cute, and very far away from here.  "Cyrus?" His parents called again. Cyrus stared at the wall behind them, unable to speak. He gave one last chuckle and turned to walk a little too quickly to his room. He put on his headphones, played his playlist titled I'M A BIG FAT HOPELESS ROMANTIC and looked at the messages left on his phone. They ranged from encouraging Bitmojis to angry girls telling him to back off.  Oh my god, tomorrow is going to be hell. Cyrus spent the rest of the day nervously doing his homework in anticipation of tomorrow. Normally, he'd text TJ whenever he was nervous, but now that he was the reason for his anxiety, he stuck to his history notes. He had come out of his room only when he knew half of his parents were gone. Monday morning was relatively quiet, his parents had decided to not ask him about what had happened yesterday, which he was eternally grateful for. However, that was not the root of all of his worry.  Once he got to school, Cyrus immediately knew something was different. For the first time in his life, people his age noticed him. Everyone's eyes followed him down the hall, to and from his classes, and even during the peak hallway traffic. Thankfully, he had Buffy and Andi the entire day to protect him. Sure, they could protect him from direct attack, but he could still see kids whispering and pointing at him.  During lunch, Andi, Buffy, and Cyrus sat at their usual spot.  "Okay you guys, things are different now, be prepared." Buffy had warned them both. Cyrus felt uneasy, he knew something was about to happen, but he didn't know what. They had been discussing how to address Jonah's new boyfriend without being overbearing. They decided to not bring it up.  Just then, Marty and Amber walked up to the table and sat next to their respective partners, leaving Cyrus alone with his muffin for the millionth time. He thought about texting TJ, but he didn't know what to say to him.  "Cyrus!" Amber said, "I'm glad you're feeling better. TJ should be here soon."  Suddenly, the cafeteria doors opened and in came Jonah holding hands with Walker. Cyrus made a fist. They sat down a little too happily, Cyrus looked down at his tray. He felt tears pool in his eyes.  "Hello there," Buffy eyed them. Cyrus tentatively looked over at Jonah who seemed grounded. There was something different about him as if a light he didn't know existed had been turned on. He watched as Jonah talked to his friends, he didn't listen to what they were saying, he was too busy looking at how Jonah looked at Walker every so often just to smile at him. Cyrus wanted that. He wanted someone who understood him, someone who grounded him in reality, someone that didn't make him feel so lost.  "So," he heard Jonah say in his direction, "I heard that TJ likes you. I thought you guys were already together?" Cyrus thought he heard a twinge of jealousy in his voice, but it might have been his imagination.  Cyrus suddenly couldn't handle it anymore, from the stares to the questions, to gently coming out to his parents, it was too much. He silently stood up. His friends eyed him. "I need," Cyrus started but couldn't seem to verbalize his thoughts. What did he need? Something, he needed something. "Something," he said, before quietly packing his things and walking towards the cafeteria exit. Before he could exit, he saw TJ walk in. Cyrus saw the confidence oozing out of him, his stomach churned.  "Hey," TJ smiled at him, "Where are you headed? Lunch just started." "Oh, I was going to uh-" Cyrus looked up at Tj, Did his face get cuter? "I uh, was going to go sit with Andi and Buffy and them," he looked for an escape, but TJ was already turning him back around to join his friends.  "Come on then silly, they're the other way," TJ grinned. Cyrus hid behind TJ for most of the walk back to the table, the whispers they were getting were becoming unbearable, he wanted to cry. He couldn't make himself look his friends in the eyes when he sat back down. "Is this the something you needed?" Marty chuckled, Buffy jabbed him with her elbow. Cyrus fiddled with a broken spork as his friends continued talking about Jefferson gossip. Tj had inched himself closer to Cyrus, he let him. He hadn't noticed how different he felt with TJ around. How much easier living seemed to be. Before he knew it, he and TJ were shoulder to shoulder, leg to leg. He still couldn't bring himself to look at his friends, but they were used to his daily mini meltdowns. TJ started to laugh at something Walker had said, Cyrus grinned slightly He fits in so well. He saw Tj look down at him worried, he gently pried the spork out of his hands, it had started to draw blood. Cyrus hadn't noticed.    "What's wrong? Do you want to leave?" Tj softly asked him. Cyrus gave a small nod, his heart lurched. There were too many eyes on him.  Tj quickly packed away his things and gave his friends an excuse. Before walking away, Cyrus saw Jonah frown at them.  Cyrus didn't know where Tj was taking him, but he didn't really care. In the hallway, Cyrus thought he heard a noise. Once they rounded the corner, he saw Reed, Lester, and a couple other boys he didn't know. He gulped. TJ moved in front of him. "AYYYY look who it is!" Reed said, throwing his arms up.  "Leave me alone Reed," TJ said, trying to walk through.  "Bro, we're still bros. I forgive you for the other night. I know you were drunk and shit." Reed leaned in closer and said something to TJ that Cyrus couldn't hear, but made TJ look back at him.  "Dude, leave him alone," Lester said, pushing on Reed's shoulder.  "Hey, I just want to know what we're all thinking. So Teej, what is it? Are you still choosing this dork over your bros?" Reed said. The rest of the gang looked apprehensive, they didn't care enough to cause a scene. "Dude, just leave it," One boy said worried.  "Shut up," TJ said quietly, "Just shut up." Cyrus saw TJ ball his fists and tense up. Lester moved towards Tj, but Reed stopped him with his arm.  "Tell us," Reed said.  TJ stayed still. "Teej-" Reed had said before Cyrus heard bodies hit the floor. He closed his eyes. There was yelling, sneakers hitting the floor, and eventually, he heard the voices of teachers. Someone pushed him against the wall, someone else called his name, someone else touched his hair. He didn't want to open his eyes.