Chapter Text
It’s not like they really stop— stop doing that, whatever that is. It just seems to slightly get better. Whenever Connor is on the brink of yelling, or ignoring or dismissing him, he stops and forces himself to take a breath and reword whatever phrase he is about to say. He can tell Kevin does that too, so he doesn’t really have any complaints. Their relationship has slowly become another type of intense that he’s completely foreign to, a type that’s more soft kisses and puppy love than the heated arguments and running away it used to be. The ginger shovels more clothes into his small pink suitcase, carelessly neglecting to fold them.
“We have to go.” Kevin pouts, his bottom lip ever-so-slightly jutting out.
“Fuck. Okay, I know. When does the next bus leave?” His eyes glance over to the window.
“Every two hours.”
Connor zips up the suitcase and bounces up.
“Okay, come on.”
The two rush outside the hut, barely getting onto the bus in time. They take a seat in one of the least torn seats still available.
“Told you we could make it.” Connor puffs out, still catching his breath from the one kilometer of running the pair had just completed.
“Yeah.”
~•~•~
Connor is fifteen when James calls him.
“Hey, is everything okay?” He runs a hand through his orange locks and looks down at his new iPhone.
“Yeah, everything’s fine. Can you come get me? I’m at the skate park.” He says.
“Sure.” Connor hums to himself as he grabs some trainers, no further questions asked. He hangs up the phone and steps out into the living room.
“Mom, can we have a sleepover with James tonight?” He asks, trying to sound casual.
His mother nods affirmatively. “Do we need to pick him up?”
Connor makes a run to the bathroom before they leave. After roughly five minutes, they set off.
“It’s fine. I’ll go get James.” He states, once they get to the nearest carpark to the skate park.
“Are you sure?” She questions.
“Yeah.” He runs off before his mom can get any more words in.
Connor finds James kicking at a tuft of grass erupting from the sidewalk cracks. He sprints up.
“Carrot-cake!” The noirette calls.
He breaks down into sobs once he spots the ginger. Connor feels bile rise up his throat at the sight of his friend. The once openly defiant boy’s eye is black and an ugly bruise runs down his kneecap, signalling that—
“Is the Utah Jazz playing tonight?”
James sighs in response, utterly miserable.
“Okay, okay.” He pauses quietly, “I brought some concealer. It should help.” He fishes into his pocket for the small glass bottle he had grabbed from the very back of the cupboard in the bathroom, desperate to make this interaction slightly less awkward than it is right now. Connor finds that the two are just going through the motions, having done this routine, this sickening waltz, over and over again. Maybe it’s the cold, or the but this time he seems to mean what he’s saying slightly more.
“Does your mom know?” The taller boy smears some concealer onto his face.
“Certainly not, never– where’d you get that idea from?” Connor stops, startled. James had never asked this before, not the thousands of times that the Jazz had played before, never.
“I don’t know.” James puts his hands in his pockets and looks down, biting his lip raw.
“Come on. Mom’s waiting for us in the car.” He grabs his friend’s damp, sticky palm, blends the concealer on his eye so it looks a bit more natural, and sets off for the car park.
If he makes James sleep in another room that night so he won’t hear any screaming, who’s to judge?
~•~•~
“Did we plan accommodation?” Kevin questions the second they get off the bus.
Everyone who’s ever made a trip to collect the post knows places to stay, obviously. Kevin, more so than others. He’d always jump at an opportunity; who wants to get mail? or who wants to make a hospital trip? or who wants to buy some groceries?. It sometimes felt like he felt— almost— almost stuck in the small village of Kitguli many of the elders had come to call home. Frankly, Connor can’t blame him. Maybe he can’t understand why one would wish for more when he already has all that he needs, but blame? Never. He’s much like a cigarette, Kevin Price; addictive, bitter, unhealthy, yet somehow charming enough to smoke another, and another, until doors are slammed and mugs are smashed in a fight. Connor can’t figure out why he’s so— he may as well use the term; he’s already a godless heathen in the Church’s eyes— attracted to him. Maybe he was attracted to Kevin’s type. He isn’t sure what type Kevin is, actually. Others seemed so similar, yet so distant, a speck compared the all the room Kevin filled. They had the ego, but not the wit, the carelessness without the heart, the flirtation without the ambition. No, maybe it was just Kevin. Maybe it’s always been Kevin, maybe the two were always meant to be, magnets to each other, opposites attracted. He doesn’t know. The concept of soulmates seems very dangerous now.
“I know a place, but you probably know here better.” He responds.
“So, my place? Cool.”
“Cool— can we get two separate rooms?” Connor grabs Kevin as the brunette is about to leave.
“Why?”
“Because I don’t want us to fight.” When did Connor get so good at lying?
“We’ll see if we have the funds.” He says.
“Okay.” He answers numbly.
The two trot next to each other until they reach a small, run-down motel between some shops.
“We can always go to my-“ Connor starts.
“No. This has running water and is in a safe area. Come on.”
Connor follows because he doesn’t really want to argue today, and even if he did, he wouldn’t be able to find any retorts. To be honest, the motel he knew didn’t have running water and was wonkily placed in an area all by himself, not so small you felt safe, but not so large you felt that you were at an estate. Just enough to make you feel slightly disconcerted. A feeling you wouldn’t feel anywhere else.
The first thing that strikes him about the lobby is that the room is clean with working lights. A bored, disillusioned staff member sits at the front desk, stale expression on her face.
“Hi, uh tungependa kuandika,” Connor pauses, because he isn’t sure the word for motel, the Mission Training Center never taught him that, “motel chumba.” He pauses and prays to Heavenly Father that his Swahili is mostly correct. His accent is heavy and he hits the ‘u’ in chumba too hard, but he finds that the receptionist understands.
“This way.” Wait, she could speak English? He spoke all that Swahili for nothing? “How many rooms?”
“Uh— how much for two rooms?”
She states a number that is much higher than Connor had anticipated. The ginger is taken aback, God, so that’s how they have running water.
“Just one room please.” Kevin cuts in. He’s sitting on a wooden chair with his feet on the table rather blasély, like he isn’t a former Mormon who was ex-communicated after starting what some would view as a cult.
“Can we get two beds though?” Connor says.
“I will try to make that happen. Wait here.” The ginger takes a seat, and the receptionist says some rather complex words in Swahili that Connor can’t understand at all, and she takes the two to a room. Room 103.
“Yours.” She signals and walks back to the reception.
Connor pushes open the door and sighs when he notices that only one bed is there. Fuck, of course.
“What do we do?” Kevin glances at him.
“I don’t know. I can take the floor.”
“It’s a pretty large bed.”
The idea of sleeping in the same bed with anyone, especially a male, makes Connor’s hair crawl.
“Let me take the floor.” Kevin is about to interject when Connor looks at him so imploringly that he backs down. “Please.”
“I feel really bad saying yes to this.” He sighs. “I also feel really bad saying no. So you know what? It’s your choice.”
Connor smiles as he tosses his travel pillow onto the floor.
Kevin flops down onto the bed. “What do you want to get for lunch?”
“I don’t know this area.” He points out, loftily waving a hand around.
“There might be a place somewhere that sells subs.”
Connor stands up. “Subs? Like, the sandwiches?”
“Yeah, probably.”
“Let’s go then!”
Turns out, subs are extremely expensive in Kampala. So expensive, in fact, that Kevin and Connor can’t afford any. Connor picks at his posho.
“What do we have to do today?”
Kevin pauses his chewing. “I think we should collect the mail, then maybe I could show you around?”
Connor nods. “Sure.”
~•~•~
They haven’t received much mail since the last time they went to go collect it. There’s three letters and a package, the last of which Connor holds in his hands. It’s very clearly for Poptarts, for it feels rather light and when you shake it, you can hear sounds. The address label has half peeled off after two months of shitty storage. Something seems off about the package though.
“This isn’t for Poptarts.” He stops suddenly.
“What do you mean?”
“There’s no brown string wrapping everything up.”
“Who’s is it then?”
“I don’t know.” He sighs.
“Come on, let’s head back to the motel.” Kevin signals to Connor.
~•~•~
Connor wakes up at 1am. Given his nightly experiences with Hell dreams, he now deals with the aftermath pretty well. He wipes the sweat off a strand of hair on his forehead and looks around. Oh, right. He breathes in and out. He’s in Kampala, the capital of Uganda. He came to collect mail. He’s here, he’s safe and— is he lying on Kevin? Something distinctively soft acts as a cushion, although it’s too hard to be a pillow. He looks around— shit, he is. He awkwardly readjusts himself so he’s at the very end of the bed, just far enough that none of his skin is touching that of the other boy. It’s strange, he mulls. He goes from openly kissing Kevin on the counter-top one day, to being as far as he can the other day. He wants to be touched by the brunette, but it’s— it’s so disgusting being with another man. He inhales and realises that Kevin smells different. More homely. More— more like Connor? He sighs and gets up, opening the door to go for a walk but ultimately deciding against it. He goes into the toilet and turns on the light. The fluorescent light flickers through the next hour. The air is insufferably warm, but he knows better than to open the windows. Naba had warned him when he first came to Uganda, ‘Never open the windows. It’s the only way to prevent all the crime and bugs.’ He was pretty sure Kevin also got that talk, judging by how he had entered in like he was braving himself for a new world. He was, of sorts. Connor fans himself with his hand and exits the toilet, back into the much cooler air. He makes a move for the bed, but then remembers how it felt with his head on the bend of Kevin’s chest, and settles in on the wooden floor.
~•~•~
His neck has a crick in it the next morning. He bends his neck uncomfortable before getting up and settling back down into the red bed just as Kevin wakes up. There are many things he trusts Kevin with, but Hell dreams aren’t one of them.
~•~•~
“Truth or dare?”
“What?” Conor tilts his head at Kevin. They’re standing in line at the shops, Connor carrying two extremely expensive boxes of chocolate Poptarts, and Kevin holding a bottle of hair gel. It wasn’t his usual brand, he had been quick to point out, but American things are hard to get in a continent miles away. Twenty-one hours and thirty-four minutes. That’s how long it takes to get from Salt Lake City, Utah, to Kampala, Uganda. Twenty-one hours and thirty-four minutes. It seems like a very short span of time when represented in symbols, but if you ever experience it yourself, you know that it’s really, truly a lot.
“Truth or dare.” Kevin sighs. “Do you not know what that is?”
Dumbfounded, Connor shakes his head.
“Basically, what you do is you choose ‘truth’ or ‘dare’. If you say truth, I ask you a question and you have to tell the truth. If you say dare, I give you a dare you have to complete.”
“Okay… truth.”
“Hm.. Do you find me cute?”
Connor steps back. “What?”
“I said, do you find me cute?”
“Can I choose dare instead?”
Kevin shakes his head.
“Fine. Yes— maybe.” He turns his head away, focusing on the broken clock in the corner of the desk.
“Fantastic. Your turn.” He simply acknowledges, almost as if answering the question was the easiest thing Connor could have ever done. Like it didn’t make him feel so confused and torn and like he was defying everything that had been taught to him since he was eleven.
“Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“Lick that clock.” It took five more hours to drive to Kitguli. Twenty-six hours thirty-four minutes. Frankly, Connor doesn’t think he could do it again for a return trip. He sighs as Kevin obediently covers the wood in his saliva. Gross.
They continue playing truth or dare at times when the conversation lulls throughout the day, and Connor finds that there are many things he doesn’t know very much about himself. Like, he doesn’t know what his favorite color is, or what fruit he would be, or what his best attribute is.
“Truth.” Kevin smirks as Connor struggles to find a question.
“Uh— when did you get your first Hell dream?”
Kevin looks away wistfully. “I was six. There were these— so there were these donuts, with a maple glaze on them. I snuck into the kitchen and stole one, then blamed my brother Jack the next morning. That night, I got a Hell dream.”
“And you still beat yourself up over that?”
“I did, for a long time.”
“Then you lost your faith and everything went to shit anyway. Cool.”
Kevin laughs and hits Connor’s shoulder. “Fuck you.”
“Oh, fuck me? Let’s not do that right just now.” Connor slaps his hand over his mouth. Did he really just say that?
“When did you get your first Hell dream?” Kevin asks abruptly.
“I can’t really remember. I mean… I’ve had them for so long.” He says
How often do you have to get Hell dreams to not remember your first? He realises.
“Jesus wept, how many do you normally get?”
Connor tries to play it off as cool and shrugs. “Once a night, most nights. Maybe two if it’s really bad.”
Kevin doesn’t offer any condolences like everyone else has. He doesn’t say ‘sorry’ or ‘that’s so messed up’ or ‘do you need to talk?’, like how everyone else has reacted when Connor tells them this tidbit of information. He simply looks at the ginger and says “You must be tired.”
He exhales a breath he didn’t know he was holding for almost twenty years.
“Yeah, I am. Truth or dare?”
“Dare.”
“Climb that tree and yell in a very heavily accented Swahili.”
“No! My accent is already bad, you know that.”
“It can’t be that bad.”
Kevin sighs and recites the approved missionary script in ear-screechingly horrible Swahili, the kind you would expect of Elder Cunningham.
“What do you sound like in normal Swahili?” Connor asks curiously.
Kevin smiles secretively and leans his mouth against Connor’s ear.
“Nakupenda sana.”
I love you very much. Perfect phrasing and pronunciation, of course. Connor feels himself furiously blushing. It’s a phrase he’s familiar with, given the fact that the villagers of Kitguli love out of every pore they have. It’s funny, reflects Connor. The villagers always seem to have the largest issues— he recalls back to General BFN, (“I’ll turn you into a lesbian!”)— but they always seemed the happiest in their circumstances. There was no turning it off, there was no forcing a hole in their heart to close no matter how disruptive it is to their life. They climb out of that hole and patiently wait for it to seal back up. They cope, he supposes is a good term for it. They cope through love and songs and through flower crowns and dreams of a better future. It’s nice to hear someone so unabashedly do and say things that the Church would have shrieked at. They changed the missionaries, for better or for worse. You have to admit that much.
“I love you too.”
~•~•~
The bus ride home is rather uneventful, except for that one time when the package fell out of the bus window and the pair had to run out of the bus and grab it. Most of the conversation is basic small talk, interjected with some truth or dare, but Connor finds that this time around, he really doesn’t mind.
“I think the package is yours.” Kevin mutters.
“How do you know?”
“It says ‘C MK’ at the bottom. Connor McKinley?”
“Okay?”
“Do you want to open it here?”
Connor sighs. “Are you that desperate to know what’s in this package?”
“No, it’s just that—“ he walks away before continuing— “It could be something bad.”
“And you think I’ll react badly?” Connor knows this is why, but he decides that it’s rather fun to see Kevin so flustered.
“Just open it.” He finally settles for after a few minutes of trying to convince the redhead that no, that isn’t the case here.
Connor opens up the package without any further complaint, crinkling up the brown paper much like how one might play a B flat major and cautiously peeking inside. A variety of formal-looking documents sit inside. Connor pulls out one.
“Birth certificate.” He reads aloud.
No, they didn’t.
What the fuck was wrong with them?
“At least they had the decency to give you all your files back?”
God, he knew they were shitty people, but this?
He doesn’t know what he’s feeling. It’s a strange mixture, relief and anger.
“It must seem really official now, mustn’t it?” Kevin looks at Connor, who feels himself slowly relax.
“Oh well. More reason for us to get that apartment together.” He smiles, feeling slightly better.
The two have stopped walking back to the mission hut, instead sitting underneath a tree. The dusty ground burns their feet and the air is uncomfortably humid, but it’s okay. The two are together.
“My parents haven’t talked to me since the Mission President visit.” Kevin says slowly.
“Do you want to talk about it?” Connor asks.
“Not really. I guess I have to though.”
“Have you called them?” Kevin shakes his head. “We can call our parents when we get back to the hut together.”
Connor isn’t sure what he’s promising, but Kevin’s eyes glint and his smile is just there, and that makes Connor think he’s saying the right thing.
“Done. Let’s do it.”
~•~•~
It’s funny how so much has changed since Uganda. Things Mormon Connor would have turned his nose at have become some of his biggest sources of joy. He’s surrounded by swear-happy Africans, villagers, friends, but most importantly, brothers and sisters. And a very swear-happy ex-Mormon too, he supposes. He doesn’t half-mind the ex-Mormon though. More importantly, although his Church has abandoned him, although his parents have left him and his friends back in the US don’t want anything to do with him, he knows that God still loves him, mistakes and all.
Connor and Kevin stop just outside the mission hut.
“Are you ready?” asks Kevin.
Connor kisses the brunette on the nose. It’s a bit hard, considering he’s holding a parcel and two boxes of Poptarts, but he doesn’t mind. “Ready as I’ll ever be.”
The two enter the hut holding hands.
“We’re back!”
Arnold is the first to appear. “Hi Kevin! Hey Elder McKinley!” He runs to go give Kevin one of his signature bear hugs.
Connor smiles to himself as he leaves Kevin and Arnold alone. It’s their moment, he shouldn’t intrude after all.
“Carrot-cake! What Poptarts did you bring?” Chris walks over to him, embracing the ginger. “Ooh, chocolate. Basic and simple. I like it.”
“Where’s James?”
“Off… somewhere. Not sure. I think he’s making dinner?”
“God help us all.” mutters Connor, speed-walking to the kitchen.
Through the window, he can see the hint of speckles white against ivory blue. Note: take Kevin to see stars, he reminds himself. He leans his arm against James’ shoulder as he enters the kitchen.
“Whatcha doing?”
“I’m about to make a salad.”
“We don’t have any vegetables,” Connor counters.
“Yeah, it’s mostly going to be tomato,” he says as Connor raises an eyebrow. “By mostly, I mean all. I’m cutting up tomato and serving that for dinner.” He sighs. “I burnt the yam mash.”
Connor frowns. “Elder Church, please leave the kitchen.”
The noirette obediently leaves, complete with a sarcastic salute. Connor reminds himself to never leave the district alone again as he looks down at the yam mash. After a moment’s worth of contemplation he cautiously dips a finger in and licks it. How is it sweet? He pulls a face and, after a thought as to whether he should serve James this tomorrow, throws it into the trash. Tomato soup it is, he supposes.
“Do you want my help?” Kevin stands at the doorway.
“I see you escaped from Arnold.”
“I see you’ve been cutting the vegetables with your eyes closed again. They look like shit.” He points at a piece to the left of Connor. “That one is the first object in the history of the world to ever have only two dimensions.” He points at a considerably larger piece. “That one is somehow double the size of the original tomato.”
“Yeah, thank James for that.” Connor laughs.
“What are we?” Kevin asks as he grabs a pot. “Are we like dating, or..”
“Put water in that pot.” He turns to look at Kevin. “I’m not sure, to be honest. I don’t think I’m ready just yet.” He picks at a hangnail.
“That’s cool too. I can wait.”
“You’ll find someone better while I’m getting ready.” Connor blunty states. It’s the truth, he thinks.
“Hey, what?” Kevin slides off the counter he was sitting on and grabs Connor’s chin so the redhead is looking up at him. “Connor… all I want is you. Anything you do is alright. I trust you to do the right thing.”
Connor forces his face away. “I know.” He mumbles.
“I can prove it.” Without a further word from Connor, Kevin smiles a little, and kisses him. It’s the first time Kevin’s ever started a kiss, and it’s so satisfying and sweet, with a sense of completeness on Connor’s lips after. Connor pulls away first.
“I love you.” The ginger whispers.
“Bad choice, but okay.” Kevin turns away to look at the water.
Connor feels a grin creep upon his face. He pours the tomato into the water and gets Elder Davis, the second best cook in District 9, to go watch over the soup.
“I have something to show you.” He tells Kevin.
He grabs Kevin’s arm, tells him to close his eyes and leads him outside. “Open your eyes now.”
“What is it?” The brunette blinks, confused.
Connor lies down onto the ground. “The stars.”
Kevin lies down next to Connor. “They’re really pretty tonight. We don’t get them in the USA, do we?”
Connor shakes his head. “Daydream with me, Kev.”
“What do we dream about?”
“What we’ll do when gay marriage has been legalised.”
“Maybe it already has been.” Kevin responds.
“Kevin McKinley. That has a nice ring to it.” In a moment of emotion, the redhead grabs the taller boy’s hand. The two share a glance, and Connor wiggles so he can be slightly closer to Kevin.
“That star’s bright.” The taller boy points at a star just to the left of Connor.
“It reminds me of you. The brightest star in District Nine.”
“It’ll die someday.” sighs Kevin.
“It’s already dead. We’re seeing it in the past.”
The two pause the admire the stars.
“Maybe we’re seeing from a time when I was still a narcissist egomaniac.”
“And I a flustered, conflicted district leader.” He pauses. “There’s a flower crown under my bed.” He doesn’t know why he feels like he has to mention it. Maybe now that they’re being more open, he just wants to get it all out.
“Mhm?” Kevin raises an eyebrow.
“Naba gave it to me. I liked it, but I was scared that it seemed gay.”
“You turned out gay anyway.”
“Who do I thank for that?” He knows his legs are getting bitten by mosquitoes and ants, and that any normal person would go back soon, but he, Connor McKinley, is most definitely not a normal person. The past nine months hammered in that fact rather quickly.
“I ruined your life.” Kevin smiles.
“You ruined Elder McKinley’s life.”
“Is there a difference?”
Connor shifts on the ground slightly. “I like to think there is.”
Kevin hums in agreement. “Same.” He looks at Connor and ruffles the shorter boy’s hair. “Kevin and Connor. No one else in the world.”
“Our past selves are gone. They don’t exist anymore.”
“We should go back inside.”
“The others are probably already eating.” Connor agrees.
“It’s comfortable here though.” Kevin resists slightly.
Connor stands up and grabs the taller boy’s arm.
“I’m proud of you, Connor McKinley.” The brunette says as he stands up.
The ginger pauses. “Why?”
“You’ve become a—“
“A less shitty person.” Connor cuts off wisely.
“Yeah.”
The two walk back into the mission hut.
“Are you gonna come eat?”
Connor shrugs. “Don’t really feel like it.” He sits down on the couch.
“Move over.” Kevin sits next to Connor. “Let’s sleep here.”
The redhead laughs. “Definitely not.”
“Please?”
“Fine.” Connor says, because who is he to say no to Kevin Price?
The two sit there, occasionally exchanging glances or making small talk until Kevin falls asleep. Connor lets himself drift off soon after, resting his head onto the crook of the brunette’s neck.
How did he get so lucky?
~•~•~
He doesn’t have a Hell dream that night, but after years of waking at ridiculously early times, you tend to find that 5am is considered rather late in your biological clock. So when Connor McKinley does wake up, he thinks he’s overslept his alarm, although the sun is still down and the night is a misty, faint dark. He sits up, dazed and slightly confused, but, as he comes to his senses, is filled with nothing but love and the warm memories made of last night. There’s something strangely bittersweet about the early hours of the morning, he thinks. It’s like a quiet sense of solitude that veers on the cliff of lonely, but retracts the moment it dips its toe down. Regardless, it’s nice, if not numb or dreary. He spots the still sleeping Kevin, the brunette’s head on Connor’s chest, hands tightly gripping his ribs. Connor awkwardly tries pushes the larger boy’s head off his body without waking him up, to no avail.
“Whur-dy-a-going?” Kevin, eyes closed, makes grabby hands in what he can only assume to be the general direction of Connor.
“I have to get up.”
“Come back.” Kevin whines, a slight drone in his voice.
“I have work today.” Connor sighs, reiterating what he feels like he’s said thousands of times before.
“Bullshit.”
“I’m district leader, Kev.”
“There’s no district anymore.” He retorts without missing a beat.
“I’ve still got work to do.” Connor bites his lip.
“It’s dark outside.” He shifts slightly on the couch. “I smell like you.”
“Is that bad?”
“Not really.”
Connor sighs and steps away from the couch. “Where are you from?” He doesn’t know why he asks this, but it seems it’s never occurred to either of them to ask where the other was from in their time together.
“Don’t you know?” When Connor shakes his head, he adds, “I’ll tell you if you come back.”
“No.”
“Please? It can just be us two.”
“It will be weird in the morning. The others will talk.”
“They all already know after everything that’s been going on, don’t you think?” Kevin’s eyes were now fully open and clearly visible in the illuminated night.
“Just tell me.” Connor feels a hint of exasperation roll off the tip of his tongue.
“Fine. Salt Lake City, Utah.”
“My parents will be proud. A boy from the Promised Land, huh?”
“I’m not special, eighty percent of us are Mormons.”
“Yes, but I doubt eighty percent of Utah natives have gone on their mission in Uganda, lost their faith, unknowingly started a new religion, become a coffee addict, watched a particularly raunchy play without realising what was going on and sworn for their first time ever, all within a week.” Connor smirks.
“Where are you from, anyways?” Kevin glances at Connor, melting puppy dog eyes painfully sweet.
“Columbus, Ohio.”
“That’s so far away!” If Connor didn’t know better, he would have said that there’s a hint of panic in Kevin’s voice.
“Do you want any water?”
“I want you to come back. I’m cold now. I have no one to cuddle with since you’re leaving me too.”
The ginger pauses. “Are you trying to guilt me into a healthier sleeping schedule?”
“What’ll you do if I am?”
Connor notices how Kevin’s lips wrap around each other perfectly in a coy smile, and he’s overcome with affection; affection for this brown-haired boy with the toothpaste commercial teeth and the overly cocky tilt of his head and the puppy-dog eyes that strived to spell out every single emotion that flickered across his face throughout the day. Affection for a boy who, just a little over nine months ago, he despised with all his heart. He climbs back onto the sofa, suddenly overcome with so many emotions he can’t put a label onto before laying his head into the gentle rises and falls of the taller boy’s chest. And— and he realises that he wouldn’t trade this, this single quiet moment, for all the ballet lessons, all the red boxes or the sparkly pink waistcoats or flower crowns or Disney mugs in the whole world. From today, he wants to truly start giving a resounding ‘screw it’ and taking life one day at a time. He snuggles further into Kevin and lets himself slowly drift off. Five more minutes, he says to himself.
Then he has to get up.
====
“Do you have their number memorised?”
“I’m not some three year old, Con. I can do this myself.”
“Mhm, sure— Maybe I just want to be here with you.”
“Bullshit.” Kevin smiles and pinches Connor’s arm.
“Ow! Fuck.” The ginger starts back, rubbing at the now red skin. “Now you’ve done it. You can go call your parents yourself.”
The room feels rather light and easy, Connor thinks. Not a particularly fitting room, but it works. Somehow.
“Do you want any water?”
“To spill on this phone if they pick up, sure.” Kevin mutters.
“It can’t be that bad.”
Kevin scoffs. “How would you know? Your parents just kinda… dumped all your shit back to you once you failed. You don’t have to talk to them again, if you don’t want to, that is.”
“And why would I want to?” Connor shrugs. “Besides, I don’t even know how to do taxes, and now I’m pretty much disowned. Strange way to go about life, if you ask me.”
“Can we do this tomorrow?” Kevin sighs.
Connor’s never seen Kevin so anxious before. He’s used to the brunette being strong, confident, everything Connor failed to do. He isn’t sure whether Kevin has another setting that he can just turn on and off, or if this has always been a part of the nineteen year old’s personality since he was born. Regardless, seeing something other than the poster boy the group had quickly gotten used to was a fun, albeit rather rare treat. It’s nice, he supposes. It’s nice how Kevin now doesn’t feel like he has to subconsciously turn it off, how he’s finally realised he can talk. It’s not like he wants to talk very often, thank God for that. At least he does sometimes though.
As for the other elders, it seems like they’re coping rather well, at least regarding the whole excommunication thing. If it takes a rather neurotic Connor and wildly variable Kevin to address the issues in the system one calls freedom, maybe Connor would be willing to do it again. They fumble, sometimes dragging their feet on the marathon of life, but they still progress up the ranks. To the ginger, that’s all that matters. Day by day, he supposes. Tomorrow is a Latter Day and all that. He was the person who first adopted this idea, wasn’t he? Death and the life that may or may not lie after it is a strange concept to think of, one that’s definitely not fitting to be on some nineteen year old’s missionaries’ minds. What does the future hold? They aren’t sure, but there seems to be a general aura of completeness, full harmony. Everything’s wrapping up rather nicely.
There isn’t much to be said for the villagers. They’re simple, Connor supposes. They love and feel sad and experience the wide range of emotions every human on Earth has probably felt at one point or another. The difference is that they don’t hide or turn it off. The Latter Day Saint missionaries of District Nine, brothers and sisters in every way to Connor except blood. They laugh and cry and make mistakes but in the end, they all come through, despite everything they’ve faced. It’s a fairytale, maybe not a PG one, or a very cliche one, but happy and loving never the less. Love is an immense power that can heal and create so much, and it’s something that so many here thrive off of. The Americans could
learn a little bit from them.
“I swear to God, this phone is the shit I see in my sleep paralysis.” Especially this particular elder.
“Just call them.”
“Can you call yours first?” Kevin sighs, rubbing the back of his neck.
“We only have twenty minutes a month, and we aren’t wasting it on me. Maybe your parents even want you back. You never know.”
“I highly doubt it.”
“My birthday’s tomorrow.” Connor mentions, fanning himself with his hand. “That’s why I gave everyone here a day off.”
“You said, and I quote, it was because the scathing heat would have distracted everyone here from their work.” Kevin snorts, glaring daggers at the redhead.
“Okay, maybe that was only part of the reason.”
“You’re turning twenty tomorrow, right?”
“Only one year away from becoming a full adult. Who can drink and get married and all that.”
“You’ve already gotten drunk.” Kevin says sarcastically.
“Your opinion doesn’t count here, Price.”
“Sure it doesn’t.”
“I haven’t gotten married before, though.” Connor slides onto the yellow couch, his head over the arm of the chair.
“Is that what you’re suggesting we do next?” Kevin raises an eyebrow at the shorter boy’s unusual pose on the couch.
“Could be a fun bonding activity.”
Does he find the brunette insufferable? Connor can answer a resounding yes to that. Is he also irritatingly charming and witty? Sadly, that also has to be a yes. Is it possible for someone to not only stand his personality, but also be attracted to it? Apparently Connor is.
“Who would take whose last name?” Kevin asks.
“You’re the girl.”
“We aren’t even dating. Also, how and why am I the girl?”
“Because I said so. Feel free to fuck off and date someone else if you're so against it. Go get a nice Mormon girl or something.”
“Oh, you know I couldn’t do that to you.” Kevin grabs a plastic cup, having now long forgotten about the phone call. “Did you have a nice future wife back at home before this entire thing happened?”
“No.” It’s the truth. There’s always been Kevin, and only Kevin in the back of his mind, or at the very least, someone like him. Maybe Connor’s attracted to his type. Maybe it was always meant to be Kevin. Maybe the two were made for each other. He isn’t really sure. Besides, Kevin is nice. He’s rude and condescending, and sometimes insufferable, and he always makes a show of doing things for Connor. A flair for the dramatic. Maybe that’s the only thing Kevin and Connor share in common. It’s not a terrible thing to share with your maybe-future boyfriend, Connor supposes. But above all that, there’s always a part of him that others don’t get to see, one that gives you his hoodie after you— after you almost drown, let’s put it that way— one that tells you his secrets simply and plainly, one that watches the fireflies with you even after he’s stated he wants to go sleep. Nice can’t describe all those things Kevin has done.
“Tell me you’ve never told anyone before.” Kevin wraps an arm around Connor’s shoulder. The ginger tries extremely hard not to pry it off, because it’s one of those days where being touched by a guy makes him want to vomit. He resists his brain though, because it’s Kevin, and he likes having Kevin around.
He chuckles mirthlessly. “I’m gay, Kev.” He runs a finger along the taller boy’s arm, refusing to make eye contact. “I’m really, truly gay. Homosexual.” He ignores the tears in his eyes suddenly threatening to spill over.
“I already know that after you kissed me.”
“Your turn.”
“Truth.”
“What’s something you’ve never told anyone?”
Kevin smiles conspiratorially and leans down so his lip is barely brushing Connor’s ear. “I ate that Poptart last week.”
Connor pulls himself away from the boy, a look of mock-horror on his face. “You did what? Do you understand how long it took me to calm down Poptarts?”
“Yes, and I can’t say I regret it.”
Connor punches the brunette on the arm. “I’m breaking up with you, Mr Kevin Price.”
“Jesus, Con.” It seemed to have become something of a catchphrase here in District Nine. Jesus, Con, for whenever the ginger did something wrong, or was acting stupid. Even though it’s a bad thing, Connor doesn’t mind. It makes him feel special. “What were we even doing before this?”
“I think we were about to call your parents?”
“Oh well. I like doing this more.”
Connor sighs, pushing himself off the brunette with a sad kiss. “You have to face them some time, Kev.”
“What if I don’t want to?”
“I will give you permission to call me Carrot-cake if you do.” Connor sighs at Kevin’s ecstatic grin. A permission reserved for only the highest. Poptarts and James only.
“Ok, Carrot-cake. Come on.”
“You can’t call me that until you call your parents.”
Kevin huffs and walks over to the phone. He pauses as his hand brushes the wooden table. “Can you hold my hand while I call them?”
Connor nods. “Of course.”
Connor instantly regrets agreeing the moment the words escape out of his lips. The two haven’t had the most conventional relationship, and that included skipping over the hand-holding. Regardless, he grabs Kevin’s hand.
“What’s their number?”
“One, eight, zero, one, five, two, seven, two, four, three, one.” He repeats the numbers monotonously, reciting without stopping to think of the numbers, hitting each digit with a sharp marcato and a softer diminuendo near the end.
“Come on, enter it in.” Connor nudges Kevin.
Kevin sighs and leans into the phone. Connor feels the taller boy’s pulse explode.
“Hi.” Kevin says on the third ring. “It’s me, Kevin.” A pause.
“No, I’m not rejoining the Church. I can’t, Mom.”
“Yes, I was excommunicated.”
“Maybe you would have known if you kept up-to-date with me.”
Connor can’t hear the conversation, so he nudges Kevin and mouths ‘Speaker’. Thank God the church gave them a landline with a speaker. Kevin presses the button, and the sound fills the room.
“How were we meant to keep up-to-date with you? You ruined our family’s image. We couldn’t keep in contact with you.” A sharp voice comes through onto the telephone, and Connor understands exactly why Kevin forced himself to be such a good Mormon.
“You could have tried.” Kevin’s voice wavers and cracks slightly. “You could have tried to love me, Mom. But you didn’t. I’m sorry you didn’t ever get love in your own life. But it doesn’t mean you can ruin mine.”
He hears Kevin’s mom huff again. “People loved you, Kevin. You were such a lovely child.”
“Why is it that all that matters is my image?”
“Because it affects all of us.”
“I wanted to just be myself. Uganda gave me a chance to do that.”
“It turned you into a godless heathen.”
“Maybe I was always godless.”
“None of the members of the Price family want anything to do with you anymore.”
There’s a thick pause in the air. “Mom, I’m atheist.”
Silence fills the air. “Mom, I don’t believe there’s a god. You know what? Fuck it. I love coffee, and I love swearing, and—“ He pauses— “I love my boyfriend. And my boyfriend loves God.”
“What happened to you?”
“And, most importantly, I love you.”
A click on the line.
Kevin wipes at his mostly dry eyes. “So. That’s it. I guess I’m disowned.”
Connor grabs a hand to steady his friend. “Wow. Yeah. I’m sorry.”
“It’s fine. We all knew it was going to happen one day or another.”
“It doesn’t mean you aren’t allowed to be sad over it though.”
“I know. I mean, it feels kind of… I don’t know how to word it.”
“Like, cathartic? Or does it give you a sense of resolution and all that?” He asks, because he knows exactly how Kevin would feel right now. He’s been there.
“Yeah, I suppose it does. All of those things you said.”
“It’s going to be okay.”
“I’m not that sad over it.” Kevin sighs. “It’s weird. I don’t feel like crying. It’s just like… an ending to the story.”
“Yeah, it is.”
“Happy early birthday, Connor. Here’s to twenty more.”
“Most people live to their forties, Kevin.” Connor says.
“Most people don’t lose their parents at nineteen, but look where we are now.”
“That is true, I suppose.”
“It’s nice being with you.”
“Same to you.”
====
Connor is twenty today. Ten years after he quit ballet. Nine after he kissed Steve. Eight after he started therapy. One year after he met Kevin Price. One after he was excommunicated. One after he was disowned. One after he admitted he was gay. The other elders claimed that they had some kind of huge surprise for the ginger’s birthday, so he had given them the day off to prepare. He highly doubts they have anything though, considering Arnold hasn’t said anything or given anything away yet. He smiles at the thought of his elders all cooperating, even though he knew Poptarts didn’t really like Elder Neely. (He rubs off on me, the blonde had said one night as he was drifting off.)
He raises his leg onto the couch, and winces at how it doesn’t sit the way it used to when he was seven. He’s flexible, sure. Just not as flexible as a child who went to ballet lessons twice a week. A twinge of nostalgia hits him at the thought of his friends back in the USA. The ones from church probably didn’t want to hear anything from him. That’s fair, considering ‘Elder McKinley’ would have definitely turned up his nose at Connor. He stretches for a few minutes, before humming a simple, classical song to himself. Arrival of the Queen of Sheba. It’s a song he had listened to Steve play on his violin over and over again. Steve was a fantastic violinist. Connor was a great dancer. He knows that eleven year old Connor wouldn’t have traded the world for that. Even if Steve wasn’t Mormon. Normally he would have disapproved of that, but he made an exception. Steve was Catholic, anyway. It was similar enough.
He does a releve, making sure his hands rose gently so it looked just effortless. He uses the couch as a barre. It’s not ideal, but not much is ideal for him anymore.
“What are you doing?” Kevin, Poptarts and James walk back through the door.
Connor feels a strange sense that he’s long since pushed to the periphery to his mind: A need to tell the truth. “Dancing.”
“You dance?” Poptarts raises an eyebrow.
“Surprised?” He performs a attitude, leg raised to the side at roughly ninety degrees. He almost slips and loses his balance, but tries to remain dignified. His leg hurts. He was never that good at attitudes.
“You’re good.” Kevin says.
“Come dance with me, Kevin.”
“I don’t know how to dance.”
“Anyone can dance. I taught James how to.”
“You did?” Poptarts and Kevin say in unison, looking between the ginger and the noirette.
“Yeah, although I’m not as good as Connor.” James sighs.
“Come on, Kevin. Dance.”
“How?”
Connor grabs Kevin’s arm. “Let’s try a pas de deux.”
“I think this is your moment, Connor. There will be more chances for us to dance together.”
The ginger nods approvingly as the three men leave him.
He continues to dance alone. It’s awkward and rough, but it feels right. More right than going to church ever made him. More right than going to therapy, than learning to turn it off ever made him feel. He brushes his fingers against the now-healed scars on his hand until they tingle, because it reminds him that everything is finally okay. He doesn’t think about cutting food with his eyes closed, or the way the Disney mug shattered so easily after the fight with Kevin, or the party and how he got drunk. He knows life has to go on, and that he has to go back to America, and to be honest, he isn’t quite sure what will happen then, but he finds that he isn’t really compelled to care anymore.
He focuses on a pas de chat instead.