Chapter Text
We broke apart to the sound of a car door slamming.
"Crap! Is that your dad?"
Confusion, then recognition, then concern quickly filled in for what had been dilated pupils and flushed cheeks as Cyrus paused, pushed himself up from the couch, and tiptoed across the room to glance out the window.
"Um... nope, looks like Miss Jancy just got home," he glanced back for a second, offering a sheepish smile as he tugged at the hem of his slightly rumpled sweater. "I think I vaguely remember my dad saying something about working late tonight. Sometime between the first and second mugs of coffee—it's all a bit fuzzy, to be honest."
"Are you sure?" Trying not to let on to the fact that my heart was still beating in my throat because of a commonplace sound—because that would be embarrassing—I shuffled over to look through the blinds at the still-empty Goodman driveway. "What about your stepmom? She isn't just in the garage or something?"
"Pretty sure," Cyrus glanced over at the grandfather clock against the wall. "She's usually not home 'til after 5:30, anyway."
"Cool. Yeah. I just..." I glanced through the blinds one more time, making sure none of the familiar cars belonging to Cyrus's family were hiding down the street or behind a... a tree, or something. "Just don't want to, y'know, make things any more awkward."
Don't want to ever, ever, ever have to experience his dad's... piercing stare again.
"No, yeah, I get it." I felt a hand on my back, immediately soothing through the fabric of my shirt. I had to force myself not to completely relax into Cyrus's touch. Because then he would be able to tell how tense I'd been. "Believe me, I want my parents to know about us, but even I don't want it to be because they walked in on us making out. I can't even imagine how awkward that would be."
"Yeah," I forced out a laugh, turning around to see my boyfriend lost in thought.
"Actually, I think I can," he muttered, tapping at his chin as he looked off at the corner of the room. "There would be at least two separate family meetings. And then a combined family meeting. And they would put together a slideshow about age-appropriate displays of affection. That would cap out at... holding hands? If they're feeling generous? I just..." he grinned, letting out an awkwardly cute laugh. I could feel my anxiety melting just a little. "Yeah."
"Um... a slideshow?"
"Oh, yeah, they love slideshows," Cyrus shook his head, reaching down to grab my hand and guide me gently back to the couch. "That's how they broke the news to me about their divorce. And my goldfish dying. Ugh, and you don't even want to know how long the one was that my dad put together for my eleventh birthday. To teach me about, uh..."
"No..." I laughed as the blush returned to my boyfriend’s cheeks and he quickly glanced away.
"Bodily changes."
"Jeez, seriously? That’s gotta be, like, certified torture, Underdog."
"I think it's classified as such under the Geneva convention. Or if it’s not, it definitely should be."
"My parents? They just left some books in my room for me to find one day," I mused, thinking back to the way my mom had awkwardly danced around thAt horrible subject for a few days, before ultimately deciding to just... never bring it up. Honestly, probably the best choice for everyone involved.
"Did you... read the books?"
"Ah..." I hedged, not really sure if this was something I wanted to further discuss with my boyfriend. Very close to that thing we had never even broached talking about. But Cyrus was staring at me, still blushing but also obviously intrigued—and, y'know what? Maybe he likes to find out stuff from my past a bit too much. "I skimmed them."
I decided not to bring up that my brother had pulled me aside the last time I'd seen him, to make sure I didn't have any questions about, y'know... stuff.
"Well I'm sure my dad would be happy to show you his powerpoint," Cyrus teased—please say he was just teasing—smiling wide. He had that look on his face that always made me regret helping Buffy begin to teach him sarcasm. "I'm sure he still has it saved somewhere on his laptop."
"No. Uh... no, thank you. I am good."
"You sure? It was very informative," Cyrus shifted closer, his smile twisting into something that looked vaguely evil, something that made me wonder just how much time he'd spent with Reed recently. "And science-based. I'm sure he wouldn't mind."
"Yeah, babe. Very sure." I glanced down at my phone again, catching the time just as Reed sent yet another reminder about the dirt biking double-date—since when is Reed so insistent about actually planning things?—and realizing that, if Cyrus was correct, we still had more than an hour to ourselves. Which meant I really didn't need to worry. Which meant I really should have stopped worrying...
"So what do you wanna do now?" Cyrus asked, sitting back into the corner of the couch in a way that made me think that making out was no longer a viable option. Which was unfortunate. "We've got some time, if we focus we could probably finish all our homework before you have to head home."
"Bleh," I shrugged, feeling suddenly drained just by the thought. "All I really have is vocab and history reading tonight. I'll do it when I get home."
While being with Cyrus often made homework significantly less horrible, I really didn't want to ruin my unsupervised time with him by pulling out the books. That was something I liked to do when one of our parents was around. That way it made me look responsible in the eyes of his mom, and I got to do things like make him flustered by whispering in his ear while pretending to ask a question.
Because, I mean, honestly... there's not much that's more fun than a flustered Cyrus.
Speaking of—he let out a little groan of frustration as I dismissed his idea.
"Lucky. I have to do a Latin packet this week that's gonna take forever to finish. I swear. It’s like fifty pages long."
"Oof," I winced, reaching out to squeeze Cyrus’s knee. "Thats rough. I'd offer to help, but..."
"Yeah, yeah," I smiled as I watched him roll his eyes. We'd been through this before. A few times. "I know. This is what I get for choosing to take Latin this year."
"I'm just saying. In Spanish today we started watching Inside Out because we started the section on emotions." I shrugged, smile growing a bit wider. "You brought this upon yourself, Underdog."
"Yes. I get that. You and Andi and Jonah have made it very clear that I only have myself to blame." With an overexaggerated sigh, he flopped shapelessly into the corner of the cushions and pulled a blanket over his head. "God forbid I expect any sympathy from my boyfriend in my time of need."
"You could always ask Buffy for help," I shook my head, ruefully. Not that he could see me, he was too busy being dramatic. I give him plenty of sympathy, thank you very much. Do you have any idea how many nights I've spent FaceTiming with him so he could complain about a project, or his parents, or the most recent friend-drama? Too many to count. I'm like... an amazing listener when it comes to stuff like that. "Doesn't she have an A in Latin?"
"Yes. But you know what she's like with homework. She always tries to fix it whenever you complain about something—I just want someone to feel bad for me while I whine to them. Is that so much to ask?"
"You are an expert whiner," I mused, narrowly dodging the poorly aimed pillow Cyrus tossed at me as he emerged from his blanket. "Hey!"
"I'm going to take that as a compliment," he said, narrowing his eyes at my grin.
"It is a compliment! I love—like listening to you complain about things. You always come up with some funny way to look at it that makes it seem like its not all that bad."
"Oh. Well then, thank you," Cyrus sat up a little taller, looking suddenly very pleased with himself. "You know, my mom says it's a talent. One that most people don't appreciate, but still. You have no no idea how hard it is to complain about things just right."
"I'll make sure to appreciate it even more going forward."
"Thank you," he smiled, which made me smile even wider. "I'll hold you to that on Thursday night. Expect a lot of self-pity and whining."
"Is the packet due on Friday?" I asked, leaning over until my head settled into the space between the corner of his hip and the couch cushions. I'd been shooting for his lap, but I think he adjusted at the last minute. Which, whatever. It was close enough.
"Yeah," he sighed, hand already descending to wander through the shorter hair behind my ears. "And I'm already counting on having to pull an all-nighter if I want to finish and be able to double-check my answers."
See, that’s the difference between Cyrus and me. Double-checking? Who does that?
"Do you want me to head out so you can get started?" I asked, not really wanting him to say yes. But, hey—at least I've started to learn that sometimes being a good boyfriend means not getting exactly what you want. "I don't want to distract you."
For a moment, I watched as Cyrus seemed to hesitate, mouth pursing in that cute way he does when he's trying to mentally justify something he knows isn't the exact right choice. It was the same look he had on his face when we first started dating and I asked if that meant we needed to stop having sleepovers.
"Nah," he shrugged—a little forcefully—after a few seconds of silence. "I was planning on working on it after dinner anyway."
"Okay," I grinned. Hell yeah. I love being a bad influence sometimes. "So what do you wanna do?"
"Board games?" He suggested after another minute of silently tracing his fingers through the un-styled hair at the back of my neck. "We haven't played Monopoly in a while."
"Yeah. Because you don't play it right."
"I don't play it right?" He responded very enthusiastically, pushing me playfully off his lap. Before I could respond, he was jumping off the couch and over to the Goodman family board game cabinet. "You're the one who insists on playing with made-up rules."
"Everyone knows you put money under Free Parking," I insisted as I sat up, fully ready to re-tread this argument. And win it. Because I was right. "It's literally the whole point of the space!"
"Everyone but Mr. Horatio M. Hasbro, apparently," despite the insistent, slightly-exasperated tone of his voice I felt reasonably confident that Cyrus enjoyed this particular argument. Partly because his attempt to pull out the rule book was obviously, playfully exaggerated. "Because you've yet to show me anywhere in the rules that supports your argument, TJ Kippen."
"It may not be in the text of the rules, per se. But everyone knows it's the right way to play! Otherwise, what's the point of that space!" I slipped onto the ground to sit across from him as he unfolded the rules and began to gesture enthusiastically to the lack of information about the source of our argument. As if the rules knew anything about the best way to play the game.
Yeah right.
Come on. Surely you're with me on this, right? If you remove the money pit under Free Parking, what's even the point? It's the only thing that makes the game worth playing!
"Is it not enough for it to be the one, solitary place on the board that's untouched by the curse of capitalism?" Cyrus said, almost pleading—while still hiding a sly smile under his pout.
God, he's cute.
"You're not going to change my mind about this, Underdog." And then before he could launch into a rebuttal, I leaned over and pressed a fat, wet, loud kiss to his cheek.
I may not be able to change his mind, but I can at least get him flustered again.
"I... well..." I watched the blush grow on his cheeks like it always did when I was unexpectantly affectionate. It's great. Like a cheat code for Cyrus. He really should expect it "Well then, we'll agree to disagree."
My phone went off on the floor beside me. Reed again.
"Then I guess no Monopoly," I shook my head, biting back a grin.
"So... what's Reed up to?" Cyrus asked, feigning nonchalance while glancing up from my phone as it went black. "You're not planning on blowing up any more children's toys with him, are you?"
"Um... no." We hadn't talked about that whole thing yet, but I was pretty sure it would happen eventually. Just preferably not right that moment "He, uh... he's asking about going dirt-biking this weekend."
"You haven't done that in—"
"With you too," I added before Cyrus could excuse himself from joining us. Because I know him well enough to know that's something he would definitely try to do. "He and Lester want us both to be there."
"Oh." And... there. Cyrus's voice was coming out strained and a bit high-pitched and I could see him imagining some sort of disaster scenario in his head. Exactly like I knew would happen when Reed came up with this idea. "That sounds..."
"Fun," I supplied, despite the palpable doubt coming off my boyfriend in waves. “It sounds fun.”
You see, we haven't been able to work through everything on Cyrus’s list of fears yet. I'm getting there. But there were definitely some things—especially things that could actually, in the rare circumstance, potentially cause an injury—that Cyrus had been especially resistant towards trying out.
Dirt-biking with me had been near the top of that list ever since he saw my bike in my garage.
"That's one potential word for it."
“Please, Underdog?” I let my voice come out in a plea. Hopefully one Cyrus couldn’t deny. “Reed’s been giving me, uh—crap! For days! Ever since we ditched him and Lester to go to the arcade.”
“You said they wouldn’t care about that!”
“Well... you know, Reed can be weirdly sensitive about things like that.” I let my voice drip with the sadness and pity that I knew would pull at my boyfriend’s heartstrings, and then I waited a moment’s pause to give my next few words a bit more weight. “He doesn’t have that many friends.”
I’m pretty sure I could have sealed the deal if I told him about Reed and Lester and the fact that it was a double-date, but... I wanted to leave that to them. Not spoil the surprise.
Besides. If I knew Cyrus like I thought I did, then my words had already...
“Do you promise you and Reed won’t try to force me to get on the bike?”
“I can promise I won’t try to force you.”
“Teej...”
“And... I promise that if he gets to be too much, I’ll do everything I can to get him to back off.” I scooted over the rug until I was sitting on the ground beside my boyfriend, resting my head on his shoulder in an attempt to be as adorable as possible. “I also promise that everything will be completely, one-hundred percent safe.”
“There’s no way can promise that,” there was resignation in his voice, and I couldn’t help but smile into his shoulder. “There’ll be a million things out of your control.”
Victory.
“And yet I’m doing it anyway,” I said with as much self-confidence as I could muster. Because, more than anything, I wanted Cyrus to believe me. “You know I’ll protect you.”
And then, when he didn’t respond right away.
“Have I ever lead you wrong, Cy?”
“Yes!” He sounded exasperated but he was also laughing as I nuzzled into his neck, as I began to press him backward toward the ground. “At least twice!”
“Fair,” I sat up once Cyrus was leaning back on his elbows, taking a moment to appreciate the view of him stretching out beside the coffee table. “But did you die?”
“Almost! That toboggan was—!”
Cyrus’s voice died in a surprise squeak as I silenced him with lunging kiss. You’d think he’d be used to me doing this—riling him up and then bringing him back down to earth with the press of my lips—but he never is. He always ends up frozen, lashes fluttering when I retreat. Surprised, yet happy.
Beautiful.
“This weekend?” I asked, voice much calmer now that I was pretty sure I’d already convinced him. “Please?”
“I...” his eyes fluttered open, a goofy smile soft on his lips before—“I can’t do Saturday.” He sat up, shaking himself back to the reality of his living room floor. “Andi and Buffy are insisting on a hangout night with me this Saturday. They’ll literally kill me if I reschedule.“
“That’s fine,” I grinned, nodding as I shot a hurried text over to Reed. The response was immediate. “Reed says Sunday works for them.”
“Well then,” Cyrus nodded, and then, with a sigh, fell all the way onto his back. I watched with a grin as his arms splayed out to the side. “Sunday it is. I’ll make sure to prepare my will.”
“I promise you won’t die,” I rolled my eyes, even though I knew he couldn’t see, and crawled over so that I could look down at his face. It was twisted into a very cute half smile.
“How do you know?”
“Because I’ll protect you.” I shook my head before leaning down to press a quick kiss to the tip of his nose. “From the whole world if I have to.”
“That’s a lot to protect me from.”
I nodded, leaning down to press him with another kiss. This one at the corner of his lips.
“Promise?” he looked up at me and smiled.
“Always.”
+++++++++++++++++++++
We broke apart to the sound of a car door slamming. Again.
This time, much closer, and followed moments later by the sound of Mr. Goodman’s voice calling for his son to help him out.
His son who was, once again, looking up at me, wide-eyed and flushed and more than a little rumpled.
“I thought you said he was going to be late tonight,” With as much self-control as I could muster, I pushed away from my boyfriend and back to the couch, trying my best to not sound accusing.
But it was tough. Because, well, I was freaking out. Just a little.
His dad may not have walked in on us again, but I had been hoping to get out of there before he ever showed up for the night—I did not want to deal with what I knew was going be a very awkward moment. Y’know?
That’s fair, right? That’s not being a coward.
“To be fair, I also said it was a bit fuzzy.” Cyrus pushed himself off the carpet, sounding truly apologetic as he whispered. “Sorry, I must have mixed up the days he was talking about.“
“No, it’s—“
“Son? I need your help with these groceries, please!”
The sound of the back door opening, of keys being placed on the hook filtered into the living room as Cyrus gave me one more apologetic looks and then hurriedly rubbed at his cheeks.
“Cyrus?”
“Uh... coming, Dad! Just a second! I’m—“
“Ah, there you are—oh! Hello, TJ. Didn’t see you there.” And there they were again. Those eyes, so much like Cyrus’s, standing in the doorway and staring just... straight at me. Straight into me. “You’re... looking well.”
“Uh, TJ was just leaving, Dad.” Cyrus interjected on my behalf, thankfully giving me a chance to get my wits around me while his dad nodded.
Alright, TJ. Don’t freak out. Don’t fuck up. It’s just his Dad.
It’s gonna be okay.
Don’t be a coward.
“Oh,” for a moment I thought he sounded disappointed, but then he was smiling at me with his wide, practiced, open smile, and I was too focused on trying not to be unnerved to try to read more into if. “Are you sure you don’t want to join us for dinner? I bought enough chicken for everyone.”
“Um...” I glanced momentarily over at Cyrus—but it’s not like he could actually do anything to make me feel less uncomfortable. I had to just... push through it. Force myself through it. “Yeah. I, uh—thank you, though. Mr. Goodman. But I need to get home soon.”
“Well, nothing I can do about that,” he let out a light, airy laugh before taking a few large steps over to place an arm around my shoulder. Which I was not prepared for. “But if that’s the case, at least let me drive you home.”
“Oh—Dad, that’s not—“
“No, that’s okay, Mr. Goodman,” I tried to insist at the same time as Cyrus reached for his Dad’s arm. But Mr. Goodman’s grip on my shoulder just seemed to strengthen, as did his smile.
Which was, well... fucking terrifying.
“Now boys. It’ll be dark soon, and I didn’t see your bike, TJ. I know you say you don’t really have a ‘curfew,‘ but... as a father, I would feel much better if you didn’t have to walk through the city alone in the dark.”
He removed his hand from my shoulder and began to walk back toward the kitchen before glancing quickly over his shoulder at Cyrus and I still frozen in place.
“Truly, I insist.”
Which is how I ended up in the most awkwardly-silent car ride of my life. Which is saying something, because until that point, that honor was held by the trip back home with my parents after we were personally informed that I was too dumb to be accepted into Quentin Prep.
Good times.
Sorry—I tend to make light of my many failures when I’m uncomfortable.
Which I was.
Horribly uncomfortable. Made even worse by the fact that Mr. Goodman had left Cyrus at home to ‘get dinner started.’
So... yeah. A swift and painless death would probably have been preferable. Except...
“So...” it had been about five minutes of driving in silence before Cyrus‘s dad turned to me while waiting at a stop light.
And in my heart of hearts, I knew. This was it. The end. I knew he was about to ask me about my relationship with his son. And then I knew he was going to ban me from seeing Cyrus again. And tell me I had betrayed his trust. And insist he needed to speak with my parents, and—
“I wanted to apologize for this weekend, TJ.”
And... Oh.
“Clearly, I did something on Saturday that made you uncomfortable around me—“ Oh God, oh fuck, please don’t make me tell you why, “—and we don’t have to talk about why, but I want to assure you that whatever it was I did, that was not my goal.“
I...
I was not expecting that.
“I understand that, as a family, we Goodmans can be...”
Terrifying?
“Intense.”
He paused as the light turned green and traffic began to move. And I’m not sure if I was supposed to say something in that pause... but I didn’t.
What the fuck would I have said that could have made this less bad?
“But you are Cyrus’s... friend,” he continued after a few blocks of silence where I did my best not to have any sort of reaction readable on my face. “And just like with any of my son’s friends, I want you to feel as comfortable as possible in my home.”
The car remained silent for a few more blocks—nothing more coming from Mr. Goodman—and I...
I was confused? I think? I knew I was scared. Stressed, may be a better term. But this was.. it was so far from what I was expecting. From a... parent of any kind.
I just...
“Thanks. Um...” I wasn’t even sure at the time what it was I was thanking him for.
“And, TJ, nothing is going to change that,” Mr. Goodman added, voice sounding suddenly softer. For a second, his hand released the steering wheel—hovering for a moment before settling back down into an exactly proper steering grip. “Not as long as you’re Cyrus’s friend.”
I swallowed around the lump that had formed in my throat as soon as I’d gotten in the car, and it... lessened. Some. Still there, but...
That strain felt a bit... lighter.
“I... thank you, Mr. Goodman.”
“Call me Norman,” he said, smiling at the road, and I was suddenly glad he was driving and unable to look at me with those eyes. “That would make me more comfortable. And if there’s anything I can do to... make you more comfortable...”
He paused—and I’m not entirely sure why—before sighing.
I think I know why.
I’m ignoring the ‘why.’
“I hope you would feel comfortable telling me that. Or anything!”
I nodded, though I’m not sure he saw as he turned onto my street.
“My home will always be a safe place, TJ. If you want it.”
Yeah...
Yeah.
Okay, no, too much.
“That’s my house,” I croaked out around the lump in my throat, pointing—probably obnoxiously—toward my front door. “You can drop me off here.”
“Right. Of course. You have your bag? Phone? Everything?”
The sudden nervous energy in his voice almost matched my own, which... that’s sort of funny. Right?
“Yeah.” My voice crackled a little. But I pushed past it, and the second Mr. Goodman—I mean Norman—pulled up to the curb, I was jumping out.
“And—TJ!” In and instant, I froze. Didn’t even realize I was holding my breath until the silence stretched on for too long. Until my lungs started burning, my hand still sitting on the car door ready to slam it. But Cyrus’s dad was looking at me, and I turned just in time to see those eyes stare at me with so much... I don’t know.
No, that’s not true. I do know.
Sympathy.
And then, in the blink of an eye, it was just another kind smile. “I mean it, son, okay? If you ever need to talk about anything. I’m here.”
And what do you say to that? Especially since there was no possible way I could put into words the feelings that were crashing around my chest. Threatening to knock me back with every passing heartbeat.
So instead, I said—
“Thanks.”
And... y’know what?
I think I actually meant it.