Work Text:
Noel was alright with being alone, more than alright with it actually, it was swell. Noel got used to the ugly sneers after a while. The hushed rumors around the school. Some of them not so hushed anymore. The insults, the slurs. The boys who would move away from him when they changed in the locker room. The students who would giggle at his mere presence in a room. His mother begged him to dial it back for the sake of his reputation. Telling him he “simply couldn’t act this way” if the two stayed living in Uranium.
And he tried, he did. Noel couldn’t emphasize how hard he tried to just be like everyone else! But, trying got tiring after a while. Especially trying in a town where it was just downright embarrassing to attempt to blend in. The other kids in his choir group tolerated him at best. If they were in a life or death situation, he’d be first to go, he’s sure of it. Not like Noel minded, truly. He wasn’t exactly a fun guy to be around. Noel knew he could be exhausting, and rude, and a bit of a bitch.
So, Noel was okay with no friends. Welcomed it, even.
That was until the new kid. The transfer student.
This kid was an… enigma to Noel.
Mischa Bachinski.
At first, Noel didn’t pay much attention to the kid. In his mind, everyone comes and goes. Mischa was just another straight guy, in his straight town, ready to jump on Noel’s case for being the only gay kid in school.
At the beginning of it all, Noel pitied Mischa a bit. There was no way to tell Noel was gay by looking at him. (Well, mostly. His mother clocked it rather fast.) Unfortunately, most of the time if you hadn’t met Noel yet, someone would have already “warned” you before you got the chance to get a good look at him. Noel understood this, so he was prepared for Mischa to be another stereotypically homophobic, “macho-man”, who instigated fights with him regularly.
Mischa, against his better judgment, was not “warned” by anyone!
The students of St. Cassian High School are in the middle of their 11th year.
Noel was “taking notes”, fiddling with his pencil, and not paying much attention to the lesson or the notes at all. The sound of his social sciences teacher’s voice, Mr. Kellis, flew in one ear and right out the other. Noel would routinely check the clock hanging on the wall. Waiting impatiently for the lesson to be over. One more class over with means one more class closer to lunch.
Well, Noel didn’t enjoy his lunch period that much anyway. He had his friends, Ocean, Constance, and Ricky. (He uses the term friends very loosely). It’s just that they were never particularly very interested in what Noel had to say. He and Ocean regularly got into bitching matches. Which, stressed Constance out to no end. Ricky would typically get up and leave halfway into the lunch period, going to do god knows what. Noel didn’t blame him, though. He and Ocean were a handful.
Noel then momentarily wondered why Ocean even sat with him. Didn’t she have other friends, wasn’t she a student council board member? Wouldn’t that sort of status grant her lots of lifelong friendships and opportunities?
God, why did he even still put up with her?
Noel was torn from his contemplative thoughts when the door to the classroom suddenly slammed open. The whole room jumped. In the doorway stood a very late and very…tall student Noel had never seen before.
“Ah. Mischa, I assume.” Mr. Kellis had said, double-checking his attendance sheet. Voice lacking any form of enthusiasm. “You’re late. The bell rings in ten minutes.”
This new kid, Mischa, stared at Mr. Kellis as though the teacher had yet to say a word.
“Do you have a late pass?”
“No.” Mischa finally spoke.
The first thing Noel noticed, Mischa had a very thick European accent. The second thing Noel noticed, he did not sound happy. Mischa visibly scanned the room full of students, who only stared at him with curiosity. Noel couldn’t judge, he felt just the same.
“The front desk didn’t give you a late pass?”
An awkward pause followed.
“I did not come in…using the front desk.”
The teacher shook his head, sighing in defeat.
“Alright, well. Take a seat.”
Mischa balled his fists, glaring at all of the students as he selected a seat in the room. Noel, trying to remain inconspicuous, stopped gawking at this Mischa. The effort was useless. Moments later Mischa stomped towards his desk. Choosing the open seat directly next to him.
The desk set up in their classroom was divided into pairs, Noel never had a pair. Ocean and Constance were already seated next to each other, Ricky didn’t share this class with them. Noel was suddenly embarrassed over the fact that he only had three friends. One of which he doesn’t like at all.
But then, Mischa sat down. Noel began openly staring at the brooding kid next to him. Not knowing what to do. Noel never actually spoke. Just, stared at the side of his face a bit. Wow, that’s creepy, Noel. Great first impression, Noel. It's just, Mischa looked so angry. Noel knows it’s rather rude to not introduce yourself in a situation such as this, he had just suddenly become so interested in the notes on the board.
As the school day progressed, Noel realized he shared quite a few classes with Mischa. Noel was becoming more and more curious about this mystery, in the form of a boy who was making a concentrated effort to sit next to him in all of their shared classes.
A few days later, Mischa dropped his pencil in their Math class. It was time for group work, and Mischa, as per usual, was seated directly next to Noel. If Mischa had missed the ridiculous glances the other students at their table shot his way when he chose his seat, Noel sure noticed for him.
Noel, swooped down to grab the pencil that had rolled across his desk, then onto the floor. Rushing to set it back on Mischa’s desk. Noel hoped that didn’t look strange. Finding himself anxious over what could hardly be called an interaction.
“Whoops. Sorry.” Noel apologized, staring at Mischa’s entirely indifferent facial expression.
Mischa merely nodded, not with gratitude. More so out of obligation. Before going back to fiddling with his phone. Why’d he have a pencil if he wasn’t even taking the notes? Noel thought, before mentally slapping himself in the face for saying something that Ocean would have also definitely said. It wasn’t like Noel was doing the notes, either.
“My name is Noel!” He suddenly blurted, giving his best smile despite all the nerves. God, he was nervous. Students were already talking amongst themselves, it was the perfect time for a formal introduction.
“I know,” Mischa replied swiftly, focusing somehow completely on his phone.
“And you are…?”
Noel somehow hadn’t noticed before, but Mischa’s entire left arm was covered in tattoos.
“I think you know my name. All of you know my name.” Mischa scoffed, still not making an effort to look up from his phone.
Noel, charmed by his sleeve of tattoos, was hardly paying much attention at all. Mischa didn’t seem to notice the staring, though. Even if he had, he didn’t say a word. The reluctance to talk was…fair… he guessed. Mischa had only been at the school for a few days and multiple teachers seemed to get on his case for just about everything. And Noel was… Noel.
Noel stared for a few more moments. Really letting the awkward tension of this interaction sink in, before finally looking away from the boy next to him. He was not interested in any form of conversation. Someone must have told him. Someone had to have told him that Noel was gay. And Mischa was trapped. Trapped sitting next to Noel in half his classes, unable to escape. God, that must be why he’s on his phone so much. Mischa probably can’t even bear to look at him.
Noel, trying not to initiate a breakdown mid-quadratic formula lesson, peeked out of the corner of his eye (intrusively, might he add.) as Mischa opened YouTube on his phone. Mischa scrolled for a bit. Noel felt a little weird then, snooping over this kid’s shoulder. Trying not to laugh at the hilarity of Mischa watching BMX compilations mid-algebra lesson.
Weeks later, Noel was sitting in his gym class. Benched as everyone around him played various games. Benched by his own will of course. You’d never catch Noel Gruber playing kickball. Sure he had a poor grade in the class due to this habit, but Noel truly did not want to listen to any of those “athletes” making comments about his throwing ability. What is gym to them anyway, the Olympics? Do you want a medal for being the best at four square? At 17 years old?
Noel was having a great time actually! Staring with amusement at the poor, poor gym bros as they ran back and forth on the concrete, picking mindlessly at his maroon-colored nails. Thanks to the nail polish that none other than Constance had lent to him. Well, lending is an understatement, Constance was really nervous about it. Spewing on and on about Noel’s mother finding out and giving him an earful. Noel didn’t care a lick, it was exciting, doing something rebellious. Sure, Constance was such a sweetheart but Noel knew she had a rebellious streak.
Noel’s attention shot up from his nails when the sound of a clambering chain link fence filled his ears. Two boys had been fighting, one of them pinning the other to the fence that lined the blacktop area.
Holy shit! Noel gasped with… intrigue.
Mischa, ever the enigma, was going to town on some other boy’s face. Punches thrown back and forth. He was yelling something, completely unintelligible. Perhaps a language Noel could not understand.
Mischa was throwing punch after punch, kick after kick, and had this other asshole pinned to the ground. The other boy kicked Mischa square in the nose, Noel watched blood splatter onto the blacktop, and Mischa hardly flinched.
Hell’s bells, Mischa must be strong.
Before the fight could escalate any further, which it sure had, because both Mischa and the other boy were sporting matching, broken, bloody noses, their coach had already run over to break it up.
Noel stared at the aftermath of the fight from his shaded bench. Watching as Mischa heaved with rage, blood dripping down the side of his face. Noel watched as the other boy ran off, avoiding blame, probably escaping to a bathroom somewhere. And Mischa? Well, he was coming right for Noel’s secluded bench. Only after getting a very loud scolding from their coach.
Noel, acting like he hadn’t just watched the fight in the same fashion a cat studies its prey through an open window, went back to staring at his nails. Checking his cuticles like he hadn’t already done so a hundred times this period.
Mischa took his seat next to Noel, huffing, taking up half the bench with his manspreading.
“All you little fuckers.” Mischa had growled under his breath. Fists clenched, knuckles bloody.
“Excuse me?” The words jumped out of Noel’s mouth. He smacked a hand over his lips.
“These little bastards. All the same. They do not know a thing about me. Start talking shit about me. Like they know me! Telling me to calm down. Don’t tell me to fucking calm down. I’ll show them anger, I’ll show them rage. Where I come from, we only know rage.”
Noel listened to this in shock, suddenly at a loss of words. What is he to do with all of this information? Noel was not the kind of boy who had his shoulder regularly cried on.
“Are you…okay?” Was all Noel could say, knew how to say.
It’s what Constance would ask him every time he walked into Choir late, tears filling his eyes. He’d always say yes, I’m fine sweetheart! As he discreetly willed away the tears. Of course Noel never really was okay, he was bored, and tired, over being the boy who got berated in the halls for being the only homosexual in Uranium City.
Mischa’s head turned to face Noel, and he was taken aback, to say the least. Mischa’s bloody, crooked nose was already a sight from afar. But up close, it was something else. He guessed he never got a good look at Mischa in any of their classes. Noel wasn’t blind, he could acknowledge when a man was attractive.
Noel was horrified over the sudden realization that he found Mischa attractive.
The boy who sits next to you in every other class? Seriously Noel? He didn’t have time to ponder that thought right now, no. Not while said boy was sitting inches away from him. Towering over him. Jesus, he was tall. Rocking the most attractive bloody nose he’d ever seen. God, Noel was a freak.
“I do not want to be here in this dumbass school. I want to be home.” Mischa’s stance deflated. Noel had a feeling “home” did not mean anywhere in Uranium.
Mischa didn’t take notice as the blood from his nose dripped between him and the other boy. Noel followed the droplets with his eyes. Then, he decided to offer an olive branch.
“Well, do you want to go clean that up in the bathroom?” Noel cringed, scooting away from the mess the bloody nose was making of the concrete bench.
“I don’t think the school would want us to get their precious bench all bloody.”
“Fuck this school.” Mischa scoffed, almost humorously.
“Yeah.. got that right.”
After a long pause, Noel stood up from the bench. Olive branch was shot down, now he did it the Noel way. Insistance!
“C’mon. Let’s go get that cleaned up. We can use the locker rooms since that other asshat went in the direction of the actual bathrooms.”
Mischa glared, looking hesitant. Whether this reaction was over going into the locker rooms with the only gay in school or accepting help from a stranger, Noel did not know. Mischa surrendered. Quietly following Noel towards the school doors. His head hung low as blood steadily dripped onto his forearm, which he was now using to wipe his nose.
Noel mentally noted to clean that later, too.
It occurred to Noel that he never actually asked the coach to excuse him or Mischa from class, not like he particularly cared right now, or ever. Noel wasn’t even sure the coach knew his name.
Noel chalked Mischa’s silence up to being understandably uncomfortable following a stranger, but then he heard music coming from somewhere. Some sort of, loud, unorganized beat. Noel realized Mischa had put earbuds in, then Noel realized that it was a miracle Mischa did not suffer from extreme hearing loss.
Entering the locker room bathrooms, Noel quickly shuffled towards the sinks. Wetting a paper towel and dampening it with the lukewarm water. Mischa stayed put by the door. Noel, weirdly, could feel Mischa’s eyes following his movements.
“I'm well versed in popping a broken nose back into place if you’d like for me to do that too,” Noel informed, tapping the sink so Mischa would get the signal to stand next to the mirror.
Mischa did not move from his place near the door. He did not understand why Noel, this stranger, was so ready to tend to his wounds.
“Don’t touch me.”
“Oh.” Noel’s gaze fell.
He stood for an awkward beat before shoving the wet paper towel in Mischa’s general direction. Yeah, that made sense. Noel had been a total stranger to Mischa, not his friend, or his bro, a stranger. The gay part just added insult to injury.
Mischa snatched away the paper towel, walked up to the mirror, and studied his bloody nose. He cringed, outwardly, and started wiping the area under his nose. Trying to stop the flow of blood.
Noel sat on top of the edge of the partnering sink, eyes darting around the bathroom. Trying hard not to look at Mischa. Studying the square tiles along the bathroom wall. The same square tiles that lined every bathroom wall. The same square tiles that had been here the past eleven years Noel had been in school.
Eventually, Noel gave in and looked over. Mischa was doing it wrong.
“You should lean forward and pinch the top of your nose, it helps stop the blood flow-“
“Why are you still here?”
“Well, excuse me for helping you fix your broken nose, Mischa.” Noel spat the other’s name in the same tone at which he calls Ocean a damned witch.
“Ah. You do know my name.” Mischa grinned a bit. Blood stained the front of his teeth. Noel could feel his pale face explode with heat, turning his head at a speed nobody could determine as sane.
“Why do you know how to do this so well- y’know the. Tending to a broken nose?” Mischa questioned, making various, confused gestures with his hands as he spoke.
Noel looked back, realizing Mischa was silently taking the advice Noel gave him. Leaning over the sink to stop the blood flow, pinching the bridge of his nose.
Noel, still perched on the sink, twiddled his thumbs, kicking his legs absentmindedly.
“Well. Let’s just say the kids here don’t like me very much. As you phrased it, they, talk shit.”
Mischa cackled in reply. Noel hardly expected that.
“You? You’re so small! Get into fights? Because you’re just angry like me? I don’t see it.”
Oh, he didn’t understand.
“No, no. I don't start fights. God, I’d lose! I just, I used to get beat up a lot. Because I’m-“
The word got stuck in Noel’s throat, suddenly.
Mischa’s amused smile fell.
“They beat you up? Because why?”
Did Mischa seriously not know?
Noel stood in deafening silence for a second. Opting to avoid the question, he grabbed another paper towel and wet it in the sink. Then, he gestured to Mischa’s tattooed forearm which was smeared with blood.
“May I?”
Mischa eyed Noel for a moment, hesitant. Then nodded.
Noel wiped his forearm clean with the towel. Stopping for a few indulgent seconds to observe his tattoos. Various symbols, words he couldn’t recognize, and, oh!
“The flag of Ukraine? Is that where you’re from?”
“Yes. That is my country.”
“That’s lovely. I’ve always wanted to visit Europe. I’ve been saving up to move to France. To get out of this mess of a town.” Noel’s tone was dreamy, just the mere mention of getting out of this place someday made his heart soar.
“Ah. Can’t imagine how you feel. I want out and I just got here.” Mischa replied, uncharacteristically sympathetic.
Noel smiled at Mischa sweetly. Even with a gauze paper towel shoved up his nose, Mischa’s face was a sight to behold from this close.
“Oh! Do you still want some help with your nose?”
“Yes.” Mischa replied quickly, “Please.”
“Alright, hold still.” Noel cautioned.
Hopping down from the neighboring sink, Noel closed in and placed two fingers at the top of Mischa’s nose, tentatively cracking it back into place. Mischa let out a gasp. Noel panicked for a second, scared he may have seriously hurt Mischa. He snatched his hands away. Thankfully, it seemed to have done the trick.
“There you go! Good as new.” Noel grinned, fidgeting in place.
Mischa got a good look in the mirror. “Ah! It is! Thank you!”
Noel bashfully nodded. A smile looked great on Mischa.
“You didn’t answer my question earlier.” Mischa playfully shoved Noel on the shoulder, leaning an arm on the sink.
The panic settled back into Noel’s stomach.
Oh, right.
Was Noel just to go ahead and tell Mischa? And what, ruin his reputation like that? Or would he just let someone else do it? The same gossip had been passed around for years, and Mischa was bound to find out eventually. Everyone was. Everyone and their mother knew that Noel Gruber liked boys.
Might as well cut it off at the source.
“Well, I’m not sure how you don’t know yet, but I am gay.”
The sentence echoed through the locker room a few times.
Mischa’s eyes widened.
“Oh! That is-“
“It’s fine actually! You don’t have to say anything.” Noel quickly discarded the bloody paper towels scattered across the bathroom sinks, making a beeline for the locker room doors. Mischa followed him quickly, too quickly for Noel to not begin to panic.
He was gonna beat up Noel too now, wouldn’t he? Noel was gonna be the next boy hightailing it to the office with a bloody nose. What was he thinking? That this new kid is any different than the others?
“No, it’s okay! Yeah. You probably don't want to be seen with me, I know. Especially coming out of the locker room!” Noel laughed dryly at his own, horrible joke. Mischa went to open his mouth but was swiftly interrupted again. Noel wasn’t sure he wanted to hear it.
“I’m just gonna head back to class. You get cleaned up!”
Noel was shocked by the speed at which those words flew out of his mouth. He left the bathroom at what was probably a record-breaking pace. Noel sped down the hallway for a bit, stopping when he was sure that Mischa didn’t follow him out. God, he was a fool. Why the hell did he tell Mischa that? Why did he touch Mischa’s arm? His face? Why did he stare? Mischa probably thinks he’s such a pervert.
Noel went back to class, taking a seat back in his secluded corner. Noel stared emptily at the blood now speckled along the middle of the concrete bench. It had dried. Dark brown, rather than red.
Mischa never came back to class that day.
Days passed, and Noel was seated in choir. Writing lame poetry in his journal. Well, it wasn’t lame to him. Just, everyone he showed it to. Nobody understood the art of nouveau poetry like him.
Noel was perched on a pile of stacked chairs in a corner of the room, gripping his poetry journal tightly to his chest. Thinking of ideas. Constance was sitting on the floor, leaning against her backpack. And Ricky, well, he was the only hooligan decent enough to properly use a chair.
Ocean was nowhere to be seen, which was weird. Really weird, actually. Ocean regularly got on everyone’s case for being a mere three seconds late to after-school choir practice. Without her, this choir seemed like way less of a military boot camp, and more like three kids forced to silently sit in a misshapen circle.
The downside to this situation, Noel is trapped at choir practice. And while he hates this wretched club (no thanks to its leader), he’d rather be singing than doing nothing at all.
The upside to this situation, he can tease Ocean about this forever.
Speak of the devil, the classroom door bursts open. And there’s Ocean! Cheery as ever. What a beyotch!
“Look who finally decided to show up!” Noel deadpanned.
“Ah. Ha, very funny Noel. You see I may be late, but I was officiating the newest member of our choir. He’s gonna help us out, and definitely isn’t here via school staff mandated order.”
All of the other kids in the group cocked an eyebrow at this. Ocean stepped back out the door again. When she reentered, she was dragging a very disgruntled-looking Mischa by the arm. At which he pulled away from her grasp almost instantly.
“This is our newest member, Mischa Bachinski! He’s here because he wants to be here!”
“I am here because I give my cousin wine on birthday.”
“Mischa, sweetie, you stole three boxes of communion wine.”
Stealing wine? Noel perked up at that. He’s never drank wine! And Mischa has?
Mischa merely rolled his eyes at Ocean, anyone would be able to tell he and the girl had run through this argument a hundred times.
“Everyone welcome Mischa! He’s going to be singing with us!”
The choir room was dead silent following this. Until Constance, bless her heart, broke the silence with a meek “…Hello.”
Mischa merely nodded in acknowledgment, walking away from Ocean to lean against the wall in a corner of the room. Ocean begrudgingly accepted that Mischa did not want to give any sort of formal introduction. His hands were in his pockets, a scowl plastered across his face. Noel and Mischa made brief eye contact, and weirdly, Mischa’s scowl softened. He pondered if Mischa remembered Noel un-breaking his nose a few weeks ago. His chest suddenly felt a little funny.
“-Noel? Noel, are you listening?”
Noel shut his eyes in annoyance when Ocean’s squeaky voice intruded his ears. He could almost feel the headache forming, grimacing in preparation.
“What do you want!”
“We need you to lead the tenor section for this song, Noel.”
“Ocean for the last time I am the only tenor in this choir.”
“Well. Noooo…technically not. Now that Mischa is here- oh! and sweet Ricky Potts!”
Ricky looked up at that, typing something into his AAC advice. Noel glared at Ocean, walked over to Ricky, and read it.
“Ricky doesn’t sing. He plays the tambourine.” Noel declared impassively.
“That doesn’t matter!”
“Have you ever even heard Mischa sing? What if he can’t sing?”
“I am sure he can sing, I mean look at him! so! friendly looking!”
“Hey! I am best rapper in Saskatchewan!”
“Rapper?” Noel and Ocean questioned simultaneously.
“I do not sing. I rap. I am Bad Egg on YouTube… I am pretty popular in rap game.”
The room fell silent.
“Well, we all have our, talents.” Ocean strained.
“I think it’s pretty cool.” Noel lied. He did not care for rap, but he did care for disagreeing with Ocean.
“You think writing smut, is cool.”
“It’s poetry you little-“
“Guys, shouldn’t we practice?” Constance asked hesitantly. Her voice was immediately drowned out by the sound of two immovable forces arguing.
“Well, thanks to Ocean, there is no practice time left!”
“I was in the front office, getting Mischa.”
“He doesn’t even want to be here!”
“Do you two do this bullshit every day?” Mischa suddenly interrupted.
The following silence sorta answered the question itself.
“Maybe we practice separately, yeah?” Mischa, of all people, offered a solution.
“I practice with these two.” He motioned to Noel and Ricky.
“You two practice together. We meet up when we are good? That way, no more bitching.”
Ocean nodded profusely.
“Yes. Yes, great idea Mischa! You’re already making big steps! You’ll be great for the choir!” Ocean skipped over to Mischa, tapping him proudly on the shoulder, before hurrying back to the middle of the room.
“You three go practice in the music stand closet, we’ll be out here!”
Noel nodded and scurried into the closet, the other two boys following. Ricky took a seat in a corner of the room, and Mischa leaned against the now-closed door. Noel, still clutching his poetry journal to his chest, eyed Mischa.
“You’re not going to practice, are you?”
“No. But I just wanted you two to shut up. Too loud. You both have such high-pitched voices. Like rattling my skull.” Mischa grabbed out his phone and started texting someone. Noel made a mental note to look up “Bad Egg” on YouTube later.
“Hm! Well. Neither was I.” Noel admitted with a sheepish smile, taking a seat on a stack of lone chairs. He opened his journal again, jotting down ideas he’d collected in his brain when away from his pen.
Noel could get used to this.