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Skizz found him sat outside of his apartment three days after Grian ran away.
They didn’t know each other; it was a complete coincidence that their paths even crossed. But looking back, Grian was pretty sure he would’ve died had he chosen to sit outside a different apartment block that night.
“Hey kid, you got anywhere to go tonight?” Grian pulled his hood back from where he’d left it over his eyes to see the older man crouched down by him. He was just far away enough that his appearance didn’t feel menacing, but close enough that only Grian could hear him.
He looked kind. It was that instant obvious kindness that Grian had maybe seen on a few adults’ faces before, but it was a rare sight.
“My husband and I live just up there,” He said, pointing to the building Grian was leaned up against and, if he were being honest, Grian didn’t even know it was an apartment building when he sat down, too tired to care, “We have a spare bed. And food.”
Grian didn’t respond, torn. For all he knew this guy was gonna kidnap him, or worse, send him back home as soon as he knew where that home was. But he was hungry, so much he actually had an appetite for the first time in a long while. The offer of food would’ve sold him on anything at that point.
So he nodded and reached out to be guided up. The man encased one of Grian’s hands with both of his and gently brought him into the building. He introduced himself as Skizz, a name that Grian would later cling to, though he barely registered it at the time. When they were stood outside one of the front doors, the man turned to Grian and spoke once more.
“I’m just letting you know before we go in that my husband, Impulse, and his nephew, Scar, are in the apartment,” Skizz said, “I don’t want them to spook you.”
Then he opened the door and the warm light from within flooded out into the hallway. Grian was almost beckoned in by it, and before he knew it, the door was closed behind him.
“I’ll keep it unlocked,” Skizz said, showing Grian that the doorhandle moved freely under his hand, “Just in case you ever want to leave.”
Grian nodded, though he still did a second take when Skizz moved further into the apartment, confirming to himself that the two door locks were in fact undone still. He turned back around to a look on Skizz’s face that wasn’t exactly pity.
Skizz continued to talk all the while Grian barely got a word out. Every time he opened his mouth Skizz would wait until he’d decided to shut it again before he returned to whatever he’d been talking about. It was inconsequential stuff. How his day had been, why their nephew was staying with them for the holidays, how much better his husband was at cooking. He talked about his job, that he was a therapist, which didn’t surprise Grian in the slightest. Things to distract Grian with, he supposed.
Grian did a better job at distracting himself by looking around the cluttered apartment and taking everything in. It was just a normal home, nothing out of the ordinary or particularly weird, but the general sense of life that stuck to every wall and ornament was overwhelming.
Eventually Skizz presented him with a small bowl of noodles, plain but filling. It was just what Grian needed in that moment, unsure how his body would react to much else. He was guided towards a small table to sit down and eat, Skizz sitting on the opposite side with his own bowl in front of him. That was when Skizz started asking Grian questions about himself. Though they weren’t the ones Grian expected.
“What’s your favourite colour?”
“How many marshmallows do you think you could stack on top of one another?”
“Do you think Jaffa cakes are a biscuit or a cake?”
The last one almost made Grian smile, and with the food now in him he felt like he might be able to again. Grian barely answered them, more intent on listening to the minute long monologues each question would pull out of Skizz as he talked through his opinions on the matter.
The most Skizz got from Grian was that he didn’t really have a favourite colour, but he thought maroon was nice. It depended on the size of the marshmallow. And Jaffa cakes are biscuits.
“But cake is in the name!” Skizz gawked at his answer playfully. He continued on his rant until Grian let a tiny almost unidentifiable smile out, which calmed the older man down enough to take a breath and stew in the silence for a moment.
“What’s your name?” He asked, using the same tone he had for all the other questions.
“Grian.” He answered. Grian didn’t know if that was a stupid decision or not, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to keep up the lie of a fake name for long. Instead to hide away anything else Skizz could use to send him back home if he wanted to, he chose another lie, “I’m eighteen.”
“Really?” Skizz asked, head tilting to the side ever so slightly, though it wasn’t an incredulous response, more intrigued, “You’ve got one hell of a case of baby face.”
Grian shrugged, trying to remain nonchalant about it, and they sat in a comfortable silence for a while.
“Now, I don’t know if you’ve noticed, but I’ve done this kind of thing before.” Skizz said, “Normally it’s more of a prearranged deal. Like a kid gets kicked out, they call me, we get them here, it’s a whole operation.”
The man explained, gesturing with his hands in a way Grian couldn’t really understand.
“Sometimes fate just brings a kid to our doorstep. Like tonight.” Skizz said, making eye contact with Grian, “But for me to be able to help you, you’re gonna have to talk to me. Let me know what happened, what you need, and I can work with that.”
Grian thought for a second. He’d already come up with somewhat of a sob story he was going to use when applying for jobs, the kind that would explain why he didn’t have a bank account or any ID, why he couldn’t go home to his parents, but not bad enough that the police would get involved, “My parents kicked me out because I’m gay. I just need a job.”
Skizz looked at him for a minute before responding, “Well, whilst I’m pretty sure you need more than just a job, if that’s what you want then that’s what you shall receive.”
The man got up from the table, walked down the hallway for a few paces before knocking on a door. There was a short, hushed conversation before Grian heard two pairs of footsteps making their return back to the kitchen.
“This is my husband, Impulse.” Skizz said, gesturing towards the other man, “He owns a bar a few streets away. They’re always looking for waitstaff.”
+++
Grian stayed over in the apartment that night, though he was a bit restless. He’d agreed to accompany Impulse to work the next day as a sort of trial shift, only after confirming that he could be paid in cash.
Skizz came into the spare room that morning with a pair of Grian’s jeans he’d somehow managed to wash, as well as a spare uniform top that the couple had lying around for Grian to wear. It was about midday when they were due to leave. He had a shower and ate a small breakfast at the table before they headed out.
On the walk there, Impulse talked him over a few things. He’d already mentioned that the bar he owned was called Secret Life, and whilst it wasn’t strictly a “gay bar” it did seem to attract similar clientele.
The place was a decent size, well-lit and rather classy from what Grian knew about bars, which admittedly was very little.
“This is Martyn, he’ll be training you today.” Impulse said pointing towards a young man pouring a drink from behind the bar. Martyn looked up at his name, waving at Grian, to which he felt compelled to wave back, “It won’t be too busy tonight, just some of our regulars maybe?”
“You’re lucky you didn’t get kicked out on a Friday or something, Saturday shifts are the worst.” Martyn laughed, and Grian suddenly realised that he’d probably been another kid Impulse and Skizz had helped. Impulse gave him a look and Martyn scoffed playfully, “Come on, did you expect me not to notice the new kid wearing your spares? He’s one of us for sure.”
“I expect you to be nice to him.” Impulse warned, leading Grian behind the bar.
“I will!” Martyn said, feigning offence, “I’m always nice.”
Impulse turned back to Grian, “I know I just said he’d be training you, but don’t listen to a single thing he says.”
Martyn cackled behind the man, pushing his hair back as he continued pouring drinks and placing them on a tray, “These are for a table who come in all the time, do you want to come and meet them…?”
Grian took a second to realise Martyn was waiting for his name, “Grian.”
The young man looked at him, only waiting a second or two to realise that he wasn’t going to get a last name, “Okay, follow me then, Grian.”
Grian did just that, staying directly next to Martyn as he left the bar and picked up the tray on his way over to a table in the back corner.
It was simple enough, Grian supposed. Martyn led him through the general order of things, how to use the till, how to pour drinks from the T-bars that littered the counter. He was told just to smile and not really think too hard about what a bunch of random drunk people babbled at him. To be nice, but not too nice.
“Don’t tell anyone how old you are.” Martyn suddenly said after looking at Grian for a long time, “They hear the teen in eighteen and suddenly all the weirdos come out of the woodworks, you know?”
Martyn explained, though he quickly assured Grian that Secret Life was a pretty safe place to work, even if there were some occupational hazards.
“Impulse is really strict when it comes to making sure we’re all okay, but he can’t police every person who so much as looks at us.” Martyn shrugged, “I think he would if it were possible.”
A few hours into his training and Martyn decided Grian was up to the task of working alone on a small section, just five tables near the bar that he, along with a few other servers, would pass pretty frequently if Grian ever needed help.
“Don’t be afraid to call me back over if you need anything.” Martyn said, before leaving Grian to swim on his own.
It was easy going for a few minutes, only two tables in the section Martyn had assigned him actually had anyone sat on them. One had three women, around their mid-forties, who just wanted a bottle of beer each that lasted them about an hour, so Grian didn’t need to check in on them much. The other however was a different story.
This one had a group of around seven young lads sat around it, already drunk when they arrived, who were on a tab and as such ordered randomly, never as a group, meaning Grian was almost constantly at their table either taking their order, or giving them their drinks.
They were clearly at Secret Life quite a lot, having memorised the drinks menu and taking great delight in sharing that fact with Grian. They seemed almost infatuated with the new hire, asking him all sorts of questions, most of which Grian managed to dodge or answer vaguely just to get them to nod and go back to talking to each other.
After a few more drinks however, the focus would turn back to Grian, and the cycle would start all over again.
“You’re adorable, I can see why Impulse picked you up.” One of the men at the table said, and Grian smiled awkwardly, unsure how he was meant to reply to that. It made him feel like cattle as he tried to take away some empty glasses left strewn across the table. He wouldn’t have attempted it, but at this point it was getting difficult to put any more drinks on the table without removing at least a couple.
“Aww, you’re so cute when you smile. Little dimples and everything.” Another said, poking Grian in the cheek and laughing.
Grian knew their words didn’t mean anything to them. The poke didn’t either. They were all smiling in a light-hearted, no harm meant kind of way that only drunk people could do. It wasn’t sinister at all, and Grian knew that. He’d seen sinister before.
That didn’t stop his brain from working against him, replacing those carefree faces with… other ones. The ones he thought he’d never have to see again. That’s why he left, wasn’t it? But they were still here, haunting him anyway. He didn’t know what was happening – was his brain punishing him for leaving? Home was bad, but at least he didn’t see things that weren’t there. In fact, he saw the things that were there very clearly.
He thought he was about to have a nervous breakdown, could feel the air slipping from his lungs even. Some of the faces trembled back to their original shapes, now looking slightly concerned. He felt as though he was going to fall through the floor when suddenly a shape flew across his vision.
“Hands off perverts, you know the rules.” A voice clattered in, along with a bright blue flash of hair as another server stood physically between Grian and the table, “Isn’t he a bit old for you anyway Steve?”
The other lads, the ones not named Steve Grian supposed, all erupted in cheers while one of them sat dead still among them, too stunned to speak. While they were distracted, the server who had interrupted them pulled Grian away and into the backroom where they kept the boxes of crisps for when they restocked.
“Don’t worry about them, those idiots try it on with all the newbies because they think they might just get away with it this time. Not on my watch, sick fuckers.” The man said, taking the time to hike his foot up onto the counter to re-tie his shoelaces. His light blue hair dropped in front of his eyes and, as he stood back up, he blew an annoyed breath at it to make the wayward strand behave once more, “I mean they come to the gay bar where all the servers are hurting, little twinks, what do you expect? But most of them are super normal about it most of the time.”
Scott huffed again, looking out to where the table they’d abandoned was, all of them still giggling over Steve’s misfortune.
“I’ll get Impulse to kick them out if you want me to, he doesn’t like it when people do things that make us uncomfortable,” Scott said, “And it’s pretty fun to watch him do it.”
“Thanks.” Grian said, letting a small smile show, even if he felt like the life had been drained from him, “It’s okay though, they were just having a laugh.”
“If you’re sure… I’m Scott, by the way.” The man said, shaking his head and then his hand with Grian briefly as he gave his name over as well, “Do you want me to stick around until Martyn comes back, or do you think you’ll be okay for a couple minutes?”
“I’ll be okay.” Grian said, not wanting to keep Scott away from his own responsibilities for too long, “Thank you again.”
“It’s no problem, we look out for each other here.” Scott said before reaching for a water bottle on the counter, “Drink some of this before you head back out onto the floor, okay?”
Scott left the small room, returning to his tables and, unbeknownst to Grian, looking for Martyn to kick his ass for leaving the new kid alone. Grian took a few small sips of water, breathed, and then left too.
The rest of his tables throughout the night were well behaved and sweet, and Grian wasn’t too sure if Scott had gone around the whole place and threatened everyone before Grian had a chance to greet them. From his small interaction with Scott, Grian wouldn’t put it past him.
He was nervous and inexperienced, and he could tell his tables knew that, but he found himself weirdly enjoying the shift anyway. He got better at pouring drinks as the night went on, and he managed to engage in a little banter with the tables over how bad he was when things did go wrong. He even got given a few tips that Martyn insisted he keep, even if they were technically meant to be divided up between everyone on the shift.
“You’re not officially an employee yet, pretend like they were just random people giving you money.” Martyn shrugged, practically shoving the notes into Grian’s jacket pocket.
Grian thanked him before leaving with Impulse back to his new life, slightly astounded by how right it all felt. The memories of the faces his brain had conjured up soon disappeared, just another hallucination in a long line of worse ones to come.
It was that night he would officially meet Impulse’s nephew Scar. He was the same age as Grian, though he had to pretend that Scar was a couple of years younger than him, and he was a bubbly kind of kid. He was staying with his uncles since Scar had moved to a sixth form nearby, and it was just easier.
Scar practically radiated the love he’d been given since the moment he opened his eyes, and while a small inkling of jealousy wrapped its way around his heart, Grian couldn’t help but feel happy for him anyway. It wasn’t like Scar was shoving the fact that his parents actually loved him in Grian’s face, if anything he was completely normal, and it was Grian’s situation that stood out.
Either way, loving parents or not, it was plain to see that Scar was a good person. He completely accepted that this random kid was going to be living with them for a bit, and almost immediately asked if Grian wanted to watch a movie with him. He agreed, laughing at Scar’s completely gobsmacked expression when he learned that Grian had never watched Star Wars, didn’t even really know what it was. It was from that point on that Scar made it his mission to fill Grian in on every pop culture moment he’d missed growing up. At the time, Grian would’ve said it was practically torture, but looking back he had to admit he enjoyed it.
+++
A few months later Grian padded out of his room, the spare room that Impulse and Skizz had given to him that now felt like his own, gripping a blanket around his shoulders. With his socks softly shuffling down the hall, and his slightly too big pyjamas on, he felt the most like a child he had done in a long while. It was ironic he supposed.
He found Impulse in the kitchen, making breakfast, and it all of a sudden felt very homey. Domestic even, the way families on TV looked sometimes. He had woken up with the thought of telling his boss how old he really was, though something in the back of his mind still forbade him from doing so, just in case Impulse wouldn’t let him work at Secret Life anymore. Instead, he’d decided to confess to the lesser of the two lies he’d told since meeting them.
“I wasn’t kicked out because I was gay.” Grian whispered, almost wishing it was loud enough that it still counted as a confession, but quiet enough that Impulse hadn’t actually heard him, “I ran away.”
“Skizz didn’t take you in because you were gay, Grian. He took you in because you needed help.” Impulse said, continuing to stir the pan.
“He thought that was the reason though.” Grian mumbled, slightly petulant that he’d been caught saying it.
“Skizz is observant.” Impulse shrugged, “He knows as much as I do that the look in a kid’s eyes when they’ve just been kicked out of their house is pretty distinct. He knows there’s some kind of betrayed feeling behind it, like there was a love there. And that it was suddenly ripped away. There’s a hollowness to it because that space used to be filled.”
Impulse continued to potter around the kitchen as he spoke.
“You never had that look.” He said, face appearing from behind a cabinet door as he pointed towards Grian with the wrong end of a spoon, “The betrayal, I mean. Like the love was never there to begin with, so it’s not hollow it’s just… empty.”
Grian stood, mouth slightly open and unmoving as Impulse continued to cook, oblivious to Grian’s inner turmoil. Or perhaps he was completely aware of it using the third all-seeing eye he clearly possessed.
“But what do I know,” Impulse said, shrugging again, “I’m not the therapist.”
Grian leaned against the doorframe, the blanket around his shoulders pulled even tighter now, and he watched as Impulse finished cooking. Vague flickers of something that wasn’t there danced around the kitchen, but Grian was too tired to focus on them.
“Go and let Skizz know breakfast is ready, G.”
And Grian padded off once more.
+++
A couple of years later, long after Grian had found his own small apartment, he still stayed over at Impulse and Skizz’s on the regular. Some of the time it was for the homecooked food made with far more skill than Grian could ever hope to achieve, and other times it was to see Scar. He refused to admit that it was more likely to be Scar the more time went on.
The day he turned eighteen, however, he slept over for a different reason entirely. He’d decided that the man who’d saved his life deserved to know how old he actually was. And, for one of the first times in his life, he didn’t feel scared to admit he’d been lying. Skizz was a good person, the kind Grian was learning there were far more of than he’d ever imagined when he was still holed up in his parents’ house.
“I wasn’t eighteen when we met. I was still sixteen and I lied because I thought you’d call the police, and then I kept lying in case Impulse wouldn’t hire me.” Grian said, trying to remain in this calm place he was almost getting used to. He was sitting on the sofa, warm mug in hand with Skizz sat next to him. They were watching some American show that Grian hadn’t been majorly paying attention to, a cop drama, maybe?
“I know.” Skizz said, as though commenting on the weather as he held one arm around Grian. His only movement was a slight tilt of the head so he could make eye contact with the boy, “I knew.”
Grian nodded, at this point he was used to Skizz knowing things about him before he even knew them himself. They sat in a quiet hum for a few minutes, vaguely watching the show again before Grian spoke once more.
“I turned eighteen this morning.” Grian said, “For real this time.”
“Well,” Skizz sighed and withdrew his arm, turning the TV off, “We better go and find you a birthday cake then.”
They were out of the door before Grian had really figured out what was going on, Skizz piling him into his car without another word. Skizz had to practically torture an answer out of Grian for his preferred cake flavour when they made it to a small bakery about ten minutes away, refusing to let him look at any prices, just at the window display.
Eventually, Grian mumbled out “red velvet” since the red colour reminded him of his favourite sweater that Scar had bought for him, and Skizz retreated into the shop to buy it.
And just like that, they were back in the apartment with the lights off and Skizz opened a drawer to pull out a one and an eight candle and a lighter.
“Why’d you have those?” Grian asked, since it wasn’t like the candles looked used already, and Grian was pretty sure from the amount of times he’d seen the contents of that drawer that Skizz didn’t keep a set of number candles in there.
“I already said I knew you weren’t eighteen yet.” Skizz said, placing the eighteen into the white frosting and lighting the ends, “But I also knew you would tell me one day. And even if you were thirty and still claiming you were thirty-two, I would’ve done this to celebrate anyway.”
The tiny light from the burning candles lit up Skizz’s face in the dark, and he smiled as he nodded towards them.
“Happy Birthday, Grian.” He said, grinning as Grian bent down to blow out the flames, sending them back into darkness for a second before Skizz leaned over to turn the main light back on, “Did you make a wish?”
Grian nodded. Though, for the first time in his life, he knew it was already coming true.