Chapter Text
The memory unfolded like a curtain rising softly, receding in time with the delicacy of a sigh, until stopping on a late autumn afternoon, when leaves fell like fragments of an undone dream and the air carried the fresh aroma of damp earth. Elias's room was a refuge of ordered chaos, where each corner seemed to whisper an unfinished story. The light from outside, filtered through a half-open window, spilled in golden rays cutting through the dimness, illuminating specks of dust dancing like miniature constellations.
The floor was splattered with crumpled papers and scattered sketches, some traced with fury, others with lines so delicate they seemed to contain ideas still gestating. On the desk, a tumult of watercolors and brushes rested in a disorder distilling creativity, next to a couple of framed drawings Elias had created months ago: an abstract landscape seeming to vibrate with contained emotions and a pencil portrait of a face he still didn't dare share.
On a shelf, a photograph observed them in silence: him and Alex, captured in laughter under a tree, their faces illuminated by a complicity needing no words. In the room's center, in front of an easel holding a half-painted canvas, Elias immersed himself in his world. His hands, stained with blues and ochres, held a brush with the reverence of someone caressing a fragile memory. He painted without fixed direction, letting colors flow like extensions of his soul, each stroke an attempt to capture something unnameable, a preparation for the work that should impress Professor Sirunyan, whose demands were as feared as inspiring.
In his mind, forms intertwined with emotions: the canvas was a mirror where uncertainty and longing merged in hesitant brushstrokes. Painting stripped him of armor, forcing him to face questions he avoided articulating. What did he seek to express with each color? What part of himself did he leave in those lines? The room's silence was his ally, a sanctuary where he could exist without justifications, just him and the canvas.
Two dry knocks on the door broke the spell, yanking him from his introspection with a start. Elias frowned, a flash of annoyance crossing his face as he left the brush in a glass of murky water, the bristles releasing a blue thread dissolving like an ephemeral thought.
—Yes?—he said, his voice tinged with a neutrality disguising slight impatience: not irritated, but curious.
—Son?—Luk's voice, his father, arrived from the other side, soft, but with an undertone of caution. The door opened slowly, and Luk poked his head in, his eyes traveling the room's disorder before settling on Elias. —Hello, love, how are you?—he asked, entering with careful steps, as if fearing to alter the space's balance. His gaze, warm, but with a nervous tinge, sought his son's.
Elias sighed, leaving the brushes and cleaning his hands on a stained rag hanging from the easel.
—Fine, dad, what's up?—he responded, his tone neutral but accompanied by a slight eyebrow arch, as if gauging the visit's motive. An internal voice whispered his father brought more than casual chat.
Luk took another step, his gaze falling on the canvas.
—It's looking really nice—he said, pointing at the painting with a smile wanting to be relaxed, though his fingers drummed restlessly against his leg.
—What?—Elias blinked confused, until he followed his father's hand direction and understood. —Oh, yes, the painting. Thanks, dad, though I still have a lot to do—he responded, his voice tinged with slight discouragement, as if words reflected his own doubts. He shrugged, minimizing the effort.
—Well, but it's going to be incredible, you're on the right track—Luk insisted, his smile wide but sustained with an effort betraying his nervousness.
The silence that followed was dense, charged with an unease floating like an invisible current. Elias perceived it instantly, his impatience growing like a slow but implacable tide.
—Is something wrong, dad?—he asked, his voice more direct, cutting the silence with a mixture of curiosity and exasperation.
Luk let out a nervous giggle, running a hand through his hair.
—Ah, yes, sorry, I'm a bit distracted today. Um... could you come to the living room for a moment? Your mom and I want to talk to you about something—he said, trying to sound natural, but his words stumbled, revealing his unease.
Elias raised an eyebrow, his confusion palpable.
—Ok? About what?—he asked, his tone now more hesitant, as if exploring uncertain terrain.
—Uh... about something, it's not a big deal, love. But it's still important. Just come, it's nothing bad—Luk responded, turning toward the door, his posture tense as if wanting to accelerate the moment. There was a subtle urgency in his voice, impossible to ignore.
—Alright—Elias conceded, with a hint of reluctance mixed with uncertainty.
He stood up, leaving the canvas like an interrupted thought. He followed his father with cautious steps, his boots resonating softly against the wooden floor. Both advanced wrapped in a shared insecurity, as if crossing a bridge that could give way at any moment. Descending the stairs, the air became heavier, each step a step toward the unknown.
In the living room, Elias found his mother, Nathalie, sitting at the dining table, her figure serene as a still lake. Her hands rested crossed on the table, her expression ethereal, as if nothing could disturb her. That calm of hers, which usually anchored everyone around her, offered no comfort now; on the contrary, it amplified the strangeness enveloping Elias. His eyes sought hers, seeking answers, but the room's silence only returned questions.
The space was plunged in a stillness magnifying every sound: the distant tick-tock of a wall clock, the slight creak of the chair under Nathalie's weight. She looked up when Elias entered, her face illuminated by a maternal smile dissipating tensions like a balm.
—Hello, love—she said, her voice soft and serene, as if inviting trivial chat instead of something already making Elias's stomach twist.
—Hi, mom. What's going on?—he responded, approaching the table with a bewildered expression he couldn't hide, his eyes alternating between his mother and his father, who sat next to her with a rigid movement, as if the chair were a challenge.
—Sit down, son, it's nothing serious. We just want to talk to you about a topic—Nathalie explained, her tone imperturbable, though her eyes flashed with an empathy Elias instantly recognized.
Luk, beside her, drummed his fingers on the table, his nervousness as evident as strong perfume. Elias observed them a second more, his confusion growing, before fixing his gaze on the chair in front of them. With deliberate slowness, as if each movement were a weighty decision, he pulled out the chair and sat, crossing his arms on the table, facing them.
—Ok...—he murmured, settled, feeling exposed under their gazes. —So?—he added, arching an eyebrow in a gesture mixing defiance and curiosity.
Luk cleared his throat, leaning forward, his hands clasped as if preparing for a confession.
—Um, well, son, we wanted to talk to you about certain... how to say it? Topics, uh... about you and Alexander, and what that...—His words tangled, his face reddening as he avoided Elias's eyes, as if Alex's name were mined terrain.
—What about Alexander?—Elias interrupted, his voice rising with an edge of alarm and defense, his shoulders tensing as if preparing for assault.
—No, no, it's not about Alex, I expressed myself wrong, it's just...—Luk tried, waving his hands, wanting to retract, but his words tangled even more, turning his explanation into gibberish. His face was a map of awkwardness, with a forced smile not reaching his eyes.
—Oh, no... I already know what this is about—Elias said suddenly, his eyes opening upon understanding, a blush climbing his neck as he sank into the chair, discomfort hitting him like a cold gust.
—No, son, this isn't like last time, it's just...—Luk insisted, his voice rising in a desperate attempt to regain control, but he ran out of words, looking at Nathalie with a childish plea. The silence that followed was almost comical, with Luk frozen, waiting for rescue. —Love, help me here—he added, with a nervous laugh betraying his panic.
Nathalie, containing laughter making her eyes shine, nodded with empathy, as if managing a clumsy partner in a waltz.
—What your father is trying to say is we want to talk to you about sexuality and intimacy—Nathalie explained with her characteristic calm.
Her words fell like soft thunder, but for Elias they were a cataclysm; his face lit up an intense red, his hands gripping the chair's edges.
—Seriously? Oh, mom, no, not again! Plus I already know the talk by heart—he protested, his voice a nervous shriek, covering his face with one hand while the blush spread to his ears, a mixture of annoyance and pure embarrassment.
—Son, wait. This is different—Luk intervened quickly, raising his hands in a pacifying gesture, though his own anguish vibrated in his voice.
—How?—Elias replied, lowering his hand to look at him with skepticism.
Nathalie sighed softly, crossing her hands on the table.
—Because now we'll talk about it calmly, all together, as a family. We want you to feel safe here; no one will judge you—Nathalie said, casting a sidelong glance at Luk, who nodded vehemently, though his expression screamed the opposite. —So, you should trust us—she added, returning to Elias with soft but firm determination.
—Yes, but mom, I don't think it's necessary—Elias murmured, settling in the chair with a theatrical sigh, looking away toward the window. His annoyance was evident, but was beginning to crack, like a mask that no longer fit.
—Son, listen to me—Luk said, leaning with a sudden seriousness cutting the air, his tone now more genuine. —I know it's uncomfortable, but it's important. Everything we do is for your good, to really help you.
His words resonated with sincerity, and Elias felt slight relief, though his expression remained a mixture of defiance and reluctance.
—He's right—Nathalie added, with her slight and reassuring smile. —They're conversations that help us all, and who knows, maybe you'll find something useful here. Maybe you'll even learn something new.
—At school they talk to us about this all the time, mom—Elias counterattacked, seeking a shield, his tone still with a hostile edge.
—But this is different—Nathalie responded without flinching. —Here you're in a safe place, we understand you and know you better than anyone. You know you can tell us anything, right?
—Ugh, yes, mom, I know—Elias yielded with feigned annoyance, rolling his eyes in a theatrical gesture betraying his partial surrender. He knew it was true, though admitting it cost him.
—Besides, I'm sure at school they don't answer all your doubts, right?—Nathalie insisted, her voice curious.
—Maybe...—Elias murmured, agreeing for the first time, his hostility dissipating like fog in sun. Internally, doubts bubbled: questions about intimacy he'd buried under layers of pride, thoughts assaulting him when thinking of Alex, but that he didn't dare articulate.
—Then let us help you, and that's it. I promise it won't be so uncomfortable, love—Nathalie said, taking his hand for an instant, her touch warm and maternal, offering a tender smile anchoring him.
—Fine, okay, let's do it—Elias accepted with a resigned sigh, relaxing his posture in the chair.
—Perfect—Nathalie sighed, exchanging a quick glance with Luk before returning to her son with affection and determination. —As we told you, we want to talk to you about sexuality and all that.
—Yeah...—Elias responded, awaiting impact, his fingers drumming under the table.
—Well, then. Son, I'll ask you this, and I hope you're honest, because we're your parents and it's nothing bad, okay?—Nathalie continued, her tone neutral but empathetic.
Elias felt a knot of nerves forming, his worry growing like a shadow.
—Ok...—he said, surprised, impatient for what would come.
—Have you and Alexander already had sexual relations?
The question fell with the same naturalness as if she'd asked about the weather. The silence that followed was deafening, broken only by Luk's muffled gasp and Elias's explosive blush, whose face went from pink to scarlet in an instant. Luk coughed, covering his mouth as if the words had hit him, his eyes open in a mixture of horror and contained fascination.
—What!? Mom, you said it wouldn't be uncomfortable!—Elias exclaimed, his voice breaking in a shriek, half-rising before collapsing back in the chair, his hands covering his face to hide embarrassment. It was a tragicomic scene: a teenager caught in the spotlight of the most mortifying conversation imaginable.
—Love, it's nothing bad—Nathalie responded, her calm intact, though a gleam of amusement peeked in her eyes, trying to save the moment with her serenity.
—Yes, I guess, but God, mom! I'm 14! Obviously not!—Elias exploded, his embarrassment so dense it seemed to fill the room, waving his hands as if he could dissipate the charged air. He knew it was true—nothing had happened with Alex, though fleeting thoughts had crossed his mind on lonely nights—but verbalizing it was like exposing himself completely.
—It's okay, I believe you, love—Nathalie said with a nod, as if confirming a minor suspicion.
—Are you sure, son?—Luk intervened, his curiosity escaping before he could contain it, his eyebrows arched in a mixture of concern and irrational fear.
—Dad! I haven't had sex! Or anything like that!—Elias replied, with genuine anger tinged with indignation, his eyes throwing daggers while the blush persisted.
—Luk, he's telling the truth—Nathalie subtly reaffirmed, her voice an anchor of calm, though Luk shrank under her gaze.
—Yes, I know, love. Eli, I believe you, it's okay. Sorry—Luk said, laughing nervously, looking at his son and trying to lighten the moment with a clumsy gesture. —The question is strong, right? But it's not as important as you think, it was just necessary to clarify things.
—Dad, I don't understand anything you're saying. What things?—Elias asked, his annoyance returning, though now mixed with genuine curiosity, his posture less defensive.
—Love, what your father means is your relationship with Alex—Nathalie explained, leaning with a reassuring gesture. —We've noticed what you have is different from what you had with Valerie. That's why we wanted to talk to you about this. It is different, isn't it?
Elias kept silent, reflecting, his nervousness transforming into something more introspective. He knew the answer: with Valerie, despite his affection for her, their relationship had been nothing more than an empty experiment; with Alex it was a slow fire, something consuming him and making him vibrate. That his parents noticed it so clearly disconcerted him.
—Yes, maybe—he finally admitted, sighing while scratching his neck. —But it's still weird you ask that.
—It doesn't have to be—Nathalie continued with a soft smile. —What's important is that what you have feels stronger, you like it and love him very much. That's beautiful, love. It's a very nice feeling; we know, because your father and I have it too. But there's a whole physical and emotional aspect that at your age can be complex, and you need help understanding it. Do you think there are things you still don't understand?
Another silence settled, and Elias reflected honestly. His pride still stung, but he knew she was right: doubts about prolonged kisses, touches igniting sparks, emotions disorienting him.
—Yeah—he finally yielded, his voice lower, embracing vulnerability.
—See? That's why these questions are necessary—Nathalie said, satisfied. —And it's okay, you're young, but who knows: at your age, what you feel and hormones provoke things you can't even imagine.
—Mom...—Elias groaned, blushing again, though with less alarm, covering his eyes with an embarrassed smile.
—I know nothing has happened, but I'm just saying—Nathalie continued, her tone practical but affectionate. —It's something that happens; kids even younger than you have had relations, and it's not bad. But it has to be done responsibly, that very probably has been forgotten by those kids. Using protection, for example, to avoid diseases or unplanned pregnancies... though in your case, with Alex, that last part doesn't apply, but the principle is the same: taking care of each other.
—Exactly—Luk intervened, trying to recover ground, his voice firmer but still trembling. —And emotionally, son, it's key to talk about everything. Not rushing, making sure you're both ready. Consent comes first; no one should pressure anyone.
He leaned, his hands gesturing with forced enthusiasm betraying his discomfort. Elias nodded slowly, his fingers drumming on the table, initial embarrassment yielding to cautious curiosity.
—Yes, I guess it makes sense—Elias murmured, his tone less defensive, eyes drifting toward the window as if seeking momentary refuge in the twilight filtering in amber tones. —At school they talk about condoms and that, but it always sounds like a cold class, like it's a biology exam.
His voice carried a hint of weariness, but also a curiosity making its way, timid, through the cracks of his discomfort.
Nathalie let out a soft laugh, a sound lightening the air like a breeze dissipating a long day's heat.
—Here it's not a cold class, love; it's family. Ask us whatever you want. For example, what worries you most? The physical side, like how it feels, or the emotional, like what happens after?
Her words were a bridge, carefully laid so Elias could cross without fear. He shifted in the chair, the blush returning, but more contained, his hands gripping the table's edges as if needing to anchor himself.
—Uh... everything, I guess—he admitted in a whisper, his eyes fixed on the wood's grain, as if it could reveal an answer he didn't yet have. —Like... how do you know if you're really ready? And... I don't know, does it hurt or something?
His voice broke on a vulnerable note, and he sank a bit more into the chair, embarrassment making him wish the conversation would dissolve like colors in his murky water glass.
—It's a great question, love—Nathalie said, nodding with approval distilling calm, as if commenting on a plant's growth in her garden. —Knowing if you're ready comes from the heart: you feel trust, you're excited, but not pressured, and you can talk about it openly with the other person. Physically, the first time can be uncomfortable for anyone, no matter the orientation; it's like learning to ride a bike, with its initial stumbles. With patience and, well, depending on what you want to do, with a bit of lubricant, everything flows better.
She smiled with a lightness softening the topic's weight.
—But the emotional weighs more: afterward, you can feel closer to the other person or, sometimes, confused. Talking about it always helps untangle those knots.
Luk nodded vehemently, though his face was a map of discomfort, his eyes jumping between Nathalie and Elias as if fearing to get lost in the conversation.
—Your mom is right—Luk intervened, his voice striving to sound firm, though a tremor betrayed him. —And always use protection, son. Condoms. Have they talked to you about STDs at school? They're horrible, son... I at your age didn't know anything about that, I could have committed many... uh, irresponsibilities. I was lucky, look at me, here I am, married and happy.
He attempted a laugh, but it came out like a nervous croak, and he added, without measuring consequences:
—Imagine not taking care and ending up with something like... an infection, and having to explain that to Alex's dad!
Elias blinked, the absurd image hitting him like a badly told joke, his face contorting in a grimace of disgust and contained laughter.
—Dad! Seriously!?—he exclaimed, his voice oscillating between nervous laughter and pure horror.
The conversation, which had found a fragile rhythm, wobbled; Luk's awkwardness had taken the topic to grotesque terrain, and Elias couldn't avoid imagining scenarios making him want to disappear.
—Uh, it was just an example, son, so you see how serious it can be. You think this is uncomfortable? It's nothing compared to that—Luk stammered, his cheeks reddening while Nathalie looked at him with a raised eyebrow, containing laughter that was more an attempt to dissipate her astonishment at her husband's awkwardness.
—Ok, dad, I got it, but can we not talk about that, ever?—Elias replied, his tone annoyed, but lighter, the blush persisting like an echo on his face. He looked at Nathalie as if seeking refuge in her calm.
—Of course, love, let's leave that behind—Nathalie said, her voice a balm smoothing the moment's edges. —I more than anything want to talk to you about something else, which is important: that you understand sex isn't just physical; it's also emotional. With Alex, it seems you have something very special, and that's beautiful, but it can also be overwhelming. Have you ever felt things with him go too fast, or that you don't know how to handle what you feel?
Elias stayed silent, his fingers playing with the table's edge, as if the wood's touch could help him order his thoughts.
—Sometimes, yes—he admitted, his voice low, as if letting out something fragile he'd kept too long. —Like... I don't know, sometimes we're together and everything's incredible, but then I think, what if I do something wrong? Or if he expects something... more?
His words were a whisper, charged with a vulnerability making the air feel denser. Nathalie nodded, her eyes full of an empathy seeming to wrap him.
—It's completely normal, love. Those doubts are part of any relationship, especially one as intense as yours with Alex. The key is talking about it with him. If something worries you, tell him. Relationships are built with communication, not just kisses and hugs.
Luk cleared his throat, clearly uncomfortable but determined not to stay on the sidelines.
—Yes, and, uh, speaking of that, son... it's not that we want to meddle, but... you and Alex spend a lot of time in his room, don't you?—he said, his words stumbling as if walking on a path full of stones. —I'm not saying you're doing anything wrong, but, I don't know, it would be good if... you left the door open from time to time, yes? So things don't... get complicated.
Elias froze, his eyes opening as if they'd just turned a spotlight on him, the blush returning with an intensity painting his face an almost luminescent red.
—What? Dad!—he exclaimed, his voice an indignant shriek resonating in the room. —Seriously? We don't do anything weird in the room!
His hands flew to his face, covering it as if he could hide from mortification. Embarrassment was a physical weight, oppressing his chest as he tried to process the insinuation.
—Luk, please—Nathalie intervened, her tone serene, but with an edge of reproach, her lips trembling from contained laughter. —What your father means is we want you to be in spaces where you feel free, but also safe. It's not distrust, we just want you to be careful.
—Careful of what! You yourself said it's nothing bad—Elias replied, now more annoyed than embarrassed, his voice rising a tone while gesticulating with exasperation. —We just talk, listen to music, or I draw while he plays guitar! It's not like we're...!
He stopped, unable to complete the phrase, his face a whirlwind of emotions, caught between indignation and disbelief.
—Son, it's okay, we believe you—Nathalie said quickly, extending a hand to calm him, her gesture an anchor in the storm. —We just want you to understand that, at your age, things can escalate without you realizing. We don't think badly, we just want you to be prepared.
Luk, however, didn't catch the signal to stop, his clumsy enthusiasm pushing him to continue.
—You see, son, it's that sometimes hormones are like... a car without brakes, you know? Once you start, boom! You can't stop, and then you're in trouble, like when I was young and almost got into trouble for not thinking...
He stopped abruptly, realizing he'd crossed a line, his face reddening while Nathalie looked at him with a mixture of disbelief and exasperation, her eyes saying "stop" without need for words.
—Trouble? What are you talking about, dad?—Elias asked, now more curious than angry, though discomfort still weighed in his chest like a stone. His eyebrows rose, a spark of interest peeking between embarrassment.
—Uh, nothing, nothing, just... a university anecdote, doesn't matter—Luk stammered, waving his hands as if he could erase his words from the air. —I'm just saying, you and Alex are young, and sometimes you get carried away, and... imagine if Marc walks in and finds you in something! It would be a disaster! Better keep the door open, right?
—Ugh, ok, I got it!—Elias exclaimed, jumping up from the chair, his eyes wide as plates, embarrassment and anger fusing in a storm making him vibrate. —Dad, that's the most ridiculous thing you've said! We're not doing anything! And now you make me feel like... I don't know, a criminal!
His voice was a shriek, his hands gesticulating wildly as he looked at his parents, incredulous at the situation.
—Son, wait...—Luk tried, his voice fading under the weight of his own awkwardness.
—No, dad, this is too much! And I'm busy!—Elias interrupted, already walking toward the stairs, his face red as a traffic light, heart beating with a mixture of indignation and mortification.
—Eli, stop right there—Nathalie ordered, her voice acquiring a surprising authority stopping him dead on the first step.
There was a firmness in her tone contrasting with her usual calm, and Elias turned his head, his cheeks still flushed, waiting.
—Before you go, I want you to know something important. If someday you and Alex want to take a further step, like having relations, there's nothing wrong with that. It's not forbidden, and we don't want you to feel it's something shameful, or bad. We just ask you to be honest with us, if it's necessary to tell us so we can help you do it safely and responsibly. And if you do it without telling us, I know that's most likely, but I really hope you've gotten something from our words, and be responsible. Understood, love?
Her words resonated in Elias like a deep echo, not just for the implicit permission, but for the trust they distilled, a trust that, though still seeming distant, felt like an invisible embrace. He nodded slowly, his anger softening for an instant, replaced by a mixture of relief and vulnerability.
—Yes, mom, understood—he murmured, though discomfort was still there, amplified by the absurd image Luk had painted, still fluttering in his mind like a bad joke.
—Ok, then go, love. We'll talk more when you want—Nathalie added, her smile warm and free of any hostility, while Luk only nodded, clearly relieved but aware of his blunder.
Elias climbed the steps two at a time, the conversation's echo pursuing him like a shadow. Each step resonated on the wooden floor, a rhythm marking his flight toward his room's refuge. The talk, though useful in fragments, had been a whirlwind of awkwardness and uncomfortable truths, and he needed his canvas's silence to recompose himself. Closing the door behind him, his room's ordered chaos received him like an old friend, scattered sketches and the easel waiting for him as if nothing had changed. But something had changed: his parents' words, clumsy or not, had planted a seed, one that would germinate in questions he couldn't ignore.
Luk sank into his chair, running a hand over his face, his expression a mixture of defeat and comedy.
—I did it wrong again, didn't I?—he murmured, looking at Nathalie with eyes asking for clemency.
She sighed, but her smile was warm, despite slight anger peeking in her eyebrows.
—A bit, love, but you tried. Give him time, he'll come talk to us again when he's ready—she responded, her voice a balance between reproach and comfort. She leaned slightly, resting a hand on Luk's, a gesture saying that, despite everything, they were together in this.