Chapter Text
Nicky Hemmick waited impatiently, without showing any of his eagerness, a little away from the front door. Very surprised at himself, as nowadays nothing seemed to pull out any kind of reaction from him. Not his favorite food. Not even being allowed to stay home alone got him to blink anymore.
But today his little cousin was visiting him, more like his Aunt was coming to beg off money from his father, her only sibling and family left, other than her son. But he didn't care about their financial status as long as he could see Aaron just once, before he would be inevitably sent to the conversion camp, everyone at church was threatening him with.
The same camp he had heard horror stories about.
He shouldn't be, he knew that but everytime his parents do something extreme like this with the excuse of correcting his behavior, the astonished disbelief was a feeling he will never truly be able to contain. Like the dry sobs that scraped his throat, when he was made to fast without prior preparations.
The day had started, like any other. His door and the window in his room, wide open, that he could hear with startling clarity his parents getting ready. His mother in the kitchen while his father was reading aloud from the bible in the living room. The air of censured disdain that surrounds his parents, in his Aunt's presence had already penetrated through every murmured verse, before she had even stepped foot into the household.
Sometimes he thought, maybe Aunt Tilda had a point.
If a screaming match didn't start before lunch today, he bet, he would be cured of his homosexualness without any intervention from external forces.
Being a single child and all, his only experience in siblings was Aaron, his paternal cousin since his father didn't let him learn enough spanish to hold a decent conversation with his mother's side without the relentless teasing that would definitely follow for his pronunciation and accent.
He didn't get to see Aaron regularly either, each of them living almost a country away. In fact he could count the number of times they've actually met with just all of his fingers. And every time they eventually had to part ways in the rare occurrence they actually do meet, it was always too soon. And it always ended with Aaron kicking up a fuss that somehow managed to boost up Nicky's ego.
So it was always a treat when they were allowed to gather as a family, even though it was usually for a prayer meeting or something related to it. That made the whole event not complain-able.
The bell rang, pulling Nicky from his thoughts as he sprang up to the door only to be stopped by his father's sharp voice.
“Nicholas,” he nodded at his mother instead, a silent gesture for her to invite the guests in. Nevermind that she was all the way in the kitchen.
The door opened to reveal a sullen woman and her red-faced kid, squirming at the threshold before bland and very fake pleasantries were exchanged.
Aaron, who had no time for either of the women, toe-ed of his shoes, straightened it by kicking them and toddled towards Nicky with a toothy grin on his face, clutching a bag of chips in the crook of his elbow and a cardboard box pressed to his chest.
Nicky, from his post, a few feet away from the gathering that was taking place, could see that he was missing a tooth. The red T-shirt he had donned had a peeling print of a cartoon character he wasn't allowed to watch as a kid. And immediately knew Tilda was going to get lectured for that.
At seven years old, he was tiny looking, especially next to Nicky who was growing a foot every week. He looked like he had barely grown from the last time they saw each other, months ago. But his hair was longer and the bruises he had seen last time on his legs had faded. Bruises that did not look like he had been kneeling in rice, a favorite punishment his parents like to dole out whenever he stepped out of line.
At least Aaron was not his own brother, for that he would be eternally grateful. Sharing Luther and Maria as parents would've been hell.
The adults who had just now noticed Aaron's lack of greetings, pointedly stared at him and got his attention by a noise that can be passed as clearing of the throat.
His mother, who had made the sound, turned her disapproving glare at Tilda, who looked just as confused as Aaron when turned his head to search his mother's face for a clue to what to do next with all their eyes on him.
“Say hello and then we'll go to my room and play,” Nicky gently said, turning the little body towards the rest of the room, brushing his hair away from his face. He felt frail under his touch. He chalked it up to him being almost seven years younger than him.
“Hello Uncle Luther,” Aaron timidly waved, the ‘th’ of the name sounding wrong due to a fallen tooth, making it seem like he just called his uncle a loser. Nicky tried not to snicker as he then faced his mother “Hello Aunty Maria.”
He didn't wait for them to reply back, or to see his father turn to his sister with pursed lips at the sight of his clothes, making his way down the short hall to Nicky's bedroom. Sensing his movements being jerky, he steered him towards the hallway bathroom instead, turning on the light for him. Knowing his Aunt and her short temper, she would've made the last stretch of the trip without stopping anywhere.
Aaron carefully kept the box and the packet of chips on the sink counter with strict instructions for Nicky to not eat them. With a closer look, the box had messy uneven holes punched into it. Then asked Nicky for his help to untie the drawstrings on his shorts since he accidentally pulled the wrong side, knotting it tight.
Nicky then picked him up, expecting the squeal he lets out every time he does it and deposited him on the bed, when he did exactly that. He weighed less than what he did when he carried him last time. But that may as well be the muscles he himself had gained since joining the exy team and all.
Which he did at his father's insistence, due to it being a co-ed sport. And according to father, a wonderful opportunity for Nicky to overcome his sexuality.
Despite the age difference between them, they got along very well. Aaron babbling about anything and everything that came to his mind and Nicky humming sounds of acknowledgement here and there.
“Nicky, when I grow tall, I'm gonna pick you up and toss you out of the window” he threatened, very seriously, not at all put off by the manhandling. Before jumping off of the bed to retrieve the items he brought with him.
“Yeah, sure buddy” he automatically intoned at his retreating back, knowing there's no way he was gonna make it till then. He dumped the bag of chips by the door when he returned.
Being about a quarter the size of the person he was planning to maim didn't seem to deter him. Or asking for help to accomplish the task from the said person itself,“You have to teach me how to do that okay?”
And before he could form a reply, he opened the little box, extending it out rather proudly, “Nicky! I found him next to Kate's house, his name is Homie.”
A rather creative name, he thought, for a snail.
“You see that shell Nicky?” he continued when Nicky had yet to give a sign of his focus, knowing he didn't need one to know that it was there “It's is her home,”
“Wait really?” he prompted, for the lack of anything else to say. Then, “She?”
“Uh huh,” he gently tapped on the shell, picking it up once it retracted itself into its shelf. Shrugged an explanation “Kate wanted a girl snail. Look at it Nicky, she has everything inside, like the fridge and the couch,”
“That's so cool,” not bothering to sound excited. He knew exactly what kid's show Aaron learned that it had furniture and appliances in its shell. He was not going to disturb the fantasy.
His tone didn't seem to bother Aaron either, as he did not hesitate to take the reign of the next hour's conversation. Explaining Homie's existence with far more dramatics than it actually needed.
Apparently, he and his friend Kate had rescued it from their neighborhood, learned about its diet from a library book and were now providing a home to the mollusc that had its home attached to its back.
And oh, the name Homie came from that certain feature too.
Encouraged by Nicky's constant hums of approval he offered “Do you want to hold it?”
“Oh no, I don't want to dirty it,” his denial and lie, quick in place. But evidently the question was just for courtesy since the next second he was attacked by tearful doe-eyes for his polite refusal.
Which is how he ended up washing his hands to touch something far dirtier.