chapter twenty-two - surprise

I'm just prefacing this chapter by apologizing for all the confusion! I published and unpublished this chapter yesterday and I'm really sorry to those who were disappointed or thought it was their electronics' fault! I hope you can all forgive me 😅 Enjoy the chapter!

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chapter twenty-two — surprise

IT WASN'T GOING TO PLAN, BUT IT WAS STILL PERFECT. I'd been hoping for sun and chirping birds, but I got a misty morning and screaming teenage boys. Marco was opening the windows, the haze of smoke surrounding the kitchen getting effectively vacuumed out as he flapped at it frantically with a placemat. DJ helped him, his flowery apron clearing itself of flour as he shook it outside. The dust and the smoke mingled, separating as one chose to fly and the other settled grimly on the ground. Roger emerged from the fray victorious, soda bread safely balanced on his oven mitts.

Soda bread was Mum's favorite and today was her birthday: I was going all out.

Or as all out as Lukas was letting me so I didn't drop dead before Mum even came home for the surprise.

"This smells delicious," Roger admitted, carefully putting it aside, "I don't know how you did it, Lukas, but it looks really good"

"Thanks!" Lukas grinned, popping up off the floor. We'd spilled some of the buttermilk on the tiles and Lukas had been mopping it up, tossing the wad of paper towels into the bin casually. It was subtle, but I caught the goofy little smile he gave himself when he made the shot like he was some kinda NBA legend.

It's only a foot away, you doofus.

"I added extra raisins 'cause I know your Mom likes it that way"

Lukas' arm wrapped around my shoulders, pulling me into his side as I squirmed. He was getting more handsy recently and it was annoying, although, maybe not that annoying. Lukas laughed, letting me go and I bounced against the counter, the corner digging into my hip. It hurt a little, but I didn't really give a shit. My bruises from basketball were starting to lessen since I had access to the indoor court now and, though hardwood could be a bitch, it was much more forgiving than blacktop speckled with broken, beer glass.

"This would go wonderfully with my brownies" Marco nodded sagely, giving up his post as smoke-wafter and sidling up to the soda-bread slyly. Roger eyed him apprehensively, protectively stacking the mitts next to the tray like a little wall.

"Marco, I don't trust your brownies," Roger poked at the plate Marco had brought in. Marco's brownies were unbearably shitty looking— misshapen and coated with green clover-shaped sprinkles. Apparently, he thought it was St. Patrick's day even though it was the middle of fucking September.

"I told you, I gave up pot," Marco frowned stubbornly, only moving away from the food when DJ reassured him with a few pats in his shoulder. Each pat left a white handprint on Marco's shirt, back starting to look like he'd tried playing pattycake with a ghost. Marco looked stupidly pleased, heading to the bathroom to wash flour off his hands.

He didn't see DJ pop one of the offending brownies into his mouth.

"All good," DJ hummed, licking at his fingers, "They're not that bad"

I still don't trust them.

DJ shrugged at my expression, wiping his hands down the front of the apron and following Marco into the bathroom. I scowled, moving Marco's brownie into a less obvious place by the rest of the unimportant snacks. We'd gotten salt and vinegar chips and I'd cut up some vegetables to have with ranch. I had pork chops, salad, and smashed potatoes on standby. Pizza too because why not. And Fanta. Mum loves orange soda. The guys had helped me make a party playlist for her too, based off of the many albums and dusty CDs that sat in our basement. It was mainly the Beatles, Bowie, and U2, but there were some artists I didn't know all too well in there too.

"Relax," Lukas' arm wrapped around my shoulders again and I nodded lazily, scanning the kitchen. My hands started to fidget, pulling at the peeling skin by my fingernails. Sometimes they'd come off in ribbons and leave pink tracks down my knuckles like subway lines.

"You're a great cook and your Mom is gonna love everything," Lukas pulled my hands apart.

Roger nodded in agreement, sneaking a few chips from the bowl. There were a few bottles of wine in the corner, Mum's favorite brands, and I'd made a semi-ratty-looking bouquet this morning of her favorite flowers. She'd insisted she didn't want anything, but I'd gotten her a little garden gnome for the backyard. Lukas had helped pick it out. Okay, this is good. Relax.

It'll protect you from danger, Lukas had said, thrusting the glazed, bearded, ceramic figure into my hands.

It's the guardian. The chosen one.

I chuckled to myself, the recent memory stupid as all hell. The gnome was fucking ugly, but Mum had loved it to death, named it Godrick, and promptly put it in charge of the basil.

Relax. But I couldn't, my shoulders still stretched taut like a wind-up toy's.

"Hey," Roger poked me in the side and I turned, eyebrows cinching up.

Shit, did he sneeze in the chips?

"You're a great cook and all Kieran, but—"

Oh fuck, he definitely sneezed in the pork chops. Motherfucking Roger Lee. Fucking Roger fucking Le—

"Your Mom would probably like it even more if you didn't constantly look like you stepped in shit. You know, smile"

What? Oh.

I attempted a smile, my eyebrows still knit tight together. My lips vaguely pulled up and Roger grinned encouragingly. He patted my cheek, formally shaking Lukas' hand behind me before bowing lowly. He had a shit-eating grin plastered across his face when he straightened up, tossing a quirky salute at Lukas and me as he gathered his stuff.

"I'm off, gotta be home soon. Tell your Mom I wish her a 'happy birthday', Kieran!"

I nodded absently, smile eating away at the flesh of my face. The front door shut and it dropped off completely, my comfortable scowl returning and lounging above my chin.

"What time is it now? Four?" DJ and Marco emerged from the bathroom, Marco looking incredibly pleased, maybe twice as much as when he'd gone in. There were flower handprints on his shoulders and I stared at them confused.

"We gotta get going, this idiot forgot he had work again," DJ slapped the back of Marco's head not-too-lightly, taking off the flowery apron and tossing it to Lukas. Lukas started to meticulously fold it, failing catastrophically and tucking it over by the pantry when he thought I wasn't looking.

My chest felt unnaturally full and I nodded with a lump in my throat, starting back when Marco lunged at me, arms open.

"Tell your Ma I said 'happy birthday'!" He cheered, choking me in a tight hug.

Marco hugged differently than Lukas: there was none of Schmitt's careful handling and soft warmth. It was more like an overgrown weed had decided to ensnare me, lanky limbs locking around my head and shoving my head too-close to where his armpit was. He didn't smell too bad strangely enough, more like charcoal and sprinkles. Something fruity too, but beneath it all, he was still a teenage boy and smelled pungently like that if I sniffed hard enough.

I hugged him back, hesitantly, and his chin clicked against my shoulder as his smile spread.

"You like hugs now, man?"

I shoved him so hard he hit the wall, but his smile just grew into a cackle. DJ rolled his eyes, waving at Lukas and me as he hooked an arm around the hyena and dragged him over to the front door. Lukas nudged my shoulder with his own secret smile and I threw a kitchen towel at him, huffing when he caught it.

"Shut up," I hissed, turning away when Marco made a kissy-face. I turned back to face him when he made a weird, smooching sound only to see DJ's palm pressed up against Marco's face apathetically. DJ rubbed his hand on his pants as Marco spluttered, speechless for the first time since his conception.

I like hugs. Even Marco's scrawny-ass hugs. Not a big deal.

"Sorry," DJ apologized for his rabid friend, "See you guys later, hope the surprise goes well!"

Not a big deal.

Lukas shut the door behind them, stretching his arms high above his head. His hands caught at the top of the doorframe at the entrance to the kitchen and he clung onto it, swinging awkwardly like a tapestry. Lukas was wearing an old shirt— Is that mine?— and it rode up a bit, a pale sliver of skin appearing like a flesh-toned belt. It was kinda funny how pale his stomach was compared to his forearms.

"I need to get out more, yeah?"

My eyes jerked up to meet Lukas' own flushing gaze, hands now securely tugging his shirt down and rubbing at the back of his neck. It was kinda cool how the fine, little hairs on his forearms looked like spider silk when the light caught them. I can't really compliment his arm hairs, can I?

There was a line. It was blurred when it came to Lukas, but I figured complimenting his arm hairs was so obviously beyond that line I shouldn't even think about it.

"You look fine"

I played it safe, forcing a thin smile. Lukas blushed anyways, swatting my compliment around and tugging at the bottom of his shirt again. His blush started by his temples, sinking lower, past his lips, past his collarbones, and down—

— I wonder if his stomach turns the same shade of pink when he's flustered like this?

I stomped the thought out as soon as it rose, busying myself with the pink flower bouquet which absolutely did not remind me of Lukas, and the soda bread, which only ever reminded me of Mum, but now...

I thought of the gnome sitting by the basil and the way somebody had painted blush onto his cheeks in vivid circles because even guardians and chosen-ones could feel things they shouldn't.

Not a big deal.

Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ

It was a little too warm and my hand reached for the thermostat to tweak it for what seemed like the fifth time in the past hour. We'd finished the food preparations early and we were beginning to put up decorations, a few dollar-store streamers hanging by the entrance to block years of scuff-marks that had accumulated on the butter-toned walls. Lukas' Mom had packed a few specifically-birthday-themed decorations for the kitchen too, the color theme suspiciously consistent.

"You good?"

I froze, relaxing in a millisecond as I realized the voice was Lukas', duh. The chair I was on creaked unstably as I fidgeted with the edge of the banner. I wasn't tall enough to reach it without a stool, but with the height boost, I could graze the ceiling with the tips of my fingers. It was eerily smooth. The height difference made me feel stronger, as embarrassingly stupid as it was, and the power seeped into me in a delightfully heady way.

"Yeah, 'm fine"

The thermostat nudged my stomach as I retaped the banner and I checked it to make sure I hadn't set the house on broil.

"I'm heading up to change," I clambered down from the chair, ignoring Lukas' hand. My shirt wasn't that messy, but it was mysteriously sticky at some parts.

Lukas nodded, pausing mid-nod as I put the chair back where it was.

"I think I hear someone in the driveway?" His head tilted to one side like a puppy and his neck sloped in a long, bare line.

I hear it too. The sound of tires on the driveway wasn't unpleasant, but familiar. Gravel crunching under wheels and doors slamming. Guests. It would've been a problem if Mum was driving herself home, but Mrs. Schmitt had said she would blindfold Mum before bringing her home. It would probably be anticlimactic for any other person— to be surprised with their own home, but we were all sure Mum would be ecstatic. Mum loves surprises.

"I'll be down soon," I looked over at Lukas and he nodded with a nervous grin, fingers combing through his hair and the other smacking at his chest for any loose remnants of flour.

Me, Tarzan Lukas. You, Jane Kek—

— the fuck?

What the fuck? Stop. No.

I threw my shirt into the laundry bin, grabbing whatever I could find in the closet and slipping it on. Fuck. It was too big, not ridiculously so, but just enough so that people would know it wasn't mine. Not long enough to be a fucking dress. It was Lukas', obviously, an old t-shirt from a volunteer thing his mom had done with her EMT squad. It had a cartoon ambulance on the front with some motivational quote I couldn't be bothered to read upside-down.

I hesitated before I took it off.

It was soft, well-worn, and it sagged in my hand like I'd stolen its last breath.

My room is a lot colder than the kitchen.

"Hey, I let in your Mom's friends—"

I turned around, Lukas' shirt bunched up in my fists.

"— that's my shirt!"

He grinned, grabbing at the loose end of the tee and smiling down at me. He looked less nervous now: like he'd realized he would be perfectly fine in social situations because he was Lukas-fucking-Schmitt and everyone loved him. They had to love him.

How could anyone not love him?

"You wearing this?" He tugged at the material without meaning too, dropping it hastily when I was jerked towards him. I held the shirt in front of my chest protectively. I felt naked. I feel fucking naked.

I should be more bothered.

Slowly, the comforting discomfort of being too close with my too-bare skin settled around my shoulders like a weight. It pinned me to the floor and I reveled in the familiarity of being stuck. Being anxious.

"Can't," I croaked, my voice suddenly hearse, "It's too bi—long"

Long. I'm not small. Just short. Shorter.

Not short.

Not small.

Not weak.

Tittering voices floated up from downstairs, the kitchen beginning to come to life as people settled in. It was weird how at-ease they sounded in my own house when I was in my bedroom losing my mind. There was probably a word for how weird it was, some shade of irony Ms. Hardmeat had tried to drill into my head last school year that I'd long forgotten.

"Not that long, but if you don't want to wear it, I get it"

Lukas smiled.

It was small, almost hidden on his face and in the shadows of the room where I never turned the light on. Only when Lukas was over really, and it was ironic (or whatever English term) because being around Lukas was like being around a living light. I turned the light on so he'd tone his own light down.

He wanted me to wear it, I could tell that much. He loved this shirt to death. It was obvious in the way he'd held it with such careful handling and soft warmth. Why can't I wear it?

It was comfortable. I liked comfortable.

It made Lukas happy. I liked that too.

Nothing else really mattered, did it?

When did I start caring about what others think?

"You're right," I slipped the material over my head and shimmied it on, brushing past Lukas to head down the stairs. I didn't bother to look at his face, already pretty set on how it would look. He'd have that dumb smile of his on his face, maybe blush a little because he seemed to react like that a lot whenever he was happy. And the blush would travel down. Down.

I jumped the last step, the sound snapping the guests' attention to me so I couldn't lose myself in my head anymore.

"Uh, hello," I waved, trying not to scowl or frown, "Thanks for coming"

A few variations of my name were tossed around as the less-familiar of Mum's friends tried to talk to me. They already had plastic cups in their hands, awkwardly bunched together in inevitable cliques.

She talks about you all the time!

I flushed, accidentally stepping back onto Lukas' foot.

You play basketball, right? My daughter plays—

A strained smile. Lukas took over the conversation for me, gushing over the stranger's daughter's apparent skills. How does he do it?

"Kieran!"

A familiar voice cut through the warbling din and I hastily paced over to where Ms. Keisha was waiting, hands on her hips. Her hair was done-up pretty and she engulfed me in a perfume-filled hug as soon as I was within a foot of her.

"Where's Ezekial?" I peered over her shoulder.

"Your baby brother is at home with his other poop-cleaner," She sighed, pulling back with a huff, "You don't think I take him with me everywhere, right?"

I stared at her blankly.

"Oh, nevermind, here—" Ms. Keisha manhandled me, shoving me in the small space between her and— who is this?

"Don't let her get you down, Kieran. She's just missing her partner and her baby, right, Keesh?"

Baby. Baby.

Mum says baby like that.

"You're Irish?"

I frowned, sizing up the woman in front of me before I realized that I was supposed to be playing nice. She didn't really look Irish, but my Irish-radar wasn't as honed as Mum's was. Besides, it would be stupid of me to assume all Irish people looked like Mum. Her hair was big and curly, forced back with a clip, but even so, some stray tendrils fell free with reckless abandon.

Reckless abandon.

She looked near Mum's age, but her eyes read the same way Marco's did. Vibrant. Clever.

Like she was playing a joke on me by merely existing.

"I knew your Mum when we were younger," The lady grinned, and one edge of her mouth spiked higher than the other.

"They were close friends," Ms. Keisha beamed, her hand tugging at my hair lightly so I'd turn to look at her. I scowled, swatting her hand away before turning back to the lady. Mum's old friend.

Her smile had dropped the faintest bit.

"That's so cool!"

We both turned to face Lukas as he shyly looked at his feet, spluttering a half-baked apology for interrupting us. Ms. Keisha cackled, slapping at Lukas' arm before pulling him into a hug. It reenergized him and he sidled up next to me, smiling politely at the lady. She couldn't have really been such a big deal if Mum had never even bothered to tell me about her.

"My name's Fionnuala," She offered, leaning up against the wall casually. She looked completely relaxed, yet her arms were crossed tight across her midriff like she was about to puke. I copied her, smushing myself against the wall and away from everyone's friendly hands.

"You can call me Finn if you'd like" Her smirk was weird, but I didn't mind it. It crawled under your skin and sat there stubbornly, the same way Lukas' smile would. It didn't make me feel warm the same way Lukas' did though, but loose and giggly. Happy, but a different kind.

If there was a different kind.

I'm spewing all kinds of bullshit today, aren't I?

"Fionnuala here is my birthday present to Caoimhe," Ms. Keisha grinned smugly and I scowled.

Whoever she was, she couldn't be better than Godrick the garden gnome.

Caoimhe.

Mum's name seemed to snap Finn out of her confident stupor and her grip around her stomach tightened, her face paling.

Suddenly, all I could see was Lukas hunched over in the locker room. Lukas pressed up against me in an awkward hug on the floor. His arms wrapped around me just as tight as Fionnuala's were around herself.

She needs someone to hug.

"Hey," I was half-expecting her to not hear me, but her eyes flashed to mine quickly.

"Don't worry," I stumbled over my words, and Lukas' pinky finger snagged around the belt loop of my pants, up under the shirt I was wearing. His shirt.

"Mum likes surprises"

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3330 words

Fionnuala = "Finn-oolah"

I absolutely love Fionnuala so I kinda wrote her into this chapter on a whim! I know nobody really knows her yet, so I'll do my best to not get carried away. Oh, also: it should be obvious by now, but Kieran is of Irish heritage. I've tried to do my research to make this accurate, but if there are any inaccuracies or any portrayals you see as unclear/unfit PLEASE do tell me so I can fix it. I try to maintain diversity and be inclusive in my stories and not being true to other cultures degrades that entire goal.

Another longer chapter! Sorry to those of you who dislike it, but as I haven't received any negative feedback about the varying lengths so far (you're all absolutely supportive and positive so thank you!) I think I'm going to become a little more relaxed when it comes to my chapter lengths. This typically means longer chapters, not shorter.

Hopefully, Kieran's shifting mind was revealed a bit in this chapter. I'm still hesitant and unsure as to how exactly I want everything to play out... I may take the dramatic route, but it'll hopefully maintain a degree of realism.

How did you all find this chapter?

As always, thank you all so much for your continued support and for reading this story! I hope you all have a beautiful week :)