four: the one that got away

"You can't do this to me," Gregory grumbles for the millionth time. He knows his protests won't be of any use, but if he's going to be forced into shit against his will, he's determined to piss off everyone involved as much as possible.

"Gregory." His father leans forward on the kitchen counter, wrinkles lining his forehead. There's more of them than there'd been last week, Gregory's sure of that. Part of him feels guilty, knowing full well he's the cause of the extra furrows. Part of him feels satisfied, almost as if they're karma. "We've talked about this. Do you know how much I had to do to get you accepted into Bailey?"

"You chatted it up with your high school friend, asked Balloon Tits to flash a little boob, and dumped me into a school I don't even want to go to in the first place. I don't think that counts as 'doing very much'." Gregory accompanies the offending statement with air quotes, making sure his father can see his displeasure. "And tossing me into Balloon Tits' music class even though I don't need it? Not cool, Dad."

"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that." His father rubs his temples with two fingers. "Gregory, I just want the best for you. You need a proper education, and you're not going to get that if you keep beating people up for no reason."

"It wasn't for no reason!" Gregory argues, his temper flaring. He balls his hands into fists, feeling anger rear its ugly head. He shuts his eyes, as if that'll make his father's decisions go away. It's not fair! Why do I have to suffer for something that's not even my fault?

"Maybe we should look into getting anger management counselling for you," his father suggests.

Something inside Gregory snaps. "Dad. I don't fucking need anger management counselling. What I need is for you to get Balloon Tits out of the house and then listen to me for once," he growls. He's boiling with fury, fury for everyone and everything---his father, Balloon Tits, the person he'd once called his boyfriend. Not anymore, that's for sure.

"That's enough, Gregory!" his father yells, slamming both hands down on the kitchen counter. The look of resignation that had spread across his face earlier is gone, replaced with blazing rage. "Don't disrespect your mother like that!"

"My mother's fucking dead!" Gregory shouts back. "That thing's not my mother! Gosh! Why can't you just fucking understand that?"

Gregory feels a rush of satisfaction flood him at the way his father arcs off his seat, hand raised as if to slap him. His father's never hit him before, but Gregory almost wants him to. He can't do communication. He can't do sit-downs and talk-it-outs. But what he can do is fight. He's fluent in the language of fists, and a small part of him wants his father to understand that language, to be able to speak it with him.

"Arthur!" Pink-nailed fingers snatch his father's wrist out of the air before he can bring it down. "Don't!" And just like that, Ballooon Tits is hovering in Gregory's universe again, a stark blot against his mind's crimson backdrop with her fake tan, fake blonde hair, and fake Double-fucking-G's. "He doesn't mean it."

She's wrong, Gregory thinks gleefully, because every incorrect word that comes out of Balloon Tits' mouth is an indication that she's wrong and he's right. And although he knows it's a hopeless cause attempting to get her out of his life---after all, his father had married her---he can still try.

"Wrong, slut," Gregory hisses, unable to stop a hint of triumph from leaking into his voice. "I meant it. Every. Single. Fucking. Word." Balloon Tits seems taken aback, visibly recoiling slightly. She keeps her hand on Gregory's father, though, as if restraining him from giving his son the discipline he probably deserves. Gregory wants to slap her for it. He doesn't want her meddling in their arguments like how she meddles in their lives.

"Gregory---" Balloon Tits starts. Gregory gnashes his teeth at her, satisfaction flooding his heart at how she draws back.

"You don't get to use my name," he snarls. "That's an honour reserved for my actual parents." Before Balloon Tits or his father can say another word, he storms out of the kitchen, flinging the door shut. The resounding slam is music to his ears. Gregory's fully prepared to fling himself onto his bed in a fit of rage---but he stops, utterly flummoxed.

Mainly because his closet door is glowing.

"What. The. Fuck," Gregory mumbles, staring at his closet door. He rubs his eyes. He's not dreaming. His closet door is now a brilliant shade of azure, and light radiates off it in bright rays. His first reaction is to wonder what Balloon Tits had done to it---but despite his willingness to blame her for anything and everything under the sun, he knows his glowing closet isn't her doing. She never goes into his room.

Gregory finds his hand impulsively reaching for the light. Before he can stop himself, he's yanking the door open. Like a switch's been flipped, the glow recedes, leaving his closet plain and wooden once more.

Am I hallucinating?

Just as he's about to shut his closet once more, a flash of sapphire catches his eye. Sitting on the third shelf is a pair of bright blue headphones---headphones that look far too familiar for comfort. He's pretty darn sure they hadn't been there before. Without thinking about the consequences, as usual, he's picking them up.

The moments his fingertips glide over the headphones, memories flood his head. Music pounding through his brain. A ridiculously tall boy his age. The unmistakeable beep of a hospital monitor.

He drops the headphones like they're a hot potato.

"Fuck," Gregory mutters, all other words having fully escaped his vocabulary. "Fuck, fuck, fuck." He shakes the memories out of his head. Slams the closet door almost as loudly as he'd slammed his bedroom door. Breathes in once, twice, as if that'll actually help---as if he can erase the bastards in his closet with oxygen alone.

He can still recall staring down at a blindingly bright phone screen, waiting for a reply that would end up never coming.

He doesn't want to remember. Not anymore.

٩( ᐛ )و

It's three thirty-five in the afternoon when Gregory finally drags himself out of bed. He'd stayed up until the sun had peeked into his room, having spent the night deactivating all his social media accounts and grappling with an exceedingly persistent thorn in his side. Normally, he doesn't sleep so late, but it's not often that he has the luxury of being without a school to go to until further notice.

A quick glance at his phone strikes ringing dismay into Gregory's heart. There's six messages, all from the same person---one he'd blocked two days ago. Colin's weirdly dogged, though, having texted him from three different numbers already.

Unknown: I'm sorry

Unknown: I fucked up okay?

Unknown: Sorry

Unknown: Greg answer me

Unknown: Stop blocking me

Unknown: I just wanna talk

Gregory's anger flares again, burning his chest like hot coals. He doesn't want to forgive Colin---he can't. Not when he'd broken the leg of his ex-boyfriend after Colin had pretty much ruined his life. Not when he'd woken up to find private pictures spread all over his Instagram feed. Not when the words Greg is a faggot still scream their way through his head, always serving to arc his temper upwards in a flaming crescendo.

fuck you

stop texting me

you're not gonna make me any less gay so stfu

Then he blocks Colin. It's a shitty move, but he feels like shit right now, and blocking the source of most of his problems makes him feel much better.

Despite his better judgement, he checks the rest of his chats. As expected, there isn't even a whisper from any of his former schoolmates. In fact, most of his old classmates have completely cut off contact with him---except for Colin, of course.

Just my luck. The one guy I want to avoid is the only bastard still trying to text me.

When he makes his way to the kitchen, Balloon Tits is there, chopping up some kind of glistening pink meat in her ridiculously frilly pink apron. "Good afternoon, sleepyhead!" she chirps.

"Fuck you," Gregory grumbles, loping over to the fridge and yanking out the jug of ice water that appears to have taken up permanent residence there ever since Balloon Tits had moved in. He pours himself a glass, sipping it as he studies Balloon Tits' face carefully. He's satisfied to see the way her smile drops into the recesses of her cavernous cleavage. Dumb slut.

To his chagrin, Balloon Tits recovers from his evident dismissal quickly, her smile reappearing. "I made you lunch! It's a bit cold, since I made it at, well, lunchtime, but I can pop it into the microwave for you!" She sets down the knife, moving towards the sink. Her movements carry her usual bubbly cadence, and the way she walks like the room's made of cotton candy makes Gregory want to give her a tight slap in the face.

"Don't bother." Gregory sidesteps Balloon Tits, tossing his cup into the sink. He doesn't eat anything she cooks. She should know that by now. He watches her grin drop again with renewed delight. For a brief moment, the human part of him wonders why he finds so much enjoyment in seeing her suffer, why he's intent on giving her a hard time despite her being nothing but nice to him. The other part of him wins, though, reminding him that Balloon Tits had dropped into their lives like a Zeppelin bomb, and she deserves no sympathy after how she'd slotted herself far too easily into his mother's place.

"Alright, would you like me to drive you to class, then? Since we're going to the same place, it'll be easier. I'm heading off after I finish with the pork," Balloon Tits offers. Gregory scowls. He already resents the fate he's being forced into by his father---having to attend Balloon Tits' after-school music class since he'd been kicked out by Northtide's one. He doesn't need his day made worse by having to ride in the same car as Balloon Tits.

He doesn't bother to answer her. He just walks out.

٩( ᐛ )و

If there's one thing Gregory has, it's a good sense of direction. He's grateful for it as he swoops into Bailey via the route he remembers from the tour Balloon Tits had taken him on, his feet burning from all the walking he'd done to get there. "I don't get it," he mutters aloud. "I'm not even scheduled to start at Bailey yet. Why do I have to attend her stupid music class already?"

He could kill something. He could kill his father. He could kill Balloon Tits.

Gregory slips into the main building, trying to calm himself down. No one even spares him a second glance, which he's glad for. It's a completely new school, he reminds himself. Absolutely no one here follows Colin on Instagram. No one is going to look at you and say, "Hey, that's Gregory Gan, the dumbass who got his nudes and sexuality leaked by his so-called boyfriend last week!" Probably.

He relies on muscle memory for the path to the music room---two flights of stairs and a couple of lefts. As much as he hates to admit it, Balloon Tits had definitely given him a very informative tour. Gregory's at the music room in no time.

He wants to scream. He doesn't want to be here.

An idea strikes him. Balloon Tits had mentioned that class doesn't start until five---and that her four students enjoyed going out before it. Gregory decides that there's no better place to release his anger at the world than an empty music room---and it'll free up his temper enough to sit through at least one class with Balloon Tits.

Gregory takes a deep breath, fingers curling around the doorknob. "Dumb fucking balloon-titted slut!" he yells as he slams the door open, storming in with all the fury he can manage.

That's when he sees the boy and girl on the floor, and he realises what a huge mistake he's made.

It's a new fucking school, dumbass! And you just fucked your first impression up!

"Fuck, I'm sorry, I didn't realise there were other people here---" Gregory finds all the words escaping from his mouth when he registers the faces of the duo on the ground. The girl is pinned beneath, arms wrapped around her male counterpart. She's unremarkable enough---dark-skinned and dark-haired.

But it's the boy that catches Gregory's attention. He has a look of guilt spread across his face, as if he's been caught doing something he shouldn't, but that's not what's so striking about him. To a casual observer, the boy would be just as unremarkable as his female companion---Asian, pale, brown-eyed.

Not to Gregory, though.

Even though the boy's hair is now dyed brown instead of blonde and he appears to have grown even taller, Gregory still sees multicoloured lights and denim jackets in his head. He sees flushed cheeks and parted lips, and the bass of his own heart thumps through his mind.

Gregory wants to think that this is all a dream, that the person who'd given him trust issues isn't standing just a few feet away from him. That the boy who'd disappeared out of his life just as easily as he'd slipped in isn't back in it.

But deep down, Gregory knows it isn't a dream. No matter how much he tries to deny it, the only person he'd ever really loved is right in front of him, and all he can remember is how Kang Jeong-Soon had faded out of his existence, leaving behind nothing. Not a trace. Not a reply. Just a ghost.

me at 12am, relistening to Blue Neighbourhood and writing instead of doing homework or, you know, ACTUALLY SLEEPING: i wonder how much murder i can put into a Romance story

remember the song reference challenge in the earlier chapter? here's the answer! the line is, 'She's sweet---almost like candy in his veins.' and the song it was adapted from is Electric Love by BØRNS (original line: Candy, she's sweet like candy in my veins) did anyone get it right? :P

am i having too much fun writing all the swear words in Gregory's POV? considering how i'm on a swearing diet (i try my best not to swear unless it's in writing), yes. yes, i am DEFINITELY having way too much fun writing all the swear words in Gregory's POV.

no music terms for this chapter :P they'll be back in the next, though! also, are you confused yet? :D if you are, stay tuned! everything will make sense...eventually 😈 (hint: a few words that i've used here have double meanings. those are ✨vital✨ in unravelling the mystery.)

honestly, i kinda hate Gregory, lmao. like, nearly as much as Canterbury Swayze, and everyone knows i literally couldn't STAND that dude. i hope i'm doing a decent job of slotting in his 'backstory', though! i'm trying not to info-dump because i hate that. so yeah, it's coming together in bits and pieces instead (with plenty of bad metaphors, loool)

i hope you guys enjoyed this chapter! i know it was quite confusing and VERY scattered (i'd say it sucked but nO seLf cRiTicIsM) but it'll get better soon! i hope. (also we're like 500 words from 8000---my word count is out of control---)

thank you for supporting and loving me <3

xoxo, Alex