For the first time in a long time, Cyrus Dyer had butterflies in his stomach when Gael Peterson entered his life. He didn’t know how they suddenly got to be in his stomach at first, but he knew why now. His friends had girlfriends. Jesse had Crystal. Michael had Kelly, and Gael had…Katie. But what did he have? No one. Why couldn’t he have a girlfriend?

That was obvious. He was gay, but he hadn‘t started out that way. He had dreamed of girls like any boy, but when his mother divorced his dad, and an incident with his father, his sexual path had become rough and jagged. His being gay only amounted to two boyfriends--one currently not talking to him anymore and the other was dead. He couldn’t believe the position he was in that he found himself attracted to a straight guy, a guy who already had a girlfriend.

He met Gael last year. Last year, he was a total wreck and a loser that no one wanted to approach. Cyrus spotted him as he was coming up the school to hang out with his friends like he did every morning. He ignored the mob of boys that shoved by him, possibly the boy’s attackers. Gael was wiping a bit of blood on his face, muttering hateful curses behind his attackers’ backs. He was tough, Cyrus thought.

Cyrus’ looming shadow over Gael’s form caused the blond to look up, his youthful body stiff and ready to attack. His lips were twitching in anger, his eyes wide--dark blue orbs suddenly filling up with hatred tears that would soon spill. His two front teeth stuck out disturbingly from his upper lip. He opened his mouth, “Go away.” But his left hand balled into a fist as Cyrus Dyer loomed over him, and Gael saw just how taller and powerful the kid was. He closed his eyes, shielding his stomach for a blow, but the blow he expected never came. Surprised, he opened one blue eye and looked up at Cyrus skeptically. Cyrus was still looking down at him, face devoid of all emotion. There seemed to be a glow radiating from his body, and imaginary angel wings spreading out of his back, protecting them. Of course, Gael couldn’t see this because he couldn’t read Cyrus’ mind and so couldn’t see a thought that came out of someone else’s head. Cyrus offered his hand, giving a warm smile.

Gael shrank away from the offering hand at first, muttering that he needed no help. But soon he then peered at it curiously, trying to understand the concept behind this annoying offering. Usually the hand hurt him, and when it gestured at him it usually meant something bad.

“Look,“ Gael said, not meeting Cyrus’ eyes. “I’m fine by myself. Just leave me alone. I could beat--”

“Beat what? I saw what those kids were doing. You were loosing.” Of course that was a lie, but Cyrus knew it was probably the outcome.

“If you were concerned about me, why didn’t you help me anyway?”

“Would you have been grateful? We would have this same discussion, the same bullshit about why I didn’t leave you alone to beat those kids yourself.”

“Shut up,” Gael said angrily. That was what most of his arguments amounted to. Cyrus offered the hand again.

“Come on. I’ll help you up.”

“If it will leave me alone, then…” Gael offered his own hand, feeling a little assured that someone did care--though not showing it--and Cyrus tightened the grip, pulling the blond to his feet.

“You alright?”

Gael looked down, his face turning an ugly shade of pink. He cursed his attackers again, smoothing out his shirt as he did so.

“Don’t worry about them,” Cyrus assured Gael as he hugged him. “They are nothing more than poor shits picking on the weak because they think it makes them seem tougher.”

“How do you know?” Gael snapped back, pulling stubbornly away from Cyrus’ assuring arms. “You were never treated the way I was treated. You don’t know how I feel!”

“Actually, I might have an idea. I was mistreated…for a different reason, of course.”

For being gay. Some, like Cyrus, quietly hid their crime. Some were forced to be bi. And then there were some that ended up dead. And of course, there were the words. Words like faggot and gay and queer replaced the words stupid, idiot, and numbnuts. Was being gay so bad that it was nothing more than a profanity word? A word used to mock other people and ridicule and hate gays all the more? What society was this, then, if little kids would grow up knowing that the word queer, the dreadful word queer, was worse than the word fuck? That being a queer would make you a faggot, and being a faggot would mean that everyone would think you were gay? And being gay, that meant that no one would want you. No one would need you. You were “inhuman”, because it wasn’t “human” for a guy to like another guy. But what was “human” in this world today? Since when did “human” ever mean “cultured”?

Cyrus let out an annoyed sigh. “I’m just thinking about how those pricks can push you around like that.”

Gael looked at Cyrus in awe. “What’s this? You care about me?”

“Well, sure I do,” Cyrus said with a shrug. “I was once the scapegoat in my middle school,” Cyrus lied. “My parents told me to be positive in any way that I can, because they told me that people won’t come to me; I had to go to them. And I thought that was impossible, because the first few months of me being a sixth grader were total hells for me. Kids always stole my lunch, threw dirt in my face, tore my backpack open and let my stuff spill on the ground, and they would kick my shit around as I frantically tried to pick it up. But I took my parents words into consideration, and learned to be tough and show them who ruled the roost around here. You should do the same.”

Gael Peterson took his fibbing story into consideration, and he was a hard thinker about it too. Cyrus was waiting for Gael to say something; he was already done with his ideas for the day.

“You really think I can‘t handle myself? You‘re right, but I‘m not that big of a pussy.”

“And you‘re not. You have me on your side, don’t you?”

Gael smiled. “I guess I do.” Then… “What’s your name?”

“Cyrus. Cyrus Dyer.” He posed for Gael like girls would do when they strutted in front of a boy, opening their legs wide and flipping their hair back and fluttering their lashes. But Cyrus lacked skirts to even open his legs that far, but he could flip his hair back and flutter his eyelashes, those sandy brows, neat and perfect like a girl‘s. Gael only giggled. His giggling made him sound more like a chick. The giggle even surprised Gael, for he quickly shut his mouth and looked a little embarrassed. Cyrus gave Gael an odd look, and somewhere in the depths of his mind where stereotypes grew, giggling like a girl when you were a guy spelled fag.

Or maybe he just sounds like a girl when he giggles. Big deal.

Cyrus gave his pessimistic thought a mental sneer, then laughed and seized Gael’s right wrist and pulled him to his chest. Gael was surprised at this unexpected maneuver, but he remained limp and still. There was no one around them; they were all in the quad. Good.

Cyrus let go of Gael’s right wrist and wrapped his arms around Gael’s shoulders and neck in a motherly hug.

“Do I make you comfortable?” Cyrus murmured into Gael’s ear. His voice was like the voice of an angel, promising Gael good fortune on the other side.

Gael nodded, rubbed his face against Cyrus’ chest, and closed his eyes. Cyrus smelled good, so good in fact, that he buried his nose deeper against Cyrus’ chest to inhale more of his scent. If an angel had dropped from Heaven to take the shape of a human boy he was certainly not disappointed.

His eyes snapped open when he felt Cyrus’ smooth lips brush against his hair. Gael flinched and recoiled from the dark-haired boy. Cyrus pressed closer until he backed Gael to a wall, cornering him. This only made Gael nervous.

Cyrus cocked a concerned brow. “What’s wrong? Did I do something you didn’t want done?” He pressed his fingertips to his chest, gesturing at himself. “Did I not please you? Don’t be afraid of me, Gael. I’m just like you; I’m gay too.”

Gay? The image of God‘s angel shattered and Gael was left staring at a normal teen…or if a teen with homosexuality was ever normal, his mind whirling. I’m not gay. He’s…he’s mistaken. There’s no way I’m gay. How did he assume I was?

“Cyrus…”

“Yeah?”

“I’m not gay.”

There was a moments silence.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Cyrus sputtered, laughing nervously, trying to pull back his grief and tears. “Heh, my bad. My mistake.” A dozen other pointless apologizes followed afterward. Gael smiled and laughed nervously along with him, gave him a couple pats on the back, and left. Although they were what Cyrus called ‘friends’; Gael purposely trying to forget that embarrassing burst from Cyrus’ closet and being a friend, while Cyrus did the same, it was obvious that Cyrus would not forget, would certainly not pretend that it never happened. He grew nervous whenever Gael passed by, grew weak when he was talking to him sometimes, grew angry when Katie was with him, and grew sad when he didn’t have him by his side.

Cyrus was in deep turmoil as he put his head in his hands. He sighed deeply. His feet scuffled together. He sighed again and raised his head. His eyes were starting to burn. Tears ran down his smooth cheeks to mix with the moisture on his lips. Hard love. He knew he wasn’t supposed to get too attached, but he was now. It was too late to back away. He knew this as he once again buried his face in his hands, crying some more.

His cell phone, which was within reach on the desk, had begun to vibrate, making a drilling, hollow sound as it drummed against the wood. Cyrus only peered at it through a gap between his fingers, not really apt to answer it at first. But after the third vibration he decided to answer. He did need a friend to talk about this after all.

“Hello?”

“Um, is this Cyrus?” It was a voice he did not recognize.

“Yeah, this is him. Who are you?”

“I’m a friend of Katie’s,” said the voice on the other line. “Jimmy. Anyway, I need you to come over here and pick up your friend.”

Grief temporarily forgotten as curiosity had a greater pull on his emotions. “Why? Who? What happened?”

“Your buddy, Gael, got drunk. We’re at the park near the little kid’s school. Know where that is?”

“Yeah, but…Gael? Getting drunk? Are you sure it’s him?”

“Yeah,” said Jimmy, getting a little annoyed. “He got dunk. Mark forced him to. That simple. Now come up here and get him.”

In the background, Cyrus heard Gael’s voice, oddly slurred and lit-up happy, saying ‘blah, blah, blah’ over and over and screaming that he was so wasted he needed to lay down and piss some more.

Cyrus’s green eyes flashed and an odd smile touched his lips. He couldn’t help but say, “Well, why don’t you take him home with you?”

“If I could, I wouldn’t be calling you. I have my hands full with Mark. Besides, you and Gael are best friends.”

The smile on Cyrus’ lips grew into a full-fledged grin. “Alrighty then. I’ll be there right away.”

As he hung up, Cyrus made a small dance of euphoria. He would get Gael just yet.