The Flo of Things
Chapter One: Awkward Beginnings

Author’s Note: I just wanted to mention that the title was misspelled deliberately to match up in an altogether lame manner with the nickname of our protagonist. That is all; enjoy the fic!

Flo dropped his 14-pound, black-and-neon-green-with-glow-in-the-dark-trim, glowstick and book-filled bag on his bed. In the darkness, he fumbled for a moment until he found the switch, then his room was lit in the dim purple of his blacklight. The ‘graver,’ as he proudly termed himself, grinned for a second, then went through his typical afterschool routine. Let down the hair, put on the dagger necklace (which was sharp enough to perform as a real dagger), throw on a trenchcoat (hey, it was cold for early December... and trenchcoats just plain kicked ass...), and go down to the kitchen for at least three unhealthy snacks... and, if he was lucky, some money.

“Hey, Mom,” Flo said to Lisa, grinning at her.

She smiled back and set down her work papers. “Hey, Richard,” she said with a smile.

Flo cringed at the use of his real name. “Mom, how many times do I have to tell you to call me Flo?” he asked in a mock-whiney voice. “I’m tellin’ ya, I’m lucky my nickname’s not Dick” Without thinking about it, he flashed a grin at her. “Now that would be ironic.”

Lisa laughed. “Maranne called. She’s not going to be back until the wee hours of the morning. Be home before her this time or she promises me she’ll suffocate you with the anus of a dead chicken.”

Flo wasn’t sure whether to be amused or revolted. “Okay, I promise,” he said, deciding to just be complacent. Maranne was his mother’s wife and had a penchant for peculiar death threats.

Lisa kissed him on the cheek. “And if you find ‘the one’ today, don’t bring him back to the house, please?”

Flo pretended to pout. “What if I keep the noise level down?”

Lisa grinned. “If you keep quiet, that means one or both of you isn’t any good.”

Flo smirked. “In that case...”

“Hey! No boys at home when either me or Maranne are trying to sleep!” she interceded hastily.

“So while you’re not trying to sleep...?”

“No.” Lisa grinned. “No family boinkfests. Now get the hell out of here.”

“I love ya, Mommy!” Flo said in his best gay-stereotype voice, then shut the door. He could still here her chuckles through it as he pulled out his electric blue iPod. “Once it was Ours!” by Moonspell was already blaring... Flo was surprised he hadn’t heard it before, due to its rather remarkable volume.

“Damnable things,” he muttered to himself, trying to keep his high-pitched voice as low as possible. “Possessed ideals of capitalism which turn themselves on by some infelicitous will of their own.”

Suddenly, a flying spider monkey attacked his shoulder and began molesting his side.

Well... in truth it was just Lindsey tackling him. Though the molesting part wasn’t far from the truth. Gods, when would the woman learn that he was gay? No, not as in happy (though he was usually that, too), ‘gay’ as in ‘full-fledged, too damn obvious, even speaks in a lisp when sleepy’ homosexual. “Get the away from me!” he whined and did exactly what Neo would have done: he got the crazy bitch off his back, ninja style.

“Flo! Didja get me my stash?” Lindsey asked brightly, nonplussed by the fact that she had just experienced a LEVEL 37 NINJA SLAMDOWN! and fully concentrating on Flo, who was staring down at her.

“I... you...” Flo was at a loss for words. “No.”

The ebony ball of energy was suddenly molesting his side again. “Then give me my money back!”
”I was on my way!” he protested.

Lindsey disattached herself. “Oh. Then what the Hell are you waiting for, let’s go! I need my Coke-a-licious strawberry-y goodness!”

Flo erupted with a coughing fit. The discerning listener would notice the words ‘spaz,’ ‘psycho,’ ‘crazy bitch,’ and ‘overcaffeinated wench’ as the real roots of his supposed coughs. However, Lindsey was neither discerning nor big on listening. She hadn’t even noticed the coughing fit at all and was dragging him towards Names Suck, the local convenience store.

Once the hyperactive black girl had purchased her seven 3-ounce bottles of Diet Pepsi Jazz (the strawberry flavor, of course) and ingested one and a half of them, she put them in her carryon case (save the half-empty one, which she continued to sip from), which for some odd reason she always had with her and had decorated with anything she felt like, from a used condom she had once found in the park to a pinecone painted blue, Lindsey was tugging on Flo’s sleeve again. “Let’s go, I’m cold.”

Flo rolled his eyes. “Invest in a trenchcoat.”

Lindsey let out a small snort. “Like I’d steal your trademark. C’mon, Freyson’s party started—” here she pulled a pocketwatch out of her (surprise!) pocket and glanced at it, uncaring of the design on its cover, a dragon breaking a man’s spine between its jaws, “—12 minutes ago! Let’s go!”

Flo, for some odd reason, allowed himself to be dragged along. He wasn’t crazy on the idea of crashing a football player’s party—those assholes beat on him enough—but he was going, it seemed.

... Damned Lindsey, dragging him to these stupid things. He could be chilling out in Argent’s room playing with his glowsticks and screaming to Avenged Sevenfold while playing with a mirror. Yep. But oh, well. Skanks, drugs, and alcohol galore, oh my! Flo rolled his eyes. Maybe the amusement factor would kick up once the music changed.

Then again, maybe they’d all just get their asses kicked. Oh, well. Flo barely felt a punch to the gut anymore. It hurt the kicker more than the kicked now. That was definitely one of the plus sides of his new lean physique. But if they went after any of the chicks, Flo would kick some serious ass himself. Lindsey might be tiny and kind of annoying... but she was still tiny and didn’t deserve one of those assholes trying to molest her. Nor did Cat, Sie, or Reek.

The party was exactly what he’d expected. Sluts, skanks, and a few just-plain-dirty girls, some ‘punch’ that practically reeked of rufie... Flo was disgusted.

Somehow, Flo’s group of friends went unnoticed in the party until it was too late for the jocks to do anything. The blaring hip-hop came to a screeching halt, and Dream Theater began blaring in its stead. The sluts and jocks began to look around, trying to figure out what the Hell was going on. Flo began to grin.

“Hey everyone, Lady Elshanna here!” came a familiar, peppy voice. Although Flo couldn’t see her, he knew it had to be Lindsey. He wondered idly where the mic was. “Now don’t you complain about the music! I just wanted to say... have a great party, no fightin’, no hatin’, and Hell, how ‘bout we all just chill together for a while?” The ‘freaks,’ as Flo’s friends preferred to label themselves since they shied away from using the term ‘goths’ as they were such a varied group, watched the jocks closely and only cheered after the jocks who were already too drunk to care began. This was planned strategically, that a freak may not have been the first to cheer, but so that the sober jocks would look around, believe they were the only ones not cheering, and begin to cheer as well. It worked perfectly.

Metal blasted. Drinks were handed out. Some weed was smoked. Flo had tried weed once or twice, then got bored of it much earlier, so he saw no need in accepting. What he could remember of the party was a fucking blast.

---

When he woke up the next morning, he was shirtless. And snuggling with a boy who was also shirtless, with a head pounding harder than the speakers at a rave. “Shit,” he hissed, then cringed. He felt around his waist and was relieved to discover that his boxers were still on... until he realized just how uncomfortably, ah, tight they felt. Uncaring now of the pain in his head, he abruptly moved away from the boy, then glanced to see who it was.

... Fuck.

Matthew Lambherty. The quarterback renowned for scholastic focus, gentleness, and not having the balls to stand up to his friends. Well, either that or homophobia, Flo thought to himself. But then... how could someone that beautiful be something as ugly as homophobic? Something inside him knew that Matthew Lambherty, this beautiful, Grecian angel who lay beside him... couldn’t be.

Then Matt began to open his eyes. The lashes fluttered delicately, revealing brilliant blue irises hesitantly beneath them. Flo stared for a few minutes... he couldn’t help it. Especially since Matt was staring back.

Once Flo could find his voice, he asked hoarsely, “What the fuck are you doing in my bed?”

Matt coughed weakly, and Flo noticed that Matt had the same telltale cringe that proved he had also had a little too much to drink. “You offered to let me stay here after you saw my parents kick me out...”

... Flo could believe that. He somehow seemed to invite people to his house for the night every single time he was drunk. “Okay... umm... let me check with my moms and you could probably stay here as long as you needed to,” he said, his first thoughts being of concern for this angel.

Matt looked surprised. “Oh... thanks.”

“Momar!” Flo called, trying to keep his voice loud enough to be heard but quiet enough not to trigger their hangovers.

Maranne heard, all right, but by that point both boys were cradling their aching temples. “What’s up, Flo?” she called back.

“Come up here,” Flo called. Hell, his head already hurt, after all.

When Maranne arrived, her eyes widened, then she grinned. “Well, well, well... we’ve got a visitor, it seems.”

Flo rolled his eyes. “Momar! No! It’s nothin’ like that... he’s just a friend... can he stay with us for a while, though?”

Maranne shrugged. “Ummm... sure. No prob. You work?” she asked, directing her vision to Matt. The poor kid shook his head. She nodded a little. “We’ll have to give you a few little chores, but if my son trusts you... then I guess I do, too.”

Matt’s face seemed to light up, and Flo found himself once again drawn to those luminescent eyes. He glanced away hastily, chiding himself. Developing a crush on the quarterback was not only foolish, it was the fast track to hardcore heartbreak. But nevertheless Matt’s eyes were alight and he was exclaiming, “Thank you, so much! You don’t know how much I appreciate this,” and hugging Maranne fiercely.

Maranne smiled, but Flo could see the pity in her eyes. Ruffling Matt’s hair in a friendly gesture, she said, “C’mon, I’ll show you your room.” And that was the end of it.

---

By the end of the day, Matt had fully moved into his new room. Flo couldn’t resist peeking into it while Matt was away doing... well... whatever football players do during the off-season... in the hopes of learning more about him.

The decoration was typical of most males, Flo excluded. A Patriots comforter, not so much made as generally thrown and slightly tilted to the left, adorned the former guest bed. Dirty clothes already made a small pile, located in no other place but the exact center of the room. A Boston College poster now hung on the wall, and on what was presumably Matt’s desk as it had not been there before were various sports trophies, including, Flo couldn’t help but noting with pleasure, two badminton trophies, as well as some books and a sheet of paper with messy scrawling writing.

Then his eyes set on the garbage. Bent perfectly in half within sat two pornographic magazines. Though normally Flo would have just been revolted and moved on, what caught his eye was the fact that these magazines were in perfect condition. Though Flo preferred erotica and therefore didn’t bother with porn, he knew that such materials tended to experience some wear and tear before elimination, if they were eliminated at all. And yet Matt was throwing these crisp magazines, which he probably hadn’t even looked at, out.

Something seemed very odd to Flo.