This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The Author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.


'There he is again,' Chris thought, taking in the familiar form stepping out of the glass elevator. The boy in blue.

Even from across the apartment building annex, he felt his knees begin to grow weak, and his palms begin to dampen with sweat.

'God he was hot.'

It had been three months since seventeen year old Chris Foster had moved in with his stepfather-cum-guardian. Three months of patiently correcting people as to his genetic particulars. His biological father had long since be out of the picture, his mother only recently with the breakdown of her third marriage. It had been a no brainer when his latest stepfather asked him who he wanted to live with. A choice of either the waspish alcoholic, or the decent bloke who had only hung around in a quickly loveless marriage because of him.

'It definitely has to be eyeliner, those lashes aren't natural.'

Three months of watching him, the daily dream. The object of his fantasy, walk past. He always walked past, and Chris was always too cowardly to say anything. Too cowardly to even say 'Hello.' For the boy in blue was just too perfect.

Standing two or three inches shorter than Chris' respectable 5'ft 10, the boy was sex personified. He just oozed allure, your mind half expecting clear weather and flowers blooming wherever he stepped.

He had hair as warm as the sun. Eyes as serene as the sea, captivating and begging to be gazed in. Skin like milk, as celestial as the moon, just without the craters. Dressed always, in varied pinstripe dark blue suits and black shirts.

Chris watched the boy walk past him across the foyer and out into a waiting car. Tinted glass hid the teen from view as the vehicle rolled away.

He was a vision. He was a fantasy. And Chris had no idea who he was.

Chris silently ate at his dinner, thinking not of the boy in blue for once, but rather the pressing essay he had to write for his year 11 art class.

"You still thinking about the cute boy in blue?"

"What!" the teen cried, head shoot up in surprise at his stepfather's remark.

"No! Of course not," the teenager denied to the man seated with him at the quiet, apartment kitchen table.

"A-huh. Well I gotta tell you Chrissy. I know to you forty-two is pretty much only one step out of the grave, but I'm not dead yet," Michael, his stepfather, commented with an amused smile.

"I still know a thing or two about young love and hidden looks."

Chris flushed bright red.

"I have not been giving him hidden looks," he defended.

"I graciously stand corrected," the man commented helping himself to another serving of pasta.

"Your looking has clearly not been hidden."

"Gah! Shut up already!" the teen retorted, head hung to hide his burning shame. Michael chuckled, giving the boy a smile from the corner of his eye.

"You're a good kid Chris. Never be afraid to ask someone you like out." The man's voice held a fondness in it, and Chris, felt his angry retort leech away.

"Hey Michael?"


"Thanks. For everything, I mean."

"Of course," The man said softly, leaning across the table and ruffling the teen's hair in a practiced motion, before returning to his meal. Eating another mouthful in silence, the man looked over at the teen whose face was still bowed in embarrassment. He cleared his throat.

"Wow! Sorry about that. That was really gay. Do you think I should go get my nails or something done now?" Michael teased with a goading smile.

"Oh God, Shut up!"

Chris rubbed his hands together, blowing on them to try and warm them up.

'I hope this pizza guy gets here soon, or I'm going to have to reheat myself in the oven first.'

Another month had gone by.

Four months of correcting people on his pedigree.

'Damn, here he comes.'

Four months now of watching the boy in the blue suit, and now the black overcoat, that kept the wind off.

Despite the cold, Chris felt himself begin to warm up at the sight of the shorter teen. The object of his fancy.

'Say something you fool!' he raged inwardly. Chris opened his mouth.

"Hey babe, where you been? I've missed you!"

A twenty-something man had run up behind the boy in blue, slinging an arm around his shoulders. The stranger, a beefy athlete, the gesture familiar.

Chris' heart sank like the Titanic. Exploded like the Death Star. Failed like that time he tried jumping a gap on his skateboard, and the board shot forward and hit a boy he liked in the face.

'Now cracks a noble heart, Good night sweet prince.'

He turned away unable to bear the sight of his infatuation with his chosen worshipper.


"Ow! Fuck! What the hell did you do that for!"

Chris turned to see that the jock had been, in what was evident to seen, thrown to the ground in a heap. The boy in blue's eyes were fiery.

"I told you before, we're done. Don't approach me again."

His vision stalked past, leaving jock astrewn, and me in shock.

'Was that a glance?'

Six months had passed.

Chris bitterly kicked a stone down the street. Breaking up with his boyfriend Carmen had been tough. Though sweetly satisfying.

Carmen was on the water polo team. For whatever reason the athlete had asked him out. Given the senior's, ahem, attributes, Chris had swiftly accepted. The advance did bring into question though how the swimmer knew that he was not attracted to the fairer sex.

"Michael, do I act like a fag?" the teen had asked his guardian over their meal.

"...So how's that book you're reading for English class going..."


At least he had gotten his cherry popped. Though in hindsight he wished it hadn't been to a complete douche. Carmen looked good, and his manly goods got the gold star. However his idea of monogamy was on clear display when Chris walked in on him and three guys from the lacrosse team. Not the only thing being displayed either.

"Look Chris," he had said. "You're cute and everything, but I got needs, man. And well...A bro's gotta do what a bro's gotta do. Besides, you're too vanilla for this sort of thing, so it's not like I could talk to you about it." My eyebrows rose.

"Michael. Say in theory, you caught your err ...significant other in bed with three other people. Would you join in?"

"...Have you double-checked your math homework Chris, because I remember how tricky those quadratics could be..."


Sighing, the teenager stepped through the doors to the apartment building and made a beeline for the elevator. Blindly hitting the button, Chris leant back against the glass wall, staring through the ceiling at the graying sky.

Ding. The doors opened. Chris looked down, readying himself to step off of the lift to his floor, but freezing as his eyes caught sight of the person stepping onto the lift. It wasn't Mrs Phelps, the woman on the eighth floor that always wore a butterfly broach and smelled strongly of turpentine. Nor was it Mr Larson, a geriatric war veteran who never went anyway without at least five medals pinned to his chest, and his one-eyed parrot Figaro. No it was someone who intrinsically invoked more terror.

The boy in blue. Glancing at Chris, the ethereal sight steeped onto the lift, the doors closing. Was that the elevator moving, or was his stomach just doing cartwheels.

'Shit. Shit. Shit. Say something.'

"Hi," Chris breathed. The boy in blue looked over at Chris, sea-green eyes washing over him.

"Hello," the boy returned in a melodious voice. It sounded like sex to Chris' ears.

'Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Don't get a boner. Don't get a boner. Don't get a boner!'

"I'm Chris," His mouth provided dumbly. The blonde god smiled slightly.


'Shit, too late.'

"Well I'm in the building, so I guess I'll see you around," Chris remarked trying to sound casual.

The boy in the blue, Isias, tilted his head curiously examining the taller male with enthralling eyes. Chris shuffled uncomfortably.

The door to the elevator opened with an electronic ding and Chris made the move to quickly shuffle out. Made the move, but was thwarted by the slender hand on his chest. Before he could comprehend what was happening, soft lips had pressed themselves firmly onto him, and all too quickly, they had gone again.

Isias gave him a smile.

"I guess you will."

The boy in blue exited the lift, leaving a brain dead seventeen year old boy in his wake. Numbly Chris opened his hand, unfolding the note to find it contained Isias' phone number.

The teen sank down to his knees.



AN: Thanks for reading. Just a quick little drabble that popped up whilst writing another story. No real point to this I suppose. Glad if you enjoyed it though.

quote used: 'Now cracks a noble heart, Good night sweet prince.' - Hamlet.

Enjoy. Review. Favourite. Subscribe.

Constructive feedback always appreciated.