"Can I ask you some shit?"

Remy looked up from his homework. He stared at the boy who was standing in the doorframe. He was leaning against it like he'd been there for hours. Truth was, he'd moved in less than five hours ago and already seemed content as hell, like he'd been there all along, born and raised in this crate.

Copper Iervalle was actually from a whole 'nother world.

"Uh," Remy said, stalling professionally, "what?"

Copper arched an eyebrow. "About this school of yours."

"Oh," Remy said, sitting back from his homework. He took off his smart-guy classes, which he only wore for reading, and cleared his throat. Copper was the son of his mother's new husband, and so that made them sort of kind of stepbrothers. For the longest time, he'd been hearing Copper this and Copper that, and oh dear you'll simply adore Bruce's son, he's so well groomed and proper and polite and he knows how to play croquet and who the fuck cares?

Remy had made a point to tell his mom that guys did not adore other guys, but when he'd finally been introduced to Copper, he couldn't help it. He adored Copper in a delightfully unnatural way. Despite Copper's feckless attitude, his arrogance, his silly mannerisms, Remy knew Copper would look fantastic underneath him.

Which was not something he ever wanted Copper to know Remy thought.

There were things that made Remy suspicious of his stepbrother's gender of choice, but the dude apparently could snap his fingers and a girl would appear on his penis, so that was that. Remy had forced himself to accept that Copper's suspicious moments — like how he played fucking croquet for god's sake, or how he didn't like the taste of beer, or how he gelled his hair in goops — were all to blame on his prestigious upbringing.

Daddy Bruce was a bigwig in his company and he made lots of dough. Dude likely slept in dollar bill blankets and wiped his ass with them too.

Still, that income was shared with his mom now, but it was weird to come home to a new wardrobe your mom thought you'd fricken love. Remy did not wear turtle neck sweaters, good lord. He wore hoodies that were too big and practically swallowed him. He wore boots with the fur, with the fur, and on days when he wanted to startle people, he wore a collar.

He'd been certain that once his mom and Bruce got married, they'd pack up and move to Miami and that would be that. Imagine his wry surprise when his mom announced that Bruce and his beloved son, Copper, were going to move into their crate.

Seriously, Remy lived in a box. It had two bedrooms — his mom's, and his. It had a kitchen and no real dining room. It had a living room and a pisser and a dinky back yard. It was a step up from trailer park status, but it was a house that wanted to be torn down. Remy could tell by how much it creaked. The house bitched, and bitched, and bitched. It wanted to die.

"Uh, what about it?" Remy asked, remembering he was in the middle of a conversation with this unfairly attractive boy.

Copper pushed off the doorframe and lounged his way in like some kind of alley cat getting bold. He reached up to rub the back of his neck, disturbing the strands of dark hair that touched. "So, there are no uniforms?"

Uniforms? "Er. No."

"Odd," Copper murmured. "So you can go dressed like... that?" He motioned at Remy. Remy looked down at himself. Yep, in signature suffocating hoodie and dark pants.

"... yes."

Copper nodded. "And... you walk?"

Remy hesitated. "I do. Are you getting a... chauffer or something? It's a ten minute walk."

Copper shook his head. "No. I'll walk, too."

Remy started to tap the pencil in his hand on his knee. Awkward as shit.

"You know what?" Copper said, dropping his hand from his neck. "I'll see for myself tomorrow anyway. So, do I..." He pointed at the bed. "Is that mine, or is that?" He pointed to the lone mattress on the floor.

"Uh," Remy said, "either. I don't care. Is your dad bringing your bed from Miami?"

Copper shoved his hands in his pockets. "No. We're keeping everything that's there, there. This is... gonna be all fresh shit."

Remy shifted. He didn't sound happy at all.

Copper nodded at the wall next to him. "About how sturdy is this wall?" he asked.

"Er..." Remy frowned. "It's... sturdy? Why?"

"I'm contemplating bashing my face into it, that's all." Copper dropped down onto the bed, and then sat up on all fours and stared down at the bed like he had no idea where it'd come from. "Jesus, this is not a mattress. It's made of pure iron, isn't it?"

Remy couldn't help but let a laugh escape him. He cleared his throat when Copper shot him a cool look.

Copper lay down, rolling onto his back, and stared up at the ceiling.

Yep. Sharing a bedroom. Life was funny to Remy. Just funny.

Eventually, he clicked his lamp off and called it a night. He whipped his clothes off, save his boxers, and sprawled out on the mattress. The room was tight with the two beds.

He listened to the laboured sounds of Copper's breathing as he slept, and frowned. He was not used to this.

He wasn't going to get a wink tonight.

It must've been 4a.m. and Remy was still wide awake. Copper was snoozing away all peaceful and shit, while Remy was lying here tortured by the boy's closeness. He'd never had another boy in his room — well, not since he'd been ten and had sleep overs. He'd never had another boy in his room since he'd reached puberty and had wanted to fuck every other guy in sight.

Remy had to shut his brain off because he was having inappropriate, curious thoughts about Copper, and this could not go on. They were supposed to share a room for the next year at least, and Remy needed sleep, damn it. He was entirely human and humans needed sleep.

He peeled himself off his mattress and groaned into his hands. Copper had clocked out in seconds, fully clothed, so he must've been wiped out. Lucky fuck.

Remy dressed as quick and quiet as he could, and then stepped out of the room. He snatched a book off the shelf in the hallway and trekked outside. He went down the street, slipped his reading glasses on, and began to read as he walked. It was dark out, but he used the street lamps as his light source. He really wasn't kind to his eyes, but damn it, he needed to distract himself. He needed to get lost in a book, in a story that did not have Copper in it.

So, he read and walked. He sighed on occasion, trying to release how worked up he was. What a joke his life was. Bruce and Copper prancing on in, sacrificing their rich life to live in a crate with poor peasants. How gallant they were.

Remy hated being attracted to a poodle. It was both humiliating and infuriating.

No. Stop thinking about that shit.

He frantically shook his head, and then hesitated when he caught sight of something from out of the corner of his eye. Red liquid tricked down the street, towards his shoes.

He stared. Blood?

He looked around himself, and then gawked. He was standing in the middle of something not so good.

Rock stared at the scene before him in wonderment.

This guy here — this guy, with his black rimmed glasses, his reddish brown hair, his runt physique, his book in hand — who was he? He was a mini beast. A baby bulldozer. Doom in the form of a kid.

Around him lay the Reds. There was Tony, a spineless kook, and there was Stan and Ray. All useless thugs. There was also Murray and Sketch and... what the fuck, there were twelve of them sprawled bleeding and unconscious. Not one made a peep. Shit, were they dead?

And this guy here had beaten the shit out of them, and then appeared to have casually flipped open a book and proceeded to read, as if they'd interrupted him and he'd decided to go butcher boy on their asses.

Rock's jaw dropped when the boy peered up at him from over his glasses.

Oh shit, oh shit, oh shit. He did not want to die.

He bolted.

AN: Oh sure.

Well, it amuses me. Hopefully you'll like it too! Review?