Breeze (The Mighty Queertet: Story 3)

Chapter 15: Shooting the Breeze by Star

Portman’s POV
I feel Fulton jab me in the ribs. He’s been doing that for a few minutes now, I was hoping he’d lose interest in waking me up, but he hasn’t.

“Stop!” I tell him. “I’m covered in bruises thanks to you.”

He laughs. “I knew you were faking. That resonating snore of yours was strangely silent.”

“Ok, last night you woke me up for ‘hi’. Now you’re waking me up to insult my snoring—and by the way, I do not snore!”

“Sure you do.”

I’m seriously considering becoming nocturnal, for this week at least. It would make these night time chats more enjoyable. I might actually be able to say something intelligent instead of the junk I was babbling about last night.

“Ok. So I snore.” I know I don’t. “Can I go back to sleep now?”

“No.”

“You’re the boss,” I mumble sleepily.

Actually, I don’t know if that’s the truth. I remember sitting in class one day and listening to these two girls talk about their boyfriends, and who was in charge of the relationship. Apparently who every loves the other more is the one that isn’t in charge.

It sounds like nonsense, because in our relationship, no-one’s in charge, and I think we’re too young to apply the term ‘equal partnership’ to ourselves. Then again, maybe we’re not.

I sometimes think he needs me more than I need him.

But I love him more.

He jabs me in the ribs again. “You’re dozing again.”

I fend off his hands that are determined to leave fingertip shaped bruises all over my ribs. “That’s because it’s…” I glance at the clock. “Almost four a.m.”

I have to wake up. He obviously wants to talk to me, despite his playful tone. “What’s up?” I ask.

“I don’t know.” He says, turning over onto his stomach and resting on his elbows.

“You don’t know?”

He sighs. “I think I should call them again.”

Them. The parents. Mr. and Mrs. Reed.

“You obviously don’t think I should,” he deduces.

“It’s not that…” Yes it is. “I just don’t like to see them upset you. I know how much you hurt after talking to them.”

“What do you think I should do then?” It’s the first time he’s asked this question without even the faintest tint of sarcasm or defensiveness.

“I think you should talk to Bombay or Orion. Tell them what has happened, ask them for advice.” I tell him. It’s not the first time we’ve had this conversation, but it’s the first time it seems like he’s listening. “You need someone who can help you. Bombay’s a lawyer, he could help… and he’s a good guy.”

He stares down at the pillow between his elbows. “Would you come with me?” he asks. “I know it’s not really your—”

I cut him off. “I’d be offended if you didn’t ask me to come along.”

I run my fingers through his hair and he turns to smile at me. “Should I tell the others?”

“You don’t have to.” I pull him towards me so he nestles in my arms. “But they’re your friends, they won’t think any less of you.”

“I was actually thinking they’ve got enough problems.” He tells me, finding one of my hands and interlocking fingers.

“Look, the lesbians are fine, better than fine, they’ve been all over each other all day. Guy and Julie have finally had their first kiss—not only did I get to witness it, Julie told me all the gory details later. I think she’s going to be my fag hag.”

He laughs, then stops. “What about Charlie and Adam?”

I wrap my arms tighter around him and drop a kiss on his neck. “I bet they’re making up right now.” I say reassuringly.

“You really believe that?”

“I want to.”


The Girl, Official stalker of Carla, Tangible Muse and Bod Who Generally Fixes the Mean Nasty Coding That Makes Carla Cry (After Having Broken It In The First Place)

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