The police station was scary. Well, not as scary as almost being raped, but still scary. If anyone had told me three months ago, that I would be at the station, making a statement, I would have laughed in their face and asked them what shit The Misfits had gotten themselves into this time. I wouldn't even consider that the statement could be about me.

Eric was sitting next to me, Manfred and the rest scattered around the small waiting room, most of them pacing back and forth or shaking their leg. We were waiting for our parents, Eric and I that is. We were the only minors, even if Odd easily could pass as one.

Manfred has briefly explained to me what had happened to... well you know who. The knowledge that he was in the same building terrified me. I didn't realise how my grip around Eric's hand tightened as my thoughts raced, not until he squeezed back lightly. Breathing deeply, I tried to relax myself.

The paramedics had already done a check up on me, treating my wounds but deciding that I didn't need to go to the hospital, at least not for the time being. I did, however, have to make a statement, like identify him to actually be the right guy and shit. Like who else would it be? We both had several marks and wounds that should be evidence enough.

All heads snapped to the door as it creaked open, in stumbled two pairs of parents. Eric's parents immediately ran up to him, cooing and stroking his cheeks, whereas my own silently walked up to me. Maybe in a slightly quicker pace than usual. Mum crouched down in front of me, still silent. When she opened her arms I couldn't contain my tears. I flung myself into her embrace. She hugged me tight, dad joining in from behind. I cried loudly, as they both stayed silent, just stroking my hair in a soothing matter.

A policewoman interrupted our small reunion by awkwardly clearing her throat. Telling us that it was time for me to make the statement. I think she pronounced "time to be harshly interrogated" wrong.

I stood up on shaky legs and followed her out of the room, towards a much smaller, and darker room. I sat down across from a large, bulky man with pitch black hair and glasses. He looked stern and slammed the notepad he held on the table before he began to speak.

Everything bled into a film of blurr, which I had a hard time separating and put in order. The policeman interrogating me was terrifying. Not only was he suspicious of me, but after a while I began to think that he looked quite like him, same dark eyes. I shuddered at the thought. The man cleared his throat, and closed his notebook. The scraping of his chair as he stood up startling me.

"You can go to your family, we will contact you if we need further information," he declared as he looked down at me. I nodded numbly and slowly stood up too.

My parents were waiting for me, both sitting silently next to each other on one of the hard couches. Manfred and Eric was still present, as well as Eric's parents, and they both looked up to me when I appeared by the door. No one said anything, and before I knew it I was in my room. I blinked slowly, trying to remember how I got there.

It didn't feel right, my room I mean. Everything was too dark, too quiet. After my parents had gone to sleep, I laid quietly on my bed, staring at the ceiling. The moon was shimmering brightly in the sky, but still, sleep dodged me. Eventually I settled at my desk, a blank piece of paper in front of me. I certainly was not a drawer, I could barely even be considered a doodler. But today, after all that had happened during the last 24 hours, I wanted to draw. To let all my emotions out on a simple piece of paper. I only owned a normal pencil, no colors, if blue ink wasn't included in that category.

I began to draw.

First I only drew quick lines, none of them connected to another. All of them were straight, none of them looped or even curved. Only straight, grey lines. It felt kind of ironic. Being gay and all. Straight and grey doesn't really fit... go well with that.

When the sun began to rise above the neighbourhood, tiredness finally set its claws in me. I closed the blinds, hoping and praying that my parents wouldn't wake me up any time soon.

I barely hit the pillow before I was sleeping.

Sure enough, my parents let me sleep. Probably thinking I needed all the rest I could get. They weren't wrong per se, but I would rather stay awake for years if that meant I wouldn't dream of him. Which I had done the former night. I had woken up about five times in a row before I had decided against going back to sleep. Eventually I skipped sleep altogether.

This was evidently not good for my health. A week passed, and I had barely slept an hour per day. My parents were against me returning to school. I understood why. They had both taken some time off work for my sake, and I guess my appearance wasn't convincing them to go back. Maybe school wouldn't be such a bad idea though, maybe it could take my mind off of what had happened.

I tried to keep up a good facade, in front of their eyes at least, but also in front Manfred, the Misfits even in front of Eric. Something I noticed, however, was that it didn't work that well with Eric. He basically saw right through me.

After only a couple of hours together, he made a remark on my tired eyes, even if I tried to cover the large, bruise like circles under my them with mum's concealer. He commented my hunched posture, even when I tried my best to sit and walk with confidence and certainty. He even noted the pain in my voice as I spoke, and didn't think twice before pointing it out.

As expected; it didn't take long before I spilled all of my inner demons to him.

After he convinced my parents that he should stay the night, and maybe a couple of nights in the future too.

That same night, Eric poured me a bath, with more bubbles than I'd have in many years. He gave me warm clothes, ones that I didn't fully recognise as my own. Not that I would ever complain about clothes that were large, comfy and had the scent of my favorite person. I tiptoed out to my room, Eric waiting patiently by my desk. Only looking up slightly as I entered the room.

Even if the clock barely passed eight, we laid down on my bed, pulling the duvet up to our chins. I felt his body heat, even if we weren't touching each other. Eric smiled at me, and raised his hand to caress my cheek. I couldn't refrain from flinching when his hand met with my skin. A look of pain passed over his features. A look of regret over mine. When tears welled up in my eyes, Eric sat up. He tried his best not to touch me, and still tried to comfort me; just shushing and mumbling promises that everything would be 'okay'.

I didn't sleep much that night either. This time, however, it wasn't because of nightmares. Instead it was because I kept being startled awake, each and every time we accidentally touched, or even brushed against each other. I couldn't help it, obviously, but the feeling that I was the one in wrong lingered. Eric kept on telling me that it would turn out okay, that I hadn't done anything wrong. He stayed awake together with me, never complaining even when I saw the dark circles begin to form under his eyes.

After a couple of days, the nights repeating, Eric seemed to have had enough.

He caught me in the kitchen, staring menacingly on my food, not eating.

"Lucas, we need to talk," he told me, taking a seat in front of me. Mum and dad had been forced to back to their work, as they played a large part in some new project. Therefore Eric stayed with me, even if he should be at school. I froze in my seat as his voice was stern. My heart beated rapidly in my chest.

"About what?" I managed to croak out. He sighed, clasping his hands on the table in front of him.

"You're beautiful," he deadpanned, making me choke on my own spit. However, he wasn't planning on letting it end there, and continued: "You're one of the most amazing people I know and have ever known, for a matter of fact. You're strong, smart and even if you have absolutely no sense of direction you manage to find me. You never complain, not even when the world seems against you. I have known you since we were eight, and I have never, not even once, regretted that I approached you that day in second grade. Not. Even. Once. One year ago, you showed up at my doorstep. You had a black eye and your eyes were red, as if you'd been crying. You told me it was nothing but a mugger. But weirdly enough, nothing was stolen from you. Later that same week I noticed how Manfred had a bandaged hand. I knew that you had lied, but I didn't want to pressure you about it. It was only a couple of days later that I heard that it had been your boyfriend that had hurt you.

I'm not sure if this was when I realised that I saw you as something else, something more, but I guess that's one of the reasons why I broke up with Siri. Damn. I was deep in denial, for so long. Too long! Even if I began noticing small things about you that had been irrelevant to me before, such as when you bite your nails when you are nervous, like now. Or maybe when you stomp your foot out of anger whenever I hold something out of reach for you. Small things, like how your eyes seem brown, but really are green with small specs of brown. How your freckles multiply by hundreds in the late summers. Or how you might seem meek on the outside, although I know how damn strong you really are.

I love how your eyes are just a little bit too far apart, and how you always believe that your hair lays on the "wrong side" even when it looks perfectly fine. I love the large birthmark that you have on your upper back, do you remember how I always thought it looked like a bear? When I hear your voice I feel such an immense happiness that I don't even know if I should cry for being lucky enough to have you next to me, or lock you inside a room so that no one would ever be able to hurt you. I fucking love you, and anyone who tries to prove me otherwise better be prepared to end up in a pile of trash. You are the only person in this world that I would be prepared any day to lay down my life for. I love you, and I'll make damn sure that you know it from now on. Don't let that fucking piece of garbage leave you afraid. You are stronger than him, beautifuller!"

He ended his speech with a loud huff. I was ironically enough; speechless. Tears rimmed my eyes, and I was blushing. A smile graced my lips with its presence for the first time in a week and after a long time my chest was blooming with warmth. I reached over the table, laying my hands on top of his, not flinching at the contact. When the words finally found its way to my vocal cords all I could choke out was:

"'Beautifuller' is not a real word dummy. I love you too."