For the first time since the previous year - probably more - Pelham spent one week not dreading. In fact, he tried to relish every hour he had as substantially as possible - even if it involved waking up early in the morning for school on a daily basis. Even without the presence of his best friend at school or coming over his house to play video games, Pelham was able to breathe imperturbably for a week or so.

April remained hanging out with him, though now that she was practically his ex-girlfriend, it was as though the untrammelled, sarky - not to mention wayward - side of her were unfolding. Pelham reckoned this was what it must be like to be normal friends with April. Not that he didn't know her well - rather, she simply hardly ever exposed the other part of her. At times, when they were spending their time outside, she would point out some boys that might be appealing to him, and Pelham never failed to go red in the face and ears whenever she caught him staring at one, as though his dignity had been snatched away.

So much for coming out.

It was all fairly pacifying, still. Every now and then, Pelham dared saying that her being aware of the fact that he was an invert was convenient; that he need not have to tell anyone else. Be that as it may, he couldn't help but expect that his closeted sexuality would have to come out in the open eventually.

In spite of that, taking a break from years of angst was reasonably tranquilising.

On the contrary, he and Lucio grew closer over the week. He'd started to see Lucio a lot more often around school. It struck him on how he used to hardly ever see the boy around, how he wasn't really aware of the boy's existence before they became friends. And he assumed Lucio was not the type to walk around a lot. Rather, Lucio was the type of student who arrived early to class or stayed in the library, or simply just lingered in the classroom when the bell rang to signal lunch time.

Pelham would usually text Lucio, asking where he was five minutes before the lessons ended, and would always meet the boy outside his classroom during lunch hours. In that way, he didn't need to search the school to locate him. It also struck him on how small Lucio's circle of friends were. He noticed that Lucio always walked with the same girl to class.

There were times when Lucio grew quiet whenever they conversed about their past lives, and even though Pelham badly wanted Lucio to spill out why he avoided such topic, he kept it quiet. Pelham respected Lucio's refusal to share his personal information. Though, deep inside, he merely wished Lucio could trust him enough to tell him everything. He only wanted to be a good friend who Lucio could trust.

Again, it had nothing to do with sympathy. He hadn't had the faintest idea on why he wanted to get to know the Hispanic boy so badly.

In fact, if Pelham were honest with himself, Lucio bemused him in such a bizarre way that he couldn't putting a finger on.

*

Roshon returned on a Friday evening - after the first week of February rolled in - surprising Pelham by standing in his room when he came back from school that day.

Pelham, scared beyond his guts at the sight of Roshon standing in the middle of his room the moment he opened the door, reacted impulsively by hollering obscenities and hurling his thick Psychology file in Roshon's direction, before striding towards him and pulling him into a brotherly hug.

"Holy mother - what the actual - what-" Pelham couldn't finish his words, releasing his best friend and patting him on the back with such force that nearly threw Roshon off-balance.

"I thought you'd come up with a smarter question; like how I got into your room,"

Pelham beamed. "Well, I can't rewind the time,"

"And I might as well be a demon possessing your mate's body,"

"I'll get the salt,"

Roshon grinned. "How're you holding up?"

It was a simple question with a simple answer. But Pelham hadn't exactly been healthy in his head, so he shrugged, trying to appear indifferent.

The pair of best friends hung out in Pelham's room for the rest of the afternoon; Pelham catching up with Roshon's life, bombarding the latter with questions - mostly because he just needed to hear something good.

So far, Roshon filled him in with some trials; how to design a game with outstanding qualities that would enthral gamers; the pros-and-cons; his future if he kept inserting his efforts into the whole scheme. All in all, by the sounds of it, Pelham knew that Roshon was only one step ahead at reaching his dreams in a full potential. Now he mused on whether Roshon would need to sit for his A-Levels, for the agency there had already asked for a presentation - not to mention the positive feedback.

If there was one thing that pleased Pelham, it would be hearing the people he cared about in a state of content.

That was when Roshon brought up the subject of Lucio, when it seemed as though he had run out of topics, for he had apparently drained them out to Pelham. "You know, boy with black hair and conspicious pink lips," said Roshon when Pelham's reply had been a "What?" - indicating that he needed to make sure what he heard was right. Though, it seemed that Roshon reckoned that Pelham had forgotten who Lucio Alves was.

"Yeah, I heard you,"

"He still around?" asked Roshon, leaning back in Pelham's study chair. "Still kickin'?"

"'Course he is," said Pelham, furrowing his eyebrows. "What, did you miss him or something?"

Roshon huffed. "Well, no. I mean, he's cool. But I miss my pillows more than anyone,"

"Okay,"

Roshon looked like he was about to say something, but the silence stretched on, causing Pelham to feel fairly discomfitted. Roshon was amusing himself by looking through Pelham's DC comics, while Pelham sat there, looking thoroughly out of place, as though his room was welcoming Roshon more than him.

The silence was then fortunately broken by Pelham's mother calling for him from the stairs, informing him - and Roshon - that she had bought dinner from one of her book club gatherings. "You boys love cheese burgers, don't you?" her voice resonated around the hallway.

Roshon looked up, and his attention instantly landed on Pelham, who had the similar eager expression. Roshon's lips curled into a small smirk. "I love your mum," he said. "I can come here every day for free junk food."

"She doesn't bring home junk food every day," Pelham stated.

"Then tell her to," And by that, Roshon got up from Pelham's study chair, sending it gently spinning, and made his way out of the room.

Pelham's mother was craddling Oris around her waist once the two boys made their way downstairs, feeding the infant some porridge. Oris choked at the sight of Roshon - she always did, for some irresolvable reason. Roshon once speculated that she might be a little racist even for a three-year-old, only to receive a hard smack across the back of his head by Pelham.

At the sight of Pelham emerging from the door after Roshon, Oris gave a hearty chuckle - like she always did - causing some chewed porridge to dribble down her chin. Upon seeing this, Roshon rolled his eyes in an unecessarily over-exaggerated way.

"She'll love you once she's older, dear," said Pelham's mother to Roshon, trying to suppress her laughter at the same time.

Pelham grabbed a napkin and gently wiped Oris' chin, kissing the side of her head afterwards. Roshon tried to caress her cheek, but she swiped his hand away, a disgruntled look replacing her joyous face. "No touch!" she said.

"Yes, I'm sure we'll be the best of friends, Mrs Nixon," Roshon remarked in a falsely sweet voice. "And we'll rant on how ridiculous Pelham's future wife is."

Jody definitely couldn't sense - let alone hear - the sarcasm dripping in Roshon's words, for she simply smiled as she proceeded to feed her step daughter. Pelham, on the contrary, stiffened for a second at the mention of "wife", before grabbing the package that contained two wrapped cheese burgers and tossing one in Roshon's direction, which he caught.

"April is not ridiculous," Mrs Nixon said quite offhandedly.

Roshon, already tearing the wrapper and taking a mouthful bite of the burger, simply snorted. "I don't reckon they're planning to get back together," he said a matter-of-factly, as though he was talking about the weather.

Pelham suddenly found the yellow plastic wrapper more intriguing and the taste of the burger more scrumptious.

"'Get back together'?" Jody repeated, clearly puzzled.

A heavy silence followed suit, to which was broken by Roshon, who addressed Pelham and hissed, "Your mum doesn't know?"

Apparently, Jody had her ears strained. "What don't I know, Pelham?" There was a slight danger in the way she spoke his name that sent shivers running down Pelham's spine.

Fortunately, he didn't find it as a huge issue to be chewed over. "We broke up, Mum," he said casually.

"Oh," she said, her tone becoming indifferent. "I thought ..."

"Thought what?"

"Never you mind," she said dismissively. Then she murmured something incoherent, to which Pelham thought he caught the word "abortion". She didn't ask further questions, though - much to Pelham's content.

He didn't suppose that he was ready to tell the exact reason. Apart from that, he simply didn't want to lie and say that the sparks were gone, that he had come to realise that it was all puppy love. Unreciprocated, more like. The latter was not entirely true, because he still loved her - just in a platonic way. He couldn't feel it. It was never there.

The confessions back when they were younger was all a lie. A lie to April and himself. Both of them had been deceived by themselves, however possible that could get.

His father entered the house later on, brandishing a rolled up newspaper in his hand, looking somewhat distressed - what with his unkempt hair and loosened tie, as though he had practically run from his office. "These kids!" he was saying, his tone painted with lucid aggravation. "They were at it again!"

"Who were?" Jody asked, curiosity etched in her voice.

"Remember that gay kid? Who died?"

Pelham's ears perked up, and he looked towards his father, implying him to proceed. Roshon looked in the middle of bewilderment and indifference at the sudden change of scenario.

"There has been another death," Kenneth simply said, tossing the newspaper airily onto the coffee table, where a heading read somewhere beneath the main headline.

Bile rose up in Pelham's throat. Do they have to label him as 'homosexual'? he thought. "What's this, a queer purge?" He said tartly.

"Language," Roshon stated, while Jody said, "Again?"

"By the same people who had 'accidentally' killed the kid last month," said Kenneth, shaking his head. "They were arrested this time, Jody. They said it was vengeance - but some witnesses claimed it to be some sort of an assault. They knew the bloke that they'd assaulted - that's for sure."

"What crime did he do?" Jody asked.

"Who?"

"The ... gay kid," she said. "What did he do to have himself killed?"

"Being gay, I guess," Pelham said, finally finding his calm voice.

"If you read it, it states there that they didn't mean to kill him. It was just a homophobic ambush,"

"That's too bad," said Jody, wiping some stain that was dribbling down Oris' chin to her bip, causing her tone to sound nonchalant.

"'Beat to death'," Roshon was reading, his mouth full. "Ghastly. Poor bloke. Says here he was a doctor and was killed on his way home from seeing someone. Head banged against the wall at intense force when the tyrants surrounded him in an alley - how typical ... Pelham, where you heading, mate?" he added, upon seeing Pelham getting up from the stool and making his way for the door, abandoning his half-eaten cheese burger.

Pelham stopped short. He had lost his appetite from hearing the news his father had brought home, let alone have Roshon summarise the whole article for him. He was awash with nausea, and he honestly didn't want to hear any of those any longer. It wasn't fair to people like him.

"Need some air," he told everyone in the kitchen before heading out, just like he did during the time April came over for dinner, and similar news had been broadcast live on the television.

Once outside, he didn't stop to sit on the bench. Instead, he walked on, stuffing his hands into his jeans pocket as he did so. Don't think, he told himself as he shoved his tongue against his molars, trying to flick the chewed patty that hadn't been swallowed. Walk. Don't think. Just walk.

He took a deep breath and exhaled, letting some weight lift off his shoulders. He ambled down the pavement, not having a definite direction, almost as though his legs had the capacity to walk of their own accord. It wasn't long before he heard Roshon call his name not far behind him. Soon, his best friend slowed down to a trot as he fell into a step beside him.

"You must be so upset to leave a half-eaten burger like that," Roshon remarked. "You never leave burgers only half eaten."

"If you're here to ask whether you can finish the rest; no, you can't," said Pelham, not meeting his friend's attention.

"Wasn't going to - but you're giving me ideas," Pelham could feel the smirk following the sentence that had left Roshon's mouth, and couldn't help but smile a little.

"I'll gobble it down by midnight."

A comfortable silence settled in. Both boys ambled down the pavement, not saying much. Occasionally, when the other was a few steps ahead, the other one would catch up until he was one step further, and it all became a non-verbally conducted race. Eventually, they were trying to maintain a similar footpace with one another - left-left, right-right, left-left, right-right - and it became a challenge, seeing as Pelham tended to get lost in the rythm, like placing his right foot in front of his left twice in one pace, so it looked like he was skidding to a halt at the brink of a cliff, nearly plunging down into the abyss.

It was a relatively bizarre sight, if seen from afar; two tall boys - both of whom were nearing adulthood, one light-skinned, the other dark-skinned - walking with each of their arms draped over one another's shoulders, their heads bent low, and their backs bowed, as they tried to mantain a constant, rythmic footpace. They looked like two inebriated mates coming home from the bar, giggling now and then when the other put the wrong foot, thereby spoiling the pace.

"I guess you're never gonna tell me what's up when you left the house," Roshon finally spoke up.

"Obviously, the news," Pelham replied a matter-of-factly.

"Never took you for a sensitive one,"

"Not that," he said. "It's what it was about. I hate it."

"Hate who; the delinquints or the gay?"

Pelham gave a humourless laugh at the latter noun. "I'm not homophobic," he said flatly, wishing he could've blurted out the adjective that described him but not necessarily defined him.

"The killing was unintentional," Roshon said.

"Like they didn't see it coming," Pelham snorted, shaking his head as he looked up at the forget-me-not blue sky. "It was an ambush. Pretty sure they wanted the killing to be staged as 'accidental'."

"Your mum said this is the second time you left the house on similar news," Roshon noted after a while.

"She's not wrong,"

"Why did it upset you so much?"

"Didn't it?" Pelham rounded on Roshon, not certain where the sudden ire was coming from, or to whom or what it was directed. "This whole thing is to raise awareness of the society. Have yours?"

"Whoa, dude," Roshon put his hands up before his chest with his palms out. "I just - I never took you for someone who really cares about this. Didn't know you highly support the L.G.B.T. community."

There are things about me that are beyond your knowledge, Roshon. Pelham wished he could say that, but couldn't - not at the moment - seeing as Roshon would either become dubious, leading to questions that might risk at exposing his sexuality (he simply wasn't ready), or a comical one; Roshon might as well ask Pelham whether he had a hidden superpower that was beyond his knowledge.

"You're right, Pel," Roshon continued when Pelham didn't say anything. "They might as well stage the killing as 'accidental'. Who wouldn't expect a death in an ambush - whatever it was?"

Pelham nodded solemnly. "I need some time alone," he gave his best friend a reassuring smile. "I like walking around in the evening ..."

"Really?" There was a hint of amusement in Roshon's reply. "I guess I'll just return to your house and finish up-"

"Not my burger,"

"Oris' porridge," finished Roshon. "I was going to say I'm finishing up her porridge."

"You don't like porridge. You said they look like vomit,"

"And you hardly walk in the evening,"

"I guess we're even,"

"Splendid,"

"You never say 'splendid'," Pelham remarked. "That's my line."

"I guess things are behaving beyond normalcy today - let's hope Oris finds me interesting,"

Pelham pressed his lips to suppress the snort that was threatening to leave his throat.

Roshon left him on his own later on, resolving that Pelham clearly wanted to be alone.

Despite the clear sky, the weather was considerably cold. Pelham turned around a corner to a rather abandoned street with fewer residents and reached what used to be what looked like a playground; a cobalt swingset, with veins entangling themselves and snaking their way up their rusty bars, mould growing from its wooden planks for seats; a seesaw that rested on one end, one of its seats completely amassed with weed that had emerged from beneath it, where it had never been lifted up by the absence of a weight pressing on its other end, because it only relied on antagonistic forces.

Monkey bars stood on the far end of the park, isolated from the others. Pelham made his way towards it. He hadn't climbed the bars ever since he fell from one when he was seven, fracturing his fibula, and vowing afterwards to never climb it again.

Yet, here he was, ten years later; enclosing his fingers around the fairly cold, rusty bar and heaving at it, testing its strength. He then put one foot up on the bar of the ladder and began climbing. He might almost be eighteen, but age didn't necessarily give judgement to the things he enjoyed doing - climbing, for instance.

He didn't swing from his hands, however. He was too tall, and the other one-foot height from the ground to his toes didn't really give the satisfaction of playing on monkey bars. Instead, he sat on top of the bars, careful to anchor his feet on the ladders to steady himself. He surveyed the area. A few cars passed by; what must they think, to see a lonesome, conflicted seventeen-year-old sitting on top of the monkey bars at nearly six in the evening?