I pour a bag of sand into the two-foot container I've dug into the ground by the back garden wall. I've lived in this house for a few years but this is the first summer that I've touched the garden. I'm too skint for owt proper but I've planted some periwinkle and heucheras in the shade, tomatoes in the sun, and sprinkled clover seeds into the grass for less maintenance and more bees.

Now I'm making a pond. The internet says they're good for frogs and frogs are important for a garden's ecosystem. Though I doubt there'll be any frogs looking to settle down in Moss Side.

I'm arranging rocks over the sand when the door opens. I look up at Cece. It's jarring to see his arms bare. Despite the summer heat, they've worn either a hoodie or left a black long-sleeve under their tees every day; their skin is so pale we could pass for different races. Their headphones are wrapped around their neck though the music is so loud that I can hear the repeat of "I think I'd love to die alone" even though he never steps outside.

'You're gonna get ear damage.'

'I'm tryna not hear my thoughts, genio.'

'If you go deaf you'll have to listen to the thoughts all day.'

His brow pinches and they chew on their fingernails. 'I'd not thought of that.' He straightens his posture and grins. 'Guess I'll just have to kill myself first.'

'What?'

'I were gonna do some washing...'

I wait for them to continue but when they don't, I smile. Maybe they're asking for permission. 'That's alright, go ahead.'

Cece drops their attention to their socks, scrunching their toes. 'Could you... like, show me?'

I baulk, then internally smack myself. Don't: Be a dick. 

Foster homes have to keep detergent locked away for safety risks—small children could accidentally consume them, teenagers could... well, they could intentionally consume them. From the little I know of Cece's care experience, I doubt any of their foster parents would've taken the time to teach them how to wash laundry.

I fork the surprise out of my voice as I push myself off the ground. 'Course.'

My eyes take a while to adjust to the darkness inside. Cece has already packed their black mass of clothing into the washer but that's as far as they've got. I open it. 'You'll want to turn all your graphic tees inside out. It'll stop the print from wearing out so quickly.'

'Oh. Okay.'

I turn all their studded and chained clothes inside out too, closing all the zippers and buttons. I show them how to tell if the washer is too full, explain that it's important for the water and detergent to be able to saturate the fabrics properly.

When I fetch the detergent, Cece lurches forward. 'That says colour.'

I raise my eyebrows. 'It won't turn your clothes into a rainbow.'

'I didn't think it would!' Their cheeks burn red.

I wrestle back my grin. Would be easy to take the piss! But then they'll never ask me for help again.

'There's white detergent that tends to strip colour from clothes, then there's colour detergents that brighten them up, and black detergent that keeps them from going grey. If it's well important that your blacks stay bright, you can always just dye them twice a year. Though, since all your clothes are black–' including their socks and underwear '–for you it might just be easier to get a black detergent when you start buying your own. But I've used this colour one thus far and you've not noticed owt so I reckon it's alright.'

I show them how much to use, which slot to put it in, and go through all the different settings and buttons, even the ones I've never used in my life like "spin only". Once the machine is humming through the initial cycles, I open the fridge, and get myself a glass of cold aguapanela con limón.

Cece stares at the revolving mass of black. He's not planning to stay there the whole time, is he? Do he reckon he'll turn around and they'll turn sparkly? 

I pour them a glass of aguapanela too. They lean against the kitchen table to watch the clothes and I lean against the counter to watch them.

'How are you feeling about going back to West Country tomorrow?'

'Listen here, Rainbow Dash, I get that you have enough feelings for–' They catch their tongue, chaining their stare to the washer. They thumb the precipitation on the glass. 'Sorry, I didn't mean that. But I dunno how I feel about it, just... I'm scared about starting school. I'll cock it up again, I always do.'

'But it's different this time. Bobbi says you're doing loads better. And you're trying which is more than we can say for last time. She's there to help ya. Everyone at the school knows so they'll be able to support you much better–'

'That makes it so much worse!' Aguapanela splats onto the floor from the lurch of their arms. Cece continues to whine as they wipe it up with their sock like the kitchen roll is not literally a yard away. 'Teachers already have no faith in me when they know I'm from care and now they also know I'm insane. They'll hate me.'

I chew on my cheek. WWBD: What would Bobbi do? "They'll never trust themself if you don't trust them first". That's always Bobbi's advice.

'Don't the other kids from your home all go to the same school? I'm sure they're used to–'

'Freaks?'

I raise my hands. 'That's your word.' Trust him first. Trust him first. 'Cece, you'll be okay. You're doing much better and you've got so many people to help you. It won't be the same as before.'

Before, when it were just me. I were never help enough help. Did I even try to help?

'I'm sorry,' Cece says to his spinning clothes. 'For spoiling Pride for you. And for being generally difficult and evil.'

I leave my aguapanela on the counter so I can hug them but I manage to stop myself. Don't: Demand physical contact if they don't initiate it. Quit being so fucking greedy.

'You're not evil.'

A grin hooks the corner of their mouth. 'You can't hear my thoughts.'

'They're intrusive thoughts. They disturb your sense of morals. That's why they're intrusive.' I rack my brain for everything I've googled but can't recall any of the succinct descriptions. I settle to add, 'I love you.'

They dodge the words like a dish thrown across the room that shatters when it hits the wall.

'Hey,' I prod. 'I love you.'

Cece hums the way you do when someone invites you to a social event you dead don't wanna go to but can't outright say no. 'I– um...' They chew their nails. 'I drew you summat.'

My heart skips. Last time they drew me summat, they were ten. I'm too stunned to respond.

'I'll, um... I'll just go get it then.'

They leave the kitchen rather awkwardly, muttering to themself—I hope to themself. I wash my hands while I wait, dry them thoroughly, daubing all the moisture from my fingerprints. 

They take much longer than makes sense and I've just reckoned he must've changed their mind when Cece returns with a page carefully cut out of his sketchbook. Esther is by their side this time, groggy from her nap.

Shifting their weight from foot to foot, they inspect me, tryna calculate if they really should give me the drawing or not. They hold it out eventually. It's a botanical poster, depicting the life cycle of a plant. Not any plant I've ever seen.

'It's you as a plant.' He grimaces. 'You can throw it away if you don't want–'

I block their arm as Cece tries to grab it. 'I want it.'

I sit to take in all the details. His imagined plant is summat between an orchid and a dandelion with a bark-like texture to the shoot but impossibly delicate flowers. The leaves are the grey of the ocean on a windy day but the flowers are sun yellow. The petals morph into a pink ball of fluff that will distribute the seeds. The name Nicolás fortiflora is written on the bottom.

Me as a plant.

Cece points at the stage where the flowers are in full bloom. 'I drew some wasps to protect it from the caterpillars.' The wasps are, of course, neon green.

I place the poster on the table before I ruin it with tears. 'Is it okay for me to hug you?'

Their cheeks flush and I know they're about to tell me to fuck off but then he nods. I get off my chair and they wait for me to get close enough to hug them. They're rigid as a plank. I'm just about to let go when Cece hides his face in my shoulder, pressing much closer than they usually do. The orchids resurrect in my chest.

Notes

Aguapanela con limón: (lit. sugar cane water with lemon) Colombian sugar cane drink often seasoned with cinnamon, ginger, and lemon. It can be served hot or cold.

Kitchen roll: Paper towel.

Intrusive thoughts: Unwelcome and disturbing thoughts often associated with OCD and PTSD though anyone can have them occasionally. For a thought to be intrusive, it must be bothersome and distressing. (Wanting to cut your hair at three am is not an intrusive thought, please. stop. saying nonsense like that.)