It's noisy.

People clamber up and down the stairs inside Chris's house. A female reporter talks about robbery somewhere coming from the cramped living room. I could hear the baby laughing loudly from upstairs, and someone's cooing. At least three kids are playing house on the floor, using Lego figurines as the people.

It's fun.

"I'm sorry. Our neighbor keeps on rambling about how loud our voices are - Kean, why the hell is there a Lego under my foot?"

"Chris! Language, young man," a woman pokes her head from the kitchen counter. It surely is his Mom. No one could miss the resemblance. The familiar mop of wavy, brown hair could be seen, hers arranged in a rather messy ponytail. The same faded blue eyes are there, too, although hers are a darker shade of blue and faint lines stretch under them, bags not very noticeable unless you take a closer, more observing look. She glares at her son before her eyes slowly drift to me. I give her a bright smile, my automatic greeting.

She stares back at me, and I don't know if I should continue smiling or not. And then her eyes turn big, and she races towards me, her arms flailing about in front of her. "Oh my God, Chris, where did you meet this cute, young lady here?" I blink ferociously as I get caught under Chris's mother's scrutinizing yet gleaming gaze at me. Chris smiles, drapes an arm over my shoulder and decides to answer.

"A classmate, Mom. And my best friend, too," he says as he squeezes my nose, the latter becoming noticeably red after the action. I wriggle away under his grip as I massage my nose, all the while giving him a glare. Her mother only chuckles, and I resist every urge in my body not to give her a raised eyebrow. Of course. What would I expect? She'd be used to Chris's antics; he's her son after all. Instead I play along with them and give a small amused shake of my head.

Chris's Mom, whom had insisted I call her Tina, ushers me to the living room, gesturing to the burgundy, L-shaped sofas. I oblige, the soft material sinking below me as I sit down. Two of the kids earlier stare at me, and I give them a smile.

"Chris, who's that girl?" the littlest one points a chubby finger at me, his brown eyes staring at mine pointedly. He says his words slowly, as if contemplating whether they were the right words to say, and I internally gush at how cute he sounded. I feign sad, faking a pout while I look at him.

"No need to be rude," I coo, the corners of my lips tugging into a smile. "I'm your brother's classmate, Megumi. What's your name?"

"Go on," Chris prompts, giving him a slight pat on the shoulder. "Megumi wants to know your name."

"But I don't want to," the little boy whines. He gives me one last look before he scrambles around Chris and runs off. My eyes trail behind him as my shoulders slump down.

"Huh," I say, blinking. "I guess I'm not one for your little siblings, eh?"

"Oh, but you are to me, Megs." He grins, shrugging it off. He settles on sitting down next to me, his grin prominent and as much as I want to disagree, quite contagious. I can't help grinning back for no reason whatsoever, and it makes Chris smile more. The noise inside is still overwhelming, nothing near comparable-worthy to my almost-silent house, but still, I feel like I belong.

"You want some cake? Last night's leftovers, to be exact," Chris offers, standing up. I nod, trying to stop the enthusiasm and the slight hunger I'd been enduring earlier from showing. He heads for the kitchen and I take this time to look around. The décor in here looks simple, the house sporting mahogany-themed furniture, and the walls painted a pale green, like overlooking a meadow, which is completely calming as it is.

I hear some scurrying from the room beside, and sure enough Chris comes scrambling to me, and I stand up to help carry the pitcher he obviously has difficulty carrying, and set it on the table sat at the centre of the room. It smells heavenly, the lingering aroma of mocha and chocolate hovering in the air as I take a quick sniff. I take my serving and quickly wolf it down, at the same time trying not to look like someone from District Twelve.

It's quiet, all of a sudden. I stop mid-eating and look at my surroundings. I see Chris looking at me, his lips curved up in a small grin, and his eyes narrowed at me in an amused manner. I swallow my food and take a gulp from my glass of juice before confronting him.

"It's rude watching someone eat, you know. It's also weird," I add thoughtfully, and finally eating the last small piece of cake on my plate.

"C'mon. Let's show you my room." Chris stands up again, and lends me a hand. I take it and he heaves me up to a standing position, before he suddenly runs and I am left scrambling along behind him. His feet slap the stairs loudly, and I notice how the baby's voice increased in volume, and how my heart suddenly thumped with excitement. All of a sudden a big smile is on my face, and I let my eyes sweep over the openly displayed rooms. Soon I see a crib inside one, powder blue wallpapers, empty milk bottles sprawled on the floor. But Chris moves forward, and we enter a different room.

Pastel green walls welcome me, and I feel the soft material of the carpet underneath my socks-covered feet. Simple furniture decorate the place, and most are painted in white. His small bed, which at least looks like it could fit two small persons, is set on the far corner, right next to the open and sole window. Chis sits there, and prompts me to do the same.

"I thought we're going to see the baby?" I say, my curious eyes wandering about the door.

"Eh. She could wait," he says, his voice a bit pressured as he stretches a bit and then leans back, his head landing perfectly on the pillow.

"I love your room," I say, taking another sweep of the place before returning my gaze to Chris. "Mine's still not painted; it's drabby. Everything's white and whenever I sleep, I feel like I'm in the hospital or something. It isn't really something I would like."

"I'd love to go to your house someday," he absentmindedly remarks, his eyes suspended in the air in front of him.

"I think that's not really possible. My Dad's too strict, you know."

I didn't know I was actually bracing for an answer until I raise an eyebrow at Chris. But that soon diminishes as I take in his dreamy state, his closed eyes making his eyelashes seem longer. For a while I sit there, fighting back a frown as I listen in the still and silent room, save for the soft wheezing of the air conditioner. It's quiet, but Chris decides to break the ice. "Are you happy? Having a father?"

"What - what do you mean?" I crease my eyebrows, but somewhere, deep inside the darkest corners of my brain, I feel like I know exactly what he meant by it. My subconscious is very good at reading between the lines.

"You know," he starts, averting his gaze to his toes. "My father died before I was even born."

I freeze. Why is he saying that to me? I look at him, opening my mouth in a pathetic attempt to say something reassuring. But nothing comes to my mind, and in the end I whisper, "I'm sorry."

"I wonder what he'll say to me if he's here," he says, finally looking at me in the eye. He smiles that big smile, and it's the first time I was taken aback. After being engulfed in his own melancholic world, he'd risk me a smile?

"Why are you wondering? Have you done something or . . .?" I inquire, my eyebrows still creased in confusion and curiosity.

"I'd never really liked girls, you know. Well at least, not in the sense that I'd marry them. I've always preferred different things . . . Is that bad?"

What? I don't understa -

Oh. I see.

"I told this to the guys two years ago. At first they were completely and horrifyingly silent, but then - but then they smiled, and continued talking as if nothing had just been revealed. At first I was confused; I'd completely expected something to happen, you know? I thought they'd kick me out of the group.

"They're very, very great people, Megs. I think right now you're still having difficulty trusting them, but I tell you this: they're worth it. They understand you. And most importantly, they do not make you feel left out."

I blink and press my lips together, not sure what to do. But then something takes over my body, and before I knew it I was throwing my arms over Chris's shoulders. I don't want to overthink anything right now, so I don't stop hugging him and through the course of time, tighten it. It isn't really long before he responded.

Chris nuzzles his chin on my neck, and I lightly giggle, slightly pushing him off of me. Once I'd succeeded I look at Chris straight in the eye, and decide on telling him the one thing that has been nagging my mind since he confessed. Well he hadn't technically confessed . . . but you get the point, right?

"Aren't you, by any chance, liking one of the boys?" I ask, my eyes wide in a newfound interest.

Chris chokes on air.

"For real, Megumi?" he splutters, coughing fits squeezing throughout the sentence. I blink a bit. Did I say anything wrong? He closes his eyes and starts evening out his breathing, and once he calmed down he says, "Why are you asking me that que - Unbelievable."

When I had raised my eyebrows, he said that last word and threw his arms up. He then covers his face and rubs it with his rather large hand, groaning and mumbling something incoherent under his breath.

"I didn't like any of them! God, Megumi, I actually am contemplating whether or not I should whack your head now for you to forget everything I said . . . But of course I wouldn't do that," he adds rather quickly. I clear my throat awkwardly and make a gesture with my hands, as if prompting him to go on and continue his story. "It would be awkward and . . . why are we even talking about this?"

"Because you brought the topic up? And unconsciously you had made me so curious that I ask you these questions? Like, for real, this was technically your fault! Calm the heck down, Chris!" I rage.

Chris, who for the second time has surprised me once again, who bites his lower lip in an attempt to resist his upcoming laughs, but then he closes his eyes and starts leaning forward, laughing loudly and clutching his stomach. I see tears forming on his eyes, and although I, too, has painfully resisted it, I couldn't help but laugh as well. I mean, sure it was at the expense of my dignity, but his laugh felt so contagious that I didn't help it.

After a full minute of merciless laughing (Two times we had gotten a knock from outside, telling us to quiet down), we finally calm down and start exhaling along sigh, me patting my stomach.

"Megumi, you never fail to amaze me," Chris concludes, nodding his head.

"I'm going to take that as a compliment, so thank you very much."

"Okay . . . Me? Calm down? Tell that to yourself, Megs," Chris finally responds to my raging from a while ago, and I grin a bit at that.

"Wait, but seriously, who sparked your interest? Who was the stimulus?" I kid in a bit, shamelessly snorting a bit at my own joke. Chris scowls at me and his eyes seem to say Get out. I grin again.

"Well, there was Luke -"

"Wait," I interrupt. Chris scowls again and flashes me his middle finger. I beam. "Luke? He's in Philosophy, on the first day. Does he like to go to parties? He was late -"

"Lady, please kindly zip it," Chris orders, and now I'm the one who's scowling. "Yes, he has a habit of being late, although I'm not quite sure if we're talking about the same guy. Anyway. The Luke I'm talking about is, well, as cliché as it sounds, is everything a girl would like. Yeah, I'm not a girl but, I don't know. Insert awkward silence here."

From scowling my lips slowly quirk up into a smile, and reaching over to Chris I pat him on the back. He furrows his eyebrows in confusion and surprise. "I'm glad," was all I say. "Can we see the baby now?" I ask after sitting back to my place at the end of his bed. For a while he's had his eyes on mine, and has this distant look on his face, but after slightly shaking his head he smiles at me, pinches my cheek and saying that yes, we can go see his sister's baby now.

Author's Notes: Okay.

Yes, I made Christian Collins a.k.a. WeeklyChris play Chris. (The fùcking irony...) And yes, he's gay here. Uh-huh.

I don't know, I think it's a slight change from all the stories here in Wattpad.

Did you like the chapter? I hope you did. Well, stay tuned for more. :)

♪♥ The Mofo-Potato; Isabel ♥ ♪