"Jericho, why didn't you tell me that your friend was in town!?"

The brown-haired boy locked his phone and turned around to look at his mom standing in the doorway of his bedroom, hand on her hip. She had on the pale yellow apron he bought her last Christmas and a matching gele. Her skin was just a tad lighter than his, but he looked almost nothing like her.

Height, facial structure, and eye color were inherited from his father; the only thing he can say he received from her was his hair. If he cut it, he'd look just like the man, and then his mom would have an even more constant reminder of her estranged ex-husband, and he wouldn't be able to look in the mirror.

"Ma, who are you talking about?" Was she also wearing makeup? Even in the darkness, he saw a subtle gold shimmer on her eye-lids, and her lips were shiny.

She pouted at him, "The cute Vietnamese guy! I saw him today, and I forgot his name again already. It's been so long..."

Jericho's stomach did a dip. If they saw each other, that probably meant they exchanged contact information, and it always seemed like they got along great.

She only knows him because a few years ago, he came down to visit his mom, and he was allowed to bring Zeke with him. Just the three of them spent the entire summer together. It was also the same summer that Ezekiel kissed him and the last time they would see each other for a few years.

"Ezekiel."

He chewed on his bottom lip, letting the name even fall from his mouth was nauseating; their little encounter happened more than a week ago now. His mom's ageless face lit up like the northern lights as she clapped her hands together, a bright smile adorning her face.

"Yes! That's him. I invited him over for dinner tonight! He'll be here soon, so you need to get dressed." And with that, she rushed out and shut the door.

"Huh?"

Jericho checked the time at 5:30 pm, and it was a breezy Friday evening. He had taken a nap after school and was in bed for most of the day after that. These last few days had been, for lack of a better word, shit.

Between people nagging him about the party and yanking himself out of Joseph's magnificently irresistible orbit every few hours, proved extremely difficult and emotionally draining.

He refused to completely ignore him, though, until Ezekiel elaborated on whatever the hell he was talking about, there wasn't an issue. Groaning, he slowly rolled himself out of bed, and removed his night clothes to put on a long sleeve shirt and jeans, opting just to wet his afro, moisturize, and leave it out.

"She could've at least told me earlier, good lord..."

Jericho grumbled to himself the entire way down the stairs but stopped when the aroma of Jollof rice and dodo struck him across the face. His mom was quietly singing as she set the small table when he walked into the connecting kitchen. She turned around, pointed at him, and smiled when he walked in.

"Why don't you wear your hair out like that anymore! It looks nice."

It sounded like she was talking to herself more than to him, though, and he was going to respond, but the doorbell cut him off. His mom practically ripped off the apron and telling him to hurry up and answer it, as if he would leave anyway. The brown-haired boy walked over and lowered his head to check the peephole; sure enough, there he was.

He took several deep breaths, released them, and finally unlocked it so he could pull it open. Jericho wanted to shut the damn thing in his face already, maybe knock out a few teeth but his mom would smite him.

His hair was back to its natural absinthe black, but it was a little shorter now, undercut in the back, and styled with gel. He was decked out in way too much designer for dinner at a "friend's" house, as much as he hated to admit it, he cleaned up nice.

"What took you so long?"

Ezekiel murmured, eyes dark and his smile cocky, but it changed quickly when his mom rounded the corner. He was scooped into a bone-crushing, one-armed embrace and forced himself to hug back to avoid any suspicion from his mother simply because nothing got past her.

Jericho inhaled sharply when he felt the sting of nails digging into his side, Ezekiel's expensive cologne flooding his nose as a result, a minty sandalwood. The man grinned softly and kissed his cheek before finally letting go to whisper in his ear.

"Thanks for having me."

He patted his shoulder and met his mom in the middle of the entryway.

"Ezekiel!"

She looked ecstatic, he remembered the other telling him when they were younger, she was more of a mother to him that summer than his own ever was.

"Ms. Tucker! Just as beautiful as I remember."

She giggled, and he went over to hug her next, "Just call me Aisha!" his body practically engulfing hers.

Jericho didn't even notice the flowers behind his back until he presented them to her. It was a bouquet of peach-colored roses. This fucking guy.

"These are for me?! You're full of surprises, aren't you?"

He scratched the back of his neck with an embarrassed look on his face as she hugged him again and patted his arm.

"You've gotten so big, Ezekiel! I remember when—"

Jericho rolled his eyes and left the foyer so he could sit down at the dining room table. They both came in a few minutes after he did, still talking about things of the past. Unfortunately, Ezekiel took the seat next to him, and his mother sat on the opposite side.

They obviously avoided talking about Zeke's family, so the conversation consisted mostly of his studies at Duke. Aisha was pestering her son about why he wasn't that surprised to see him too. So, the other boy told her about his job at cafe sushi, leaving out a few key details, of course, like how he harassed him in the bathroom.

Other than that, dinner was smooth sailing, and the food was delicious; of course, his grandad was a beast in the kitchen, and now his mom is too. Both thanked her for the food and shooed her away when she tried to clean up.

Jericho picked up most of the dishes and took them to the sink, and Ezekiel offered to help, probably just to save face. They cleared the rest of the table off and cleaned the kitchen in complete silence until his mom started playing music.

Jericho began singing softly; the taller boy was on the other side of the kitchen, so he figured he wouldn't be able to hear anything, not that it would matter anyway.

It wouldn't have been the first time that he's sung in front of him, but he couldn't even recall the last time he sang in general. The song was pretty long, but by the end of it, he had finished washing and putting away the few dishes left when Zeke spoke up.

"You know, I was thinking." he laughed, "When we were younger, I'd always bitch about my parents fighting. You were the only one that was there for me, but I'd always take my anger out on you. You'd never let me catch you crying, though, But now?" Ezekiel's voice was even closer, "You're so sensitive," his velvety bass pleasantly surrounded him despite his discomfort. "Who did this?"

His arms followed suit, pulling Jericho slowly away from the sink and against his chest, resting his head on his shoulder.

"Afterwards, you'd just run your pretty little fingers through my hair," he rubbed the top of his hand, "and then sing my ass right to sleep like nothing even happened."

Jericho seethed, "I did it because it was the only thing that would shut you up." All he ever did was complain, but when his dad whooped his ass or had a problem, Ezekiel was nowhere to be fucking found.

He tried to move away, but Ezekiel tightened his grip, painfully squeezing their interlaced fingers.

"I need to talk to you. Wait for me in your room."

Jericho's stopped struggling, but his eyes were set in a disobedient glare, the raven-haired man released him anyway, and Jericho stomped his way up the staircase. He took his sweet time walking down the hallway too, Ezekiel could wait. As he made his way toward his room, he glanced at the limited photos on the wall.

Some were of just him or him and his mom, but only one of them had his father. Jericho didn't understand why his mom didn't just throw it out; he'd rather the frame be empty then filled with a picture of him. The brown-haired boy left the door ajar and took a seat on his bed.

After a few minutes of just sitting on the mattress in the dark, he finally heard footsteps coming down the hallway. Ezekiel stepped into the room, and their eyes never left each other as he closed and locked the door. Jericho kept his expression blank.

The taller boy took a seat at the desk chair opposite him and spun it around, patting his thighs and eyes narrowing when Jericho refused to move for the first few seconds.

"Now."

He stood up and made his way over, Ezekiel's hands roughly running up his sides as he sat him down in his lap. Jericho dropped his arms over his shoulders and sat still.

"When did all of this start?"

He shrugged and said nothing until the hands Ezekiel had on him painfully dug into his flesh through the thin material of his shirt.

"I'm not going to repeat myself."

Jericho shifted in his lap before finally answering.

"When you left. It wasn't too bad until about a year after I moved here. My first relationship was shitty but I was lonely, so I settled for whoever." He frowned, "Are we really going to sit here and talk about this? Or are you going to explain why you said jack shit to me, and then I never saw you again."

Zeke cocked his head, "You don't think I left because I wanted to, right? Jericho, I would've given anything to stay, but it wasn't my decision to make. You didn't have a phone yet and that summer, my parents were stationed outside of the country. I moved back to Santa Monica to live with my grandma. I didn't want to ruin our time together with that."

He hummed, "You think that was better than not telling me at all and disappearing?"

The other tilted the brown-haired boy's chin down, he recoiled at the touch, this whole situation was unnatural and weird. He wanted to get away from him but he didn't want Ezekiel to get mad and then hit him either.

"I'm sorry, but this isn't just about me. I know your dad was a piece of shit, but the way you're dealing with this isn't healthy."

Jericho pushed the hand away from his face and moved so he could finally stand up. The last person he expected to play therapist and treat him like this was Zeke. Gentle was not a word programmed into his brain.

"I'm aware."

He moved around his room, picking things up off the floor and organizing the trinkets on his dresser.

"Do you think this is fun? Ignoring it is all I can do. Not everyone can afford therapy. You realize half of the shit I went through was your fault, right?"

He heard Ezekiel stand up from the chair, so he walked back toward his figure leaning against the desk.

"You could've slammed my head against the kitchen counter earlier, bent me the fuck over, and told me to bark; all I would've done was let it happen. That's how scared I am of you." His voice was quiet. "But, all you did was send me up here, why? You think you can help me? Fuck off, you knew how bad my home life was, but you never did anything, why now? I'm not apologizing either because we're not alone here, you won't do a goddamn thing to me."

He saw it on Ezekiel's face, rage. In the way his eyes darkened, and his lip curled. There wasn't any space left between them, chests touching when either of them took a breath, both pairs of hands remaining at their sides, restless.

Jericho didn't want to talk anymore, he wanted to punch him in the fucking mouth. So, he'd wait. Restraint was something the other boy needed because if he couldn't calm down, they'd eat each other alive. And, it wouldn't be the first time.