WINSTON

Dad hated it when I wasted water. He didn't believe me when I insisted I didn't mean it and just kept losing track of time. Obviously, he's never experienced a shower as heavenly as I have. It's just me, the water, and a multitude of bathroom toiletries. So many toiletries...

I flinched as someone smacked on the door. "Winston, you've been in there an hour. Your dad is sulking, and you promised to help us decorate cookies!" Dad yelled over the spray of the shower water.

"Is Sammy here yet? I invited him over." I scrunched up my nose as I put my head under the water and used my hands to work the shampoo out. If he wasn't, he'd probably had a narcoleptic episode They could last just a few seconds to two whole hours. It was really inconvenient, more so for him than me.

I heard Dad holler something I couldn't make out to Papa, who hollered back a couple seconds later. "Neither your dad or I have seen Sammy yet. Should I go out and look for him?" Papa called. "Zachary is worried."

I shut off the water and pulled the curtains aside, basking in the residual steam before stepping out of the shower. "Lemme see if he's texted me that he left his house before Papa decides to lose it." Dad made a noncommittal noise as I grabbed a towel, then glanced at my phone's screen. "He left five minutes ago."

There was a quiet sigh of relief on the other side of the bathroom door. "Alright. Come to the kitchen when you're dressed, kiddo." His footsteps faded down the hallway.

Papa, Dad and I were all protective of Sammy. When your best friend has narcolepsy, you have to be. Their muscles sometimes stop holding themselves up when they get too emotional and they're tired all the time, which can lead to some dangerous and weird situations. I found him asleep on the toilet once at school. He's also conked out during presentations, middle school graduation ceremony, going on a spinning teacup ride... In our defense for the last one, we had been confident it would be fine until he flopped over and the centrifugal force attempted to set him free. Thank god for seat belts.

Because of these risks, he always texts me before walking to my house to make sure that if he does have an episode my dads and I know pretty much where he'll be. He always takes the same route, and has only passed out a couple times. It's really impressive how in control he is of his emotions so he doesn't endanger himself, but his medication does a pretty good job of keeping him from nodding off most of the time.

Isn't it ironic how an insomniac has a narcoleptic as a best friend?

I dried myself off quickly and hopped into my clothes. The towel was thrown in my laundry basket alongside my dirty clothes. Nodding approvingly to myself, I made my way out of my room and towards the kitchen. 

Was something... burning? I sniffed the air and it was definitely smoky. Or maybe I was having a stroke? Well, just in case, Sammy can have my romcom collection.

I made it to the kitchen without keeling over to see Dad and Papa trying to eat each other's faces while the oven beeped in the background, neglected and forgotten. I sneaked up behind them. "Dad. Papa. Gaying it up is great but the cookies are burning," I whispered in Papa's ear.

He lurched back from Dad like it was a matter of life and death. "Oh God no, MY BABIES." Grabbing the oven mitts, he cracked open the now silent oven. Dad wordlessly turned on the stove top fan as Papa gently took out the extremely blackened cookies. "My children... I've killed them," he whimpered.

"You were gonna eat them though," Dad replied, with a straight face. "Can't believe I married a baby-eater." He quickly received a mangled cookie to the forehead. 

"Is this war?" I asked, looking between them. "Cause if it is, I refuse to pick a side. You both suck equally."

Dad waggled his eyebrows at Papa, who then turned bright red. "Luke..."

"My virgin ears!" I exclaimed, clapping my hands over mine. "Your son doesn't wanna know about his dads' sex life. Please, God, send someone to put me out of my misery."

Dad just chucked as Papa shook his head, smiling. He then turned on Dad, stabbing his finger into his chest. "This is partly your fault, so you're helping clean it up," he demanded. 

"Okay, okay," Dad blurted as he held his hands up. "Guilty as charged."

I gathered the ruined sweets with a sad face and started sorting through them. Hopefully there'd be a few recoverable ones. Papa was elbow-deep in the fridge with Dad looking on skeptically.

"There's no more cookie dough," Papa said glumly. "I could swear there was another bag a week ago..."

Sammy and I had eaten that bag while watching Titanic a couple days ago, I remembered. I was craving something sweet, and it was just there... practically asking to be eaten. Definitely not my fault. 

Dad dried his hands from where he'd been washing the cookie sheet and patted Papa on the head. "It's okay. It isn't like we don't know where it could have gone." Both their eyes burned into mine, and I cracked easily.

"I was hungry... It looked so good, Papa! Come on, Sammy ate some too," I protested. Papa's eyes softened. He seriously had a soft spot for Sammy, and I didn't have a clue why. Didn't mean I wouldn't take advantage of it.

As Dad was about to say something, the doorbell rang. A loud meowing sounded from near the front door.

"I'll get it!" I burst out, not waiting for confirmation from my dads. It was probably Sammy, and I was always excited to see Sammy. Sliding to a stop on the wooden floor and narrowly avoiding a cat tail, I threw the door open to reveal a blank-faced Sammy. It quickly turned into a smile as I threw my arms around him, grinning.

"Yeah, hey to you too," he chuckled as he sagged a bit in my grip. He looked tired as always, but it was different than usual. More confused and troubled than about to fall asleep. 

I held him out in front of me by his shoulders. "Wanna go to my room? There's beanbags with our names on them and—" I glanced around until my eyes found their intended furry target. "—Edward needs cuddles." The mentioned cat weaved between my legs and fixed me with a grumpy glare.

"I'll take you up on that. I need cuddles right now." He looked at me briefly and his eyelids drooped, then broke eye contact and chewed at his lip. 

"You know the way, but I'll be a gracious host and escort you!" I performed an exaggerated bow and gave his hand a sloppy kiss. It fell when I released it and he smiled sheepishly at me.

"Hello Sammy, glad you could make it!" Papa popped his head around a door frame, grinning. "Want anything? Snacks?"

"Uhh..."

"No cookies," I muttered to my best friend as he stood blankly. "Papa is a cookie murderer. Was too busy making out with Dad to notice that they were friggin' burning earlier. It's a surprise I didn't starve as a kid."

When Sammy burst out laughing and leaned against me, Papa glanced between us with an owlish expression. "What? "Did I say something? Is there flour on my face?" He was quickly getting more and more flustered. "I swear to god, if Luke put flour on my face... LUKE!" He disappeared from behind the door frame and his voice faded away. Sammy was still snickering as I shifted his weight.

"You good to go?" I asked, after letting him calm down. "All awake?"

"Yeah, sorry for flopping on you." He took his weight off of me and shook his face. "All good."

"Sams, it's cool. I'd very much like for you not to fall over and die," I reassured him as we approached my bedroom door. 

He snorted. "Likewise."

Edward darted through the doorway as soon as I opened it and curled up in the middle of the bed. Sammy just face-planted onto one of my huge beanbags and let out a huge sigh.

"Soooo," I began slowly as I sat down in the beanbag beside him. "Adopted?"

He turned around to lie on his back and huffed, his brows knitted together. "Adopted. Mom slipped the adoption form under my door with a note when I was asleep."

"What'd it say?"

"We're sorry we didn't tell you earlier, blah blah blah, we still love you, let's have a civil conversation about this. Basically the exact same shit they said like an hour earlier. And Dad keep texting me." Sadness clouded his features.

I shrugged. "I think they really mean it. They've always been nice to me, and I'm adopted."

"It isn't the same," Sammy said scathingly, his tone quickly doing a one-eighty. My eyes widened quickly at his anger. I realized he wasn't upset at me but with the entire situation, even if his words did dig like claws into my chest.

He must have noticed my reaction as he then shrunk into himself. "It isn't. You've known you were adopted since forever. I thought my mom and dad were my real parents my entire life. I know my hair is black and they're all blonde, but I can't..." He fidgeted with his hands. "It really hurts, Winnie," he choked out, slumping further into the beanbag.

I quickly scooped him up and deposited him next to me on my beanbag. His head rested against my shoulder as we both got comfortable. "I'm shit at solving people problems," I admitted, "And I dunno what I'd do if I were you. But I'm here for you, for what it's worth."

He replied by burying his face into my chest. I slung my arm around his shoulders and we sat quietly for a couple minutes.

Breaking the silence, he mumbled, "You forgot to tell me something."

"I forgot?" My face screwed up in thought as I checked a mental list of what to do when comforting Sammy. I couldn't find anything I missed, causing even more confusion. The next few minutes I spent sifting through my mind trying to figure out what I could have forgotten to say. We talked about how he was adopted, and there was that party tonight...

Fuck. The party. The party that I joked could be his birthday party.

It was his birthday today and I'd forgotten to mention it or give him his present. At this realization I smacked myself in the forehead and groaned. "I'm really dumb. How did I even... let me tell you properly—"

I stopped abruptly when I realized he was asleep. Oh.

Sammy looked a lot more tame when he was asleep, I noticed. Less claws, more soft angles and messy black curls. I poked him in the nose and he scrunched it up, leaving me cackling quietly to myself. 

"Happy birthday, Sammy."