Six: Charity Case 

Rocket’s neighborhood was massive, the roads had nice sidewalks on either side of the street, clean and white and undisturbed. Each house was at least two stories, decked out with three car garages and little fountains in the middle of obnoxious U-shaped driveways. Every mailbox was encased in brick, and some had little decorations: stars, flowers, and string lights. 

Philo could not feel less at home as they pulled up to Rocket’s house, a house at the end of a cul-de-sac. It was three stories tall with beautiful, red-leafed bushes and a neat trellis up the left side of the house that was home to a flowering vine. A diamond chandelier could be seen dangling above the grand stairs at the entrance, right through the ornate window above the giant brown, wooden doors.  

“You didn’t tell me he was rich.” Eero mumbles as they step onto the sidewalk leading to the front door.  

“I didn’t know.” Philo scoffs and lifts his hand to knock. 

A moment passes, and Philo thinks maybe he’s at the wrong house.  

Rocket answers right as Philo is about to turn back, a welcoming smile on his mouth. He looks nice today; he’s dressed in a formal-looking button down with a pair of beige slacks. His hair is a little ruffled, a little less spiky, and he looks tired underneath his eyes. Philo thinks he may have caught more sun lately, as his freckles were darker than usual. 

“Hey, guys. Come on in.” He steps aside, and Eero and Philo do. 

Philo takes a long look around the place. It sure is fancy, with high beige walls surrounding them and nice, dark stained wooden floors. He gets a good look at the chandelier now; more expensive than any amount of money he’s seen at one time. The stair banister is freshly white, and Philo can see why his father would want it stripped and polished. The texture of it looked rough and bumpy, even from where Philo was standing. 

“Rocket, this is Eero. Eero, Rocket.” Philo introduces them cordially, gesturing his hands between them both.  

“Nice to meet you, Rocket.” Eero shakes Rocket’s hand. 

“Nice to meet you, too.”  

“Rocket, I think it was fate that we met. I mean, your name is Rocket, mine is Eero. Get it, Rocket and Air-o-plane?” Eero attempts a joke, and Rocket chuckles into his hand.  

“That was a good one!” 

Philo glances to Rocket, a fond smile forming on his mouth. Sweet Rocket, laughing at Eero’s terrible attempts at comedy.  

“So, is it just this banister here?” Philo runs his hand along the patchy, rough paint job of the banister. He grimaces; it was rare he saw someone do this bad a job.  

“Yep. Just that one. My dad should have some tools in the garage. He also went ahead and bought the paint stripper.” Rocket disappears into a side door, and Eero lets out a wild laugh. 

“What? What’s funny?” Philo shoots him a stern glare.  

“You got yourself a sugar daddy, dude! He’s cute, too.”  

“No, I do not, and he isn’t cute.” Philo crosses his arms, giving his best attempt at a solemn face. He pushes his lips down into a flat line, as defiant as possible. 

“Well, you may not like him, but he definitely likes you. I can tell.”  

“What? No way.” Philo shakes his head, letting out a laugh in disbelief. 

Eero lets out a gentle sigh and lowers his voice. “Philo, the way he looks at you--” 

Before he can finish, Rocket appears back through the same door he left. In his hands, he has a bucket of paint stripper, two pairs of gloves, some rags, and a buffing wheel. He sets them down at the base of the stairs and stands straight back up.  

“Well, I’ll let you guys get started. I’m going to be upstairs in my room. It’s the very last door, all the way to the right.” He points up the stairs, and Philo can just barely see the door he’s talking about. “If you guys need water or anything, just come let me know.”  

He races up the stairs, turning when he gets to the top to say one last thing.  

“And thanks again! This is going to make my dad real happy.”  

⋅•⋅⊰∙∘☽ ☆ ☾∘∙⊱⋅•⋅ 

The stair banister is stripped, cleaned, buffed, and polished all by three-thirty. Philo thinks they had done a nice job; it certainly looked much better than when they had first gotten there.  

“Hey, P, I’ve got to go. Rachel needs me home a little earlier.” Eero scrambles for his shoes and ties the laces tight. “We finished just on time. You can give me my half of the cash later.” 

“Past your curfew, hm?” Philo teases from the top step.  

“Oh, whatever. You wish you had a Rachel.” Eero jabs a finger accusingly in the air.  

“No, I don’t.” Philo reminds him gently.  

Eero knew Philo wasn’t straight. He knew Philo had some internal struggle within himself, I mean, Eero was Philo's’ best friend. His only real friend. There were plenty of nights that Philo drank too much and could not keep his mouth shut, rambling on about how much he hated himself for his sexuality.  

And sure, Philo could be with girls. It used to be easy; it used to be fun. But ever since he had gotten caught up with Sara like he had, he didn’t even like looking at girls anymore. Eero knew that, too.  

Eero says nothing, just winks and gestures up to Rocket’s room. Philo pointedly rolls his eyes. Eero had said he thought Rocket liked Philo. Philo knew that couldn’t be true. Rocket was a kind, handsome, rich man whose smarts would get him far in his life. He didn’t have time, nor would he ever want to be with Philo like that.  

So why did Rocket look at him like that? Why was he being so nice? Why was he pretending like they were on the same level at all?  

Philo headed down to Rocket’s room and stared at the door for a while. And why was he so nervous, now? What had changed?  

He knocked and waited. Rocket answered, face lighting up when he saw it was Philo.  

“All done?” He asks. 

“Yep.” Philo steps back, and Rocket carefully inspects their work. 

“It looks great. My dad was thinking a grand for each of you. Is that fine?” Rocket spins to give Philo an unsure look. He fidgets with his fingers. 

“Is that fine?” Philo sputters. “Rocket, I can’t accept that. That’s way too much. It didn’t even take too long.”  

“Well, just let us give it to you. He already deposited it into my account, and he’ll make a fuss if I don’t pay you what he wanted me to.” Rocket says, and then adds like he forgot, “Both of you.” 

Philo’s gaze narrows at Rocket, coming to a harsh realization. If he had not known about Eero until this morning, did that mean they were going to pay him the two thousand in full? 

“Did you tell him to pay me more?” Philo’s voice fills with anger. “Because, you didn’t know I would bring Eero until this morning. Were you going to give me two thousand?”  

Rocket’s eyes widen, and he takes a step closer to Philo, who holds out his hands protectively.  

“Philo...” He trails off, not sure what to say.  

“Be honest, Rocket. You saw my beat-up apartment building and felt sorry for me, didn’t you?” 

“No, Philo!” He’s desperate now, eyebrows turned up with stress.  

“I’m not a charity case, you know?” Philo’s hand trembles as he reaches for his cigarette box. He realizes he can’t smoke inside and drops his hand to his side.  

“Hey, I know that. Okay? I just wanted to help. You seem to be in a rough spot right now--” 

“Just, shut up, dude!” Philo snaps, turning and heading straight for the stairs. He makes his way down with haste, and Rocket follows behind. “I’m fine. I’ve always been fine, and I don’t need your help, okay? You can keep your money, for all I care!”  

Philo reaches for the door handle.  

“Wait!” Rocket pants out at the bottom of the stairs. “Wait. Please don’t leave!”  

Philo lets out a sigh at the pure desperation in Rocket’s trembling voice, his hand outstretched and still reaching for the handle. He slowly spins around and falls back against the door with a thud.  

“I’m sorry.” Rocket breathes out, shaky. “It wasn’t my place to make a decision like that.” He pauses, biting his bottom lip. “But I noticed those scratches on your arm and those bruises on your knuckles. Not to mention you’re incredibly... thin.” A pause. “I’ve just been worried, okay?”  

“Okay.” Philo grunts, rubbing his arms uncomfortably. “So, what?” 

“So, what, Philo?” Rocket rubs his hand over his forehead, distressed. “Could you just talk to me? Can you tell me what’s going on?”  

Taking a deep breath, Philo twists the handle and leans out, effectively opening the door half-way.   

“You can’t just drop back into my life all the sudden and try to fix everything with your money. It’s not that simple.” Philo says firmly, voice calm and gaze narrowed. “Keep the pay-out. I don’t want it.” 

Rocket watches somberly as Philo closes the door and disappears behind it.