Thirteen: Uncle Andrew 

Rocket and Philo ended up driving around for a while then, and Philo leaned his cheek up to the glass of the front seat window. The coldness of it felt organic and soothing, and a whirlwind of questions flooded his cluttered mind.  

A few important ones being: what did Rocket tell his parents about him? Was that old, dumb little crush he had on Rocket really returning? Would Rocket even be receptive to his feelings? And most importantly, how could he be with Philo when Philo couldn't even stand to be alone with himself? 

What could Rocket see in him?  

Rocket draws him out of this degrading thought process as he pulls into a shady-looking gas station, humming the radio music in the back of his throat. The place is small, dirty, and rundown. There are inconspicuous stains on the sides of the building, worn down plaster, cracked windows, and two foggy glass doors at the entrance.  

Philo thinks nothing of it at first, but when he squints at the name on the building in big red letters, he feels his heart speed up to an unfathomable pace in his chest. Drew’s Quick Stop. Where had he heard that name before? 

It hits him all at once. This was the gas station he stole the beer from that night. Rocket didn’t know that, of course, and he couldn’t tell Rocket that. So, Philo sunk down into the passenger’s seat, dipping his head below the window as they pulled up to a pump.  

“What’re you doing? Taking a nap?” Rocket teases him, unbuckling his seat-belt and turning the car off.  

“Totally.” Philo responds, unamused. 

“Well, I need to get some gas. I’m also going to go inside, since my uncle runs the place. He’ll be upset if he finds out I was here and didn’t say hi. I won’t be long.” 

“Your uncle?” Philo gulps. 

“Yes... is everything okay with you? You’re acting strange.”  

Philo gnaws on his lip, hard. He didn’t want to lie to Rocket again, not if he did not have to. This was a conscious effort he needed to implement, especially if he wanted Rocket to like him. Philo was not good with romance, but he knew that much; people didn’t like being lied to.  

“It’s just, I don’t think your uncle likes me.” He goes with, which is inherently true, but it doesn’t reach the true scale of Philo and Rocket’s uncles’ unpleasant relationship.  

Rocket’s head tilts.  

“How do you even know my uncle?” Philo hears the amusement in his voice, like anything he learns about Philo is interesting to him. Philo feels his cheeks burn with blush, even at a time like this. “He’s a little strange, always has been. My dad tells me to stay clear, you know, but my uncle’s always bugging me to come visit. I feel bad if I don’t every once and a while.”  

“I wouldn’t say I know him.” Philo pauses. “It’s more like, he knows my face.” 

Rocket seems to understand, and he lets out a little laugh.  

“You did something bad, didn’t you?” A flash of teeth, a stab to Philo’s racing heart. Anything Rocket does lately has him like this. “I’m sure I can talk some sense into him, whatever it is.”  

Philo recalls the night he sprinted through downtown Nerora in pure panic, sweat dripping down his forehead like water. He remembers dodging streetlights and hopping over fire hydrants, using one of his palms to push himself over them. And he remembers the sharp graze of silver at his feet, the fear of dying in his chest.

“Rocket, I really don’t think you can.” Philo exhales through his teeth, pressed together and tense. Rocket waves it off, like he always does, and a determined look overcomes his face. He stands up, opening the car door. Philo sputters with urgency, “I’m serious man! I wouldn’t mention that I’m here.”  

This has Rocket pausing his advances, leaning back into the car with a coy smile on his mouth.  

“Such a delinquent. What am I going to do with you, dude?” He drums his fingers on the hood of the car, glancing back and forth between Philo in the car floor and the front entrance of the gas station. In a whispered voice, one just too loud to be to himself, “You’re lucky that you’re cute.”  

Philo’s eyebrows shoot all the way up, head tilting, face burning red.  

“I don’t know why I said that.” Rocket messily waves his hands around, and Philo can’t help but feel fond for him over it. What a mess.  

That’s probably what he tells his parents. Philo thought, lips scrunching up in adoration.  

“You know...” Philo’s mouth parts slightly, and he thinks his heart may jump out of his throat, as hard as his pulse is beating there. “I think I need to tell you something.”  

Intrigued, Rocket leans even further into the car. 

“Yeah?” He whispers. He’s looking at Philo with those intense, observant eyes, and the shade of the car frames his face in a flattering way; all cheekbone and shadowy dimples. The way he looks alone leaves Philo feeling breathless. Philo has no idea how Rocket will react when he tells him how he feels, but he needs to tell him now, or else he was going to die. He had held onto these feelings for so long; so long that they went dormant and had had the chance to come back just as strong, if not stronger. 

But what had changed? Had he really changed, for the better, if at all? Was he ready to give himself up to Rocket in the way that he would want to? Was he ready to go for it, even if it meant potentially ruining his friendship with Rocket?  

A loud holler sounds from across the parking lot, and Rocket snaps his head to the door of the gas station. 

“Rocky! You didn’t tell me you were coming by today!” Rocket’s uncle shouts as the gas station door slams shut behind him with a loud thud. Philo’s shocked the glass didn’t break. His uncle is marching straight for the Cadillac, feet moving with a purpose. “Still riding in luxury, I see.”  

“Hey, Uncle Andrew. Thought I’d swing by while I was in the area. I also just needed some gas.” Rocket responds, his hand rubbing on the back of his neck. He was clearly uncomfortable speaking to his uncle, and Philo could understand why. The man was a psycho.  

Philo tucks his knees in, wrapping his arms around them and shoving his head down into them as far as he can. He was as small and as low to the floor of the car as he could be. 

“Who were you talking to? I don’t see anyone in the front seat.” Andrew gestures to the empty passenger's seat.  

“Oh, just talking to myself.” Rocket laughs, leaning a hand on the car now and slamming the door shut. Philo feels the car rock to the side when he does it. He takes in a sharp, tense breath.  

“Well, alright then. Come inside for a second, I’ve been meaning to swing by and drop some stuff off for your dad, but I haven’t had the time.”  

Their voices fade off, and Philo lets go of the breath he was holding. He situates himself comfortably in the front seat now, watching as Rocket and his uncle just make it into the gas station. That was a close one. Way too close for Philo’s liking.  

A small buzz garners Philo’s attention, and he fishes for his phone with haste.  

When he finally finds it, he sees that Eero is calling, his obnoxious contact picture popping up on the screen. Flipping the phone open, he holds it to his ear.  

“Hey P, can we talk?”