Van lit out his joint on the crumbling asphalt, placing it in the bag before riding out of the warehouse. As he rode off on his bike, an unwanted emotion intruded.

Since he was ten, he'd made a personal promise to keep feelings on the down low. Feelings couldn't change past events nor bring people back. 

These intrusive thoughts washed away awareness of his surroundings.

Fuck, why can't that fucker get it straight that he’s my damn uncle!? 

Usually it wasn’t a big issue for people to forget about what happened but since moving here to West End, he's felt off in general. His uncle said things would be better moving. Sure, their apartment is a little run down but it's spacious. To be honest, it’s just too empty. 

It's...

...lonely.

The wheels of his bike shook unevenly, he completely forgot about the potholes. 

It's unbearab-

The front wheel caught itself in a large crack.

Van skirted off and slid onto the road. The individual small rocks cutting and embedding into his arms and side of his face.

“DAMMIT!” He screamed.

He took a moment to catch his winded breath before jumping back on the bike. I should cut through the park…

A bit away, the pings of rubber hitting cement caught his attention. "Huh?" He whispered under his breath.

Vance slowly made his way to the distant noise. By the corner of the old court, he slipped off the seat and walked his bike by the handles. It's Sicily. Why is he over here? At this time too?

The Italian boy was hard at play. Wiping his forehead every few seconds. 

Van stood there watching. The weird feeling that plagued him since moving here finds its way to him again. His eyes fixated on this other boy’s fluid motions. The sweat that dripped down his exposed skin. 

Sicily seemed agitated. 

Just like I am…

The ball bounced harder, the hoop clank louder. He began missing. He threw the ball down in anger, turning around with his arms crossed behind his head. “Argh!” The younger boy shouted.

“What’re you doing?” Vance spoke aloud. 

Ciro paused in dead silence. The pale figure barely visible shook him briefly. 

"Ah!?" He gasped.

"It’s just me. Vance." He stepped forward, bike in hand. “Ya know, ‘Paddy’ as you call me.”

Ciro breathed out in a sort of relief. "Shit, why the fuck you doin’ there all creepin’ by the bushes?"

"Why you here playin’ like that?"

"Like what?"

"Like you trying to murder the whole damn court?"

Before Ciro could reply, Van stepped near the dying street lamp, highlighting his body. Ciro noticed the fresh scrapes marking the older boy.

"Looks like someone tried murdering your face."

Huh? Vance thought. Oh yeah....

"Just a scrub." 

"Didn't know you sucked at biking." Ciro retrieved his ball. 

"I saw you miss quite a few hoops too ya know." Vance retorted, chuckling a bit. 

"Whatever." He threw his ball a couple more times, making it into the hoop both times. "What made you scrub that bad? Your arms look like they dated a cheese grater."

Van doesn't quite answer the question. 

"Got a bit dizzy from smoking’.”

"Ha! Pussy." He hid a smirk.

Van smiled along. "Alright tough guy, smoke some. Here." He retrieved the baggy and unzipped it. 

"I think you hit your head too hard. Why're you sharing?" he looked around with suspicion. "Your goon friends ain't creeping ‘round with ya, right?"

"You think I would really stoop that low to trap ya?" He lit the joint, taking a couple puffs. Holding in the inhale, he extended it for Ciro.

He placed his lips on the end of it, the thought his lips touched something Van’s did made his heart skip a beat. Quickly he buried that thought as he inhaled. Holding it in, his unwanted blush is covered up by the intense coughing followed after. 

Van laughed robustly, slapping his knee. "And you called me a pussy!" 

Ciro handed the joint back, coughing. '”Ain’t used to whatever the fuck that is, who’s your man?" 

Van studied how flushed Ciro’s cheeks became.

"Nothin’ wrong with my man’s stuff, you're just sensitive. I bet you're a light weight when it comes to beer too." 

"Yeah right! Vargo threw a get together last month and I downed five shots! Five!" He plopped down near Van. "That’s a lot ya know?"

A bit awe struck by the boy’s relaxed demeanor, Van carried on with the conversation. "Five huh? I can do eight and still feel nothing."

"Pfft! For a sec I can believe that ol’ Saint Pat."

"You got my stereotype wrong!" He inhaled a drag. "Beer is me, Spirits are Reds, and Wine Is you Sicily." He handed the joint to Ciro. "But I can still out shot you."

"Keep telling yourself that!" Ciro slightly shouted between cough fits.

"Alright, let's prove it."

He inhaled another. "How?" 

"Chester’s party. The one he throws every summer before school starts? It's happenin' in two weeks, it's the only time both Ends can be in the same room and have fun. Like a cease-fire for our sides."

"I never wanted to go before and I ain't going now."

"Aw c'mon don't you want to prove you can beat me? You’re all talk aren't ya?"

"No!" He shot back. After grumbling under his breath he buckled. "Fine, I’ll go...just so I can show everyone you’re a light weight!" 

"Deal?"

"Deal." 

Van extinguished the joint and stumbled up, wincing from his bike injuries. 

Ciro hesitantly muttered something under his breath.

Vance turned back to look at him. "What?"

"I, uh, I can bandage you up. My house is right by here. Ya know since you shared, I don't want to be owing you later." 

"Not only are you the world's best drinker but a doctor too?" He laughed.

"Shut up! You want it or not?" Ciro’s face burned red by this point.

Vance smiled. Silently accepting the blushing boys offer.

The both of them walk the little distance to Ciro’s house. The walk was awkwardly silent with the only sounds being Vance’s bike wheels on gravel and the few ball bounces from Ciro.

"My window is on the side. The bushes obscure the view from the street." He lifted the window up. 

Vance leaned against the panels. "Good set up here, easy for girls to come in and out, right?" 

Ciro’s hands froze on the frame. “Uh..uh yeah it is." 

Noticing the awkward reply, Van pushed. “Do you get girls?"

"Im not the bragging type."

"Translation: 'No Van, I never had girls before.'" he chuckled low. 

"I never seen you with girls either prick."

"I get em, I just know where to go to do it."

"Pe-lease!" He whispered back. "Let me get the kit." He comes back out after a few minutes. 

"What I can't come in?"

"You crazy?" Ciro clicked open the kit on the window seal. He retrieved the hydrogen peroxide and a few cotton cloths. "This is gonna sting. Don't cry, okay?"

"Did you only offer so you can make me hurt?" 

Smirking, he dabbed the wet cotton on his arms. Van winced. "Maybe." Ciro stifled a laugh.

"That's what I get for being a good guy, huh?"

"Good? You? Ha! You guys beat me when you first got into town." He gestured for his other arm.

"You started it with that damn water."

"Fine. This makes us even. Let me see your face." Replacing the cloth with a new one, he soaked it with the solution. Vance turned his cheek toward him. 

"Bend down." Ciro ordered.

"Forgot how short you are."

"Im not short, you’re just freakishly tall."

"It's something you may not of heard of, it's called puberty." 

"I know that idiot." He sat the dirty cloth down, one of them falling to the grass beneath the window by his feet. "I got gauze and wrap. I’ll do your arms first."

Vance studied those thin hands wrapping his arms. He never knew how slender his fingers were. He stared contently at Ciro’s face as the boy focused on the injuries. He couldn't tell if it was the weed or not but a tightness hurt his chest. He shifted his legs to cross them over. 

"My sister's hurt their knees a lot so I'll use the big bandaid for your face. It should do the trick. Do you have any at your place or do you need some?" Ciro glanced up, both are caught with theirs eyes locked.

"Uh, I...I think I got some."

Ciro nervously broke their gaze. "Right ..." he shut the kit. "There, you're good to go."

Van lifted off the panels, picking up his bike. "So Chester’s in two weeks?" 

Without looking back, Ciro dipped his head. "You're on." 

Van disappeared down the neighborhood as Ciro carefully made his way back in. Quickly he changed clothes. Sitting on the bed, the familiar uncomfortable feeling returns. Both in his chest and down below. Now alone, he could blush all he wants and actually breathe.

He lied back on his bed trying to scrub those dirty thoughts away. It's overwhelming. He turned his head towards his nightstand that homed his rosemary beads. I’m sorry….

He slipped off his tank top to cover the beads.

I don’t know why I'm like this…

He did his hardest to drive the thoughts away to no prevail.

It’s not something I can confess to, ask forgiveness for…

It was enough that Ciro had dirty thoughts but it’s even worse for what they are of.

“I fucking hate him!” He stifled his cries. Each day he’s felt tormented since they met.

Each Saturday biting his lips in the booth, every Sunday trying to keep it together.

But once more he failed to control the urges.

Vance made haste back to West end. Fuck, fuck, fuck.....

Maybe what Jo gave was bad.

The tightness in his pants petrified him. 

He tried to convince himself. Puberty 101, guys get this all the time for no reason at all. Yeah that’s it's. Im high and tired so my body is just acting weird. Yeah that's got to be it. I’ll sleep it off.

He threw the joint out from his pocket.

Better be safe than sorry.

Upon returning home, he rushed inside - not noticing the note his uncle left on the dinning table. 

He quickly locked himself in the main bathroom. Cold water! I need cold water. 

The water didn’t work. 

Looking below the waist, he grimaced.

When Ciro’s hands touched his arms and face, he had a desire to get closer. He’s never felt this way about anyone, not even the girls he slept with.

He retreats to his bedroom, the sensation refusing to disappear. 

That night was the first of many that the only image of Ciro circled in his mind as he fell into his own pleasure.

Later that night.

Vance was passed out on his bed, the door to his bedroom cracked open. Beer cans loitered the table.

After spending a few nights at the department, Art was able to come back home. He ran his hand through his choppy brown hair - sighing in relief to sleep in his own bed. He slipped his coat off and threw his keys on the side table. He immediately notices the old beer cans on the table. In the ashtray was a half smoked joint and cigarettes. His note detailing when he'll be home is left undisturbed.  

He grunts on disappointment. 

Of course…

"Vance!" He shouted. "Vance!" he entered his nephew’s bedroom.

Vance was obviously passed out drunk on his bed half naked. More cigarettes inhabiting the ashtray next to the tv. The stench of beer, sweat, and smoke offend Art’s nose.

Well I’ve smelled worse but this…

Not possessing the mentality to deal with this scenario, he carefully closed the door and staggered tiredly to his bedroom. 

After changing into simple sweat pants and t-shirt, he plopped down on the bed. Turning, he studied the family photo of him, his sister, and her husband holding baby Vance. 

“I’m not doing a good job at raising him, Eve.” 

I can’t be his surrogate dad. I’m just his uncle. I never raised kids before. What do I do when I’m watching his own self destruction? Put him in jail? Tch, that’ll do nothing but agitate everything. 

He was struggling but still doing good after the accident. Then a few years ago, it just escalated….why?

I wish you could tell me Vance.