My North Star Pt. 06

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Please be ruthless if you notice a fucked up comma, or italics. : D

These poor babies...

Trigger/Content Warning:

This story contains themes of religious guilt, emotional repression, family trauma, and queer yearning. It's a slow-burn gay romance with a dumbass himbo and a beautiful femboy. It also explores the internal struggle of growing desire, shame, and forbidden closeness between two best friends.

There are a few homophobic slurs used in specific moments and some veiled references to Domestic Violence.

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Part 6-

The Scales Fell From His Eyes

Somewhere West of Atlanta, Georgia, Spring, 2023.

Evening, Thursday, February 16th

If time flies by when you are having fun, then time really crawls when you are about to have a fucking heart attack.

I've sprained my ankle, sliced off a fingertip with a circular saw, and been stabbed in high school by a crazy kid.

Each time, my mom would comment on how calm I was under pressure. Guess that's what happens when you grow up dodging beer bottles, patching drywall, and pretending not to hear your father's rage on Saturday nights.

Fight or flight? Nah. For me, it was always faith or focus.

I probably broke more traffic laws in ten minutes than I had in my life. Sirens wailed like anvils falling on my chest.

Blue lights blocked the road into our complex.

My brakes squealed as I rolled onto the curb.

Another round of gunshots popped---9mm by the sound of it.

My truck was thrown into park, and I was out the door before anyone could stop me.

Pounding pavement. Right. Left. Right. Two flights of stairs.

Our door.

Cops swarmed the building across the street---tactical gear, rifles, the works. The apartment across from us. A drug deal gone wrong, maybe. The window was shredded. Blood on the wall inside.

My brain clicked into place.

If they shot through that window...

My bedroom faced theirs.

I scanned the trajectory instinctively. My window---blown open. Shattered glass. Faint whimpers.

Stephen.

I slammed into the door. Locked. Our Emergency plan. Of course he followed it.

"Holy Spirit, preserve me."

Down two flights. Around. No ladder. No tree. Balcony.

The far side of my bedroom had a small patio balcony, unlocked, if we were lucky.

The downstair neighbor's patio chair. Jump. Grab the ledge. Climb the railing.

Door open.

Left turn. Bedroom door. Locked. Slam. Slam. Shoulder through.

Not in the closet. Not in the bathroom. Then---

Blood on the carpet. Leading to the bed.

I flipped the mattress, heart hammering.

There he was.

A trembling frame curled next to the safe, bleeding from his knees and palms. My socks tied around the wounds, makeshift bandages.

"Stephen!"

My voice cracked. My legs moved on instinct.

I gathered him in my arms and carried him to the dining table, knocking everything off in a single motion.

Mail. Textbooks. Plates. Gone.

Only him.

"I knew you'd come, Hero... I knew you'd save me."

His voice---barely above a whisper---drenched in tears, drenched in trust.

Cabinet. No med kit. Bathroom. Yes.

Spatula. Tweezers. Alcohol. Gauze. Wet cloth.

I dropped to my knees beside him, hands shaking.

"I'm the one supposed to be panicking, not you." His voice tried to tease, trembling.

I focused on his wounds, bloody with small shards of glass. He had crawled through broken windows to reach safety.

He bit down on the spatula as I pulled out shards. Alcohol hissed. Tears blurred my vision.

But he stayed still. Stronger than anyone had a right to be.

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The next hour was chaos. Police, statements, complex manager, caution tape. They moved fast---emergency repairs in the morning, a comped night at a Hilton. PR cleanup. The rent was going down this month, at least.

I nodded at the sheriff's warning that I'd acted "recklessly."

Let them call it reckless. Idjets.

I barely kept my calm in those moments, but every look over at Stephen boosted my resolve. He had this smooth smile plastered on his face. I guess we could fake it together.

Stephen packed slowly while I hit the bathroom. I heard the glass crunch in my room. I knew he was up to something, but I trusted him.

Neighbors watched from windows as I carried him down the stairs. Some curious. Some judgmental. The old lady downstairs just smiled.

It took a little bit of time for us to make it through the police blockade and out the complex. I routed us to the Hilton and drove slow through the rain.

The rain was lighter than earlier, but now I had far more precious cargo in my old Tacoma.

Stephen wouldn't let me carry him into the hotel---said it was undignified. So we walked slowly, side by side.

A soaked lumberjack and his limping emo hobbit.

We were checked in already. Fresh sheets. Twin beds.

Stephen walked in first to plop down on the first of the two beds, and stared at me. An indescribable expression floating behind those stormy blues.

The calmness of the night evaporated as I dropped the bags near the door and fell to the bed beside him.

Arms reached. Bodies collided.

His fingers threaded through my hair. My tears soaked his shirt.

I didn't deserve this. Him. But God help me---I would not lose him.

He gasped softly as I pulled him into my lap, his thighs cradling my hips. We sat like that for a moment---breathing the same air, hearts echoing one another.

This boy had me hook line and sinker.

His face rose to mine, that signature grin forming---mischievous and broken.

"Hero... if you keep holding me like this, you better fuck me."

My entire body blushed crimson. I quickly adjusted his position---to be less... compromising.

"You scared the hell out of me, Steph," I said quietly. "I saw the windows... I thought..."

"I followed the plan," he replied softly, eyes glittering.

"I know. I climbed the balcony to get in."

He chuckled. "So Batman now? That explains the destruction to your bedroom door."

"Makes it easier for when you spy on me."

"Hard pass," he smirked. "Not trying to see your shrimpdick."

He wiggled his pinky in the air.

"Loser."

"Redneck."

"Femboy."

The words stitched us back together. Every insult a piece of armor sliding into place.

"You think a couple gunshots would rattle me?"

He puffed his chest out dramatically.

"Please. Try surviving freshman year without meds and a roommate who farts like it's an Olympic event."

Stephen's beautiful smile looks at me undefeated. His defense was made of soft cotton and sass, but it would hold.

The laughter was short. But it was real.

We sat in silence, the kind that doesn't suffocate. The kind that understands.

I am reminded quickly of my... other friend.

My body keeps betraying how I feel about him.

I got up slowly, laying Stephen gently on the bed. Walked toward our bags.

He whistled behind me.

"You look good stud! You... take that girl on a date?"

His tone was light, but there was something under it.

"We went to dinner. Hung out a bit. Didn't click."

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"I've just been off lately... dark thoughts, memories. Nothing to do with you."

I was Peter denying Christ. And my heart broke for all the lies I've told Stephen.

He smiled faintly. "Whatever you say, buckaroo. Let's get ready for bed."

I go into the bathroom to change quickly and dry my wet hair with a dry towel. I can hear him shuffling around in the room. Stubborn boy.

I walk out to see our bags on the second bed and the covers pulled off invitingly from the first bed.

"You're holding me tonight," he declared, stomping dramatically.

He smacks down my hand as I try to argue.

"Its the Doctor's Orders. Don't dare to argue with me buddy."

"Fine."

I laid down and stared at the ceiling, begging my body to behave.

Stephen changed in the bathroom, humming.

I thought the night was done teaching me lessons. I was wrong.

When he stepped out---

He was wearing my hoodie. Only my hoodie.

"What? I wanted to be comfy."

I blinked. Hard.

Fuck me sideways.

"Uh huh"

I mumble out as I stare slack jawed at the swathes of exposed pale skin below the hem of my hoodie.

He slipped into bed, draping himself across me like he was always meant to fit there. The last puzzle piece, that was hidden under the couch for two months.

"Michael," he whispered, "I don't say it enough---but thank you. You are my rock. I don't talk to God often, but when I do, I thank Him for you."

He kissed my cheek and rested his head on my chest.

"I used to break down for days after something like this," he murmured. "Now? I've got my emergency plan, my blanket, and you. That's progress."

He didn't say anything more. And maybe he didn't need to.

He fell asleep in my arms, cinnamon and warmth and everything good in this broken world.

I nestled my nose into his hair and whispered:

"Oh God, Stephen... I didn't see the light on the road to Damascus. I wasn't struck blind, but for the first time---I see.

Stephen---it's you. It's always been you.

You are my North Star. Forever guiding me home."

Forever guiding me home."

The rain poured outside.

But in here, in this moment, I was washed clean.

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Aren't they just sweeter than pecan pie?

Text your best friend tonight.

-YearningStories <3