Chapter 6: The Yard Goes Silent
The quad was a riot of color and noise, a kaleidoscope of familial obligation and forced smiles. Ender's fingers were cold around his soda cup, the condensation dripping down his knuckles, pooling in the creases of his palm. He'd been holding it for twenty minutes and hadn't taken a single sip.
Across the grass, beyond the cluster of folding chairs and the banner for the Philosophy Club, Zenix's mother was laughing at something his father had said. She had Zenix's eyes—that same warm hazel, that same crinkle at the corners—and she kept touching Zenix's arm like she couldn't quite believe he was real.
Ender understood the feeling.
Gene was by the fountain. His parents had cornered him there an hour ago, and from the set of his shoulders, from the way his thumb kept flicking his lighter open and closed, open and closed, it wasn't going well.
Ender could hear fragments. Carried on the breeze, sharp and ugly.
"—wasting your life—"
"—those tattoos, those people—"
"—thought you'd grow out of this phase—"
Gene's response was too quiet to catch, but his body language said everything. The lazy shrug. The bored tilt of his head. The way he looked at his parents like they were strangers who'd wandered into his territory and didn't know the rules.
His mother's face crumpled. His father's went red.
Gene flicked his lighter one more time, then turned and walked away.
Ender's chest ached.
"You okay, sweetheart?"
The voice was soft, warm, and belonged to Zenix's mother. She'd crossed the lawn without him noticing, her floral dress swishing around her knees, her silver-streaked hair pulled back in a loose bun. She was shorter than Zenix, rounder, with laugh lines etched deep around her mouth.
Ender blinked. "I—yeah. I'm fine."
"You're not." She sat down next to him on the bench—the one under the oak tree, the one Ender had claimed as his own—and folded her hands in her lap. "You've been watching Gene's parents like they're a car crash you can't look away from."
"I—" Ender's cheeks flushed. "I didn't mean to stare."
"You're not staring. You're worrying." She smiled, and it was Zenix's smile, the one that made Ender's heart stutter. "It's sweet. He's lucky to have you."
"I'm—we're not—I mean, I'm not—"
"You're not what? His boyfriend? His partner?" She tilted her head. "His third person?"
Ender's throat closed.
Third person.
That was what Zenix called him. When they were tangled up in bed, when the world was dark and quiet and safe, Zenix would whisper it against his skin. Our third person. Our missing piece. The one we didn't know we were waiting for.
"Mrs. Voss—"
"Call me Dana." She reached over and squeezed his hand. Her fingers were warm, her grip surprisingly strong. "And yes, I know. I've known since Zenix was fifteen and brought home a boy with green hair and a nose ring. I've known since he and Gene started living together. I've known since he called me three months ago and told me he'd finally found someone who made him feel whole."
Ender's eyes burned.
He didn't deserve this. Didn't deserve her kindness, her acceptance. Didn't deserve to be welcomed into a family when his own had—
No.
He wasn't going to think about that.
"I'm glad," Dana said softly. "I'm glad my son found you. And I'm glad you found him. And Gene." She squeezed his hand again. "You're good for them. I can see it."
"You don't even know me."
"I know enough." She let go of his hand, but her smile stayed. "I know you make my boy happy. I know you look at him like he hung the moon. I know you're scared, and I know you're brave anyway. That's enough."
Ender opened his mouth to respond.
He never got the chance.
The punch came out of nowhere.
One second he was sitting on the bench, Dana's warmth beside him, the sun on his face. The next, he was on the ground, gasping, his jaw exploding with pain, his glasses knocked sideways, the world tilting and spinning and screaming.
"—fucking faggot—"
The voice was a serrated blade.
"—disgrace to this family—"
Ender's vision blurred. His ears rang. He tried to push himself up, but his arms wouldn't cooperate, his palms slipping on the grass.
"—should have drowned you at birth—"
A shadow fell over him.
Ender looked up.
His father stood there, chest heaving, fists clenched, face twisted into something that barely resembled human. He was wearing a polo shirt and khakis. He looked like he'd just come from a golf game. He looked like he'd just stepped out of a nightmare.
"You think you can hide from me?" His father's voice cracked. "You think I wouldn't find out? Some thing like you, parading around with—"
His foot drew back.
Ender curled in on himself, arms over his head, the old instinct kicking in. The one that said don't fight, don't run, just protect your vital organs and wait for it to stop.
He'd learned that lesson a long time ago.
The kick never came.
There was a sound—a sick, wet crunch—and then a scream. Not Ender's. Not his father's.
A woman's.
Dana.
Ender forced his eyes open.
Gene was there. Standing over his father, who was sprawled on the grass, blood pouring from his nose, his eyes wide with shock. Zenix was there too, one boot planted on the man's chest, his face a mask of cold, quiet fury.
"The fuck," Gene said, his voice low and even, "did you just try to do to our boy?"
Ender's father sputtered. "Who the hell are you? Get off me, you—"
Zenix pressed down harder. "I asked you a question."
"That thing is my son. I have every right—"
"He's not your son." Gene crouched down, his face inches from Ender's father. "He's ours. And you just made the biggest mistake of your life."
"You can't—"
"Watch me."
Gene's fist connected with the man's jaw.
Once. Twice. Three times. Each blow landed with a crack that made Ender flinch, that made the small crowd that had gathered gasp and murmur.
Zenix didn't stop him. Didn't pull him back. Just stood there, his weight on Ender's father's chest, his eyes fixed on Gene's knuckles, blood splattering against the grass.
"Gene." Ender's voice was barely a whisper. "Gene, stop."
Gene stopped.
But only because Ender asked.
He pulled back, breathing hard, his knuckles split and bleeding. His eyes found Ender's—still on the ground, still shaking, still curled up like a wounded animal—and something in his face shifted.
"Hey." He was at Ender's side in an instant, hands gentler than they'd ever been, cupping Ender's face. "Hey, baby. I've got you. I've got you."
"Did he—" Ender's voice cracked. "Did he hurt you?"
Gene laughed. Actually laughed. "Did he hurt me? Ender, he punched you."
"I know." Ender's eyes filled with tears. "I know, I just—I didn't want—"
"Shh." Zenix was there now, too, crouched on Ender's other side. "Don't worry about us. We're fine. We're always fine."
"You're bleeding."
"A little." Gene shrugged. "Worth it."
Ender's father was groaning on the ground. His nose was broken—Ender could see it, the way it bent to the side—and his lip was split, and one of his eyes was already swelling shut.
Served him right.
No. That wasn't a kind thought. That wasn't a good thought.
But Ender didn't care.
"You need to call the police." Dana's voice cut through the chaos. She was standing over Ender's father, her phone in her hand, her face pale but determined. "I already did. They're on their way."
"Dana—" Zenix started.
"No." She held up a hand. "This man attacked my—" She paused, looked at Ender, and her expression softened. "This man attacked our boy. In public. In front of witnesses. He's going to answer for it."
Ender stared at her.
Our boy.
She'd said it so easily. Like it was nothing. Like he'd always been hers.
"Thank you," he whispered.
She smiled. It was wobbly, and there were tears in her eyes, but it was a smile. "Of course, sweetheart. Of course."
Gene helped Ender sit up. Zenix pressed a wadded-up hoodie to his jaw—where had he gotten a hoodie?—and held it there, his other arm wrapped around Ender's shoulders.
"You okay?" Zenix murmured.
Ender shook his head. "No."
"That's okay." Zenix pressed a kiss to his temple. "That's okay. You don't have to be."
Sirens wailed in the distance.
Gene's parents were gone. Ender hadn't seen them leave, but they weren't by the fountain anymore. Maybe they'd fled when the violence started. Maybe they'd just faded into the crowd.
Gene didn't mention them. Didn't even look their way.
"We need to get you out of here." He was scanning the crowd, his eyes hard. "Before the cops start asking questions. Before—"
"No." Ender's voice was small, but it was firm. "No, I want to stay."
Gene blinked. "Ender—"
"He hurt me." Ender's chin trembled, but his eyes didn't drop. "He's been hurting me my whole life. And I'm tired of running."
Zenix's arm tightened. "You don't have to prove anything."
"I know." Ender swallowed. "But I want to see him answer for it. I want to—" His voice broke. "I want him to know that I'm not afraid anymore."
Gene stared at him for a long moment.
Then he smiled—that rare, soft, private smile that was only for Ender.
"Okay." He stood, offering Ender his hand. "Okay. Let's do this."
Ender took his hand.
Zenix took the other.
Together, they stood.
The police cars pulled up to the edge of the quad, lights flashing, doors opening. Uniformed officers spilled out, their hands on their belts, their eyes scanning the scene.
Ender's father was still on the ground, moaning, his face a mess of blood and bruises.
Dana was already walking toward the officers, her posture straight, her voice steady. She was explaining, gesturing, pointing.
Ender stood between Gene and Zenix, his jaw aching, his glasses crooked on his face, his whole body shaking.
But he didn't run.
He didn't hide.
He stayed.
"You ready?" Gene murmured.
"No." Ender squeezed his hand, then Zenix's. "But I'm here."
"That's all that matters." Zenix pressed another kiss to his temple. "That's all that ever matters."
The officers approached.
Ender didn't let go.
For the first time in his life, he didn't let go.