51

Winston stands outside the door to Gary's apartment for a good fifteen minutes before he manages to hit the doorbell. It's afternoon, the sun having already started to set, and he is absolutely drenched in the sudden rain-shower that hit while on the way. He didn't remember to grab an umbrella on the way out of his apartment, and he didn't quite manage to regret while standing in the rain, either.

The water drips from his hair, and he shivers. Licks his lips and stares at his finger on the doorbell, contemplating if he should press it again.

But the door opens, light spilling out into the dark hallway, washing over him in the process. "Honey, you're soaked," Janet says when she spots him, pushing the door open wider. She clicks her tongue, "It shouldn't be raining this late in the winter. It's nearly New Years, for heaven's sake."

Winston doesn't respond. She tilts her head, but she steps back and he follows in on automatic, mind a million miles away. He's not entirely sure what he's gonna say, how he's gonna say it; he came here on a whim, really. This all feels like a whim, and he doesn't know who to articulate why it's not.

Janet hands him a towel, clicking her tongue again and pushing her glasses up her nose. "Dry yourself off before you get sick," she says, frowning. He does as she says, ruffling his hair with the towel until it's moderately better while she steals his jacket off him and deposits it somewhere.

"Better?" she asks when she comes back. Before he responds she's already nodding to the kitchen and orders, "Come on, I'll make you something warm."

Winston follows.

He sits at the kitchen table while she putters around, stares at his pale hands, tracing the veins on the back, and then he looks at the table. It's covered in paper, one side of it cleared for eating, and the lamp hangs low above. It's not on, so he can gaze at the silver structure with ease, and so he does.

"Alright, Winnie?" Janet asks, putting a steaming mug of hot chocolate before him. The smell lingers in his nose, and he drags in the easiest breath in days.

"I'm fine," he croaks, grabbing the mug. She sits opposite him, resting her head on her hand, and stares at him. He avoids her gaze, can't help it, distracts himself with the hot chocolate. It tastes heavily in his mouth, and he holds it on his tongue for a second longer than necessary.

It doesn't burn.

"Do you want to talk about something?" Janet asks after a minute, when he's sipped at the liquid again and again.

He nods.

She smiles when he peeks at her, and he inhales through his nose to keep his composure. Everything is fine, he tells himself--trying for a firm tone but falling short even in his head.

Janet picks up an apple from the plate in the middle of the table and takes a bite. She doesn't say a word as he tries to gather himself, sort his thoughts into order; not that it's helped so far. No amount of thinking seem to be enough to to put the words into the proper order.

"I-" he finally starts, just to say something. He stares at the table like it holds the secrets to the universe, the answers to the meaning of life, and of course it doesn't. Of course it doesn't help him.

That'd be too easy.

"I-" he tries again, but he still falls silent in the end. He knows what he needs to say, he does. But he can't say it, and he can't think of any other way to phrase that won't make him seem so presumptuous. So arrogant. So selfish.

Janet bestows mercy upon him, at last. "Would you like to write it down?" she asks, and he shakes his head. That's not going to work any better, with the way his hands are trembling. The only saving grace is that there's not a lot of liquid left in the mug, or it'd be all over him by now.

She nods. "Okay. How about if you tell me one part at a time? For example, did your journey here go well?"

"It did," he says.

She smiles, asks, "Does Gary know what it is you want to talk to me about?"

He shakes his head.

"Do you think he'd be mad if he knew?"

Winston shakes his head once more.

She takes another bite out of her apple and he uses the chance to subtly press a hand to his racing heart. "Is it about school?" she asks. He shakes his head, and she nods. Smiles at him. "Is it about money?"

He shakes his again, then stops, tilts his head, and slowly nods. It could be about money, he supposes. It is tangentially related.

She nods again. "Alright. So it's monetarily related? Do you need money?"

"No," he manages to say. She grins at him, kicking his foot under the table softly. She's a lot like Gary that way; tactile in a way he still thinks adults shouldn't be. It seems so weird to him, but Winston and Gary are both adults and he would probably, actually, for realizes, cry if Gary stopped hugging him and tapping him, and touching him.

Janet takes another bite from her apple and Winston sips at his hot chocolate again. He swallows the now lukewarm liquid, gulping as he puts the empty mug down and folds his hands on his lap instead.

Winston inhales through his nose, holds it in his chest until it aches, and then he forces the words out once and for all.

"I don't like my apartment," he says, "And I don't want to live there anymore."

He waits. Nothing happens for a second, then Janet says, "Alright. So you've decided to move. I assume that's where the money comes in?"

"Not really," says Winston. His hands are clasped together and he's squeezing so tightly it hurts. He can't make himself look at her, but he forces himself to babble. If he doesn't, he'll never say anything at all and--is unbearable, somehow.

"I don't need money." Winston picks at his nails, the polish falling apart in his hands.

Liam clatters into the room, already glaring at Winston he enters. "Loser," Liam says, shattering the tense atmosphere in itty-bitty pieces and Winston's tense shoulders relaxes, lowers, and he exhales shakily but somewhat more steadily than he has all day.

Liam, at least, is predictable. He knows where he stands with the kid, how Liam will treat him and why. With Liam, any disdain or pity is not personal--and that might the greatest thing of all.

"Liam, could you go to your room for a minute?" Janet asks, turning to her youngest son.

Liam rolls his eyes. "What, are you having a conversation?" He scoffs. "I'm not a kid, and anyway it's just the loser. What could he possibly say that I can't hear?"

"It's adult business," Janet says.

Liam snorts. "Please, he just wants to move in here 'cause he's lonely. Like a loser." A pause, and the he explains, "Because he's a loser."

"Liam," Janet flicks his forehead. Liam's expression scrunches up at that but he leans into it and Winston tracks their every moment, watching so closely his eyes nearly dry out.

Liam grouches, "What, you know I'm right. That's what he wants. He's just too chicken to say it."

Janet purses her mouth. She looks at Winston, asks, "Is Liam right? Do you want to move in with us?"

He can't read her expression, doesn't understand her tone.

And he doesn't even know how to justify it, how to explain it. It's what he wants, somehow, but he's not sure when he got this desire, where it came from, how to even deal with it. Janet is gazing at him silently, and he can't bear to look at her—what if she distastes it? secretly hates him? "I have money," is the first thing he ends up saying. "I can pay rent."

"I would like to say that's unnecessary, but that would be a stupid lie," Janet says. Her smile is a bit crooked. She continues, "Of course you can live here, Winston. You're family."

"Yeah, the loser of the family," Liam mutters, but despite the content it's an acceptance.

Winston---can't handle this.