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Eric had just bested Adam in Super Smash Bros. for the eleventh time.
“Ah ha ha!” Eric’s laugh is grating and obnoxious simply for the sake of being grating and obnoxious. He holds a finger in front of Adam’s face and waves it around.
Adam, who had withstood his vicious taunting the first ten times, zeroes in on the offending finger and bites down sharply with his front teeth.
“Ouch!” Eric screeches, loud enough to wake the entire house.
Adam claps a hand over his mouth to silence him, then curses when he feels the other boy bite down on the fleshy part of his palm. He draws his wounded hand into his lap, while Eric does the same with his finger.
“You’re such a sore loser, Adam...” Eric examines himself tenderly. “Can’t believe you bit me…”
Adam watches in silence, a lousy expression on his face. “Didn’t mean to hurt you… C’mere. Let me see.” He holds out a hand.
Eric raises his eyebrows and scoots further down the bed. “Um, no.”
“Come on, Trombona. Let me see it.”
“No.” Adam creeps closer. “Adam, no. You can’t see. Stop it. Stop—” The larger boy pounces, knocking them both off the bed.
Eric hits the floor with a thud, but quickly turns onto his stomach, tucking the injured finger beneath him like it’s precious treasure he’s willing to die for. Adam lies on top of him, pushing and pulling futilely with his hands.
“Let me fucking see it, Trombona!” Adam commands.
“Why? So you can bite me again?” Eric asks. He’s contemplating elbowing Adam in the stomach, but wonders if that might be taking things a step too far.
“No, so I can kiss—” Adam’s voice abruptly cuts off. Eric feels the weight lift from his back and turns over to see what’s happened.
He gasps. “Dad?”
Mr. Effiong is holding Adam aloft by the scruff of his neck, like the six foot four boy weighs nothing more than a small house cat.
Adam looks back and forth between Eric and his father with his mouth slightly open.
“Dad, put him down. We were just messing around.” Eric gestures with one hand toward the television, where the game is paused.
Mr. Effiong sets Adam down gently. He looks at Eric. “You, come now.” Then he turns and exits the room.
Adam lets out a whooshing breath.
“I’ll be right back,” Eric says, before following after his father.
Adam sits down on the bed, his heart pounding double-time in his chest.
*
Eric has to explain a lot of things to his father.
Yes. We were just playing around.
No. Adam would never hurt me.
Yes. I can take care of myself.
Yes, Adam used to bully me, but…
He’s different now.
He’s … my boyfriend.
In the end, his father just stares at him. A touch sad and a touch confused. Perhaps sad because he’s confused, and Eric feels a rush of compassion for his father, who just wants to understand him.
*
While Adam waits, he twiddles his fingers and silently curses himself. Eric’s dad was one-hundred percent cooler than his own and now he was going to think of Adam as—as some sort of—bully.
Adam ceases his twiddling. Huh, he thinks. Is that what I am? What I was?
The door opens and Eric comes bouncing through, bubblier than when he left, and sits down beside him. Mr. Effiong stands in the doorway, his arms crossed.
Adam stands and clears his throat. He’d never done anything like this before. “Mr. Effiong, I want you to know I’d never hurt Trombona. I mean, Eric. He’s… special to me.” Adam glances down at his boyfriend, whose mega-watt grin is so brilliant and gleeful he’s afraid he might catch a hard-on in the middle of his speech. He turns back to Eric’s dad. “I might be a dickhead. I might be shit at school. I might smoke way too much weed—”
“Where you going with this?” Eric whispers.
Adam ignores him. “But I would never—ever—let anything bad happen to your son.”
Mr. Effiong uncrosses his arms, nods once, and leaves.
“Wow,” Eric espouses.
“Not a word.” Adam retakes his seat beside him.
“Who knew you were so romantic, Adam?”
Adam wraps an arm around Eric’s neck and squeezes. “I said not another word.”