Throwaways
by SalientLane
Chapter 7
Mark's fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on his knee as they sat in the attorney's office. The chairs were too small, the air too dry. Next to him, Steven remained still, a practiced calm that Mark knew hid the same anxiety he felt. On the desk between them lay two thin folders—the official records of Eli Joseph Thomas and James Matthew O'Shaughnessy. Not nearly enough paper to contain the lives of two teenage boys, but it was a start.
"Everything seems straightforward," said Carolyn, their attorney. Her gray suit matched her no-nonsense attitude. She'd come highly recommended for adoption cases. "The investigator has compiled comprehensive reports on both boys' backgrounds."
The investigator, a man named Reeves with tired eyes and a neat beard, nodded. "I've interviewed several former neighbors, teachers, and social workers who had contact with the boys before they entered the system."
Mark leaned forward. "And?"
Reeves opened the first folder. "Eli Thomas. Thirteen years old. Ran away at twelve after enduring years of abuse. His family lived in rural British Columbia. Very isolated."
"What kind of abuse are we talking about?" Steven asked, his voice steady despite the question.
Reeves met his eyes. "Physical, emotional, sexual. The stepfather was the primary abuser, enabled by the alcoholic mother. Social services investigated, but the family was good at hiding things. He stayed briefly with the mother's sister. There, he was subjected to further abuse."
Mark's stomach twisted. He'd known it was bad—the boys had hinted at enough during their evenings together. But hearing it laid out clinically made it real in a way that hurt.
"When Eli ran, his family didn't file a missing persons report for three weeks," Reeves continued. When questioned, the stepfather said, and I quote, 'The devil can keep him.'"
"Jesus Christ," Mark whispered.
"No attempt at contact since?" Carolyn asked, making notes.
"None. In fact, when approached by social services six months after Eli entered the system, they signed voluntary termination of parental rights rather than participate in family reunification therapy."
Steven's hand found Mark's, squeezed once.
"And criminal charges?" Steven asked.
"Pending," Reeves said. "The investigation is ongoing. But Eli is clear of their reach, legally speaking."
Carolyn nodded, making another note. "And the other boy? Jamie?"
Reeves opened the second folder. "James O'Shaughnessy. Also thirteen. Middle-class family in Vancouver proper. Mother left when he was ten. Father was an evangelical Christian. Attempted to drown Jamie in a bathtub after he discovered his son's orientation."
Steven's jaw tightened. He could barely believe what he was hearing.
"Jamie ran away two times before he was twelve," Reeves continued. "Each time, he was returned home. The third time, he met Eli, and they've been inseparable since. The abuse escalated before his final departure—food deprivation, isolation, physical beatings from the father."
"What about his father now?" Carolyn asked.
"Criminal charges are pending."
Carolyn cleared her throat. "From a legal standpoint, this is about as clean-cut as these cases get. Both sets of parents have essentially forfeited their rights through abuse, neglect, and abandonment. The boys are wards of British Columbia, and the province is eager to place teens in stable homes."
"Especially same-sex couples?" Steven asked, a hint of edge in his voice.
Carolyn didn't flinch. "Especially qualified parents with the resources to support traumatized youth, regardless of orientation. Your home study is excellent, your backgrounds are clean, and your financial stability is impressive. Being gay isn't the advantage—being good candidates is."
Mark felt something in his chest loosen slightly.
"How long?" he asked.
"Four to six months, if everything goes smoothly. The boys are old enough that their consent carries significant weight. Do they know you're pursuing this?"
"Not explicitly," Steven said. "We've been building a relationship, letting them get comfortable with us. But we're moving to a bigger house with them in mind."
"We don't want to get their hopes up if there's a chance this won't work," Mark added.
Reeves closed both folders. "If I may offer an observation? These boys have survived nightmare conditions by relying on each other. They need stability, but they also need honesty. False hope is cruel, but no hope at all is worse."
Mark nodded, thinking of the way Eli and Jamie looked at each other, the way they gravitated together even in a room full of people. How they'd begun to relax, inch by inch, in Mark and Steven's presence.
"We'll tell them," he decided, looking at Steven for confirmation. "Not as a guarantee, but as a possibility we're fighting for."
Steven nodded. "They deserve to know someone's fighting for them."
Carolyn smiled for the first time. "I'll file the initial paperwork tomorrow. The home study for the new property will need to be updated, but that's routine."
"And the boys' privacy?" Steven asked. "Their stories, I mean."
"Completely confidential," Reeves assured him. "My reports go only to the court and to you as potential adoptive parents."
As they gathered their things to leave, Carolyn handed them each a business card. "Call me anytime with questions. This won't be easy—adoption never is—but from what I can see, you're exactly what these boys need."
In the elevator down to the parking garage, Mark let out a long breath. "It's really happening."
Steven took his hand. "Scared?"
"Terrified," Mark admitted. "But not of them. Of failing them."
"We won't," Steven said with a certainty Mark envied. "We'll make mistakes, but we won't fail them."
The elevator doors opened, and they stepped out together, still holding hands. Twenty years together, and now, possibly, a family. The thought made Mark dizzy with hope and fear and determination.
"Let's go home," Steven said. "We've got boxes to pack."
"And two boys to invite into our lives," Mark added. "Officially."
The prospect terrified and thrilled him in equal measure. But Mark knew one thing for certain: Eli and Jamie would never have to run again.
Eli stared at the ceiling in the dark, listening to Jamie's breathing beside him. Their twin beds pushed together creaked whenever one of them moved. Three visits to Mark and Steven's apartment, three glimpses of a different life, and then back here—to the institutional quiet of the crisis center. Down the hall, someone was crying again. It happened most nights now, ever since Dr. Chen's announcement about the funding problems.
"You awake?" Jamie whispered.
"Yeah."
"I keep thinking about their view. All those lights."
Eli rolled onto his side, facing Jamie in the dim glow from the hallway night-light that leaked under their door. "Better than our view of the dumpsters."
Jamie's laugh was small but real. "When we go back Thursday, I want to ask Steven about that Bowie album. The one with the crazy face paint."
"Ask him if we can borrow it."
"You think he would?"
"He offered, didn't he?"
They fell silent again, the unspoken question hanging between them—how many more Thursdays would there be? How long until this fragile arrangement collapsed?
"Try to sleep," Eli said finally. "Group therapy tomorrow."
Jamie groaned but turned over, pressing his back against Eli's chest. Eli draped his arm over Jamie's side, and they slept.
Morning came with the usual sounds—showers running, doors opening and closing, the clattering of breakfast trays in the cafeteria. Eli noticed Danny in the breakfast line, a twelve-year-old with perpetually untied shoelaces and a habit of collecting bottle caps. The kid looked worse than usual, dark circles under his eyes, hair sticking up like he'd been electrocuted.
"Hey," Eli said, sliding his tray next to Danny's at the table. "You okay?"
Danny shrugged, pushing soggy cereal around his bowl. "Fine."
Jamie joined them, nodding at Danny. "Nice bedhead."
"Fuck off," Danny mumbled, but without heat.
"Language," a passing staff member warned automatically.
Eli watched Danny's hands shaking as he lifted his spoon. The kid had been at the center for just four months, after his mom went to jail and his grandmother had a stroke. No other family to take him. Eli had overheard Dr. Chen telling another staff member that Danny had made "remarkable progress" since arriving. Now all that progress seemed in jeopardy.
"Heard anything new?" Danny asked suddenly. "About this place closing?"
"No," Eli said. "Just the same as before."
Danny nodded, still not eating. "My social worker won't tell me shit—stuff. Where I'd go."
Jamie and Eli exchanged a glance. Neither said what they were both thinking: that Danny would probably be placed in a regular group home. Younger, with fewer issues on paper, he was more "placeable" than most of them.
"One day at a time," Jamie said, echoing Dr. Chen's constant refrain.
Danny just nodded again and abandoned his breakfast entirely.
Group therapy was at two, after classes for those who attended the local school and chores for those who didn't. Eli and Jamie filed into the room with the others, taking their usual seats. Dr. Chen looked even more tired than last week, if that was possible. Marcus slouched in, last as usual, his face set in its perpetual scowl.
"Welcome, everyone," Dr. Chen said. "Let's start with a breathing exercise today."
A collective groan went around the circle.
"Humor me," she said, almost smiling. "Five deep breaths, in through the nose, out through the mouth."
Eli did it, feeling stupid but noticing that Jamie was doing it too. Across the circle, Danny's breathing was shallow and fast, despite the exercise. His leg was bouncing like Jamie's did when he was anxious, a rapid-fire movement that shook his whole body.
"Today I want to talk about transitions," Dr. Chen said when they finished. "Change is a constant in life, but that doesn't make it easy. Who wants to share a transition they've faced and how they handled it?"
Silence. Nobody wanted to touch that topic with a ten-foot pole.
"I'll start," Dr. Chen offered. "When I was in college, my family moved across the country without me. I had to decide whether to transfer schools to be near them or stay where I was, on my own."
"What did you do?" Tori asked.
"I stayed. It was hard, but I built a new support system. Made my own family, in a way."
Danny's leg bounced faster. His hands gripped the sides of his chair.
"Danny?" Dr. Chen's voice was gentle. "Would you like to share something?"
The question broke the dam. Danny shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor.
"This is bullshit!" he yelled, his voice cracking. "You're trying to make us feel better about getting thrown away again! Like, oh, it's just a 'transition,' just 'change,' like changing your fucking socks!"
"Danny—" Dr. Chen started.
"No! I can't—I can't—" His breathing came in gasps now. "I just got here. I just started sleeping through the night. I just—" He made a sound like he was drowning, his hands clawing at his chest.
Eli recognized a panic attack when he saw one. He'd talked Jamie through enough of them on the streets.
"I can't breathe," Danny wheezed, tears streaming down his face. "I can't—I don't want to leave. Please. Please don't make me leave."
He collapsed then, not fully to the floor but a buckling of the knees that left him half-sitting, half-kneeling. His whole body shook with sobs that sounded like they were being torn from him.
Tori moved first, sliding from her chair to kneel beside him. "Breathe with me, Danny. Like this." She exaggerated her breathing, slow and deep.
Eli found himself moving too, crouching on Danny's other side. "You're safe right now," he said, the words he'd used with Jamie a hundred times. "Right this minute, you're safe. Just focus on that."
To his surprise, Marcus joined them, awkwardly patting Danny's shoulder. "It's gonna be okay, kid. We've all been through shit. You get through it."
"But I don't want to get through more shit," Danny sobbed. "I'm tired."
"I know," Desiree said, joining their circle on the floor. "We all are."
One by one, everyone in the group surrounded Danny, offering awkward comfort, tissues, water, their presence. Dr. Chen stepped back, letting it happen, something like pride mixing with sadness on her face.
It took almost twenty minutes for Danny's breathing to return to normal. By then, they'd all migrated to sitting on the floor, the formal circle dissolved into something more organic. Ryan was telling a story about the worst group home he'd ever been in ("The food made prison meals look gourmet"), making Danny laugh through his tears.
"Sorry," Danny finally said. "For freaking out."
"Don't be stupid," Marcus said, but the words came out almost kind. "We're all freaking out. You're just honest about it."
Dr. Chen finally rejoined them, sitting cross-legged on the floor like she was one of them. "Thank you all," she said simply. "This is exactly what community looks like."
Eli felt Jamie's hand find his, their fingers intertwining. The crisis center wasn't much—sterile rooms, bad food, uncertain future—but the people inside it had become a kind of family. The thought of losing that cut deeper than Eli wanted to admit.
Later, back in their room, Jamie voiced what they were both thinking.
"What happens to Danny if this place closes? Or Tori, or any of them?"
Eli had no answer. They'd survived on the streets, he and Jamie. They had each other. But Danny? Tori? The younger ones?
"One day at a time," he finally said, echoing the phrase from earlier, knowing how hollow it sounded.
Jamie nodded, pressing closer in their pushed-together beds. "Yeah. But I'm counting the days until Thursday."
Eli understood. Thursday meant Mark and Steven's apartment. It meant a few hours of pretending they had somewhere else to go, someone else to be. It wasn't a solution, but it was something to hold onto as the crisis center's future grew more uncertain by the day.
The elevator ride up to Mark and Steven's apartment felt different this time. Eli couldn't pinpoint why until the doors slid open and he realized he was no longer counting the visits. This was just Thursday now. A bright spot in the week. Next to him, Jamie bounced slightly on his toes, eager to get to the vinyl collection that Steven had promised to let him explore more thoroughly tonight.
Steven opened the door before they could knock, his smile the same as always, but something different in his eyes. Nervous, maybe.
"Hey, guys. Come on in."
Eli stepped inside first, then stopped so abruptly that Jamie bumped into his back. The apartment was filled with boxes. Stacks of books sat on the floor beside half-empty shelves. The kitchen counter was littered with newspaper-wrapped dishes.
"What's happening?" Jamie asked, his voice small.
Mark emerged from the hallway carrying more empty boxes. "Sorry about the mess. We're packing."
"Packing," Eli repeated. The word felt heavy, final. He'd gotten used to this place—the view, the comfortable couch, the shelves of books and records. The safety of it.
"You're moving," Jamie said, a statement rather than a question. His face had gone blank, the expression he used when bracing for bad news.
"We are," Steven confirmed. "But it's not what you're thinking."
"Come sit," Mark said, gesturing toward the couch, which was thankfully still box-free. "We'll explain everything."
Eli and Jamie sat close together, their shoulders touching. Eli felt the familiar tightness in his chest, the one that came when good things ended. Because they always ended.
Mark sat across from them on a chair, Steven perched on its arm. "We've found a house," Mark began. "A single-family home in Mount Pleasant. Ground level, with a yard."
"It's bigger than this place," Steven added. "And costs less, which is a bonus."
Eli nodded mechanically. He should say something polite, he knew. Congratulate them. But the words wouldn't come.
"But I thought you loved this apartment," Jamie said. "The view and everything."
"We do," Mark admitted. "But we wanted—needed—something different. Something with more space."
"And more income to spare," Steven added. "In case our family gets bigger."
Eli frowned, not following. Were they planning to get a dog? Or was one of them expecting a relative to move in?
Jamie sat up straighter. "Wait. Family gets bigger?" He looked at Eli, then back at Mark and Steven. "You're talking about us!"
Mark's face broke into a wide smile. "We are."
Eli felt like he was suddenly underwater, sounds muffled, movements slow. He stared at Mark, trying to understand what was happening.
"The new place is further away from the crisis center," Steven said. "But if you're going to be living with us, that shouldn't matter."
"Living with you," Eli repeated, the words not quite computing.
"I mean, that's kind of the point of why we decided to buy it in the first place," Steven said, his eyes crinkling at the corners.
Jamie reached over and gripped Eli's wrist, hard. "They want us to live with them," he said, his voice urgent, like he was trying to make sure Eli understood.
Mark leaned forward, his expression serious now. "Eli, Jamie. We've gotten to know you both over these past weeks. And we've grown to care about you. A lot."
"More than we expected to, honestly," Steven added.
"We've been talking to an attorney," Mark continued. "About adoption."
The word hung in the air. Adoption. Eli had heard it before, of course. It was something that happened to other kids. Younger kids. Cute kids. Not teenagers with histories like theirs.
"Y-you—" Eli tried to speak, but his throat closed up. He couldn't remember how words worked.
"How would you feel about officially becoming our adopted sons?" Mark asked gently.
Jamie made a strange sound beside him, half laugh, half sob. When Eli turned to look, he saw tears streaming down Jamie's face.
"Shit, I got something in my eye," Jamie said, rubbing furiously at his face. But the tears kept coming.
"It's okay if you need time to think about it," Steven said quickly. "We know it's a big decision."
Eli still couldn't speak. His mind raced through every foster home, every group home, every shelter they'd been in. The tension of waiting to be sent away. The certainty that they would be. The promises that were never kept.
But Mark and Steven were different. They'd been nothing but honest. They'd opened their home, their lives. They'd listened. They'd never pushed or demanded.
"Why?" he finally managed. "Why us?"
Mark's eyes were kind. "Because you deserve a home. Because you're both amazing young men who've survived things no one should have to face. Because we have room in our lives and our hearts."
"And because we're selfish enough to want you in our family," Steven added with a small smile.
Jamie was still crying, but he was smiling now too. "Yes," he said. "Yes, we—I mean, I want that. I want that so much."
Everyone looked at Eli. He felt the weight of the moment, the possibility of a future he'd stopped letting himself imagine years ago. A home. A family. Stability.
"We'd stay together?" he asked. "Me and Jamie?"
"Of course," Mark said immediately. "We wouldn't have it any other way."
"And you're not going to change your minds? Because people do that. They say they want us and then they don't."
"We won't change our minds," Steven said firmly. "We know exactly what we're asking for, and exactly what we want. We want you both to be our sons."
Something broke open inside Eli then, some wall he hadn't even realized was still standing. He nodded, not trusting himself to speak, his own vision blurring with tears he hadn't cried in years.
Mark stood up and opened his arms. "Come here, both of you."
Jamie moved first, launching himself into Mark's embrace. Eli followed more slowly, still half-expecting to wake up from this dream. But then Steven's arms were around him too, and they were all huddled together in the middle of the half-packed living room, holding onto each other like they'd never let go.
"So that's a yes?" Steven asked, his voice thick with emotion.
"Yes," Eli managed, the word muffled against someone's shoulder. "Yes."
They stayed like that for a long time, this tangle of arms and tears and hope. Outside the windows, Vancouver spread below them, but Eli wasn't looking at the view anymore. He was looking at what was right in front of him—a home, not made of walls and furniture, but of people who had chosen him. Chosen them.
When they finally separated, all four of them wiping at their eyes and laughing a little at themselves, Eli felt lighter than he had in years. Like something heavy had been lifted from his shoulders.
"When?" Jamie asked, never one to miss the practical details. "When would we move in?"
"We close on the house next week," Mark said. "It needs some painting and fixing up, but we could have you moved in within two weeks, if that works for you."
"If that works for us," Jamie repeated, laughing in disbelief. "Yeah, I think we can make room in our busy schedules."
Eli felt a smile spreading across his face, unfamiliar in its completeness. "Two weeks," he said. The words tasted like a promise. Like a future. Like home.
The Christmas tree in the corner of the living room was nothing special—just a six-foot Fraser fir with a mix of store-bought and homemade ornaments. But to Eli, it might as well have been plated in gold. He sat on the couch watching the lights blink, a mug of hot chocolate warming his hands. Two weeks before Christmas, and the house in Mount Pleasant already felt more like home than anywhere he'd lived in years.
"Contemplating the meaning of life over there?" Mark asked, emerging from the kitchen with his own mug.
"Just the tree," Eli said. "It's nice."
Mark sat beside him, following his gaze. "Steven wanted a bigger one, but I told him this is our first Christmas together. We have time to go overboard in future years."
Future years. The phrase settled over Eli like a warm blanket.
"Where is everyone?" he asked.
"Jamie's helping Steven hang lights in your room. Though I suspect they're really just arguing about the best Bowie album again."
Eli smiled. Jamie had been working his way through Mark and Steven's vinyl collection like a starving man at a buffet, but he'd gotten stuck on David Bowie for the past several weeks.
Their bedroom was at the back of the house—a good-sized room with a comfortable double bed, a desk, and enough shelves for their growing collection of borrowed books and records. The walls were a soft blue that Jamie had picked. There was also a guest bedroom down the hall, with twin beds and neutral decor. "For appearances," Steven had explained when showing them the house. "Or if you ever decide you want separate beds."
Eli knew that wouldn't happen. After years of sleeping side by side—on benches, in shelters, in the pushed-together twins at the crisis center—the idea of sleeping apart felt wrong. Like trying to breathe with only one lung.
"What are you smiling about?" Mark asked.
"Nothing. Everything." Eli shrugged. "Just feels weird sometimes. Like I'm going to wake up back at the center."
Mark nodded. "I get it. I still have moments where I look around and can't believe this is my life. Good disbelief, but still."
From upstairs came the sound of laughter and the muffled bass line of "Teenage Wildlife." Eli took another sip of his hot chocolate—made with real milk and those fancy marshmallows from the specialty shop, not the powdered mix from the crisis center.
"Need any help with dinner?" he asked.
"Sure. Steven's attempting his mother's veggie lasagna recipe. Could probably use another pair of hands to keep him from burning down our new kitchen."
Our new kitchen. Our. The inclusive pronoun still gave Eli a little jolt every time.
In the kitchen, Jamie was perched on a stool while Steven measured spices into a simmering pot of sauce. Jamie's face was flushed with pleasure, his hands moving as he talked about the liner notes from "Station to Station."
"—and it says he barely remembers recording it because he was so coked out, but it's still brilliant, you know?"
"That's what we call a cautionary tale with a great soundtrack," Steven said, stirring the sauce. "Hey, Eli. Want to mince some garlic?"
Eli washed his hands at the sink. This kitchen was nothing like the industrial one at the crisis center. It had warm wood cabinets, countertops that weren't stained by decades of use, and a fridge covered in magnets and reminder notes—including the schedule for Eli and Jamie's new school, which they'd start after winter break.
As they worked, bumping elbows and passing ingredients, Eli marveled at how quickly they'd fallen into these rhythms. How normal it felt to help make dinner, to have inside jokes, to belong.
"Can I go to Ryan's tomorrow?" Jamie asked as they set the table. "He got the PlayStation 5 Pro and wants to show me."
Steven exchanged a glance with Mark. "Homework first," Mark said. "And back by nine."
"But it's winter break," Jamie protested. "There is no homework."
"Then you're all set," Steven said cheerfully. "And still back by nine."
Jamie rolled his eyes, but Eli could see the smile he was fighting. There was something comforting about having boundaries, about adults who cared enough to set them.
After dinner, they watched a movie—some cheesy Christmas comedy that had Steven laughing so hard he snorted soda through his nose, which made the rest of them laugh even harder. Eli found himself watching his new family as much as the movie, storing away these moments like treasures.
Later, in their room, Eli and Jamie lay in their double bed, the Christmas lights Steven had hung casting a soft blue and green glow across the ceiling.
"This is weird, right?" Jamie whispered. "Like, we're living in some alternate universe or something."
"Weird good or weird bad?"
"Weird amazing." Jamie turned on his side to face Eli. "Yesterday, Mark asked if I wanted piano lessons. Like, actual piano lessons. With a teacher and everything."
"You going to do it?"
"Hell yes. I've wanted to play since that shelter on East Hastings, remember? The one with the old upright in the common room."
Eli remembered. Jamie had spent hours picking out simple melodies by ear, until one of the older residents had threatened to break his fingers for "making too much fucking noise."
"You'll be good at it," Eli said.
"Maybe." Jamie's voice grew serious. "Does it freak you out sometimes? How different everything is now?"
Eli thought about it. "Sometimes. This morning I asked if I could have more cereal and then felt like I was going to throw up, waiting for someone to get mad."
"And?"
"And Steven just passed the box and asked if I wanted more oatmilk too."
They were quiet for a moment, the colored lights painting patterns on their faces.
"I feel like a prince or something," Jamie admitted. "New clothes, my own room—our own room—people asking what I want to eat, what I want to do. It doesn't feel real."
"Mark says it'll take time to adjust," Eli said. "That it's normal to feel weird about good changes too."
Jamie's hand found his under the covers. "You think they'll get tired of us? All our issues and stuff?"
"No." Eli surprised himself with his certainty. "They knew what they were getting into. They chose us anyway."
From downstairs came the sound of soft music—Steven playing something on the stereo, some smooth space-age chillout lounge he loved. Maybe Boris Blenn. The house creaked gently around them, settling in for the night.
"Our first Christmas," Jamie said, his voice dreamy with sleep. "A real one."
"With presents and everything. I think they are gonna shower us with gifts. They can't help it," Eli said. Mark had taken them shopping the previous weekend, insisting they each pick out gifts for everyone in the family. Family. The word still gave him butterflies.
"I got you something good," Jamie murmured, clearly drifting off. "Something really good."
"Me too," Eli whispered, though he wasn't sure Jamie was still awake to hear it.
He lay in the darkness, feeling the weight and warmth of Jamie beside him, listening to the unfamiliar but welcome sounds of their new home. Outside, it had started to snow—fat flakes that would probably melt by morning, but that added to the magic of the moment.
A year ago, they'd been on the street in the cold, counting how many protein bars they could stash in case they had to run. Now they had a home. A real one, with people who wanted them, who had chosen them, who were fighting to keep them.
As he drifted toward sleep, Eli thought that maybe this was what safety felt like. Not the absence of fear, but the presence of something stronger. Something like love.
Eli caught his reflection in a store window and almost didn't recognize himself. The navy peacoat fit his shoulders perfectly, unlike the donation-bin jackets he'd worn for years. His jeans were new, his boots unscuffed, his hair recently cut by an actual barber instead of Jamie wielding stolen scissors in a shelter bathroom. Next to him, Jamie looked equally transformed in a dark green wool coat and the Doc Martens he'd wanted for as long as Eli could remember. They looked like normal kids. Like they belonged.
"Come on," Jamie tugged at his sleeve, pulling him into the record store. "They might have that Bowie import Steven was talking about."
For the past month, Jamie had been obsessed with David Bowie's Berlin trilogy—"Low," "Heroes," and "Lodger"—plus "Station to Station" and "Scary Monsters." He played them constantly, filling their bedroom with strange, haunting sounds that somehow matched the winter rain against their windows.
"You don't have to come in if you don't want," Jamie said, noticing Eli's hesitation. "I know you're not as into it."
"No, it's fine. I like watching you get excited about it."
Jamie's smile was quick and bright. "Shut up."
Inside, Jamie headed straight for the import section, fingers already flipping through vinyl sleeves with practiced care. Eli wandered toward the books at the back of the store, where used paperbacks lined shelves below vintage band posters.
He'd been working his way through Mark and Steven's home library, discovering authors he'd never heard of. But it was Ursula K. Le Guin who had captured his imagination most completely. He'd started with "A Wizard of Earthsea," pulled in by the idea of a school for wizards, but stayed for the deeper ideas about balance and responsibility. Now he was halfway through "The Lathe of Heaven," a book that made him wonder if he had somehow dreamed himself and Jamie into a better life.
"Find anything good?" Jamie asked, appearing beside him with two records tucked under his arm.
"Just looking." Eli nodded at Jamie's finds. "Success?"
"Japanese pressing of 'Lodger.' 2017 Reissue of 'Stage.' Steven's going to freak."
They paid—using actual money from their allowances, not shoplifting, which still felt novel—and stepped back into the February afternoon. The air was cold but not bitter, a typical Vancouver winter day threatening rain but not delivering yet.
"We should head back," Eli said. "You have that history paper due Monday."
Jamie groaned. "Don't remind me."
They'd been enrolled at Pattinson High School since January, adjusting to the routine of classes and homework and normal teenage concerns. It was strange, sitting in classrooms discussing literature and history when just months ago they'd been worrying about where to sleep. But they were adapting. Eli even had a decent grade in his creative writing class, where his teacher had praised his "unusual perspective."
"Think we could stop by the center on the way?" Jamie asked as they walked. "I promised Tori I'd bring her that manga she wanted to borrow."
The crisis center was still open, thanks in part to continued anonymous donations that Eli strongly suspected came from Mark and Steven. They visited at least once a week, bringing books or snacks or just spending time with the kids who remained. It felt important, not forgetting where they'd come from.
"Sure," Eli agreed. "We've got time."
They took a detour through Dude Chilling Park, named for the famous sign that had started as a prank and become official. Despite the cool weather, the little park was busy with weekend visitors—dog walkers, families with children, couples on benches.
"Let's sit for a minute," Jamie suggested, pointing to an empty bench near the sculpture that had inspired the park's name.
They sat close together, Jamie's new records carefully placed on his lap. Without hesitation, Eli put his arm around Jamie's shoulders, and Jamie leaned into him, a public display that would have been unthinkable months ago.
"Mark texted earlier," Jamie said. "Asked if we want to invite anyone over for dinner tomorrow. Said we could have friends from school if we want."
Eli considered this. They were still figuring out friendships at Pattinson. Being the new kids—and the adopted kids with two dads—had made them objects of curiosity, but a few classmates had been genuinely welcoming.
"Maybe Sasha and Kai?" he suggested. "They seem cool."
Jamie nodded. "Yeah. And they didn't make a big deal about us, you know, being together."
"Together-together," Eli clarified with a small smile.
"Yeah."
They sat in comfortable silence, watching a golden retriever chase a ball across the grass. Jamie's head rested against Eli's shoulder, his body warm through layers of new winter clothing. No one gave them a second glance.
"Remember when we used to sit in that alley behind the convenience store?" Jamie asked suddenly. "With that piece of cardboard to keep our asses dry?"
"You complained the whole time," Eli recalled.
"It was cold!"
"And now look at us. Fancy coats, actual money in our pockets."
Jamie looked up at him. "It's not just the stuff, though. It's—"
"I know," Eli said. "It's having somewhere to go. Someone waiting for us."
"Family," Jamie said simply.
The word still gave Eli a flutter in his chest. Family had always been a loaded concept—something that had failed them both, something dangerous and painful. But Mark and Steven were redefining it, one dinner conversation and movie night and stupid inside joke at a time.
"Sometimes I still think I'm going to wake up," Jamie admitted. "Like, back at the center, or worse."
Eli tightened his arm around him. "Me too. Mark says that's normal. That it takes time for your brain to catch up to the good stuff."
"Mark says a lot of wise shit."
"He reads a lot of self-help books. I found a whole stack in the bathroom cabinet."
Jamie laughed, the sound clear in the cold air. "Our dads are nerds."
Our dads. The casual way he said it made Eli's throat tight with emotion.
"Total nerds," he agreed. "Lucky us."
A light rain began to fall, typical Vancouver weather refusing to commit to either stopping or starting properly. Neither boy moved to leave.
"We should go soon," Jamie said, making no effort to get up. "But just... a few more minutes?"
"Yeah," Eli said. "A few more minutes."
They sat together, two boys who had survived more than most adults ever would, watching the rain make patterns on the park grass. Eli thought about the long path that had led them here—the fear, the hunger, the desperate clinging to each other as the only constant in a chaotic world. And now this: safety. Home. Family. Love that didn't hurt.
"I love you," he said quietly. "You know that, right?"
Jamie nodded against his shoulder. "I know. Me too."
Simple words for a complicated feeling. But maybe that was enough. Maybe they didn't need poetry or grand declarations. They had survived together. They were thriving together. And now, on a damp bench in a park with a ridiculous name, they were just being together—openly, honestly, safely.
"Okay," Eli said eventually, as the rain picked up. "Now we really should go."
They stood, Jamie carefully protecting his records inside his coat, and started the walk home. Not to a shelter or the crisis center or some temporary placement, but home. To Mark and Steven and dinner plans and homework and a warm room with a comfortable bed and walls they could decorate however they wanted.
The rain fell steadily now, but neither of them minded. They had somewhere to go. They had each other. They belonged.
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