Dean & Connor

"So, what are your plans for the weekend?"

Dean asked as he fumbled with the zip of his jacket.

"Not much really. Just watching football. Maybe catch a movie. What about you?" 

"Same as I do every weekend. Play darts and pool with my Dad." 

"Oh, yeah? ... Alright. Have fun, I guess." 

"Thanks. I plan to get one hundred and eighty... It's ... the highest ... sc...score you can ..."

Dean stopped. Ian wasn't listening. He was gazing off at something in the distance. 

"Hey. Hey. Hey guys. Guys. Have you seen what's over there?" 

"What?"

"Oh... My ... God. Look at the state of IT."

Dean followed their gaze and froze. 

"What the fuck even is IT?"

"Look at what he's wearing." 

"Swear he never changes those clothes. And he fucking reeks." 

"He's such a scrag end."

Dean shifted uncomfortably, watching his friends' faces light up with cruel glee. 

"Total loser."

"I heard he's a faggot." 

"Doesn't surprise me. I caught him checking out William Jenkins in woodwork."

"Ugh. If he tried that on with me, I would fucking deck him." 

Ian snorted.

Michael's lip curled in disgust.

Gemma spat at the floor.

Dean's hands trembled violently. Is this what his evenings had become? 

Two years. That is how long they have been doing this, ever since Ian's older brother, Jake, started buying them cans of beer. Their ritual was always the same: football talk, weekend plans, then inevitably find someone to mock.

Usually it was harmless enough, but lately... his stomach churned. 

He'd told himself it was just banter, that they didn't really mean it. But lately, the laughter felt sharper, the words more vicious.

"Bent bastard!" 

The words struck Dean hard across the face as though Ian had slapped him himself. He wanted to say something—anything—but his throat felt tight. 

"I ... I ... like him."

Dean finally stuttered.

His voice was lost in the din.

His friends scoffed and sneered at Connor, who sat alone on a swing in the abandoned playground. A cigarette glowed between his fingers. 

"Well, he better not come over and join us." 

"I know."

Ian growled. 

"... I'll ... I'll see you later."

Dean slunk off. He closed his eyes, praying they won't call him back. 

"What? That you off Dean, lad?"

"Yeah." 

"Where are you off to?" 

"G-going for a swing." 

"Well, be careful of IT, yeah?"

"Huh?"

"The feral one."

"HA! I bet its not had its shots." 

"Message us when you get home, alright, Dean?" 

"Y... yeah." 

"And see you Monday." 

"Yeah, I'll... I'll see you Monday."

With a deep breath, Dean kept walking, refusing to look back. Not that they paid him any more mind. They had all returned to their taunts. 

He could still hear them a good 100 meters away. Their voices carried like fog horns across the park. 

No doubt Connor could hear them too.

He hoped he hadn't, but judging by the wary look on his face, Connor knew exactly what his "friends" had been talking about... Who they had been talking about. 

******

Dean pushed open the gate, humming softly to himself. He'd been coming here since he was little. Even though he'd outgrown the seesaw and slide, the swings still held a special place in his heart. But tonight, the swings weren't his only reason for coming. 

"Alright?" 

Dean said, settling onto the empty swing next to Connor.

"...Alright?" 

"Yeah, I'm good. How are you?"

Dean smiled at Connor. 

"...Yeah. Good, mate." 

"I'm Dean." 

"Yeah. I know who you are. We were in history together last year." 

"Oh yeah. Turley's class." 

"Yeah, Turley's class."

Connor dropped his cigarette and ground it into the dirt with his heel. 

"That was always fun, last thing on a Wednesday." 

"Was it?" 

"Yeah. Particularly when we got to watch videos. Can still remember the Horrible Histories song about Henry's wives. You remember that? Divorce, beheaded, died, divorced, beheaded, survived. Helped loads in recalling it for tests."

"I suppose." 

"You still do history?" 

"...No. Dropped it for maths." 

Dean blinked.

"You do A-Level maths?"

"Yeah. Why?"

"I... I do..don't know. You just..."

"Just what?"

"It's just... Surprising..." 

"What's that tone for?"

Connor huffed. His shoulders tensed. His nostrils flared.

"Why're you so surprised? You think I can't count to fucking ten like the rest of those gobshites you hang out with?"

His voice rose.

"Yeah, I hear what they say about me. Is that why you came over here? Thought I needed pity? Or am I tonight's entertainment? Go laugh at him over there. Don't worry, you won't need a sidekick, because he is a proper dummy who ..."

"No," Dean said softly.

"I… just wanted to swing."

"Oh.... right," Connor mumbled. 

His feet scraped against the ground, bringing the swing to a stop. 

"You don't have to go." 

Connor looked up.

"You want me to stay?" 

Dean nodded, eyes flicking away.

"Yeah." 

"...Alright."

"... ... ... I always hated maths. Dropped it first chance I could. Barely managed to get a C at foundation."

Connor relaxed slightly.

"It's not so bad when it makes sense."

"Maybe I just needed a tutor..."

His voice trailed off. He looked nervously at his feet, trying to think of something else to say. 

"So... ... ... you, er, come here often then?"

Connor said at last, breaking the tension. 

"Every Friday."

"Oh, right."

"Yeah. Every Friday since I was four, with my mum. And then, when she died, every Friday with my dad." 

"I'm sorry." 

"For what?" 

"Your mum." 

"It's alright. It was peaceful. And she's in a better place now. That's what my Dad says."

"T.. That's good then." 

"So I come here every Friday and have a swing. To remind myself that she is always with me."

"That's sweet." 

"Yeah. The others don't know." 

"That lot over there? Your friends?" 

"... Yeah... um ... friends."  

"I ... I've ... never seen you here before."

Connor pushed himself gently off the ground again. Dean was very grateful for the change in topic.

"Then again, I don't have a set day or anything" 

"I've seen you." 

"What?"

"I live on the other side of the park. I've seen you on my way back from school." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. How about you? Where do you live?"

"Nosy wee bastard, ain’t you?"

Dean laughed softly, then shrugged.

"Too personal? My support worker says I ask too many questions." 

Connor glanced at him sideways, unsure whether to laugh or probe further. 

"I live up by WHSmith," Dean continued. 

"Oh, right. It's... nice up there. Posh end."

"Not really." 

"It has a Pizza Express and a Zizzi. It's posh."

Dean snorted.

“That’s your metric, is it?”

Connor shrugged, a grin twitching at the corner of his mouth.

"Well, it's not like we've got artisan gelato and rooftop bars down... my ... old ... end." 

Connor let out a small, hollow laugh.

"Not much I can really do round here, is there?"

"No?" 

"Well, besides swings and fags. And, as you can see... I'm all out of fags." 

"They're bad for you." 

"Correction. Swings, fags, and nosy bastards." 

They both fell quiet for a moment, the chains of the swings creaking in the breeze.

"You always come alone?"

Dean asked.

"Yeah," Connor said.

"But not tonight, I guess."

"Guess not."

"Mmm."

"Hope that doesn't bother you. You just looked a bit down, sitting by yourself." 

"So you did have another motive other than swinging."

"Not exactly. But not entirely no, either."

"Cryptic wee fucker. Still, I'd expect nothing less from you—always winning those creative writing competitions." 

"... You know about that?"

"Yeah. It’s a pretty big achievement. Those contests are always tough. You're a smart cookie." 

"Thanks. You are, too." 

"Not really. I just do maths and physics. It's all relative, really. I can solve equations, but ask me where I'm sleeping tonight and you won't get an answer." 

"Why?"

"... ... ...You don't want to hear about that."

"I do." 

"It's not nice." 

There was a pause as Dean looked at him, quietly waiting.

"I don't mind." 

"... ... ... Fine. I don't have anywhere to go." 

"Why?"

"My ... Mum kicked me out. The day after my birthday."

"Monday, right?"

Connor sighed.

"Yeah. Monday... She said I was old enough to sort myself out now, that she'd done her bit. Sixteen years was enough, apparently. She had some bloke move in the next day - didn't want complications. Been coming here every night this week. Washing at school, brushing my teeth in the bathroom. All I have is this rucksack, £20 of birthday money, and a packet of my mum’s fags. A parting gift, if you can believe that. And as you can see, they’re all gone. Can’t get any more. Not legally anyway."

"You've... been sleeping here?" 

"... ... Yeah."

"In the park?" 

"... Yeah." 

"On your own?"

"What is this, fucking Mastermind?! Yes! I am homeless and sleeping on a park bench. And if I am very lucky, I can find shelter in a shop doorway when it rains. So long as I don't get moved on by the police." 

"Do... do the school know?" 

"What are they gonna do about it?" 

"A lot." 

"I doubt that."

Connor's laugh was bitter.

"You know what Murphy said when I mentioned that I might need some flexibility with homework deadlines? 'We all have challenges, Connor. The important thing is not to use them as excuses.' Direct quote that. Prick."

"They have a legal obligation to ---"

"Face it, Dean. No one's going to care about 'a miserable little pissant' like me. My mum doesn't. My dad doesn't. He fucked off before I was born. Teachers don't. And not even classmates. Like I said, I hear what those pricks say behind my back." 

"... ... ... I care." 

"Yeah? And why would you care?" 

"Because I like you." 

".... ... ... You... Like me?" 

"Yeah. Like you a lot." 

"... ... ... You're talking rubbish." 

"No, I'm not." 

"You didn't even know who I was earlier." 

"... ... ... I did. You're Connor Ramsey. You're in Year 12. You do Art and music, A level maths and physics." 

"Then why...?"

"I ... ... ... I thought you wouldn't recognise me." 

"Well... I do." 

"... ... ... Do you want to stay at mine tonight?" 

"What?" 

"I'm asking, do you want to stay at mine?"

"W-wait...  Won't your dad mind?" 

"No. He's pretty chill." 

"I ... ... ... No. I can't."

"Why not?" 

"... ... ..."

"Do you have a better alternative?" 

"... ... ..."

"Didn't think so." 

"Why are you being so nice to me?" 

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"... ... ..." 

"Besides, I already told you. I like you. I've liked you since Year 10."

"You ... ... ... you have?" 

"Yeah. Though I was too scared to speak to you. I've always wanted to, but..." 

 "What? ... What? ... Am I that scary?" 

"... ... ...You... do look a l...little intimidating." 

"Oh..." 

"But also very handsome... Also I want to say I'm not only being nice because I like you. Because I know this could look very manipulative and---"

“You’re weird, Dean.”

There was a fondness in Connor's voice that made Dean blush. 

“Is that a no?”

"...Didn't say that. I just... didn't think there were any other queer kids in our year." 

"You're gay?"

"No. I said I'm queer." 

"Oh... ... ... I'm gay." 

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. Came out last year. None of my friends know. I honestly don't know how they'd take it."

He bit his lip. No. He knew exactly how they would take it... 

"Yeah, they do seem like the bastion of tolerance." 

"They can be good fun... err ... sometimes." 

"So... you told me before them?" 

"Yeah. Suppose I did." 

"That's ... really sweet. And brave." 

"Should it be brave?" 

"Whether it should or shouldn't... Ugh, who knows? But I think it's fucking brave." 

"Thank you." 

Connor smiled at Dean, his face flushed.

"If it's alright, I'd like to stay over at yours."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Dean held out his hand.

"Come on then."

Connor's smile widened as he took it. His fingers were cold, and Dean squeezed gently as they stood.

"What will you tell your dad?"

Connor asked as they walked toward the gate.

"The truth, probably. I met someone who needed help. He took my cousin in for three months when she had nowhere to go. He gets it."

"I'm not a charity case..."

"I know."

"... Sorry."

 "Are you nervous?"

"Terrified," Connor admitted.

"What if he says no?" 

"Then we'll figure something else out. But he won't."

"That's not the only reason." 

"Yeah?" 

Connor looked at their joined hands.

"I... I am nervous about a lot of things. About waking up tomorrow, and... all this b...being a dream. About how your friends will treat me. Will treat you for even talking to me. About... about everything falling apart again."

Dean squeezed his hand again.

"We never know what tomorrow brings. That is what my support worker always says. And she's right. It stresses me out all the time, but I know she's right. And hey... maybe it will be complicated. It probably will be. But right now... this... is real. Right here, right now."

"Right here, right now?" 

"Yeah."

"... ... ..."

"Did that sound stupid?"

"No."

"Oh, that's a relief. I was worried I had put my foot in it... Say, do you want to grab some ice cream on the way home?"

"That... actually sounds nice. If a little cheesy." 

"I have been told I am cheesy." 

"Well, good thing for you, I am not lactose intolerant." 

"... Um... Listen, I am not good with social cues, so can I just check ..."

"I'm flirting with you, Dean." 

"Oh..." 

"Oh?... Should I...?"

"Please don't stop." 

"Okay..." 

"Err... Come on then."  

They walked through the gate together, leaving the empty playground behind. Dean didn't let go of Connor's hand, and Connor didn't pull away. Whatever came next, they'd face it together.