"Relax, my darling." A wispy voice chided. While the tip of his ear reddened where the hot breath had curled around it, light fingertips pressed on the wrinkles between his furrowed brows, slicking over the black lines to smooth them out. "You are far too stiff to be any son of mine. You are trying to control the rhythm again-"

Archers eyes flipped open, and he found his père, with his forehead creased and his lips turned down, plopped just inches in front of him. Unable to face that dejected expression, Archer hung his head as a heavy sigh burst out of him. As if weighed down by the entire world, he flopped onto his side, drawing his throbbing legs into his chest. "I get my stiffness from Daddy." He said lowly, feeling his père slide a cool hand under his cheek so the rough carpet didnt leave an imprint on his skin. "Père, just give up. Im hopeless. Im not in the mood to dance today."

"You havent been in the mood to dance for months, sweetheart." His père huffed, tucking his legs beneath himself so he could lift Archer from the ground and drape him across his lap. Once he was settled between his thighs, he went about stroking away the ruffles in his face. "Is something the matter, my love? You know that I will never be angry with you. Im just concerned... I remember when you used to dance until you dropped. Youd be so excited to dance that your dad would have to pick you up and whisk you off to bed... and, even then, you would wiggle your toes beneath the covers. Now... I cant even get you to dance during your lessons."

Frowning up at his père, Archer snuggled into his silky leotard as he let his eyes fall shut. There was nothing he hated more than the disappointed look that his père was staring down at him with. "Im sorry, Père. I am trying. Its just that-" He shrugged a shoulder. He wasnt sure how much he should tell his père, even if he really wanted to spill his guts to him. He knew that, although not outwardly cross with him, his père would inwardly be disheartened that, for the past ten years, he had spent minute after minute reminding Archer that he had to point his toes and hold his head high, and that he had also spent hundreds of dollars renovating a section of their house to give Archer a place to perfect his abilities, and that they had traveled for miles to visit some of the top schools in France, only to find out that Archer didnt want to be perfect. He missed when he could aimlessly twirl around on a pair of flat feet, knocking over bookshelves and vases on his way to wherever he was going.

Deciding that it was probably for the best that he come up with the excuse that he had a pea under his pillows and was due for a new set, Archer opened his eyes, meeting that worried, blue gaze only for a moment before his père turned his head at the sound of a knock on the door. "I wonder who that could be." He pushed himself off of his knees, making Archer scoot to the side and clunk to the floor, and then he stood above him, looking down with a pair of pitying eyes and a puckered lip. "Well talk later, dearest."

Archer watched his père swish out of the room more gracefully than Archer could ever dream of being, despite the fact that his père should have been a little rusty on his feet. Sighing heavily as soon as he was gone, he let his head drop to the carpet, and he covered it with his plump hands. "Id be a burden to my parents if they ever knew the truth." He grumbled, peeling one lid open at the sound of a high pitched chirp. He glimpsed over at his two, pudgy birds, who never strayed more than a few feet from his père. When he had made to leave the room, so did they. He reached out for Pavarotti, who was nearest to him, and pinched his tail. Pavarottis skittering feet skidded to a halt, and he cocked his head at the boy who had caused him pause. Archer frowned at him, "Can I tell you a secret, Pavarotti? Père must never know, okay? I dont want to dance the way that he wants me to... to music that means nothing to me. You see, the rhythm of my heart isnt controlled-" His words died off when Pavarotti, clearly disinterested, tilted his head in the direction of the entryway, where voices were echoing from.

He let his bird go, and he rolled his eyes as Pavarotti and Everett, both unconcerned with the conversation they had been a part of, hurried away. "Now my birds wont even listen to me." He slowly boosted himself off of his butt, holding onto the wall to give himself balance. Stepping off of the squishy mat that was the best his père could do until he found a proper place for Archer to practice, he slunk over to the doorway of the living room, peering around the corner. His eyes widened at the dark form that was leaning in the doorway, grocery bags tucked under his lean arms. His lips were stretched into a gentle smile at his père, who looked surprised but flattered by whatever he was saying.

Suddenly, Hunter rolled one of his shoulders, making his jacket crinkle. "I hope this isnt too much." He grunted, only for his père to quickly shake his head. "Its just that... Archer told me that you love to cook. I thought Id take it upon myself to bring over some of my favorite American foods... readjust you to some of the best cuisine you can get over here. Besides... I figured that, if Im going to be as close as I am to your son... I should respect you and your husband enough to let you get to know me. I need both of you to know that I would never treat him any less than what either of you do."

His père, still startled by the polite gesture, glanced down at the bags that contained enough food to feed a king, and then he snapped his huge eyes back up to Hunters solemn face. "Hunter... this is all so very kind of you... but its certainly too much-"

Ruffling his brows over his squinted eyes, Archer watched Hunter fumble to stick both of the bags in one hand, revealing a thin bouquet of flowers that he extended toward his père. "Hes worth it." Hunter said lowly, "Your son is worth it. This is a small token of what I want to do for you to show you how much I appreciate the way he is... the way you raised him to be. And for letting me have him. You can think what you want of me. Im not giving you any of this to make you think better of me. I am scum... compared to what Archer is... what Archer was... what he can be. This is me thanking you. Please... let me prove to you that even though I am brainless, I am not heartless."

A small smile curled the corners of those pink lips, but then it wavered when a breeze rushed through the doorway, ruffling the petals of his flowers. He immediately stepped back, wrapping a tiny hand around Hunters wrist and drawing him in. "Oh, please... come inside, out of the cold. I would be absolutely delighted to get to know you over dinner. Any boy who goes to this much effort cannot be as bad as you are saying." Spinning around, his père padded over to the door to the kitchen, but flicked his eyes over his shoulder before he vanished around the other side. "My husband wont be home for another hour. We could have a hot meal on the table by the time he gets here. Hell be pleased to see you, Hunter." His père nodded across the hallway, to the door that Archer was standing by. "Im going to put these in a vase. Archer is in the other room. I think a break from his lesson was just what he needed."

Sliding away from the door when Hunter turned around, moving slowly so he could carefully peel his sunglasses from his eyes, Archer shook his head at him as he approached, "What are you doing?"

Hunter smiled cheekily at him, taking him into his arms despite the fact that Archer had put his hands up to keep distance between them. "I knew that you were eavesdropping, you brat. Instead of interrogating me on things that you already know, why dont you be a good, little boyfriend and give me a kiss?"

Archer turned his head to the side when Hunter bent his neck, placing a hand on his jaw to keep him at bay. "Im gross right now. I just finished up one of my lessons."

"Ive seen you sweatier." Hunter quickly retorted, pecking the corner of Archers lips. He left his lips there, lowering his voice to a mumble so no one but Archer could hear. "My sweetest, your parents are an important part of your life. And anything that means so much to you automatically becomes a priority to me. I need to be close to your parents... not so that theyll like me more. Although... the more they do, the more time I get to spend with you. Its because... I want to be a part of every aspect of your life. I want to know the people who brought up such an amazing boy. I want to know your home better than I do my own. Im interested in you... in your dance lessons... in the way you sink into the bathtub after a long day... how you curl up into a ball when you sleep. Besides, I want your parents... especially your dad... to understand me, and my intentions for you, which are nothing less than the best-"

Archer huffed, drooping his head so far down that the top of it hit Hunters chest. "Hunter... my daddy isnt..." He shook his head, his curls swinging from side to side. "My daddy wont be like my père. My père will trust you until you give him reason not to. My dad isnt like that. My père knows that Im growing up... that Ill start showing an interest in more than my dolls. But to my dad... Im still just a baby. Hes scared of me getting hurt... and youre someone who can hurt me. No matter what you say or do to him... hell never warm up to you."

Hunter arched a brow, "He does realize that he can hurt you, too, doesnt he? He cant protect you from everything, sugar... not even himself." Tracing the curve of Archers jaw with his thumb, Hunter dragged a corner of his mouth down. "He wont even be able to pin you under his thumb when you go to college. I dont know if hell be able to handle not having you under his roof." When Archer nodded to show that he had considered this problem before, Hunter pinched his round chin between two of his fingers. He tipped his head back so his eyes met that yellowish, cloudy gaze. "Hell do what he will with you when it comes time for you to go to college... but, for now, hell have to deal with me taking you out of his home. There is no man that I want to honor more than your dad... but I know you need me to be with you more than he needs me to be away from you."

Archer released his tight grip on Hunters shirt when he heard the sound of the rushing water from the spout in the sink suddenly stop. He lifted his head, knowing that his père had tiptoed over to the doorway and was waiting to be acknowledged before he spoke, so as to not interrupt. His père gave them a small smile, while the scrunched corners of his eyes revealed that he was uncertain about the sour looks on both of their faces. "The flowers look beautiful in the windowsill. Thank you for giving them to us." When Hunter tipped his chin at him, his père shrank back toward the kitchen. "Please... put those bags down in here. They must be heavy."

As Hunter started toward the kitchen, his père left the doorway once more, trailing after two birds who were waddling in the direction of their bag of seed. "Oh... the time has gotten away from me, Pavarotti and Everett. Please, dont be sore with me for not filling up your bowls sooner-"

Hunter abruptly slowed down his steps, exhaling deeply through his nostrils, "He seems like he has a lot on his mind."

Staring down at the floor, even though Hunter couldnt see his shameful eyes, Archer slowly bobbed his head up and down. "He does... and Im the only one at fault for it. I think hes worried. He didnt want to move back to Ohio... the one place that caused our family so much distress... most that Im sure I still dont know about. He doesnt want to be up to his head in boxes. He doesnt want to keep my secrets from my daddy. And Im certain that when he finds out that my heart isnt in my dance lessons anymore, he wont want that, either." Archer raised his head so he could see Hunters expression, which wasnt, to his shock, crinkled up with annoyance, as if Archer wasnt the biggest nuisance he had ever laid eyes on. "You know, when I mentioned that you should come over to spend time with my père, I didnt expect you to take me up on it. I can see how much he appreciates you doing this for us. So do I."

Hunter made a low sound, "Honey, why would I not do something like this for your family? It was the least I could do." He rolled his eyes up to the ceiling, "I dont want you to expect me to not be good to you. I take your feelings for me very seriously... Ill toy with everything but your heart. I want you to hold me to the standard that your père holds your dad to." Stretching his arm out, he pressed his palm to the kitchen door, but when Archer stepped forward to pass through it, he pushed him back. "Listen to me. You hardly ever do, you bullheaded beauty, but I want you to hear me now. You are a pain in the neck, Archer. Youve given me headache after headache. Im sure that youve done the same to your parents. You used to complain if I was near you... now you complain if Im not near. You whine like a child in a candy store. Sometimes youre too emotional, and sometimes youre not emotional enough. You take things for granted. You dont realize how much you really loved something until its gone. And youve been spoiled to the point that youre selfish... that you expect everything to be fed to you from a silver spoon." Archer jerked his head away, wondering how many other flaws that Hunter could put onto this list that he seemed to have already compiled in his head. Suddenly, a rough hand touched his cheek, turning his face back toward Hunters, which was creased with concern, "You cant accept the truth... either that youre beautiful, or that you have faults. You probably are the reason your père is so fretful... but hes fretful because he loves you. He was willing to turn his life upside down to give you what you wanted. And I would do the same."

A weary smile flashed across Archers lips, and he grabbed for the door, pushing it open just a crack. "You used to be a sarcastic ass."

Hunter chuckled softly, "Dont make me call you a liar, kitten. Ive already had to tell you that youre a spoiled brat. We both know that half of that is still true." Placing his hand on Archers lower back, he guided him into the kitchen, where they found his père sorting through the containers and bottles in the fridge. While he still had his back turned, Hunter deposited Archer against a wall, which he leaned heavily against, and strode over to the counters. Archer wrinkled his brow at the way he extended his arm, sweeping it over the entire surface of the first wooden surface he bumped into. Once he figured out that this one was empty, he clunked his bags down, drawing in the attention of his père, who whirled around with a pair of huge eyes.

"I didnt hear either of you come in." He murmured, shutting the fridge with one hand, while his other was cupped around a mug of steaming tea. "Please, Hunter... help yourself to anything in the kitchen. Are you thirsty?"

Hunter shook his head, turning away as he fiddled with pulling boxes out of the stretched bags. "No... thank you." He felt around the edges and sides of the boxes, and then pushed them into separate piles. His père swayed over to his side, licking his lips at the pictures on the fronts of the containers. "I brought over some of the most delicious foods you will ever have. And Im a very picky eater, so it takes a lot for me to have a craving for something more than once. These are buttered noodles... and theyre really simple to make. You just boil the noodles in hot water, and when theyre soft enough, you pour melted butter over them, and add a pinch of salt and pepper." His père nodded his head as Hunter pushed those boxes aside, and then followed his hand over to a bag of red potatoes. "And I can make a mean dish of garlic potatoes." At that, his père smiled tenderly, and then he glanced over at the messy container of juicy cranberries, which Hunter proudly set his hand on top of. "Youll never have a better dessert than my cranberry casserole. I could eat ten bowls of this in one sitting."

When his père stretched his smile from ear to ear as Hunter spoke so fondly of the mouthwatering dessert, Archer grinned at the two of them. He never thought hed be so pleased to see two people getting along. Hunter had gone above and beyond to not only get to know his père, but to do it in a way that they were both so comfortable that the words came easily. "My husband loves cranberries, too." His père chirped, making Hunter smirk, as if that was funny to him. "Archer and I think theyre far too tart, so if I bake them into a dessert, I must pack them in with lots of sugar. Ive never known anyone to love them the way he does. We cant keep a container of them in the house. Even if I dont tell him, hell sniff them out! You have no idea how many times Ive had to swat his wrist while Im trying to bake with them."

Hunter chuckled, grabbing the bag of potatoes and tearing a hole in it. "I thought I was the only one to love cranberries so much. I can eat them by the handful. Ive always thought that the best kind of food makes your lips pucker up." He shrugged a shoulder as he set the potatoes down, stretching his arm out as he felt around for a knife. "Ill never know where I got it from. Maybe it was my mom... My dad told me that he hates cranberries, but Im sure that he never found out if she did."

His père, who had been looking up at Hunter with a pair of scrunched eyes, suddenly shook himself out of his trance when he realized that Hunter was still feeling around for something to cut the potatoes with. "Oh... here." He opened a drawer and dug through it for a knife, and then pressed it into Hunters palm. "Im sorry that Im staring. I dont mean to. Its just... youre very handsome. You look like someone I once knew. A firm, square jaw... and that wide mouth. Your eyes have that same almond shape. And he wore his hair like you do. You have that crooked smile... and a dimple on your cheek-" His père abruptly jerked his face away, flushing with embarrassment when Hunter glimpsed down at him, giving him a look as if he was puzzling over something in his head. "I-Im so sorry. I know that I am too blunt about the things that I notice. Forget what I said."

Hunter nodded shortly, his blank eyes watching his flustered père spin back to the packages of food and pick one up as if to appear busy. He cleared his throat, "Um... Im almost done slicing the potatoes. Could you start the heat on one of the burners?"

His père leaned over the stove, flipping a few switches until one of the gray burners turned a reddish color, "Ill fill a pot with water." Stretching on his toes until he reached one of the higher cabinets, his père searched through it for a large pot. When he brought it down and placed it on the stovetop, he said quietly, "Hunter... perhaps you could tell me about your family. I know very little. You know that Archers family is very big... and youve met almost everyone, except for his aunt. Shes still in Paris." Archer had happily remained on the outskirts of the conversation until his père whipped around, and then he turned a fine-tuned ear toward him. "Archer, speaking of your aunt... she called early this morning. She is coming to celebrate Christmas with us. It will be wonderful to see her. You ought to call her... She told me that she misses you dearly." Appeased by Archers nod, his père twisted back around to Hunter, who was plunking the potatoes into the pot. "How do your parents celebrate Christmas with you? We play lots of games... and I cook a large meal. Of course, there are many presents given out... and decorations put up. Maybe your family would like to come over and be with us."

Hunters eyebrows shot up to his hairline. "Um... its just me and my dad. I dont know my mom... She died when I was a baby." As if he knew that the hesitant smile on his lips had fallen, he shook his head at the potatoes as he threw dashes of salt into the bubbling water. "I-Its okay. My dad says she wouldnt have been a good mom, anyway. And my dad... doesnt celebrate holidays with me." Moving his head back and forth, he tightened his grip on the handles of the pot. His tanned knuckles turned yellowish. "I wake my dad up for work because he doesnt ever know what day it is. I have to walk him there because he lost his license a long time ago. The only reason he still has that job is because no one else wants to take his place." He hunched his shoulders when his père hesitantly shuffled closer to him, trying to lay a hand on his back, but then he sighed heavily and gave in. His père rubbed a small circle over the line of his spine. "My dads a drunk." He said flatly, prying his stiff hand off of the pot and reaching back to lay it over the soft, white one on his shirt. His large, calloused hand completely covered the tiny one beneath it. "I want to make him decent enough to be able to meet you. Or maybe I just need a different dad... since I dont think itd be appropriate to introduce you and your husband to a phony who doesnt remember my name."

"A phony?" His père murmured, raising his other arm and sliding it over Hunters shoulder. When he didnt push it off, he slowly enveloped Hunters neck with it, resting his hand over his collarbone. "That word is not familiar to me."

Hunter stirred the murky, popping water, keeping his head lowered so he wouldnt have to meet the troubled eyes of his père, "A fake. I dont know. Maybe its just that Im trying to convince myself that hes not... you know, my dad." Archer, who had been counting the tiles on the floor, snapped his head up at that last, his eyes huge. As easily as the two of them were conversing, he hadnt expected any of this to come out. His eyes bore through Hunter, who continued to speak lazily as he started ripping open boxes and bags to prepare the noodles now that the potatoes were simmering. "I know that were just alike... at least, when hes not so drunk that I cant figure out his personality. He lets everything fester inside of him until hes completely infected... I do the same. He used to have a lover... and he never let it go when he left him. Hes the reason that Im alive. I was conceived because my dad was upset that his lover went off with another guy, so he grabbed whatever slut he could find-my mom-and had sex with her in the back of a car. Hes resentful... and he holds grudges. Not a lot makes him happy. I have to try so hard... and for nothing! Hes never been proud of me. Someone once told me that we look just alike... so I started bleaching my hair, tanning my skin, and wearing contacts. But I still... feel like him. Doing these things to myself makes me think more of how much were alike... and how much Im trying to make myself different. I dont want to end up a drunk. But I... I dont remember him always being there! I wrote down almost every moment I had with him... and I go over that damned journal every day. I read what I wrote... and the first memory I have of him started when I was nearly a toddler. And I remember... these voices. Theyre not his. And I have this teddy bear... that I have no idea where it came from! Ive been searching forever for the little boy I took it from... Its just a gut feeling that it was someone who I took it from. I want to give it back to him... not only because Ive felt guilty about it every day since... but I think that hes the answer-!"

"Hunter." Curling his fingers into Hunters rippling skin, his père urged him to turn around, pulling on one of his hard shoulders until Hunter unwillingly peeled away from the stove and faced him. "Hunter, if you squeezed the handle to that pot any harder, you would break it off." Shamefully rolling his eyes away from him, Hunter grunted when his père touched his face, bringing it back toward him. "Darling, straighten up your shoulders. You might get stuck slouched over. Now look me in the eye." Hunter flicked his eyes up from under lowered lids, making his père sigh as he reluctantly accepted the halfhearted gesture. "Honey... you are more of a man than you probably should be. I think having to be a parent... always having to be the responsible one... has put too much weight on your shoulders. Please... spend the week of Christmas in our home. I know you have your duties at your own place... but perhaps this will make your dad see all that you do for him. I think you need a few days to be childish again. Our family loves to pretend that the clouds are pirate ships, and the stars... pixie dust!" When Hunter swallowed thickly, his père laid his hands over his and squeezed gently, "I will speak to my husband. I promise that youll enjoy staying with us... and I never break promises."

"Archer is the only one Ive ever told any of this." Hunter mumbled, cautiously sliding his shaking arms around his père, as if fearful of breaking him. "I feel as if I can tell either of you anything. How could it be like this? I dont know you."

His père smiled, removing his arms from Hunters shoulders, "Youre safe here, sweetheart. I will never mind you, no matter what you do." Suddenly, he held up his hand to Hunters cheek, swiping away a couple of crumbs. "Youre a writer? Tell me about it while we finish up dinner."

A huge grin broke out on Hunters face, and he twisted back around to the pots and pans, "Yes... I also paint."

Over the next hour, all Archer could hear was the sound of Hunters voice as he told his père about how hed been painting since before he could remember. He admitted that he didnt have all of the pictures that he wished he did, and how he recalled them to be sloppy portrayals of the sun peeking out from behind the clouds, and small children swinging off of tree branches like playing monkeys, and daddies holding their childrens hands. When his life became about his dad, the pictures turned dark and colorless, and were copied from the blurriest, still images in his head, because he was obsessed with holding onto what he hoped were memories, but were probably just scenarios hed thought up because he was so desperate for the love of a real parent.

He told his père about how he started writing soon after his dad forced himself to be a part of Hunters life, and how, even though he knew he shouldnt, he wrote down every moment he spent near him because he didnt know when he would be gone. He said that his worst fear was that, with the way that his dad drank himself into stupors, anything could happen to him, and then he wouldnt have anyone anymore. While he wanted to be able to write stories about dads who plopped their children onto their laps, and dads who ran around like crazy men with their children, all he had was the little that his own dad gave him. He said that all he really wanted, though, was answers. Even if it was only to find out that he really was his dads son, he just wanted to know what had happened to him. He told him that he documented his own experiences through his eyes, and not through imagined characters that could take on all of his pain, because he knew that if he were so unhappy, he wouldnt want to force that onto someone else. His père only looked at him and questioned how he could know that the ending to his story would be a miserable one, and then subtly suggested that he write a happy one despite everything that could make his future seem bleak.

Archer wondered if no one had ever bothered to listen to Hunter before, because, with every word that his père listened intently to, Hunter spoke faster and faster, as if he was trying to give his entire life to him in a very short amount of time. Since he had never caught on to how to use a stove, he stood back and watched the two of them, who were getting along better than he had thought. He knew that his père would politely smile and idly chat with him because he was Archers boyfriend, but as time went on, he seemed to be giddily laughing and openly conversing with him because he was Hunter. He expressed a fascination with everything that Hunter revealed to him, and told him over and over how impressed he was with all that he had accomplished with his writing and painting, only to have that last comment dismissed by Hunter, who shamefully said that nothing would ever come of his abilities, since money wouldnt come soon enough if he tried to live off of selling the slapdash things that he had made.

The conversation between them died down as his père taught Hunter his own recipe to contribute to the dinner. The two of them bent over a pot of steaming cider, and his père smiled as Hunter stirred the thick liquid, boiling it with a cup of water to thin it out. "You are stirring too quickly, my dear. Slow down, so that it does not become foamy."

Hunter chuckled, "And I thought you were being difficult when I was measuring out the cranberries." He glanced over at his père when he pulled a basket of fruit closer to himself and started digging through it. "Whats this about? We already juiced the apples."

"You are too doubtful, Hunter." His père chided, a tone of humor weaved through his voice. He picked up a fresh, yellow pear, and he laid it on the cutting board. "My mère got this recipe from her mémé. Over the generations, weve perfected it. My mère taught me that the pears balance out the sweetness of the apple... but you must give them a few minutes to boil or else theyll be so sour that youll suck in your lips." Giving the knife to Hunter, who only smirked and shook his head before he busied himself with chopping up the pears, his père turned away and picked through one of the cabinets. "I think that the best apple cider isnt complete without a pinch of nutmeg."

Dropping the pears into the brown liquid, Hunter turned his head to the side so Archer could see part of his cheek and his long lashes, which hovered over a pair of bright eyes. "And what will Archer contribute to the recipe?"

Archer sheepishly shrugged, giving him a teasing smile, "I come from a long line of family members who knew the kitchen inside out. Thats a lot of pressure to put on someone who doesnt know how to heat up a stove."

His père giggled as he doused the pears in the creamy liquid by pushing them down with the bottom of a spoon. "Its okay, my love." He touched Hunters arm, bringing back his attention from Archer, who he had still been staring in the direction of, "Archer will simply reap the benefits of the yummy drink that we have put together, wont he, Hunter?"

Hunter stretched his arm up to the area that he knew his père had been reaching, and he felt around for a stack of mugs. He set all but one to the side, and he pushed the pot off of the burner as he flipped the heat to the stove off. Using the spoon to dip the drink into the cup, he grinned as his père eagerly sprinkled the murky top with a helping of nutmeg. "Dont take a drink yet. Youll burn your tongue. Im nearly as ready to gulp this down as you are. Ive never had a drink that smelled so good." Smiling, his père turned away so he wasnt caught as he poked his tongue out, touching the very tip of it to the blistering drink. Suddenly, he jerked it away and spat, screeching as he held a hand up to his tongue and wiped at it. Hunter burst into laughter, taking the drink from him so he didnt spill it. "I told you so! Are you okay?" He grabbed one of the empty cups and stuck it under the spout of the sink, blasting the cool water until it flowed over the rim. Laying a hand on his shoulder, he brought him to the edge of the counter and held up the glass of water. "Drink this. Itll cool your tongue down."

His père gratefully filled his cheeks with the water, a sight that made Archer smirk, and then he set it down with a noisy gasp. When the feeling in his numb tongue rushed back, he mumbled around his fingers, which were still pinching the tip of it. "I think it needs something else. I cant tell what."

"Do you know what I think always tastes good when its paired with nutmeg?" Hunter gave his père a cheeky smile, which he tried to return, although his reddened tongue was still sticking out. "Cinnamon sticks. They can give it some spice... and theyre also good decorations."

"Cinnamon sticks!" His père cried, letting go of his tongue. "Those would be very good!" Scurrying over to the pantry, his père flung open the door and shoved aside a few boxes and bins. Near the back of the pantry was a package of cinnamon sticks that he pulled out and brought back over to the counters, which were covered from end to end with flakes of powder, splats of juice,    and shavings of fruit. "I bought these to put around the house when it got closer to Christmas, but I think theyll be the perfect treat to give these drinks some extra flavor."

Hunter tipped one corner of his mouth up, "Are you sure... that its okay if I add something to the recipe? This has been in your family for years-"

"Dont." His père said shortly, bending over the stove so he could check on the simmering casserole. When he stood upright, he whirled around to Hunter and placed his hands on either of his arms. "Hunter, dear... you are already like family to me. You fit in very well here. Surely, even I was uncertain... and even a little frightened... about the boy who would make his way into Archers heart... into our home. Archer is very unusual, you see. Hes too intelligent for his own good... hes quick witted. Hes strong and independent... and he has the standards that a princess would because of the way that his dad raised him. Hes very driven to be successful. You see, I was very fearful of the kind of boy who would be willing to take that on. I knew that it would have be someone almost two steps ahead of Archer in order to be able to handle him. I worried that... when Archer started seeing that most men arent like his dad... kind, respectful, supportive gentlemen... that he would settle for something less. And I wouldnt accept that under my roof... or even into my family, when that day comes. But I think that you are all of those things. Your experience has matured you into a man who I would be happy to give my son to." His small face suddenly saddened as his lashes lowered and his lips turned down. He twisted slightly so he could reach out for Archer, who squeezed the offered hand in his own. "Since we lost one of our sons, Archer is all we have left. I think its why Blaine is so protective. He wasnt like this... before. He just doesnt want to lose our other son. Neither do I. But... I would be okay if he was with you... I feel like you are safe and decent with him, like theres nothing that youre hiding."

Hunter opened his mouth to say something, but he snapped it shut when there was a banging noise in the living room. Spinning on his heel, his père hurried over to the kitchen door to see what the creaking and shuffling was about, and when he cracked open the door, he poked his nose out. Suddenly, he swung it aside as his arms flew apart, and he raced out of the kitchen. "Blaine!" He squealed, as if he hadnt seen his husband in years, when theyd really only been separated for about three hours. Following his père, Archer pressed himself to the door and looked out at his père, who had jumped into his husbands arms. He knocked him off balance and sent him reeling backwards, his strong arms lassoing around him so he didnt drop him. "Im so happy youre home!"

While his daddy chuckled and set his père back on his feet, only to have him wind his arms around him so he couldnt let go, his uncle slapped his back and muttered, "The brisk air got to my bones. I think Im going to take a shower."

Reappearing from under his husbands chin, which hed happily burrowed into, his père peeped, "Hurry, Keegan! We have a big meal prepared! I hope that both of you are hungry."

His daddy bent over so he could set a couple of bags down, and then he returned his arms to his père. He pressed a series of quick kisses onto his lips before he muttered, "Im starved, honey. Whatever you made smells great." Searching through one of his bags, he said, "Im really happy to be home, too, but Im glad I went out this morning. The music store had exactly what the Warblers were pestering me to get... but when I was walking by, I saw that the little boutique that you love going into was still selling that purse that you saw in the window. I picked it up for you." He pulled out a plump, silver purse that was lined with golden seams and bordered with round hoops, and he passed it over to his husband, who smiled from ear to ear.

"Oh, Blaine! Its beautiful!" He opened a few of the pockets, fitting his fingers inside to see how much he could put in them. "But it must have cost too much. You should have saved it for a Christmas present."

His daddy scoffed, finally letting go of his husband so he could strip off his coat and put his jingling keys on the table. "The Warblers arent going to let us go hungry, sweetheart. I think, as your husband, I have the right to splurge on you every now and then."

"You give me too much." His père pouted.

"I dont think I give you enough." His daddy said shortly, drawing his spitting husband against his chest, where he pinned him in his enveloping arms. "You need diamond necklaces, and castles in the sky, and horses. And, when you wear your old ones out... which is often... purses."

"And what could I ever give you to make up for all of that?"

His daddy cupped his husbands cheeks in his hands, making him color a rosy shade, "I love when you bat your lashes at me... and this pretty smile. And maybe a couple of kisses wouldnt hurt."

His père giggled as he ran his rough thumb over his bottom lip, and he leaned forward so he could peck a small kiss onto his mouth. "No more of this, Blaine. We have company here." Before he found out who it was, his daddy let his mouth fall into a perplexed frown, so his père urged in a quieter voice. "Darling, please... Hunter brought us dinner. Hes been here for the past hour, preparing it with us. It was a very nice gesture." The annoyed expression deepened on his face, pushing creases onto his forehead and hardening his jaw. His père clung tighter to him as he went to step away. "Blaine... stop. You dont think like yourself whenever I bring up his name. Youre being irrational... youre too harsh with him. Listen to me, dear. Hunter means him no harm. You dont know the way he looks at him-" When his daddy turned his cold eyes toward the door, Archer jerked away from it, instantly bumping into Hunters chest. Hunter held up his hands to steady him. "Blaine, wait! Its the same way that you look at me-!"

"Im in love with you." His daddy growled through his teeth, his shoulders shuddering as he tried to contain himself from barging into the kitchen and shoving Hunter away from Archer. "That boy doesnt know the first thing about what its like to be in love."

"For what reason doesnt he?" His père tugged on his husbands arms, trying to pull him back, "Blaine, youre not giving him the chance that he needs. You were a lot like him when you were his age. You were foolish, and even a little crazy. You had a bad temper. I thought that nothing could control you, not even yourself. But I still loved you... You even told me that I shouldnt. But I did... and you turned out to be the best husband and dad. He cares for him, my love. He wouldnt try if he didnt. Hes even going out of his way to get to know us. He told me that he wanted us to know about him... so we could decide if hes right for Archer or not. Ive only spent an hour with him... and I already know that they will get along well. He fits perfectly with our son." When his daddy shook his head, as if disbelieving of everything that his husband was saying, Archer cringed. He was sure that, by now, nothing would ever change his mind. His père sighed heavily, stroking his husbands rumpled cheek, "Darling, I know that you dont want to let go. You dont want to trust anyone else with our baby. But we both knew that this day would come... and if any boy is going to take Archer, I would like it to be Hunter. Besides... when he does go, he wont be gone forever. Hunter is putting in the effort to involve us. He does want your approval, Blaine. Please... eat dinner with him. He went to the trouble of bringing us the food."

His daddy groaned, rolling his eyes up to the ceiling, "Fine... Ill have dinner with him. But thats all this is, Kurt. Hes not going to have Archer. Hes sixteen years old... hes just a child. Hes not ready to fall in love."

Although he wanted his père to remind his daddy that they were only two years older when they fell in love, he seemed to have exhausted his ability to reason with him because he simply nodded. "Thank you for doing this. I know that hell appreciate it. It will be good for Archer to see you talking with him, too."

Scrubbing away the wrinkles that had pushed his eyebrows an inch lower, his daddy blew out an exasperated sigh. "Kurt, honey... I dont think me speaking with him is going to do Archer any good. I think its going to simply confirm everything that Ive been cynical of since I first met him." He shook his head back and forth, tromping over to the kitchen door that Archer reeled away from. He yanked Hunter back so the first thing his daddy bumped into wasnt the boy who he was trying to get away from. When he saw Archer standing almost directly on the other side, his eyes widened to the size of saucers, and then they passed over Hunter, slowly falling into small slits as he looked him over from head to toe. He nodded his head at him, but not even a grunt passed through that pursed mouth.

Not even at parties, where he and Archer lacked some of the same social graces, had his daddy been so tight-lipped before. Dumbfounded, he flashed his eyes at his père, who was cautiously watching his husband as if he had a lit fuse sticking off of him. He looked back at Hunter when he stepped forward, reaching out to touch his arched shoulder. His daddy stiffened as if hed had a board of wood shoved down his shirt. "Mr. Hummel-Anderson." At a loss for words, Hunter shut his mouth, and he retreated to Archers side.

"What?"

Archer could hear his père make a low sound of discomfort at the sharp tone of his husbands voice. Flicking his eyes over to him, he found him with the same expression that Archer was wearing on his face. Hunter lowered his voice, "I... Its nice to see you again."

His daddy scowled down at the pile of paperwork that hed set on the counter, his fingers pinching the corners so tightly that they started to crease. "When we first moved here, you had the nerve to tell my son that you werent one for polite nothingness." Abruptly whipping around, his daddy paced across the room like a caged animal. He came centimeters within bumping his shoulder into Hunters. "If you want my permission to date him, why dont you stop lying through your teeth? And, Hunter, you can act like a condescending punk to anyone else... but if you ever talk down to my baby again-"

"It was wrong of me." Hunter curtly interrupted, making Archers eyes fly open. His grip on Hunters elbow tightened until he had cut his circulation off, but he couldnt make himself loosen his fingers. "I was rude to him... and I had no place to be. And, frankly, your son is too intelligent to be bothered by dimwitted remarks. Its why he still puts up with me."

"I dont want my son to be with someone he has to put up with."

"I know that." Hunters voice shook, so he swallowed thickly before he continued. "I dont want that for him, either. I dont think that I deserve him. Hes everything that Im not... and, one day, hell become even more of what I never stood a chance to be. But, for some reason, hes happy when hes with me-"

"Dont you think about whats best for Archer, though-?"

"Im not going to be around forever." Hunters nostrils flared, and his hand, which was resting at Archers waist, molded around both of his hips, as if he was trying to claim his territory. "I know that Archer will meet a better man that I can be... someone to put food on his table, give him a bed to sleep on-"

"Then why are you here?" His daddy pulled open one of the drawers, grabbing a handful of silverware. "What is it that you want from my son, if you wont settle down with him? Do you want someone to sleep around with? Are you experimenting with boys?" He narrowed his eyes, "Do you even have a plan for your future... if you dont think that you would be capable of providing for my son?"

Hunter squeezed his eyes shut, "N-No... I cant afford to go to college. I have to take care of my dad, anyway." He helplessly shrugged his shoulders as the corners of his misty eyes flooded, "Mr. Hummel-Anderson... Ive tried e-everything to get any amount of pocket change. My dad got really sick... I had to take him to the hospital. I still cant pay off the bills. Ive filled in for my dad at a bar on the other side of town. A couple of years ago, we got really desperate... so I had to skip most of my classes so I could try to get some money. Its why I flunked out of my eighth year of school. I tried whoring myself out for money. For my entire life, Ive wanted to write and paint... but neither of those could give me and my dad easy lives. It had to be this way if I wanted to keep us fed... and him healthy." He wiped the shiny line that a tear had traced down his cheek, "I know that you dont think I do... but I hold your son very highly. And I respect you for raising a boy who is as strong as you are, and as beautiful as his père is. I did mean it when I said that it was nice to see you again. I want to be a part of Archers life... all of it. Theres nothing that I need from your son... besides his happiness. As long as I can make him smile... I want to be there for him. I want to be able to cheer him up, and support him. I love him... but Im asking for your permission to love him fully-"

"No." His daddy blurted before Hunter got out his last word. Dropping the silverware onto the counter with a noisy clank, he took a few steps forward, and he stopped just inches in front of Hunter. Hunter squared his shoulders, keeping his chin up. "I cant... I c-cant let you have my only baby. Theres something about you that I dont trust. No one can change his mind so quickly. You were heartless a couple of months ago... Now, you want me to believe that youre in love with my son?" As if a realization had just hit him, he staggered back a few steps, and he threw his hands up to his head as if to stop it from spinning. "Have you done anything with him?" While Archers mouth fell open, Hunter also couldnt come up with any words, so both of them stood there with cringing expressions that his daddy shot stunned looks at. Suddenly, he started to raise one hand, but he immediately dropped it when his husband released an awful noise. "You took my babys virginity, didnt you?" He shouted. Hunter turned his head as if the loud sound had slapped him across the cheek. "Get out... or Im going to hurt you! Stay away from my son!"

Stumbling away from Archers side, Hunter glanced down at him with a pained look. With only a shake of his head, he lurched back, slamming into the kitchen door, and then he darted through it. Archer tried to call after him, but then he heard the front door open and shut. He whipped back around to his daddy, who shoved past him, and he cried softly, "Daddy, wait! You dont know what hes really like-"

"Enough, Archer!" His daddys booming voice rattled around in Archers ears, deafening him for a few seconds. When his hearing returned, he made out the sound of his daddys feet stomping through the living room. "Im taking you back to France! I knew that this was a bad idea! I thought that I could trust you to follow my rules. I dont care what Hunter is like... but I was supposed to know my own son. I obviously dont know anything about you... so if theres something else youre hiding, fess up now."

The entire house seemed to tremble when, from the other room, a door slammed. Jumping with alarm, Archer flung a hand up to his mouth so he could cover a sob that burbled up from his throat. Falling back against a counter, he started to sink down, but a pair of hands came to his shoulders, supporting his mushy body. "Please dont cry." His père whispered, drawing Archer against his chest, where he rubbed and stroked him as he hiccupped and snorted. "Hush, my sweetest... your dad isnt cross with you. Hes disappointed... but not angry. Ill talk to him. He just needs a little while to cool down. I think he burst out in such a way because he was shocked."

"Père, he doesnt understand that I really do love Hunter." Archer whimpered, feeling his père smear the round tears that had fallen under his eyes. "Ill never get to see him again. Daddy will be so strict with me that Ill never leave my room-"

"Shh... dont be unfair to your dad-"

Archer pushed away from his père, giving him a harsh look, "This is no different than how it was back in France. I dont want to be locked away anymore!" Putting distance between the two of them, he suddenly spun around and hurried to the kitchen door, shoving it open.

His père skittered after him, "Archer, where are you going?"

"Just leave me alone!" As he rushed to the basement stairs, he fished around in his pocket for his phone, and he dialed the first number that was on his list of recent calls. Smacking the phone to his cheek, he closed the door behind himself and pressed his back to it. After the phone rang for the third time, he sniffled, "Please pick up." When the line clicked off with a low buzz, he stuffed his phone back into his pocket, cursing quietly to himself. Immediately pressing his ear to the door, Archer heard nothing but the muffled hum of the air conditioner, so he cracked open his door and looked at the empty kitchen, then up to the top floor, which was just as silent as the bottom one. He took a deep breath as he shuffled over to the front door, laying his hand on the knob as if it might catch fire. It should have felt like he was stepping into freedom when he left the barrier that seemed to have become his home, but it didnt.