Rising Sap

"There's a problem."

Words like that make my entire body tense up, especially when they're coming from Eric. His tone, tickling my ear in all the worst ways, expresses that this "problem" is serious. Does he know? Did he finally find out about me and his son? Is this, at my weekly phone call with Eric, where everything ends?

"Y-yeah?" I ask.

"Scotty's scholarship fell through."

I pause, taking a second to grasp what I'm feeling. There's relief, sweet relief, because I'm still seen in a positive light by Eric -- but that's quickly followed by confusion, concern, and worry when I think about what's actually causing Eric grief. "How?" I ask. "He gets great grades."

"Apparently there was some confusion with the school," he says, "or we misinterpreted the scholarship letters. I'm not sure. I'm still doing some digging."

"So he's not getting anything?"

"I guess the scholarship was only for his first semester," he says. "An incentive or some bullshit."

Damn. That probably puts a damper on things. Scotty had it all planned out, and something as unexpected as this can surely throw an expensive wrench in those plans. This wasn't even his top college choice. He only went here because of the supposed full-ride -- at his father's behest, I might add.

"How upset is he?" I ask. I haven't seen Scotty since this morning. He's still at school, starting finals week -- and it breaks my heart thinking that the smiling boy I saw off earlier today has had his day ruined.

"Distraught," Eric murmurs. "Called me practically crying."

I sigh, closing my eyes, even clenching my free fist a bit. Having known Scotty for so long, I feel protective of him. Being in love with him has nothing to do with it. I simply don't like people messing with my boy's emotions.

"I feel terrible. I'm the one who pushed for this school."

"Yeah, well..." I start to say, but I trail off. I don't want to fight with him.

"You're not supposed to know, by the way," Eric adds, "so mum's the word."

I squint, holding my phone closer to my ear. "Why am I not supposed to know?"

"He doesn't want you to know."

"But..." I scoff. "But *why*?"

"Because you're always bailing him out," Eric says, "and I have to agree. You're too soft on him. He'll become too dependent on you."

I roll my eyes, happy we're not talking about this in person. I get so tired of this conversation. Why is wanting to provide such a bad thing when *I* do it? "I just wanna help," I murmur.

"You can help him find a better-paying job," he says.

I'm about to retort when I hear keys jingling by the front door. A moment later, Scotty enters the house. "Scotty's back," I murmur quietly, so only Eric can hear.

"How's he lookin'?"

As Scotty turns, I realize Eric used the perfect word: distraught. Scotty has abandoned his good posture, left his hair a mess, and returned home with red eyes, like he'd been crying the entire drive home. His normally radiant face looks dimmed with worry, and all I want to do is hug him -- but I'm not supposed to know. I have to somehow play it cool. "Not good," I mutter to Eric before clearing my throat and addressing Scotty. "Hey, kiddo."

He looks up as if surprised to see me in the living room. "Oh. Hey," he says lazily.

"How was your psychology final?" I ask, trying to engage him somewhat.

He shrugs. "It was okay," he says before rubbing his nose. "I'm gonna go lie down." Without a second glance, he heads right towards his bedroom, shutting and locking his door.

"What should I do?" I ask Eric, feeling the heaviness of Scotty's emotions.

"Just let him work through it," Eric says. "He had a plan that he was excited about, and now he has to make some big decisions for once."

Even though Eric is a little harsher in his tone, he's not wrong. Scotty was *very* excited about the future during this semester, and he's probably feeling like all those plans are dissolving. Making new plans (ones that you didn't want or didn't anticipate making) can be incredibly daunting.

"Hey, we still on for Saturday?"

He changes gears so suddenly that I don't catch his meaning. "Saturday?" I ask.

"Your birthday, dumbass," he says.

"Oh, right," I murmur, running my fingers through my hair. "Uh, yeah. Dinner?"

"No crazy rager?" he asks.

"Don't even try it," I tell him, and Eric just chuckles.

We stay on the phone for a little while longer before I decide to say goodbye to Eric. It doesn't feel right knowing Scotty's upset and I'm just shooting the shit with my buddy.

Once we hang up, I glance at the hallway with trepidation. Scotty probably didn't want me to know about the scholarship because he knew I'd offer to cover the cost. I don't want to disrespect his wishes, but I want to help somehow. I see value in Eric's stance; however, it's not in my nature to just "let him work through it." Maybe that's selfish of me.

After mulling it over, I decide to knock on his door. "Monkey?"

For a few seconds, I don't get a response. Then, I hear a measly "Hmm?"

"You okay?" I ask. "You looked upset."

"I'm okay," he says weakly.

I sigh, placing my hand on the doorknob before I remember he locked it. "Let me in," I tell him -- a soft command.

At first, I'm not sure that he'll allow me to intrude. But I wait patiently, and soon, the door unlocks and swings open. Seems all he did was take his pants off, because he's just in his sweater and a pair of briefs.

"Hey," I murmur.

He seems to find it difficult to meet my gaze. "Hi."

"Can I come in?" I ask him.

He just nods, stepping aside so I can enter his room. It's just like his old room: artsy and full of plants and soft things. There's a calming scent of sandalwood coming from an incense burner in the corner, giving the room a cozy feeling. However, even though it's sunny outside, the shades are drawn, making things feel less cozy and more moody.

Scotty climbs back into his bed, curling up in a fetal position before murmuring, "Can we cuddle?"

I turn to Scotty, smile, and nod. After climbing into the bed, I take position and spoon him. He sighs heavily as I wrap him up in me and slide a hand up his shirt to warm him up a bit more.

"What's wrong, kiddo?" I ask, gently rubbing up and down his torso.

After a moment, he tells me something that Eric didn't know. "I broke up with Drake."

Broke up? Were they even dating that long? "I'm sorry, buddy," I say, feeling bad that I'm trying to remember who the hell Drake was.

Then: "Actually... He broke up with me."

Oh. *Now* I think I understand. This is the first time Scotty has been broken up with, the first time he hasn't had the final say. At the end of his long string of exploits, maybe this is the first that has caused him some form of heartbreak. Tack that onto the scholarship issue and it's no wonder he was crying today.

I give him an extra squeeze. "What are you feeling right now?" I ask. Part of me hates that I sound like a shitty therapist, but I sometimes find it helpful when someone guides me through my feelings rather than simply sympathizes.

"I'm feeling..." He pauses to collect his thoughts before settling on one word. "Stupid."

"You're not stupid," I say quickly, and I immediately wish I hadn't. Maybe asking him why he feels this way would have been better.

"I feel stupid, though," he says.

To me, he sounds defeated. "I didn't know you had strong feelings for this guy," I say -- which sounds better than "Who was he again?"

"I don't know that I did," Scotty says. Then, he turns around in my arms so that we can cuddle front-to-front. He rests his forehead on my chest. "I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'm doing with these guys I don't care about."

"You're having fun," I remind him.

"Sure, but what's the point?"

"Did you not like him?"

"I did, I guess. But I knew it wasn't going anywhere," he says. "But that's part of why I feel stupid. Like, why am I upset that I'm not enough for a guy I don't want?" Then, he looks up at me with pleading eyes. "What's wrong with me?"

I resist every urge to gush on him, no matter how insurmountable it may feel. I decide to keep it light. "You know what I'm gonna say."

He gives me a small smile. "Something sweet, I hope."

I give him a little squeeze. "This is the part of your life where you explore, make mistakes, fumble a bit. I know it's a cliche and I know you're sick of hearing it, but trust me. It's a necessary part of learning."

"And would you say you've learned?" Scotty asks.

I narrow my eyes. "I see you're not so upset that you've stopped being a smartass."

Scotty laughs. "I'm serious! Does it get better?"

"Maybe I'm not the right person to ask," I mutter.

"Useless," he teases before sighing. "Being broken up with sucks. Have you ever been dumped?"

I feel my stomach lurch. "Uhhh... Every time," I admit.

His eyes go wide with surprise before he looks skeptical. "Seriously?"

I nod, embarrassed. I'm almost sweating from the shame of that statement, but it's true. I've never ended a relationship on my own terms. Some could be construed as mutual break-ups, but those break-ups were never initiated by me.

"Wow," he says, blinking. "Well, that makes sense."

I frown. "Gee, thanks..."

"No, no, that's not what I meant," he says, squeezing my arm with the slightest laugh. "I just mean, it helps explain why you are the way that you are."

I'm not really in the mood to be psychoanalyzed, so I shift the conversation away from me. "Let's leave my past out of this."

"Are you upset?" he asks.

"Embarrassed."

"Don't be," he tells me. "I know you're still a hopeless romantic like me. I just wish I felt that."

"Felt what?" I ask.

He shrugs. "Anything," he says.

Anything? Is he depressed? Or is he referring specifically to love? Does he not feel that burning passion he's dreamt of for so long? Is the reality of relationships not living up to his fantasies?

As I'm thinking of the possibilities, Scotty shifts up so that we're face to face. Then, he kisses me. Confused, I merely half-kiss him back -- but the kisses keep coming. "What are you--?" I start to say, but I grunt when I feel a hand on my bulge, grasping for my cock. "Ungh. Scotty, wait."

"What?" he asks, still holding his hand in place.

"You're upset," I tell him, very gently taking his wrist and moving his hand away from my cock, even though I'm already getting hard.

"But sex makes me feel better," he says, almost pouting slightly.

On any normal occasion, that puppy dog look would have worked on me. But I'm not the type of guy to fuck someone who's down, even if they *think* that it's what they want. Sure, it may feel like a release, but it doesn't solve anything.

"Just trust me, kiddo," I tell him. "That's not what you want."

He just sighs, looking a bit annoyed with me. However, he does halt his advances.

Then, inspiration comes to me. "Hey, what if we went back home for the festival?"

He peers back up at me, almost intrigued. Our hometown holds a two-day Winter Fest every year, a winter-themed event that's a hybrid between a small-town festival, a farmer's market, and a classic carnival. The downtown area adopts a rustic, village feel and sells various cuisines and goods from local businesses. Live music plays, the local troupe does some theater, kids can play with animals, and the town even sets up some classic carnival attractions, like an ice-water dunk tank, a ring toss, a kissing booth, and more. We usually attend every year. We just weren't planning on it this year because Scotty's finals are all over the place and we now live hours away.

"I don't know," he says, thinking it over.

"C'mon. You love Winter Fest," I tell him, giving him a little squeeze. "We'll invite your parents. It'll be fun. And you can keep your mind off of things."

"But I have a final in the morning," he reminds me.

"I'll drive," I offer. "No big deal."

After a few seconds, Scotty nods. "Yeah, that sounds nice," he says.

"Great," I say happily before patting his hip. "Put some pants on. I'll go call your dad."

While Scotty gets dressed, I head to my bedroom and call up Eric again with the hope that he and Yasmine will join us. Seeing his parents will help cheer Scotty up. Unfortunately, though, they already have plans with one of Eric's business associates. Part of me wants to try to convince him to bail, but I know he won't, so I save my breath. When I hang up the phone, I feel somewhat thwarted -- but I'm still on a mission to bring Scotty's spirits back up. We'll just go together.

Understandably, he's a little disappointed when I tell him his parents are busy. "Oh," he murmurs before looking up at me. "That sucks."

"We can still go," I say quickly. "You 'n me. How 'bout it?"

He looks unconvinced at first. "You really wanna drive all that way?" he asks.

"For you? Of course."

A smile just barely starts to form on his lips, but it's a smile nonetheless. "Alright," he says.

~ ~ ~

The drive is long and parking is an absolute bitch, but finally, we make it before sundown. It's just as beautiful and celebratory as it always is. Although winter isn't my favorite season, Winter Fest always brings out those festive feelings.

We make the rounds first, sampling a chocolate vendor and checking out a few local artists' tents, but nothing seems to get Scotty to shine just yet. We even run into a few people we know (some acquaintances of mine, some high school friends of his), and although Scotty meets them with excited smiles, his happiness wanes as soon as we say goodbye. It's like he's putting on the appearance of joy for these encounters -- and I'd rather it be sincere.

Then, we come across the prize booth. In it are rows and rows of boxed goods, toys, electronics, and even stuffed animals. Each prize is a varying amount of tickets, some a measly five and others upwards of a hundred. Curious, my eyes scan the prizes before they settle on something large in the corner: a panda bear that's almost the size of Scotty himself.

I grin, pointing at the bear. "I'm gonna win you that panda," I say.

Scotty glances over and then laughs. "Sure," he says sarcastically.

"How much is the panda?" I ask the girl running the booth.

She gives me a big, toothy grin and says, "Fifty tickets."

"Easy," I murmur, grabbing Scotty's shoulder. "We'll make this quick."

But quick is not how it turns out. I first try my hand with the ice dunk tank, but I fail miserably. Ten opportunities to sink the guy in a speedo, and I miss every throw. Then, I move on to a ring toss challenge, but after spending $50 on attempts to get at least one fucking ring on a bottle, I give up. My failure does seem to amuse Scotty, but now it's a matter of pride. I have to win *something*.

Then, as I debate what to try next, a high striker catches my eye. Right now, a few young boys are taking turns wielding an oversized mallet to try and make the puck hit the bell twenty feet up. A successful strike would win them thirty tickets. I watch two of them test their strength, and neither of them come close. The other two boys shy away, not wanting to embarrass themselves.

"Hold my coat," I murmur to Scotty.

As I shuck off my coat and hand it to him, he just laughs. "You're not seriously doing that, are you?"

"Of course I am," I tell him, rolling up my sleeves and feeling the cool winter air hit my skin. "You don't think I can do it?"

"I mean..." He leaves it at that, biting back a little smile.

"Watch 'n learn, little boy," I tease.

Once I pay for a shot, I grip the mallet, spinning it a few times in my grip and eyeing the lever like it personally did me wrong. I want those fucking tickets -- and what's more manly than performing a test of strength to get them?

I take a deep breath, pull the mallet back, and then swing it down with all I've got. Half a second later, the puck hits the bell so musically that it feels serendipitous, or like a message from God himself. The surrounding crowd erupts in cheering, and the keeper of the high striker grins widely as he counts off thirty tickets. I can't stop smirking. Suddenly, I have all this excess adrenaline I need to get rid of.

I'm handed my prize in a long string of tickets. "Congrats, man," the ticket-holder says.

"Thanks," I say back, feeling awfully proud of myself. Tickets in hand, I turn back to Scotty, who has that brightness back on his face. It's evident that he's been laughing, at least. "Impressed?" I ask, trading the tickets for my coat.

He just giggles a little, watching as I put my coat back on. "That was kinda hot, I won't lie," he says, and I laugh. "I'm sorry I doubted you."

"I forgive you," I tease. "I still gotta win you twenty more tickets."

"You're really going for it, aren't you?" he asks, amused.

"Of course," I tell him, swinging my arm around him. "I wanna make my boy happy."

I feel extra motivated by my success at the high striker, and I end up supplementing the last of the tickets with a memory challenge with some pseudo tarot card reader, a beer pong-esque challenge, a basketball challenge, and a bob-the-apple-in-the-ice-bucket challenge. As soon as I have enough tickets, I declare victory and head straight for the prize booth, slapping down my fifty-two tickets and getting the panda plus a lollipop. The girl working the booth hands them both over with a smile, and I happily get to present the giant stuffed animal to Scotty.

"For you, monkey," I say.

Scotty laughs, positively beaming as he hugs the stuffed animal. "Thank you," he says, a sense of adoration in his voice. Then, before I can stop him, he gets up on his tip-toes and sneaks in a quick peck on my lips.

I feel my face get hot, and my eyes scan our surroundings. Did anyone see that? "Careful," I murmur, my heart racing when I hear the booth girl giggle. "People know us."

"Right, right," he says, flushing a bit. "Sorry."

"It's okay," I say, clearing my throat. God, now I feel antsy. All I wanna do is kiss him.

"Can we hold hands at least?" he asks, and when I raise my eyebrows in surprise, he adds, "It's pretty inconspicuous."

Part of me is rather reluctant, but in the interest of doing what makes both me and Scotty happy, I smile and nod.

Holding hands feels... special. We walk around with our fingers interlaced, Scotty being all light on his feet, smiling and laughing and sucking on his raspberry lollipop. When I ask him if he wants to put his bear in the car, he shakes his head and just hugs it tighter to his body. God, he's adorable. I feel mighty proud of myself for getting him in a better mood. Mission complete.

When the sun has disappeared and we've seen all there is to see at the fair, we decide to call it quits for the night. We've got a decent drive ahead of us anyway, so we don't wanna stay out too late. We head back to the car, full of soft pretzels and candies, satiated but eager to rest.

At least, *I* was. As soon as we get to the car, though, just as I'm reaching for the door handle, Scotty pins me against the door. I grunt, overwhelmed by both the stuffed panda and Scotty's insistence. Quickly, he finds my lips -- and I indulge myself with a few kisses before pulling back a little. "What are you doing?" I ask. What a stupid question I keep asking.

"Just thanking you for cheering me up," he says, hitting me with that sly grin of his. It's incredibly suggestive.

"Of course," I murmur. Don't get hard. Don't get hard. Don't get hard.

"You're a good man," he says. Suddenly, I feel his hand on my abdomen, positioned with intention. "And good men should be rewarded." He says it with a giggle, almost like he knows how silly he sounds -- but as his hand slips right into my pants to slide over my bulging boxer briefs, it's anything but silly. I'm hard in an instant.