#polyderps

“He was cold,” the oldest of them said later,fingers white around the podium, “Just in public, though,” he amended.“When we were in private, the Boss was warm, always having a smile or areassurance to offer. He took care of us, of all his people, and I couldn’thave asked for a better friend, a better brother. Wherever you are, Anthony, Ihope it’s someplace that deserves you.”

They watched together as the Boss was lowered into theground, the dirt covering him until the box wasn’t visible anymore. The fourmen left, shuffling steps that belied their weariness. The youngest drove themhome, mostly unfocused, and they all fell into their own beds once they wereback at their tomb of a house.

The full effect of Anthony’s death rang out over the courseof the next week, their cycles broken, their people divided. Two capos, Mikhaeland Sullivan, were both vying for control, amassing support and clashing witheach other. The four men took hardly any notice, despite being the most seniormembers, the most obvious to look to for leadership, too busy waging their ownwars within the confines of their own home. The Boss could’ve united them all,would’ve prevented this from ever happening in the first place. He’d neverstood for infighting, had stopped the slow poison at its very root. Theleftovers couldn’t approve of that, not when Anthony had just been laid to restand already his grave was being spit on.

Steven, the previous underboss,stood up. Tony “Grizzly”, his right hand, stood with him. Steven’sback straightened, his green eyes scathing over the assembled people. He’dannounced his intentions to take over the mafia, and now what was left was topunish the instigators.

“Mikhael and Sullivan,” he said, singling them outby name. “You’ve been working against me. Against us. We’re a family, aren’t we?”

The capos refused to meet his eyes.

Steven tutted disapprovingly. “We know what happens to thosewho go against the Boss, don’t we boys?”

“The Boss is dead,Steven, you know, you were there,” Sullivan said, scowling.

Mikhael nodded along, “Just because you were his bitch doesn’t give-”

“I must have heard you wrong, Mikhael,” Stevensaid, cold steel in his voice. “What I heard, well, it wasn’t a very wisething for someone to say. Most especially you, right now. I’m the Boss now, capo.I hold the power in this family, notyou. I am, however, willing to forgive. Swear fealty to me. Accept me as thenew Boss, and you can stay in the family as a soldier.”

Mikhael stood, fury in his quick, sharp movements.“I’ll never pledge myself to some fucking fairy like-”

Steven’s eyes went sidelong to Grizzly, who nodded back athim. Within a moment, Mikhael’s brain was splattered against the side wall, hisspiel stopped without Steven having to raise a finger. Sullivan’s wide eyeswent from Mikhael to Steven and back again. The new Boss pursed his lips, thenturned from the scene. “Him, too,” he said, quiet.

The shot resonated through his head and into his dreams thatnight.

Another week passed, and things in the family were goingmore smoothly. Steven had assigned new capos from within the ranks of the oldcrews, picking Adam to lead Mikhael’s and Max to lead Sullivan’s. Profits werealready looking up, and the short-lived rebellion had been squashed in itsinfant stages. Within the upper ranks, among those living in the Boss’s old home,things were more bleak than they had been ever before.

Steven sat at the kitchen counter, staring blankly at thespot in front of the fridge where Anthony used to always stand. He’d neverjudged Steven for having nightmares, had just held him in his arms and let himshake until he didn’t. Anthony was a solid rock for all of them to lean on. Heplayed pranks on them when everything was too serious and the tension wassuffocating, he could grin and bear it with the best of them, but he was nevera pushover, never let anyone tell him what to do. He exuded power, lovedfiercely and was the most protective person Steven ever knew.

Tony came and sat with Steven, and Steven just looked at himfor a long time, at the long scars trailing down his cheek, the blooming flowerof a bullet wound in his shoulder, the cuts, scabs, scrapes, the milky whiteeye. “You should be my underboss, Tony,” Steven said. “I want toreward your loyalty, and you already have their respect.”

The man huffed out a laugh, his fingers drumming against themarble countertop. “I’m good, Boss,” he said, his honey-warm voicenever failing to put Steven at ease. “By your side’s where I belong, evenif that puts me in the line of fire. I don’t get all scarred up for justanybody, you know.”

Steven could read between the lines, had learned to decipherhis right hand man long ago. He put his left hand on the counter, palm up, andTony’s fingers laced through his. They lean together, thinking about Anthony,about what they’d lost.

John joined them less than an hour later, Tom trailingbehind him, and they came to sit with Tony and Steven, adding their silentsupport. Their Boss - their brother -was gone, dead, and their tiny family unit was shattered because of it. Theirfifth, their beginning and their end and everything else in between, theirmoorings, their foundation, the heart and soul of the family, ripped from theirchests.

“I love you,” Steven said. No one was quite surewho he was talking to, if he was referring to those alive or the one who onlylived in their minds. Even Steven didn’t know.

Later, much later, they collected themselves, draggedthemselves to the biggest room, the one that still held the ghost of his scent,and curled up together on the big bed, children seeking each other in thenight.

The next day, and the world returned to spinning. Stevenmade John his underboss, Tom stayed on as the consigliere, and Tony was hisright hand. John pulled Renee up through the ranks to be his own right hand.

“We can’t do this anymore,” Steven said. “Wecan’t be together. We left the family vulnerable for a week, left ourselvesweak and open because of our bleeding hearts, and we can’t allow that to happenagain.”

And, much to their chagrin, John and Tom and Tony agreed.

Steven stared outside, hands steepled together as hethought. This city, the one he’d known all his life and stretched as far as hecould see, was his. There were runoffs, of course, people who thoughtthemselves to be outside of Steven’s sphere of influence. They didn’t lastlong, if they lasted at all. He was the gatekeeper, the jury, judge, andexecutioner. Everyone had ties to his family, to him.

Without thinking much about it, Steven dismissed Grizzly, sendinghim to stand outside the door. Steven didn’t watch him go, refused himself thelearned temptation. He couldn’t love his closest confidantes, not the way hewanted to, if he wanted to survive in the city where you were either for or againstthe family. In another life, maybe they could be together, they could hold eachother and be who they were without fear or shame or pain. In the life they had,family was the only thing that mattered.

Steven placed his hand on the plate-glass window, and whenhe saw his reflection it looked like Anthony for a split second. Maybe he couldmake him proud after all.

In ninth grade, Steven was told that gravitational acceleration was the speed at which you fall. All objects fall at the same speed, which is 9.8 m/s2, and when you calculate weight you have to be sure to include the effect of Earth's gravity on an object.

 That isn't what he remembers from his ninth grade physics class, nor what he remembers from that lesson. What he remembers from that day is the gentle touch of feathers against his arm and the sound of his friends laughing. He dropped a ball from the roof and didn't think, the ball has a mass of 20 kilograms and I've dropped it from 20 feet so now I must calculate the ball's kinetic energy based on those measurements, instead he thought, I hope that ball hits Penelope in the head, and he got a detention because the teacher saw.

 Gravity affects every object on Earth. Those with wings are affected, and those without are affected. The speed at which you fall is 9.8 m/s2, and everyone Steven knows is familiar with it, familiar with defying it and soaring despite gravity. Steven's feet remain on the ground as they circle above. He kicks at the dirt and imagines touching the sky.

 The year before ninth grade, he's thirteen. They've been talking about aerodynamics in science, about how it applies to their wings. He straps on the pair of paper wings he's been working on and jumps off of his roof. He breaks his arm, but the thing most hurt is his ego. That same week in school, they learn about Icarus, and for the rest of his high school career Steven is dubbed 'Ick.'

 When his arm is better, Steven's friends band together to pick him up and fly him 22.5 feet. It's the happiest day of his childhood and his happiest memory, but he needs to escape from it all.

 His parents took him to doctors who told him it was a mutation, that it was a defect. They went to doctor after doctor when he was young and after the fifth one he told them he didn't want to see any more doctors. They didn't make him, and for that he felt lucky.

 He's not Steven when he's fourteen and learns about gravitational acceleration. He's "Ick" and the teachers don't understand the nickname but they call him by it. When he's fourteen he doesn't feel like Steven, he feels like Ick, like Icarus when he leapt off that cliff and gravity pulled and pulled on his body that wasn't used to the acceleration. The wingless boy of myth, whose father loved him and crafted him wings, that was Icarus.

 When he turns eighteen, he's not only eighteen. He's six and sitting in another doctor's office being told he's damaged; he's thirteen with a broken arm and crumpled paper wings; he's fourteen and learning about gravitational acceleration and dropping a ball on Penelope's head. Steven gets accepted to college in New York and jumps at the opportunity to get as far away from Ick as possible.

 He's eighteen and across the country from all he's known. He's eighteen in an unfamiliar city, wondering if he should go back home. Steven is eighteen, he's free from Ick, he's free from his broken arm and paper wings, he's free from those doctors, he's free from everything. He's free to be Steven, finally.

 He doesn't feel the pull of gravity so much anymore, but the rings he wears to remember who he's left behind weigh heavily on his hands.

  - - -

  They meet because Steven runs into Anthony, quite literally. He's not paying much attention to where he's going, more concerned with looking at his watch to make sure he isn't late, when he slams fully into someone else, knocking them both flat on their asses with their books and papers everywhere around them.

 Red Wings glares at him with all the wrath of someone who's been up all night and is too tired to feel anything other than anger. "Watch where you're fucking going," he growls, grabbing his things with sharp movements and stalking away. Steven barely even has time to process what had happened, and he's already sitting alone amongst his school things, feeling like he's been slapped.

 It's no different wherever you go, Steven supposes. California, New York, there's no difference. He'll still get treated like shit for being wingless, still feel that ache in his chest, still push himself to be everything he isn't without ever getting closer towards what he really wants.

 He picks up his things slowly, not feeling so optimistic about the day ahead anymore. Later, when he sees the same red-winged man who'd knocked into him later, Steven keeps his eyes on the sidewalk and pretends he doesn't feel the brush of feathers against his arm.

 In the nighttime, it's dark. Steven stares up at the ceiling of his dorm that he doesn't have to share because the wingless dormitories are depressingly empty. 'Watch where you're fucking going,' he hears in his head, and thinks he can't go anywhere. This is where he'll always be.

 The next day, Steven walks slower, he is more vigilant. He steps out of the way for winged people, he doesn't make eye contact, and he once more avoids even looking at the person who'd snapped at him yesterday. Steven is small and meek, something he never wanted to be but always has to be, and no one notices because the wingless are invisible unless it's time to spit insults and complaints at them.

 When he gets back to his dorm that night he stares at himself in the mirror. The lighting in bathrooms is always too harsh, too bright. He looks the same as he always has, still looks like Ick who flew for 22.5 feet and laughed until he cried because he'd never be able to fly again, after that. He touches his cheek, feeling the scratch of his facial hair against his fingers, and hates himself with a ferocity he's never felt before. The light is harsh, and maybe he is, too, but that doesn't stop the tears when they come pouring down his cheeks.

 Steven didn't think he could cry for himself anymore, but sometimes he surprises even himself.

  - - -

  Silence is not something Steven was ever fond of. In New York, there is an abundance of it. Sure, he can hear the distant thump of the bass as the winged people party it up in their sky-building, and he can hear the soft sounds of classical music from somewhere down below him, too, but those are both so quiet.

 He's never coped well with silence, always felt like he was drowning when there wasn't some kind of background noise to keep his mind occupied. He's tried to get used to it since he moved to New York, but it's still grating, not hearing anything. The quiet makes it hard to feel real.

 Steven plugs his phone into a speaker and plays his loudest music, he sings along and dances around his dorm, feeling like he has wings.

  - - -

  "You know," the red-winged man says, a week after Steven had slammed into him, "I never got to apologize for the way I behaved."

 Steven looks up at him, frowning. He isn't sure how Wings found him, but he supposes the library is an obvious place for students. "I'm not sure I understand," Steven says.

 The red-winged man frowns back at Steven. "I was really rude to you, that day. I hadn't slept, I wasn't really paying attention to where I was going, and then I got mad at you. I'm sorry for how I acted."

 "You're apologizing? To me?" Steven asks, bewildered.

 Red Wings looks just as confused as Steven does, now. "Um. Yes? Is there something wrong with that?"

 "I guess not," Steven says. "I just. People like you don't usually apologize to people like me."

 "Oh," Red Wings says, staring at Steven. "I, um. I hadn't thought of that."

 Steven shrugs. "Wings usually don't."

 Red Wings looks curious. "Is that what you call us? Wings?"

 "Do you recommend I call you something else?" Steven asks. "Your prominent features are your wings, after all."

 Red Wings smiles. "How about you call me Anthony?" he suggests.

 Steven squints at him, trying to discern Anthony's motive. "Okay," he says eventually. "Hey, Anthony. I'm Steven."

 "Hello, Steven," Anthony says, and he settles down to study. Steven decides it can't be all bad to make a friend.

  - - -

  A year after Steven meets Anthony, he finally meets John, Anthony's best friend.

 Steven's been staying in Anthony's apartment for the past week, hating the silence of the wingless dorm. On Wednesday, Steven wakes up to the jimmying of the doorknob, before it gets pushed open and an unfamiliar man walks in. The couch isn't exactly an ideal hiding place, so Steven just stays as still as possible in the hopes that the guy won't notice him. It's an exercise in futility, he finds out, as he's immediately spotted and Wings freezes in his tracks.

 "Um," the man says, his yellow feathers ruffling uncertainly. "Am I in the right place?"

 Anthony stumbles sleepily from his room, scowling at having been woken up. His eyes alight on the man and he immediately brightens, grinning. "John!" he says, hurrying forward to greet him.

 They brush their wings together companionably and Steven feels that same age-old envy that they have wings and he doesn't. Without thinking much about it, he rubs over the scar on his arm, remembering his brief foray into flight.

 "So who're you?" John asks Steven, bringing his focus back to the present.

 Steven blinks. "I'm Steven," he says.

 John stares at him for a moment like he expects Steven to elaborate. "Are you Anthony's boyfriend?" he finally asks.

 "No! He is not my boyfriend. He's not my anything, okay?" Anthony splutters.

 Ouch, that hurt. Steven lowers his eyes, his chest aching. He never knew Anthony found the idea of dating him so repulsive. Is it because he doesn't have wings, or is it just him? Steven thinks of the little bit and pieces he'd given to Anthony for his necklace over the course of the past year, wondering if they'd meant nothing to Anthony after all, if the smile Anthony always gives Steven when he offers another one up means nothing.

 Steven forces himself to stop thinking about that, but he doesn't much want to hear whatever Anthony and John are saying about him, either. He pulls his legs up to his chest, setting his chin on his knees. He makes sure to keep his face neutral, and this is one of the few times he's glad he doesn't have wings. They give too much away about whatever the person is feeling.

 "Tom wants to know if you want to go to that concert in the park this Saturday, he invited us all," John says.

 "Will Glammy be there?" Anthony asks.

 John nods. "He's already agreed to come, yeah. I was going to call you, but then I figured I'd just come over. I didn't think you'd have," he glances at Steven, "company,"

 "Should I go?" Steven asks abruptly, not really inclined to sit around and listen to people make plans while he isn't included.

 "Yeah," John says, at the same time Anthony says, "No!"

 They glare at each other, seeming to have a silent conversation consisting entirely of frowns and glances. It appears that Anthony wins, because John rolls his eyes and turns his back to Steven.

 "Whatever, Anthony. We'll just go without you, if you want to spend quality time with your boyfriend instead of us," John says, already walking towards the door.

 "For fuck's sake, John, can you stop being an asshole for, like, two minutes?" Anthony says.

 John sighs and turns around. "I don't know who the hell you are," he says to Steven. "Are you a buddy of his? Are you a one night stand?"

 Steven frowns. "I'm Anthony's friend. He's told me a lot about you, you know. So far, you're a lot more of a dick than he said you were."

 Anthony squawks and throws his wing over Steven's face, trying to keep him quiet. "I never said you were a dick," he says. "What do you mean you've never heard of Steven?"

 Steven pushes Anthony's wing out of his face in time to see John rubbing his forehead. "You've never mentioned a Steven. Not once. You especially didn't mention a Steven who's wingless."

 "Is that a problem for you?" Steven asks, indignant. "Wingless people make up approximately twenty percent of the world's population, and while you might be a majority, you don't have the right to be a discriminatory bastard."

 John looks pointedly at Anthony's necklace, the one every person gets when they're born to keep track of milestones in their life. Steven, since he doesn't have feathers to string on the chain, instead uses little odds and ends he finds to decorate the necklace. He's been giving Anthony stuff to put on his necklace, too, wanting Anthony to remember  him.

 "It explains a lot that you're wingless, is all," John says. "I don't have any problem with wingless people, but Anthony's necklace keeps gaining weird pieces that aren't feathers and I've just been suspicious of what was going on. He would never tell us."

 Steven frowns at Anthony, who at least has the decency to look sheepish. "Whoops, must've slipped my mind," he says.

 "Are you ashamed of me?" Steven asks. "Do you not want your friends to know about me because I'm wingless?"

 Anthony looks horrified at the thought. "No! No, I'm not ashamed of you or your winglessness! I just, well, I just didn't want to tell them. They'd want to meet you and I, um, I don't know. I guess I wanted to keep you for myself."

 Steven's frown deepens. "Is this a fetish thing?"

 John bursts into laughter and Anthony turns beet-red, burying his face in his hands while John loses his shit.

 "You know," John wheezes, "I like you, we're keeping you."

 Anthony hides in his wings and Steven grins unabashedly.

  - - -

  "Who that," Tom says around a mouthful of chips.

 "Swallow your Doritos before you talk, you plebian," John says, his wing draped around Steven like they're great pals. "This is Steven. He's our new friend. Turns out Anthony's been hiding him away like a human hoarder."

 "I was not hoarding-" Anthony interjects, but John flares his other wing out at him, quieting him.

 The man left over, the one who must be Galm, strokes his wing down John's back, and John shudders, giving him a look. Steven can feel the stiff weight of John's wing over his shoulders and wonders what's going on there. He can't ask, though, because John moves away from him, sliding in next to Tom and kissing him soundly. Steven frowns to himself, but stays quiet.

 "We are Hell On Wings," a voice booms out over the crowd, stirring up a few cheers, "and this is Airdance." The cheers increase, even making John whoop with his hands cupped around his mouth.

 A solid drumbeat starts, intensifying as the guitar joins in, and then the singer is singing over all of it. Steven nods along, mumbling the few words he knows as he pulls Anthony closer to their little group, grinning at him.

 Anthony smiles back, and his wing settles as a gentle weight over Steven, keeping him close. John and Tom look at each other, and Galm squeezes in beside them, putting his arm around John's waist and kissing Tom's cheek.

  - - -

  "Wait, you're all dating?" Steven says, surprised. "You're all dating each other?"

 Tom look at John, who look at Galm, who looks at Anthony, who looks at Steven. Anthony shrugs. "Yeah, basically," he says.

 "Don't you guys get jealous of each other or something?" Steven asks.

 Tom shrugs, now. "No. We're all into each other. This is the most convenient way of doing things."

 Steven stares at them, still shocked. He'd never seen anything like this back in California, though that would explain that family that had lived down the street with the three adults. He'd just thought one was an uncle, or something. He knows there isn't really much stigmatism about polyamorous relationships, but they still aren't hugely popular. "I've known you for almost half a year now and I'm just now learning this," he says. Maybe that's what he's most surprised about, that they hid it from him for five and a half months.

 "Look, it's not like we were hiding it from you," Galm says, like he's reading Steven's mind.

 "Yeah, we just didn't want you to react badly," John says. "We haven't exactly been stealthy about being hot for each other."

 Steven scowls. "There's a big difference between being 'hot for each other' and visibly being all datey!" he says.

 "Maybe we just aren't into PDA," Tom suggests, but even Galm rolls his eyes at that.

 Steven stares around at his friends. It isn't that big of a deal, really. They're all dating, and now he knows that, but he doubts much will change.

  - - -

  "Steven," Anthony says, sounding serious and nervous and altogether uneasy.

 "Anthony?" Steven says.

 Anthony twiddles his thumbs, not looking at Steven, eyes darting between the wall and the floor and the TV. "I, um, I have a question that will probably sound weird."

 Steven frowns suspiciously. "What's up?" he asks.

 "Um, what do wingless do? I mean, in relationships. How do you show affection and show you care for each other?" Anthony asks, his voice getting quieter as he goes on, as if he's embarrassed.

 "Well, we hug each other. Kisses, touching, that kind of thing. We usually tell each other how we feel? If we want to keep someone forever, we give them rings."

 Anthony eyes the small collection of rings adorning Steven's fingers.

 Steven holds his hands up, showing off the jewelry. "These aren't forever rings. These are just normal rings. I wear them to remind myself of-" he cuts himself off, afraid of giving too much away.

 "To remind yourself of what?" Anthony prompts, brow pulling down over his eyes.

 Steven fiddles with his favorite, one with a band that spins independently of the rest of the ring, considering. He looks over the newer ones, the ones shiny and squeaky clean, and thinks of the people he wears them for. Finally, Steven turns his eyes back to Anthony, fingers resting over the red titanium band on his thumb. "I wear them to remind me of who I'm doing this for."

 Anthony frowns, confused. "Who you do what for?"

 "Who I live for," Steven says.

 "Oh," Anthony says, and the silence that follows is deafening.

 Steven hold up his thumb, the red titanium. "This one is for you," he tells Anthony.

 Anthony looks at the ring, his fingers going to pet through his red wings. "Okay," he says, swallowing. He nods. "Okay, yeah. Thank you for telling me."

 "Why did you want to know about wingless relationship stuff anyway?" Steven asks, his hand falling into his lap.

 Anthony shrugs, looking away, and Steven knows whatever he's about to say will be a lie. "Just curious."

  - - -

  Steven watches the ceiling fan go swish-swish-swish. He can't get out of bed, doesn't have the energy. Thinking of the classes he has makes him tired, makes him think of the bottle he hides under his bed and hopes no one will find. Sluggishly, he reaches for his phone, texting Anthony with clumsy fingers and telling him that he won't be around today.

 is sumthin rong, Anthony texts back, because he doesn't understand how grammar works.

 I'm fine, just not feeling great.

 chicken soup?

 It's not that kind of under the weather. I'll be okay.

 wut if i want 2 come c u tho

 I'm fine, Anthony. Go to class.

 ill be by l8r ok

 Steven sighs and puts his phone down, not bothering to respond, since arguing with Anthony is ultimately pointless. He goes back to staring at the fan, wondering if he's just going around and around in circles endlessly.

 True to his word, Anthony comes by, finding Steven in the exact same place he's been all day. Instead of speaking, Anthony simply sits by Steven's bed, leaning his head just enough that his hair brushes Steven's arm. Surprisingly, the quiet doesn't feel so pervasive when Anthony's there to share it.

 "Is it anything in particular?" Anthony asks eventually.

 Steven's eyes follow one blade of the ceiling fan around and around. "No," he says.

 Anthony nods, Steven can feel it against his arm. "That's fine. You're allowed to be sad for no reason."

 "I'm not sad," Steven immediately corrects. "I don't feel much of anything, really."

 "I can't fault you for that, either," Anthony says, and they lapse into silence, the only sound the soft swish-swish-swish of the ceiling fan.

 Steven reaches out finally, putting his hand on Anthony's head, and pets through his hair. A wing stirs, coming up to brush the underside of Steven's arm. Steven keeps his hand in Anthony's hair and Anthony keeps his wing up just enough to be touching Steven in return.

 "Have you eaten today?" Anthony asks.

 "No," Steven says.

 Anthony stands, letting his wing trail over Steven's hand as it drops from his head. "I'll get you some food. You may not want to, but you need to eat."

 Steven watches him leave the room, and rubs his fingers over the red titanium ring.

  - - -

  "I'm temporary," Steven says suddenly, noodles dangling from his lips.

 Anthony frowns. "Temporary?"

 Steven shrugs. "I'm wingless, useless. I don't think I'm meant to do anything with my life. I'm never going to accomplish anything and I've had time to get used to it. It might be better if I wasn't here, alive."

 And Anthony has nothing to say to that, isn't sure that there is anything to say that won't sound like meaningless platitudes. In lieu of words, he scoots his chair over to Steven's and leans against him. When Steven doesn't push him away, Anthony wraps a wing around Steven.

 "I can't save you," Anthony finally sighs. "I wish I could, but I know that you don't need someone to be your white knight. You're stronger that you realize, I hope you know that. You're more like my knight, honestly," he admits. "Nobody but you can save you." Anthony turns his face and buries his nose in Steven's neck. "I'll be here for you, though. Always. I may not be your knight in shining armor, but I keep tissues in my pockets and I've been told I give good hugs."

 Silences follows, but Anthony doesn't mind. He's known what the inside of the barrel of his own gun looked like. Sometimes silence with someone around can be a comfort.

 "Thanks," Steven says, and Anthony knows to disengage. Once they're on their feet, they stare at each other mutely, before Anthony grins wide.

 "Wanna go get frozen yogurt?" he asks, knowing that noodles and frozen yogurt isn't exactly a five-course meal, but knowing that Steven loves frozen yogurt more than anything.

 They don't hold hands, but when they sit at their little table with their frozen yogurt, Steven slips the red titanium ring onto Anthony's finger.

 "Always?" he says, sounding small.

 Anthony grins again, twisting the new ring once. "Of course."

  - - -

  Cathy from Calculus eyes Steven, her tawny wings fluttering curiously. "Oh, who's this, Anthony?" she asks.

 "This is," Anthony hesitates, looking to Steven.

 Steven brushes the backs of their hands together. "I'm his boyfriend, Steven," he introduces himself.

 Anthony's wing settles over Steven as a gentle weight, and even Cathy has a tiny smile on her lips.

  - - -

  "Does this mean we're all dating now?"

 "Another person for the cuddlenest!"

 "We aren't calling it the cuddlenest, Tom."

 "Guys, I've got something for all of you."

 "What are these? Rings? Is this some kind of wingless thing?"

 "You could say that. It's nothing much, just something to help me remember."

 "Mine's nice and golden. This is a good present, Steven."

 "You're welcome, boyfriend."