A/N: So, I haven't published in a long time, but now it's summer, so I hope to be writing more. I plan to make this one a multi-chap. Let me know what you think! :)

Running was the only thing that made sense. Running hard and fast, no matter how much pain bit at my legs or how difficult it was becoming to breathe or the tears spilling from my eyes. I dashed away from that upstairs apartment as quickly as I could, not wanting to look at my mother, or, worse, suffer from more of her anger.

I ran and ran until I came to a stop in front of the familiar RV, resting a hand on the red pickup beside it. I laid my other hand on my knee, gasping desperately for air. It took a few minutes for my chest to slow down it's heaving, and even then it still hurt to breathe. I looked into the driver's side view mirror, squeaking at my horrid reflection. My dark curls had flattened against my forehead, stuck to my skin with sweat. The perspiration had mixed with the salty tears I'd shed, my eyes puffy and red. Mucus was slipping from my nose and I wiped it away with the back of my hand, pushing my glasses up the bridge of my nose. I really didn't want to see him. No, no-I didn't want him to see me; not looking like this, anyways. I had no choice, though. Beck was the only one who'd care to listen.

Two knocks is all it takes. Two knocks, and a tired voice calls out, "Coming." I frown, realizing I've probably woken him up, but it's not like I had much choice.

The door swings open, revealing a tall, muscular boy with messy hair and eyes filled with exhaust. He blinks twice once he sees it's me, blinks again when he sees how I look. I smile halfheartedly after he steps aside, his eyes wide. I enter the RV, making my way to the couch as he scratches the back of his head, yawning.

"What's wrong, Rob?" he asks. He's shut the door and is leaning against the kitchen counter, his hands splayed across the surface.

"I-I..." I stammer, immediately shifting my gaze to my hands. "I got kicked out, an-and I didn't know where else to go, and I figured you wouldn't make me leave, or-or yell at me, so...I'm sorry." Shaking my head, I make a move to stand up.

"No," he says roughly, causing me to freeze. "Why'd you get kicked out?"

I sink back into the cushion, my hands gripping my knees tightly. I should've figured he'd ask that; why wouldn't he? I couldn't just say I didn't want to talk about it, right? And, he was letting me stay-I think-so I owed him an explanation. I suppose I should tell him, then.

"Well, um. My mom isn't," I pause, considering how to word this. "Er, she's not too crazy about something I am-like." My face flushes at the flub of words, and begin silently cursing myself, hoping that didn't give it away.

"That being..?" he asks, and I can tell he's getting impatient.

"I, uh...I like…I'm gay, Beck." I lean forward, putting my face in my hands, and I pray that he's not getting ready to hit me and yell at me and banish me from his RV. He's silent, though, and I don't hear any movement for a few awkward seconds. I dare to look between my fingers at him, and he hasn't moved. He's just standing, staring, studying.

"Beck?" I ask warily, returning his stare, waiting for him to say something, anything, just to prove that he's not dead or something.

"Yeah?" He raises his eyebrows like nothing just happened, his eyes finally leaving me to look around the RV.

"You—Did you hear what I said?" I drop my hands, my head lifted to look at him entirely.

"Of course I did. I was just waiting for the reason why she kicked you out."

It's my turn to stare at him blankly, my eyes narrowed. He's got to be kidding. I wait for him to laugh or for his expression to twist with anger, but nope, he just continues standing there casually, and I sigh. "That was the reason, though."

"That's a bullshit reason," he shoots back, his shoulders rising and falling.

My eyebrows raise, and again I'm sure he's kidding, but he keeps standing there, unresponsive, and it's kind of irritating me. I wanted a reaction out of him, even if he would be mad at me, or glad I told him. It was like I was talking to a brick wall.

"Look, Rob, I don't care that you're gay," Beck continues, shrugging again. I furrow my brow, and he goes on. "I mean, yeah, thanks for telling me, but it really doesn't change my view of you, if that's what you're thinking."

I shake my head in wonder, and I pinch myself, because this is the best response I could have gotten from him, and I'm sure it has to be a dream. It isn't, though, and I wince from the pressure, laughing nervously, my face tinting a deep red. "But, Beck…I'm a freak of nature. My mom told me so."

"You're a freak of nature because you like the same thing she does?" He arches his eyebrows at me, and a smile pulls at lips because he knows he's got me stumped. "Don't listen to anything she says, okay, Rob? You're the same old Robbie, and that's all that matters. So what if you're different? Different's good."

I grin at that, bowing my head. "Thanks, Beck," I say gratefully, and I debate whether or not to go up and hug him, but I decide not to, because he just doesn't seem like the bro-hugging type.

"Anytime, man." He pushes himself off of the counter and goes to the bathroom, leaving me alone and confused. But he returns quickly, tossing me a towel. "Here. You can shower and borrow some of my clothes. When you're done, you can crash on my bed." He grabs a pillow from his bed in the corner and props it up on the arm of the sofa, sitting beside me, smiling comfortingly.

I shake my head, balling up the towel in my hand. "No, I can't. I'll sleep here. You're already letting me stay here, the least I could do is take the couch." I smile weakly back, standing up.

"No, man I—"

"We're gonna be at this all night, you know," I interrupt, and he laughs. "Just sleep in your bed, okay?" I enter his bathroom before he can protest.

Tears prick at my eyes as I strip and step into the shower, turning the nozzle to the hottest setting, leaning forward against the shower wall. I'd managed to keep calm when I was talking to him, but the reality of it all was settling once again. My mom hated me for something as simple as who I liked and who I didn't, and had evicted me for it. She had yelled at me, shoving a bible at me and telling me how wrong it was, that I was going to hell. She'd slapped me upside the head, trying to "knock some sense" into me, which clearly hadn't worked. I'd fought back, of course, telling her I couldn't help it, which only made her madder.

I really hoped that the shower was loud enough to drown out my sobs, because that was something I didn't want Beck to know about. He was always so strong, so calm and collected. I wanted more than anything to prove that I wasn't some loser, that I was just as cool as him, and crying in his shower probably wouldn't show him that.

It just wasn't fair. All my life, my parents had been disappointed in me. They didn't like how I dressed, how I acted, how my best friend was a puppet. They'd always told me to "man up," to be more like my older brother, Eric. They scolded me more times than I can count, sometimes even hit me. Heck, if my dad wasn't on a business trip this week, he surely would have done more than smack my head.

I bet that, if Beck had come out to his parents, they would be so accepting. They'd hug him and kiss his head and tell him that it's alright and that he's still their little boy. He was just born into a perfect family, an accepting family. I just wish I was an Oliver.

A knock at the door pulls me from my thoughts and I realize I've been in the shower so long that the water's gone cold. "I'll be out in a second!" I call out, hurriedly rubbing soap over my pale skin and rinsing it off. I turn off the water and dry off, stepping out to see Beck sitting on his bed, giving me a worried look. I smile apologetically, and he points to his dresser and I nod. I go over and grab one of his t-shirts and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms, and I hesitate before snatching a pair of boxers. I change into them quickly then lay down on his sofa, closing my eyes.

"Night, Rob," I hear him say groggily.

"Night, Beck," I respond, and I think that maybe, just maybe, things will be alright.