Ian and Brice
Chapter 2 (Brice)
Copyright 2021 by Heather Rose Brown

In this chapter, Brice worries about having made a bad first impression with Ian, then tests a suspicion about Ian possibly being transgender.

NOTE: Each chapter of this story is being told from the perspective of a different person. To help make things a little clearer, I've added a name next to each chapter number, so it'll be a little easier to know who's perspective the chapter is being seen through. If you have any questions, please feel free to post a comment at the bottom of this story, or send me a direct message. Thank you!

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(Ughh...) I thought as I led the way into the house. (Why am I so clingy in girl mode? If I'd been in boy mode, I probably woulda just shook hands, which probably wouldn't have made Ian have a flashback, which probably meant I coulda put off telling him about me being fluid, which probably meant he wouldn't think--)

My thinking about thinking was interrupted by a tug on my hand.

"Ummm," Ian said, "ya can let go now."

"Eep!" I said as I uncurled my fingers. "Sorry 'bout that."

He slid his hands deep into the front pockets of jeans a size or three too big for him, and said, "It's okay."

(Dangit,) I thought when I saw his nervous half-smile. (I can't believe how bad I keep messing up with him.)

I was distracted from obsessing over how awful things had been going when Mrs Birch's purse started vibrating. She dug into the purse and pulled out a buzzing phone. When she held the phone close to her face and whispered something, the screen lit up. Her eyes widened with surprise as she thumb-scrolled.

"Oh my," she said while tapping out a response. "Oh no," she said a few seconds later, then glanced up at Ian. "Something came up with the lease on the new shelter, and I need to run. Will you be okay?"

Ian nodded and said, "I'll be fine."

The way his face paled said otherwise.

Mrs Birch looked like she wanted to call him on the lie, but sighed instead, then began looking around the floor as she asked, "What am I forgetting?"

Realizing my favorite social worker was about to leave, I held out my arms and said, "I hope you're not forgettin' to say goodbye."

She smiled and pulled me into a tight hug as she said, "I could never forget you, sweetie." Her phone vibrated again when she let go. She gasped when she read the new message, then said, "I *really* need to run," while trotting out the door. I waved as she drove away, then closed the door and turned to Ian.

He hadn't moved an inch.

"Ya gonna be okay?" I asked, when I saw how much paler he'd gotten.

The torn collar of his grey, baggy t-shirt fell when he shrugged.

"Ya wanna get changed outta that?" I asked while pointing to the tear.

He gave me a blank look for a few seconds. Some color came back to his cheeks after he looked to where I was pointing. "Guess I didn't just imagine that," he said as he pulled his collar back up. He twisted from side to side while searching the room, then asked, "Have ya seen my suitcase?"

"Umm ... no," I said as I joined the search.

"Did you bring a suitcase?" Trent asked as he took a step closer to Ian.

For a moment, Ian looked like he was about to bolt out the door. He closed his eyes, took a few deep breaths, then looked up at my foster father and said, "I ... I completely forgot."

Mae stood beside me, and ran her fingers through the back of my hair as she asked, "You think you might have something you could lend him, Brice?"

"Sure!" I said as I reached for Ian. (Ack! Not again,) I thought. I did my best to turn the reach into a wave, then said, "C'mon," before running up the steps.

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The way Ian was careful to hold his shirt closed as he followed me into my room made my curiosity sit up and take notice. Even though the tear only reached a little past his collarbone, he seemed self-conscious about exposing even that much of his chest. It almost seemed ... girlish.

(Okay,) I thought, (just because he'd been in the same shelter as you, doesn't mean he ... or maybe she ... is trans. Most of the kids there weren't.) I led the way to my closet while pondering. As I searched through my clothes, a new thought popped into my head. (Doesn't Mrs Birch mostly work with transkids?)

(Well,) I thought as I picked out two tops, (there's a good way of finding out.) My first choice was a lavender v-necked blouse with tiny white flowers. My second choice was a blue and green striped t-shirt with a crew-necked collar. I held both by their hangers as I walked out of my closet.

"Which would ya like to wear?" I asked when I reached Ian.

"Could I try that one?" he asked while pointing with his free hand.

I did my best to not let my smile get too big as I held out the lavender top. His hand shook as he reached for it. "Don't worry," I said, "I don't mind sharin'."

He smiled back as he took the blouse, then said, "Th-thank you."

"You're welcome," I said as I went back into my closet. After hanging up the other top, I stepped back out, and noticed Ian was still in the same spot I'd left him. His eyes had a ... well ... not exactly a terrified look, but it was definitely nervous.

"Didja change your mind about what ya wanted to wear?" I asked.

His throat bobbed a couple of times, then he said, "No, it ain't that. I just ... I mean ... is there someplace I can change in private?"

(Hrmmm...) I thought. (Girls do tend to be more shy about being topless than guys. Of course, it could be he's nervous about changing around me while I'm in girl mode. Still ...) I shoved those thoughts aside when I realized he was waiting for an answer.

"Sure!" I said as I walked towards my bedroom door. "Follow me," I added as I headed out to the second floor landing, then led the way to Richie's room.

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"Welcome to your new room," I said as I walked into my almost foster sib's old bedroom. The dust that had settled over the past year was gone, and the air had the sharp tang of freshly scrubbed everything. "I hope it's not too--" I nearly said 'boyish', caught myself, and said, "--small for ya."

"Oooo ..." Ian said, ignoring both the look and size of the room, as he made a beeline to the desk at the far side of the bedroom. "Who left this behind?" he asked while eyeing the laptop on the desk.

"That used to be Trent's," I said as I walked up to the desk. His shoulders stiffened, but I couldn't tell if it was from mentioning my foster father's name, or me standing too close. I took a step back, just in case, then said, "He took off his work software, and installed some stuff he thought ya might like, including links to the shelter's private server."

Ian did a pretty good impression of a goldfish. Eventually, he blinked, then said, "Wow." He blinked again, then asked, "He did that ... for me?" When I nodded, he smiled and said, "You're so lucky to have him for a f--" Fear and anger flashed in his eyes, then vanished as he said, "I mean, you're lucky to have him and your foster mom."

'Father' sounded like a word I'd need to step around, but I also wanted to make him feel welcome, so I said, "If it's something ya feel okay with, ya can think of 'em as your foster parents too."

Ian slumped into the wooden chair in front of the desk and said, "I dunno." The chair cricked when he leaned back. "I mean, they really seem nice, but I ain't sure how long I'm gonna be here. Plus, I kinda got ... issues."

I barely held back from hugging him when I saw all the pain behind the last word he spoke. Instead, I gave him a warm smile, and said, "It's okay. Whether ya wanna be family, friends, or anything else, just let us know."

Ian smiled back, then held out a hand as he said, "I'm always up for friends."

I was a little surprised when he reached out to me, then remembered the 'hands are okay' rule. I grinned as I shook his hand, and said, "I'd be honored to have ya as a friend."

(Well,) I thought as I let go, (Ian could still possibly become a part of the family, even if he ... or maybe she ... isn't ready for that right now.) Hope battled with the pain of loss as I thought, (While nobody could take Richie's place in my heart, that doesn't mean there can't be room for more family.)

I set aside my mixed emotions, pulled a smile back on, and said, "Well, I'll give ya some privacy, so ya can change your top."

Ian gave me a confused look as he asked, "My top what?"

(Oops,) I thought. (At least I didn't say, 'blouse'. ) Out loud, I said, "Sorry ... I meant to say, 'shirt'."

He looked at what was on the hanger he was holding, gave me a curious look, then shrugged and said, "Ah, okay."

I mentally wiped my brow when he let my flub pass, then said, "When you're done changin', come on downstairs. Lunch should be ready soon."

Ian's smile seemed forced as he said, "Ah ... okay." He took in a deep breath, gave me a thumbs up, and said, "I'll see ya there!"

I nodded and smiled back. A wave of protective, almost brotherly affection washed over me when I closed Ian's door. My smile grew while I thumped down the steps, imagining the fun and adventures me and my new possible foster sib could get up to.