Rainy Days

Chapter Eleven: Saturday Night (feat. Tate) Continues To Suck

[jordans house—saturday evening]

"WHEN WAS the last time you washed this?" Tate asked, holding up a Weezer tee-shirt. Jordan eyed it carefully, nibbling on a cold Eggo as he thought. (They'd all decided to skip dinner, because Jordan didn't want to, Ron'd filled up on snacks, and, well, Tate was going on a date)

"Last week. On Friday." He said. Tate nodded, eyeing it a little longer.

"Do you have a flannel that will match it?"

"Try the flannel drawer."

"'Kay," Tate said, setting the tee down next to Jordan. Then, he went over to the white dresser and started digging through it, tossing aside a rainbow of flannel.

As Tate did that, Jordan could feel his stomach twist; he hadn't eaten enough today, he knew that. He'd skipped breakfast, had a tiny lunch (two carrots and a granola bar), was skipping dinner, and now barely touched the food Tate'd brought. But he didn't want too. He should, but the thought of it—of how it would feel, crunching under his teeth, sliding down his throat, disgusting in his stomach—made him want to vomit up whatever rested in his belly.

Thinking about food made him remember: he hadn't fed the people living in his attic.

Shit.

"I have to pee," Tate announced suddenly. "Be right back."

"Enjoy your piss," Jordan said. Tate laughed.

"You know it, Jordie," he winked and left. Jordan, after making sure Tate hadn't turned around, grabbed the box of unopened Eggos, two cans of Pringles, and two bottles of Coca-Cola. He'd have to take more up later.

"Uh, Jordan?" Tate's voice rang out, high-pitched and scared. Jordan groaned.

"What do you want, Tate? You can wipe your own ass, can't you?"

"Jordan, come here."

Jordan groaned again and kicked the bed frame. He swore again—why did he continuously kick things? It only hurt him—and dropped the food and drinks on the bed. He wiped his hands on his jeans and started down the hall.

"What? What do you want? I swear to fuck, if there's a spider, I'll—" Jordan froze. There, packed into the bathroom like a can of sardines, was the six conscious members of the Umbrella Academy. All of them had on sheepish grins, even Five. Jordan hated that he thought it was endearing.

"Hullo, Jordie." Klaus said, smiling. He squirmed a bit; he was squished in the small shower. "Care to introduce us?" He nodded towards Tate and hit his head on Diegos'.

"Ow! Klaus!" Diego snapped. Klaus muttered out an apology.

"Jordan." Tate turned calmly to his friend, who was gaping at them. Allison mouthed sorry, and Ben looked ashamed.

What the fuck? They'd been the attic. (Obviously not, he thought angrily)

"Why the fuck are there superheroes hiding in your bathroom?"

"Tate, I promise I can explain, but you have to let them out," Jordan said, gathering up his anger at them and shoving it into a box.

"Answer my question, Jordan."

"Tate, c'mon!" Jordan hissed. His head turned downstairs, where the TV was playing. Ron was walking around, and if he decided to go play video games—oh, would he be fucked.

"Jordan, why the fuck is the fuckin' Umbrella Academy in your fucking bathroom." It was no longer a question; it was a statement, and Jordan could feel his hands shake and his stomach stir. In the bathroom, underneath Bens butt, the toilet made a noise.

"Tate. Let them out."

"Why the fuck are they here."

"Let. Them. Out." Tate didn't move. "Now, Tate."

Ben jumped and grabbed Luthers shoulder when the toilet water stared to seep out from under the lid.

Five looked from the water that was slowly but surely seeping into his foot, to Jordan, who was glaring at Tate with raw anger.

Fucking hell, he thought, flashing back to when Ben had mentioned that Jordan skirted around the topic of his birthday.

Tate stepped aside. Jordan whirled to them, his brown eyes flashing with madness.

"Get upstairs. Don't make a sound, and stay there." He snarled. "I can bring you food in a while."

Klaus stepped over Diego and Five, who swore and pushed him.

"Danke, Jordan. Bye, Tate." He winked at them both and then scrambled away, followed by a grumbling Diego and Allison. Luther, who had Ben clinging to his back, nodded and said sorry. Jordan didn't reply.

Five was now the only one left, staring at Jordan, toilet water soaking his feet.

"Go, Five."

Five clenched his jaw and left. The door slammed behind him.

Once they where gone, Tate whirled; his coffee-colored eyes where sparking with anger to match Jordan's own eyes.

"What the fuck where they doing here?" He asked.

"I can explain everything to you later." Jordan said. "You have a date."

Tate snorted. "And do you think I'll be able to focus now? You have six famous superheroes hiding in your attic, and you won't tell me why! There's someone named Eddie? Who the fuck is Eddie? I thought you told me everything!"

Downstairs, the doorbell rang. Ron's feet sprinted over; both boys fell silent as Ron spoke. "Uh, who are you?"

"Nico. Is Tate here, or have I got the wrong house?"

"Nah, he's here. Are you the boy he's really into?"

"I'd hope so."

Ron asked Nico a question about Nirvana.

"We'll talk about it later." Jordan said. "Now go. Before Ron scares away your boyfriend."

Tate glared and stomped down to Jordan's room. He exited wearing his own black jeans, with the Weezer shirt on and a black flannel around his waist. His eyeliner was on point, but his footsteps where thudding.

"I'll see you Monday." He called back, voice thick with anger.

"Yeah."

Tate ran down the stairs. "Hey, Nico!" His voice now sounded nervous and excited; not a trace of their argument or the shock.

Jordan felt his fists curl tighter, nails cutting crescent shapes into the pale flesh.

Ron wished Nico and Tate goodbye, and then the door was shut. A car revved and lights flicked on. Then, Tate was gone.

A fierce, raging, thick and heavy feeling bubbled into his chest, into his throat, and he let out a wordless scream and punched the wall; the water, previously bleeding into the hall, became separate droplets and rammed into the ceiling. Then, they all gathered into a bunch and collapsed onto him, soaking him to the bone.

"Jordie? You okay?" Ron yelled. He was at the bottom of the stairs; thankfully, the bathroom couldn't be seen from that spot.

"Fine!" Jordan yelled back, shaking his head to spray water from it. His hands where trembling, heart thumping, and he wanted to vomit. But fuck, did he feel powerful (it was like a drug, seeping into his veins from his stomach and spreading, making him close his eyes and curl his toes.) "Just fine."

Then, he closed the bathroom door, dropped a towel in front of it to soak some of the toilet water and crawled into the empty bathtub. Carefully, he stripped off his wet shirt and pants, shivering in his boxers.

Snatching a second towel, he draped it over his head and started to cry.

A/N:
Oof. Tate knows now! Isn't that great?
Anyways, I apologize if this chapter was terrible; I'm not very good at writing out, like, arguments and fights? I tried though, and I think I did okay.
I hope you all enjoyed this chapter, and have a great day!!!!!