Just colder

Who: Porter, his parents (Iris and Carter)
Where: Porter's house, East Crescent Street
When: Evening

Was he inspired? Undoubtedly. Tucked away in his room with his art-tablet in his lap, Porter gazed raptly at the screen of his laptop as he worked the digital pen on his tablet. Onscreen, color sprang to life in a small portion of the panel he was working at; a glimpse of the Conduit and a woman who was undeniably based on the sketches of Medea. As the two teens had been the night before, the Conduit crouched in front of her, hands on her body. But where Porter had been revealing the lithe figure of the girl he loved, his hero creation was uncovering the bronze body of an automaton, exposing the gearwork within. He'd been caught up in the moment last night, but Porter felt confident that he'd managed to capture the look in Medea's eyes. It was want, fascination, amazement... and it had been for him alone.

He still wasn't sure if he'd ever even use the panels he'd been working on, but Porter didn't care. His downtime lately had been put into some filler strips, action stuff the audience of his website seemed to love, and he had a few pages left to fill updates until he knew what to work on next. So for now, his art was just like Medea; it was for him alone. And he'd be happy to keep it that way; Porter was less hungry than usual, caught up in his music and focused on the screen for the moment. The instant he wasn't, he had three pages of other panels (all involving her) to work on in more traditional ways. Of course he'd fly away from here if she called, but he was trying not to think about that. Kissing her. Touching her. Feeding an entirely different kind of hunger.

If he had been? Well, he wasn't a moment later as his door cracked and his mother appeared, knocking and giving a gentle smile. "Hon?" she asked loudly enough to be heard over the music, seeming hesitant to fully come into the room. He turned to look from his seat at the desk, grabbing a remote and lowering the volume as Porter smoothed away a faint look of displeasure. She rarely came in here, the same with Carter; Porter was a good kid, he gave them no reason to suspect anything, and he got privacy in exchange. So something was up. "Yeah?" Porter asked, minimizing the window on his screen and turning to obscure the pages of his sketchbook where it sat nearby.

"Can you come downstairs for a few minutes?" she asked gently, an undercurrent of concern plain for Porter to see, "Carter and I need to talk to you about something." Any teenager, even one as sheltered as Porter had been, knew that was never a good thing to hear. He frowned her way, glancing fleetingly at his laptop. "About what?" Porter asked as he looked back, "I'm right in the middle of working on an update." He felt his temper surge faintly as his mother sighed, stepping back and pushing the door wide open, then waving for him to follow her. "Well, save it. We just need to talk," she insisted before turning and moving for the stairs.

"About what?" Porter asked again in a harsher tone, getting no answer and watching his mother shoot a worried look back before she disappeared down the steps. He sat there for a minute in silence, not really hearing the stereo as it played and brooding on what they might want to talk with him about. Maybe they were moving again already, maybe they thought he was using drugs, or it could be that they just didn't like Medea. That last option angered him just by existing; they didn't know her, hadn't given her a chance, it was unfair to even think back on Carter's warning about getting caught up in a girl.

Finally he rose, moving downstairs with his hands stuffed in the pockets of his jeans as he looked around for his mother and stepfather. Of course they were in the kitchen waiting, the table was the best place for a talking-to. "Hey champ," Carter greeted as Porter headed in, nodding at a chair with a soda sitting in front of it, "C'mon, grab a seat, your mom and I want to ask you a few things." Stop fucking calling me that, Porter thought darkly, taking slow steps over and sitting, then turning a questioning look at his mother. He didn't spare a glance for Carter, the man wasn't his father, wasn't family, he had no room to ask Porter about anything.

"We... we're concerned, Porter," he heard his stepdad say, and Porter's look turned questioning as he watched his mother pointedly. "We're worried about you and that girl." Porter's head snapped abruptly towards Carter, his eyes narrow as he planted both palms on the table. "She's not 'that girl'," he snapped, "Her name is Medea, okay?" He was already done with this, and Porter made a small sound of disgust as he started to stand, freezing when he felt his mother's hand settle on top of his. "Honey," she said plaintively, "Please... sit?" He looked back her way, some of the fire in his gut dying as he saw the worry there. Porter remembered that look well, he'd seen it countless times through the years whenever his health had been particularly bad. Sometimes, years and years ago, he'd wake up to that look when she stayed in the hospital with him.

"Okay," Porter murmured, settling in slowly, "But you tell me what's wrong, mom." And he didn't have to say why, it was clear. He was sick of Carter's patronizing bullshit, of the half-hearted efforts to be a father-figure. He caught the beginnings of a grumble from Carter's end of the table, the sound dying as his mother, Iris, shot a sharp look down the table, then nodded to him. "I was... I was bringing your laundry up today. You left one of your sketchbooks out," she explained carefully, giving his hand a squeeze. "Did you lie to us last night, hon? When you said you were going for food, did you go see her? Medea?"

And even if he didn't feel like he had to justify himself to them, Porter felt his cheeks burn just from being caught in a lie. He didn't answer right away, looking past Iris to the wall behind her pointedly. "You date-mark your sketches," she elaborated, "Just like they taught you in those classes. And sweetheart, I know you like her. But Carter and I both worry about this. Are... are you being safe?" The burn in his cheeks raged up to a full headrush of embarassment with that question, making Porter look down at the table as he brought his free hand to his head. "Jesus, mom! Seriously?" he blurted awkwardly.

"Yeah, seriously," he heard Carter chime in, "Porter, I teach, remember? Back east I can't tell you how many kids I caught fooling around, but I can tell you that you can't know who's okay and who's not based on looks." Which didn't need to be spelled out for Porter, it made him furious even with the careful wording. He nearly lost it, nearly screamed at his stepdad. Instead, Porter turned his hand to squeeze his mother's giving her a direct look. "Tell him if he even infers that she's a slut or something again, he'll be sorry," he explained in a low tone, oddly pleased with the shocked look in his mother's eyes. "And we're not... y'know. Having sex. We're taking our time because we care about each other," Porter added, tone heated at the end as if he could throw that in Carter's face.

Iris nodded, holding her free hand up to ward off her husband and nodding. "Okay, both of you calm down," she pleaded, "That's why we wanted to talk to you about this, Porter. I know this is a big deal for you, but it's also something Carter and I have worried about. Has... has she asked you to buy her anything?" Porter yanked his hand away a second later, disgust flooding his eyes. "No! Fucking no, mom!" he blurted, "I don't know what shitty world you two came from where every single person just wants each other's money, but NO." He pushed away from the table, standing up angrily and savoring the feel of towering over both of them for once. "She won't let me! She doesn't even want me to pay for a movie ticket! Hell, I tried giving her a shirt and she wants to pay for it."

"So she knows about the comic?" Carter interjected in the silence following the outburst, the single question deflating Porter's ire and replacing it with dread. They'd told him constantly ever since the first deposits showed up in his bank account that his friends shouldn't know, that they'd try to get free stuff from Porter. Sighing heavily, Porter just nodded initially, giving a desperate look to his mother. "But she doesn't care about the money, mom! She loves me!" he pleaded, and instead of seeing that dispel the worry in Iris' eyes, Porter saw it stand out even more starkly. He sounded foolish to himself suddenly, and wanted nothing as much as to just run upstairs and hide. "She told you that?" Carter asked quietly, leaning on an elbow and watching warily.

Porter's jaw knotted tight as he looked at his stepfather, nodding in confirmation. He almost hurled the unopened soda into Carter's face as the older man gave an inaudible laugh, shaking his head and standing up slowly. "Porter..." he trailed, moving around the table's bend, "You won't like hearing this, okay? But she might not. I know it feels strong, like you could take on the world, but at your age? Well, none of the people I knew in highschool are married to the people they 'loved' when they were sixteen. Some of them tried, yeah, but love... real love takes experience, it takes patience, it takes maturity. Even your mom and I didn't--"

Whatever he was trying to explain got cut off abruptly as Porter shoved out roughly with both hands, pushing Carter back harmlessly to the edge of the kitchen counter. "Shut up!" he snapped, one eye twitching in anger, "Just shut the fuck up, Carter! You don't know her at all! And you can't use my family to make your point! How do I know you didn't do it for the money? I know we have it, it's how you got paid when you were just my tutor! What, did you get tired of cashing paychecks?" He felt rewarded seeing anger bloom in Carter's eyes as the older man took a menacing step towards him, and Porter curled his hands in readiness to just blast him and be done with it. Flame on, motherfucker, he thought darkly, waiting for it.

Before either of them could move things to a worse place, his mother's hands slammed down on the table fiercely, jumping the plates that sat there. "Stop it! Both of you!" she shrieked at them, freezing Carter in his place and making Porter relax his hands instinctively, "Stop this right now! Carter, sit down. Porter..." She breathed deeply, looking up at him with a deep frown. "I love you, honey. So does Carter, even if you two don't see eye to eye. We're not doing this because we don't trust you, or because we don't like thi-- Medea. We're doing this because you have your whole life ahead of you, you know that, right? You spent so many years not getting to live, I know, but you don't have to make up for them all right away..."

He felt terrible almost instantly at the hint of tears in his mother's eyes, but Porter held his ground for the moment, staying where he was. He didn't fight when Iris reached for his hand again, and even squeezed back lightly as she took it. "I know you didn't want to come here, hon," she went on, swallowing heavily to steady her voice, "But you're here now, and after here? Well, there's college, there's your internet page, there's the whole world, Porter. As amazing as I'm sure Medea is for you, I just don't want you to miss all of that."

Giving a firmer squeeze of his mom's hand, Porter nodded slightly. "I know, mom," he murmured apologetically, "And I'm not going to miss it, I promise." Though with what he knew now about what he was? Porter didn't know how much time he'd have. "But... I like this place, I like my friends. And I don't want to have to wait again. I want... I want my life, even if I make some mistakes on it. I want to finally go buy a car, I want you two to trust me! Just give me the chance."

Her little nod was suddenly the highlight of the evening as Iris released Porter's hand, wiping under her eyes briefly. "We will, sweetheart. I promise. We'll talk about it, and maybe this weekend we can go to some of the dealerships, okay?" Porter still didn't dare glance over at Carter, though he imagined the man to be scoffing at that. He just nodded, leaning in and giving a quick hug to his mother. "Okay," he murmured before standing tall again. "I'm going back to my room. Sorry for shoving you, Carter," Porter added, though he didn't quite feel it, "Love you, mom." And then he was off, moving for the stairs and straining to make out the faint voices he left behind, to glean the meaning of their vaguely argumentative tones. He shouldn't have smiled to think that his mom was now possibly defending him, but there it was. And the expression was as genuine as it ever was on his face. Just... colder.