Chapter Text
Phil Malkin was nine years old the first time he saw Theodore Uris.
Teddy was new at school, and that was why his father had walked him to the small playground where his new classmates were. Theodore was terrified—he didn’t know anyone. So he stood still at the gate, hiding behind his father’s leg.
Phil watched him from the slide.
Half-blond curls.
Restless eyes.
A face that looked like it wanted to disappear.
In that exact second, he decided Teddy was going to be his friend.
He walked over without asking permission.
“Hi!” he said. “Do you want to be my friend? What’s your name? Do you live nearby? Do you like cartoons?”
Theodore froze.
Too many questions.
Too many people.
Too much of everything.
He hid a little more behind his father’s leg.
“His name is Theodore,” the man said kindly. “Theodore, say hello.”
Teddy peeked out, shy.
“I… I’d like to be your friend.”
“Awesome!” Phil said, grabbing his arm and dragging him to a corner of the playground. “My name’s Phillip Malkin but everyone calls me Phil. I like to draw! Especially aliens. Do you think they exist? I think they do, I’m sure they’re just hiding.”
Teddy listened, a little scared by the intensity, but also entertained. It was the first time someone had talked to him voluntarily.
Phil never thought things through too much.
Especially when it came to Teddy Uris.
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They grew up together.
They did absolutely everything together.
Phil invited him everywhere: to his house, to the library, to entire afternoons spent watching terrible movies about flying saucers and mad scientists. Teddy listened, smiled, pretended to understand and sometimes even to believe in impossible theories.
He even invited him over for Christmas.
Even though Teddy didn’t celebrate it.
Phil realized that one afternoon, standing in front of the little Christmas tree in his house.
“And what are you going to ask Santa Claus for?” Phil asked. “I might ask for new pencils… or a notebook to draw aliens.”
Teddy hesitated.
“I don’t think I’ll ask for anything. I don’t believe in Santa Claus.”
Phil froze.
“Well… I don’t really believe that much either,” he lied. “It’s more like… symbolic.”
But when Teddy left, Phil ran to the kitchen.
“Mom! Teddy doesn’t believe in Santa Claus. Is that bad?”
She laughed.
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They were twelve the first time Phil saw him come out of the synagogue.
He wasn’t waiting for him.
He just happened to pass by on his bike, thinking about something else.
Teddy came out through the main door with his father.
He was wearing a light-colored kippah, and his curls fell messily over his forehead, stirred by the wind.
Phil stopped.
He didn’t really know why.
He stared at him a second longer than normal.
He felt something strange in his chest.
Not pain.
Not happiness.
A kind of uncomfortable pull, like when you think about something and don’t know whether it’s good or bad.
That’s weird, he thought.
It’s not like he’s different… but he’s different.
Teddy looked up and saw him. He told his father to wait a second and walked over to Phil.
“What are you doing here?” he asked.
“Nothing,” Phil replied quickly. “Just passing by.”
He leaned on the handlebars of his bike, uncomfortable.
“Do you always leave this late?”
“Sometimes. Though it’s not that late,” Teddy said. “Why?”
“No reason. Just… just asking.”
Phil looked away.
Then he noticed something even stranger:
it was hard for him to look Teddy straight in the eyes.
As if looking too long was dangerous.
As if something might give him away.
Teddy watched him, intrigued.
“Are you okay?”
“Yeah,” Phil said. “You’re just… different.”
“Different how?”
Phil shrugged.
“I don’t know. Like more… serious.”
Silence.
“Does that seem weird to you?” Teddy asked.
“No,” Phil said immediately. “It’s just… different. In a good way, obviously.”
Different like something new.
Teddy smiled faintly.
“If you want, we can go to the library tomorrow,” he said.
Phil nodded.
“Yeah. Sure.”
When Teddy left, Phil stayed still for a long moment.
He touched his chest, as if something were still vibrating inside.
Must be the cold, he thought.
It never occurred to him that it could be something else.
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The next day they met at the library, just like they’d said.
They were studying—well, Teddy was studying.
His notebooks were neatly open, his brow slightly furrowed, his pencil resting on the margin. He read silently, barely moving his lips.
Phil, on the other hand, had his book open purely out of obligation.
He was watching Teddy.
Not blatantly, but not really hiding it either.
There was something about the way Teddy leaned over the table, about how his curls fell over his forehead, that kept Phil from thinking about anything else.
Phil cleared his throat.
“Teds…” he said.
“Mhm?” Teddy replied without looking up.
Phil hesitated for a second.
“This might be a weird question, you don’t have to answer, but… your last name…” he began. “Is it Jewish?”
Teddy looked up.
“My dad says it is.”
Phil nodded slowly.
“Oh…”
He stared at the edge of the book.
“It sounds… different.”
“Different how?” Teddy asked, confused.
“I mean—” Phil rushed. “Not in a bad way. It’s just… different. I mean different in a good way,” he corrected nervously.
Teddy stared at him a second longer than necessary.
“Everything okay at home, Phil?”
Phil dropped his gaze immediately.
“Forget it,” he said quickly.
He opened his textbook as if he were really going to read.
But he didn’t read a single word.
What’s wrong with you? Why are you talking like that?
Teddy glanced at Phil one last time and went back to his notebook.
The silence became uncomfortable—at least, that’s how Phil felt it.
Phil felt something strange in his chest.
He didn’t know what it was, but he knew it had to do with Teddy.
With the way he looked at him.
With the absurd desire for Teddy to look back.
Not as a friend.
As something more.
And that scared him.
That same night, Phil’s room was silent except for the distant sound of a small radio.
He thought about Teddy.
About how he furrowed his brow when he concentrated.
About his low voice.
About the way he said his name.
He thought about him the way someone thinks about an impossible problem.
How do I get his attention?
How do I make him think about me the way I think about him?
The question appeared on its own.
And then his Malkin brain clicked.
A ridiculous click.
Childish.
But perfectly logical for a twelve-year-old.
Maybe I have to be more like him.
He sat up slightly in bed.
Maybe… if I’m Jewish.
The idea shook him.
“Of course,” he murmured. “That makes sense.”
If Teddy was Jewish…
And that was important to him…
Then Phil could learn it.
He could try.
Not because he understood what it meant.
But because, for the first time, he understood something much simpler—and much more dangerous:
That he wanted Teddy Uris to like him.
And that he was willing to do anything to make it happen.
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The next day, Phil decided to tell Teddy.
“I want to be Jewish,” Phil said, walking beside him. “For you.”
“What?”
““I can make challah. Light the… uh— the candles—”
“do you mean Menorah?”
“That! Sorry, I’m still learning.
I can speak Yiddish, keep kosher, give up hamburgers if you want—at least during the week, weekends I’m not sure yet.”
“Phil, do you understand what you’re saying?”
Teddy didn’t understand anything.
It didn’t bother him.
He just didn’t know where all of this was coming from.
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It was a quiet Sunday at the Uris house.
The afternoon light crept slowly through the window.
Teddy and Phil were lying face-down on the bed, shoulder to shoulder.
The comic book lay open between them, though neither of them was paying attention anymore.
Phil turned a page without looking.
“Teds…” he said softly.
“Have you ever thought about challenging the role you’re supposed to have?”
Teddy didn’t turn his head.
“What role?” he asked.
“The one everyone expects from you.”
The silence lingered.
Teddy put more weight on his arms. He felt Phil’s shoulder pressed against his. He didn’t move away. Not yet.
“Why are you asking that?” he asked slowly.
Phil took a deep breath.
“Because…” he hesitated. “I don’t have a problem loving a boy—if that boy is you, Teddy.”
Teddy closed his eyes.
His heart was pounding.
Too hard.
“Phil…” he said, but he didn’t know what to say exactly.
“Yes?”
Teddy swallowed.
“I don’t want to think about this right now.”
There was no laughter.
No anger.
Just fear.
They were both afraid.
“Then tell me you don’t feel anything,” Phil said.
Teddy opened his eyes and stared at the blurry drawing in the comic.
He thought about praying.
He thought about the synagogue.
He thought about his father.
He thought about what was supposed to be right.
“I don’t feel anything, Phillip,” he said, looking away, pulling himself back.
The words felt heavy in his mouth.
Phil nodded.
“Okay.”
He stood up.
The mattress shifted, then went still again.
“See you.”
The door closed.
Teddy sat on the bed without moving, his shoulder still warm where Phil had been.
He hadn’t rejected Phil.
He had rejected himself.
Like he always did.
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Teddy wanted to believe that when Phil said see you, everything would go back to how it was before.
When Phil used to sit beside him without asking, throwing himself onto the bed like it was his natural place.
When he nudged him gently to get his attention.
When he passed him folded alien drawings during class and then stared at him, waiting for his reaction.
When they talked about anything—absurd theories, old movies, plans they’d never carry out—and nothing felt dangerous.
Before, when silence wasn’t uncomfortable.
When looking at each other didn’t hurt.
When being together was easy.
But it didn’t happen.
Phil didn’t talk to him.
Didn’t even look at him.
Days passed—seven, to be exact. Seven days without Phil.
Without jokes.
Without drawings in the margins of notebooks.
Without whispered theories.
Seven days of trying to pray better, to behave the way he was supposed to.
Seven days of Teddy trying to convince himself that everything was better this way, without deviations—but it didn’t work.
That’s when he understood.
I like him too.
Not in a permitted way.
Not in an easy way.
But in a real one.
Rejecting himself wasn’t a solution either.
It was just another way of losing Phil even more.
Teddy loved Phil, and admitting it was a huge step.
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In Derry, a heavy rain began that afternoon—soft at first, then relentless.
But Teddy couldn’t take it anymore.
He grabbed his bike and went out anyway, his heart pounding in his chest, not thinking about the cold, or the water, or what would come after.
Only one thing:
This time, he wasn’t going to run away. Now he understood that denying it didn’t make it disappear.
For the first time in days, Teddy had a clear thought:
I can’t lose him.
When he reached the Malkin house, he was out of breath.
He knocked once.
Then again.
Phil opened the door.
“Teddy… what are you doing here?”
Teddy grabbed Phil’s shirt with his wet hands and, without thinking anymore, pulled him closer.
And kissed him.
It wasn’t a careful kiss.
It was urgent. Full of everything he had swallowed for an entire week.
Fear. Desire. Certainty.
Phil stayed still for a second, surprised, and then kissed him back—like he’d been waiting for it forever.
When they pulled apart, both of them were breathing hard.
“Phil…” Teddy said. “I… I didn’t know how to say it. I was scared. But it’s not that I don’t feel anything.”
Phil looked at him, eyes shining.
“I don’t want a world where you aren’t in it.”
Phil smiled, trembling.