Pink, Blue, Dashes of Black and White Too

A/N: This is by no means a thorough or well-researched interpretation. I go by what I do know about the identity of demi-boy from some previous reading and research. It's an experiment more than anything that I hope to make into a more full story. But such labels do deserve to have more attention and so I hope others on this site will do better than I do.

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Actors did one of two things when fans broke into their working studio and then tumbled out to the open in dressing rooms. One) scream in terror. Two) scream for security and/or a lawyer. Micah, found an opportunity presented to themselves.

These two, fifteen by his count, just one year his senior gripped hard and awkwardly over and under each other on lieu to their feet.

And when they did, the girl responded first. Growing hearts to her eyes, cheeks flushing and a squeal quickly aborted. "Evan! The Evan Cross-Foot!" Using his fictional alias. The reveal of his true identity under the dubious PI spy agency of the season wasn't for another few episodes. "Wes! Wes for all things hot stand up straight!"

"Don't use my name!"

Micah kept an adequate length prop pipe defensively toward her. In a pinch it worked.

Even if it wouldn't hurt fans enjoyed the opportunity to touch "mementos" of film and TV to fantasize with.

"Okay, okay just breathe..."

"Just the biggest most important moment of your life right now. And he's in action still."

"Seriously has the skills."

Wes though...

Micah turned the "spy gaze" onto this newcomer. The boy didn't flinch, instead he kept his ground, pulling an audaciously irritated look right back.

"Wes stop," he heard his friend whisper. "Stop, he could twist your organs around inside your body, y'know."

He broke the stare first, but kept Micah at his apathetic periphery.

"Hi!" she addressed of him directly.

In a swift motion he came just an inch of her perky, dazzling smile.

She simply giggled, despite the higher pitch, "my name's Melanie. Soooo, alright we really got off on the right-- oh geez wrong foot."

Slowly, he relieved her of duress. She had placed her hands aside, now out where he could see, palms out in a placating gesture.

"Really we uh-- we didn't mean..."

"This one didn't mean to peep in on your stuff and whatever else you would have done in private. That said she wanted to get an up-close look still," Wes followed up in a dry tone. Still not giving Micah an actual glance but by the looks of it more bothered by this entire situation than anything.

"Seriously we are so sorry."

Micah simply burst out laughing.

Quite the pair these two were.

The girl was cute and doe-like. Right down to a shade of blonde hair and extensions that couldn't be her natural color, wearing a sparkling, glittery top with equally girly accessories of a floral cross-body purse and jangly bead charm bracelets on one wrist.

Quite the pair they were.

Still so eager to please "Melanie" laughed too.

"Alright, alright I see. I get it I do," Micah conceded.

"You do?" Melanie asked in such a piteous, frightened little voice.

And her friend Wes much more wary. "You DO?"

"Sure. We have fudging protocols for these things," and from his drawer was a simple panic button.

CRAAAAAAaaaa--

CREPERS. Crepers.

Nope. Nope. Don't look at it. Don't look at your manicure and they won't look at the purple and black.

And heck, probably wouldn't even fathom. Yeah.

Wes was squinting.

Shi-- ZZLE STICK.

"But," he chirped, "I won't use them." And quickly put the button back in its place, where he also stashed his wipes.

Leaning back, concealing some other certain details Micah demanded allll of the kids' attention.

"What?"

"What."

"I won't call security, listen Wes can I call you Wes?"

Sparing a glance Wes did carefully answer, "I would prefer that yes."

"Look I need some help. Help that I-- that I can't exactly get on the set, from all these business types. They won't get it and frankly, all they know how to do is make my life a million times harder. And it already is super sad, like very sad. Tragic Backstory-- TM-- sad."

"And telling us this since...?" Wes led.

"Telling you Wes," Micah corrected, "Melanie," and she stiffened again, attention and slight awe away from her friend, "I do still have one of the best lawyers on pay and my "handler"/older sister Lydia is raging brickle running my career, her own education, and trying to "get lucky." I hope I don't have to go into what that means."

"Nope," Wes quickly cut in. "No, no you do not. And whatever has to happen, please never do."

"Good. Just needed to make sure we're on the same page. Since GMA and People sure aren't," Micah muttered the last bit quite bitterly. Both looked somewhat perturbed but otherwise remained silent. While he let out a huge sigh figuring how to phrase this next part.

"Look I'm sure you've heard things about me. Some good, some using me as a prop for debates on the ethics of child actors and the industry. Some, are reporters asking probing, uncalled for questions as to why I never suck face or even show any interest toward the opposite sex or bite at the studio's awful attempts to matchmake me with co-stars."

Every cast member within the under 18 demographic was getting pretty sick of it. And making themselves something of a chaos causing syndicate of sorts only alleviates so much.

"So what I need, is to be seen with someone. Someone the crowds won't expect. That they'll eat up for all their worth," Micah cocked his head toward the other boy, "which is where you come in." Interrupting before he could voice his surprise, "I need someone who won't get attached and come after me when we have to break this off. We can be friends even after if you aren't opposed."

Hands behind his back and a smile on he pitched himself forward, offering a handshake. "You up for it sweetie?" he posed succulently charming and love-struck eyes.

"Noooo," he said. "Noooo." He backed up just a bit.

"Security then? Since... neither of you are my friends, much less my... partner sneaking in to wish me luck on set or warn me about keeping my wits with the others?"

"That-- that's dirty!" Wes argued fiercely. And though he did sympathize, Melanie was another matter altogether.

"Exactly you can't force anyone to do something like that no matter how rich you are."

"And I don't want to!" he snapped back. "But I'm not lying when I say the media is eating me alive over something as stupid as romance and I want it to stop. More than anything! And Lydia won't. She won't help me so there's no one, literally no one, on my side who can do a thing!"

"How would this work?" Wes said, expression much less hostile. Somewhat resigned but also, directly facing him, finally looking Micah in the eye.

And that did, ease the knot always at his chest. Micah felt genuinely seen and damn did he have a cool air to him.

"I think," he said, sizing just how they would look together and in turn how to market themselves. Putting a hand out for one of his.

"It'll be a game of how we put our bodies together so... most important is hands..."

Wes and Micah's foreheads touched each other's.

"Okay if this is what you meant," Wes remarked, "you could have just said so, you didn't have to-- Melanie put that away!"

Despite her smile Melanie did apologize, swiftly tucking away her phone

"I do have a guy," Micah responded.

"No. Don't."

"MIKA!"

The door burst open and who to see them in such a spot but cold, cutthroat Lydia Storm.

Immediately he shoved Wes aside prepared to take all the blame whatever that may entail.

"What do you think either of you were doing?" she asked, voice blazing and harsh. "Just who are you two? Not auditioners that's for sure and certainly not on any list of approved admission." Brow furrowed in avid distaste toward the strangers now pinned in her predatory purview.

"Lydia it isn't--"

And in an instant the knot turned to a noose.

Quietly, Lydia simply dismissed his protests with a; "later."

She'd deal and punish him for this foolishness herself later.

"Now as for you."

"We're Micah's friends!" Wes defended hotly, hand holding his super obsessed companion.

Who also nodded, pouting as she did so before his sister's devastating presence.

In a cruel little laugh she cut them all down. "Micah doesn't have any friends. He doesn't need nor will have any long as he's working."

"You witch. You absolute--"

"Stop!" Micah exclaimed and even they couldn't be sure to who.

"Finish that sentence boy I dare you," she said, separating the pair. With Wes held firm by his bicep; scrawny with the muscle sinewy indicative of maybe a swimmer. Or someone with very good luck.

To let Wes see how defeated he was sent a shot of guilt so heavy and consuming, he just couldn't face the pitying expression he found.

"Oww! Hey that seriously hurts. Stop, okay--"

"I'll be sure to call security and if they're nice you'll just have to spend a few hours in lock-up."

"We were just leaving."

"You supposed I'd believe that? Our lawyers will be in contact."

"You can't do that!"

"Yes I can."

"Micah help us!" Melanie shouted.

"Shut up," Wes hissed. "However you can, meet up with us! I said I'd help you."

Lydia pushed them out, ready to escort them herself to the first muscly security person she found. While Micah could only look on.

Flattered as they are, the two of them had missed the chance. Why'd he thought of such an inane scheme anyway?

"Don't. Besides, Micah Storm doesn't matter."

Micah Storm hadn't made the money to put Lydia back on track, let her reclaim her life and the degree she'd always wanted. Sure, she struggled for Evan too picking up extra courses in law and business but they had private tutors hired to take the brunt of that.

All Micah had done was eat up food, take up space, and couldn't live without his beloved sister's touch. Cry for her to not leave him the way their parents did.

Sitting down, Micah put their head to their hands.

Micah-- boy, girl, or nonbinary-- whatever they are, they'd always been a burden. No pink or blue or purple would make that thought flattering unlike his pale skin or girlish, popping grey eyes.

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By the time that "Lydia" woman had finally let the four of them all out streetlights had come on and they'd hardly made the last bus toward their neighborhood. Paid for, but not without their parents being called ahead.

Wes, Melanie, and especially Curt would be getting an earful for the excursion. Lucky for them, respectability had won out for them in form of the security chief not wanting the entire thing to reflect badly on the whole company. And who would deal with it but the accosted star.

Besides, her missing dinners was starting to become an annoyance.

Ruthless opportunism and blackmail right there. And awful shrew as that woman was, she was still twenty-three according to the Internet and so, inclined to listen to older, wiser adults who could call agencies or doctors in 'concern' for both. Or so Lydia looked to think by the mix of rage and unease.

"I do still have one of the best lawyers on pay..."

But there'd been more he was hiding.

His nails, had been painted in gender nonconforming colors? If he was remembering them right from Pride Month awhile back.

That whole "tragic backstory," and the flags on his mirror.

Wes hadn't gotten the best look but he'd seen enough.

What did Micah Storm want with an ace flag if he weren't...? Not that it was actually his business. But he supposed it fit with why a TV personality of all things treated the classic Fake Dating trope so flippantly.

"You thinking on something?" Melanie asked. "Wes how mad are you?"

Not at all honestly. He really hadn't done much to stop her.

On a Saturday morning at nine-thirty he'd hardly been in the mood to get out of bed and dressed much less stand on an overcrowded bus for some cheap promotion event.

"No, no I'm not. Really, I guess it helps that the guy really wasn't a douche like his pretty boy character is."

"I told you. Y'know when it comes to people at least you should listen to me more."

"Only if you could listen to me just a bit about B&E."

"Okay yeah, it's a deal," Melanie agreed heartily, "so, let's just hang tomorrow in your garage. Say we have an extra credit paper to figure out or something? I'll foot the snacks."

"Uhh maybe, I'd have to see if my Dad won't need it. He's pretty in deep on this aerodynamics test for a new spy plane."

And Wes, was personally invested in one-upping a certain harpy for-- for his friend. Micah... could seriously be a good friend.

Oh how his parents would flip to see their son friends with the Number Three of Young Prominent Acting Talent.

"I'm home," he called to the foyer, closing the door behind him.

Not far off was the kitchen and dining table. Mom closed the faucet. "Good dear, just set the table and once the stew boils your Father should be done for the night."

Wes set about the task without interruption. Then no one had checked the voicemail.

His parents and siblings continued and started new conversations about topics he couldn't hope to understand.

Speaking of Honors curricula and summer plans; taking jobs, looking at programs around him as he simply ate.

Keeping his thoughts focused on the singular Micah. New things were happening all the time.

"Sweetie, where did you and Miranda go?"

Melanie.

"Nowhere interesting. Just went to a panel."

"I'd hardly call that boring," Mom perked, "on what?"

"Was there an ROTC event at school? You should have said something," Dad effused.

"Geology?"

"Music?"

The twins had thrown their own favorite subjects.

Wes just huffed bemusedly. "Yeah, sure. I got up at eight in the morning to look at more rocks when you've filled our room with a mountain's face."

"Just a few pounds and besides they're geodes and don't forget the salt and pH analysis to be done."

"Of course not," he drawled.

"Okay be serious. Big bro just went to another make-believe panel about those kids books," chided his brother and youngest in the family.

"Comic books," he corrected futilely. "I would like to be excused."

"Are you sure, I made your favorite pudding for desert. All gluten and sugar included."

"I'm-- I'm sure," he said, now standing. "Guess I sorta lost my appetite or just tired."

Wes left without another word, closing and locking the door to the room he shared with his brother. Currently dabbling with horticulture on arid terrain. Something or another about reviving the depleted acids and pH levels in the soil.

Booting up his own laptop on the desk he opened up gender wiki.

Looking through the image gallery he eventually found the right colors. Light grey, light blue, and a white middle stripe.

Under that. Demiboy.

\\A person of any biological gender or gender expression that have a partial connection to the male gender or a masculine element to their preferred gender identity// ****Queery.

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Lydia knocked.

They hardly reacted to the noise, frankly too tired and too depressed at the moment to even think about food.

"Mika, this isn't good for you. Look did someone say something? If the producer or costuming complained I'll talk to them. I can fix it."

"If they can pull a doctor that says you have an actual medical reason to be concerned about such a thing--"

"Go away," they moaned in a hushed, harried squeak.

"Pick it up when your ready. Just a few bites that's it. After well-- in the morning. We have to talk about today. Don't get out of it."

Micah peeled themself out of bed, tossing the pillow aside.

Walking the length of the room he cautiously opened the door, just a squeak.

Lydia materialized from the walls flinging them off their feet.

"Gotcha. Now let's see what it is this time."

This time.

This time it was in the magazines that had pulled his old interviews and pieces on what else?

A non-existent love life.

His sister merely clicked her tongue.

"Really Mocha Latte this is what's keeping you up at night." She put her hands to her hips. "Come. On. This is the easiest thing ever."

She hopped up on his bed, making him flounce around as she got her bearings, splayed the entire length as if they were two gossiping girls.

And she'd gotten into grey jogging shorts showing off slim, girly legs and a loose, blowy blouse curling her waist just right.

Micah had the waist part.

"Come on brother, let me teach you about love and about fools who fall for the big farce called celebrity."

"Pretty sure we've had this talk like, since always," he said, playing along to their own little critique.

"Not this unit because I don't approve of you being used as cheap tabloid entertainment," she said. "And nor do I trust you very much to use such privilege responsibly."

Hmm no. Of course not.

Micah kept rapt attention to this seldom moment of attention.

As just behind her had been his phone on app for a train out to Lamburg High. Where Melanie Dawson professed to go within his bushels of fan letters.

TBC

Part 2:

"If you hate him that much then let someone else deal with him instead of you."

Lydia was stock still, before clinching Melanie in her hand with the vice of a viper. "The only way anyone. ANYONE, takes Micah away from me is if I die first!"

"I-- why do I hate him though? And why am I asking kids?"

Micah notes his sordid hair. Still long but now greasy and limp, hung forlorn over his eyes.

"I want to be a girl," Wes says toward his family, enjoying a film.

Beginning with ice cream cups.

Micah and Wes decide to take a day out each in their casual clothing.

Turns into Wes as pitcher to Micah in a batting range.

\Sometimes I'm a boy and sometimes I feel real and here. Like a solid, whole person. And sometimes... sometimes since Lydia is the only one I could compare, I want to have her legs, her hips. I want to look less, less like Micah. And other times-- all of the time-- I feel like Jerome Horowitz, Deidra Dinkley, Lou Adderfae. I'm sorry Lydia, for being such a fuss/

Haircut.

Manicure.

Selfies taken at a bar where he certainly shouldn't be but is safe. Since there are mothers and older brothers, kind people, honest people. People who their families, former friends, society,

Says need therapy. Need to be fixed.

Just as the sun begins to set.

In a barbershop.

"Look," Wes insists, "just have a little flashback and I'm sure you'll remember him."

The kind child with a fringe of bubblegum pink hair, crying at the way such a style, reconfigures his entire face.