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heirloommtomatoes · 4 years

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don’t read the last page but i stay

Mickey and Ian go on another lunch date :) Just some quick super simple fluff! Literally nothing at all happens in this other then a cute date. These boys deserve nothing but sweet domesticity forever and ever, thanks.

Word Count: 2.3k~

———

Mickey picks Ian up from his afternoon shifts whenever they can cram it into their schedule. Do they live together? Sure. Did they get out of prison barely a year ago where their combined shared space was half the size of their Gallagher house bedroom? Sure. Do they still try to spend almost every waking moment together? Absolutely.

Ian’s schedule as an EMT, as sporadic as it has the potential to be, has fallen into a steady routine the past few months. Since Debbie’s arrest, Lip moving out, and the increased responsibility in the Gallagher house, Rita makes sure that every Friday Ian hands his shift over by 5pm. Mickey was promoted at his work — a promotion that warranted his first real Gallagher party a few months back — and is working steadily at the mall as the general security manager.

Ian’s laughing with the new members of his team over some pictures of their kids from last weekend when his phone buzzes. He slides it half-way out of his pocket to look at the screen:

Mick: hey dipshit I took a photo of me waiting for you

Mick: Attachment: 1 Image

Ian swipes on the message and unlocks his phone. The photo is of a mummified, presumably ancient corpse sitting cross-legged on a ridge, probably out of some National Geographic article he’d found while scrolling endlessly through random news pages while waiting for him. He stifles a laugh as he types his response.

Ian: 🖕

Ian: be out in a sec

Mick: 🖕

“That your husband?” Samantha, a younger EMT fresh out of training, nods toward his phone.

“Yeah,” Ian responds as he slips his phone back into his pocket, “Meeting him for dinner and drinks.”

Rita looks over her shoulder from where she’s rummaging around her locker. Ian expects her to make some witty remark at his expense as per usual, but instead: “You got the best relationship record outta any of us here, Gallagher,” she says with a self-deprecating laugh.

“Yeah, well,” he shrugs, “Eleven years, a bipolar diagnosis, and several prison stints seems to be the trick.”

He doesn’t mean to really joke about it; if what they went through together doesn’t count as some seriously real shit, he’s terrified to think of what does. But if he can’t make light of it now and then, if he can’t at least try to ponder the distance between then and now and look back at how far they’ve come and laugh at the simple joy of it all, then what the hell else is he supposed to do?

Laughs ripple around the locker room as Ian raises an warm to wave goodbye to everyone, overlapping “Bye Ian!”s and “Have a good weekend”s following him out.

Ian emerges from the garage, shrugging off his EMT jacket in the mid-afternoon summer sun in a way that makes Mickey’s heart flutter in his chest. He carries it loosely in a hand at his side.

“Bout time, Gallagher,” Mickey says to him with a grin. He’s been smiling a lot these days, he thinks; not that that’s anything new around Ian. He’s been making him smile since he was seventeen.

“Hey,” Ian responds easily, throwing an arm around his shoulders and planting a kiss to his cheek. A blush creeps up Mickey’s face and he grins at the ground as they walk. Ian starts babbling about the kid who broke his arm on the monkey bars and an older woman who fell down her stairs and Mickey listens, butting in for the odd comment or exclamation here and there as they make their way down the block to Boystown. It’s become their once-a-month Friday evening tradition. Mickey picks him up from work, they fill each other in on their days as they walk, they grab dinner and drinks either at one of their favourite spots in Boystown if they’re feeling like they want their own little escape, or at The Alibi if they feel like keeping it close to home. Today is too beautiful of a day to not make use of the clean outdoor patios the bars in Boystown can provide.

Mickey recounts his day when Ian’s done and maybe it doesn’t sound quite as glamorous on the surface of things, but it barely occurs to either of them. They’re both doing something they’re good at, something they’re each coming to realize they genuinely enjoy, something that makes them feel useful, and if that isn’t success, what is?

“So this old woman stuffs a bra between her boobs. Like hell I was gonna reach in there and drag it out,” Mickey huffs as he finishes up his story. Well, maybe something they genuinely enjoy most of the time. Ian laughs and it’s Mickey’s favourite sound. It’ll always be Mickey’s favourite sound.

“You sure you’re not gay?” Ian asks skeptically, recounting all the times Mickey’s jokingly —and not-as-jokingly — denied the label.

“Yeah, I’m sure,” Mickey says, casting a mischievous glance his way, “My husband is, though.”

“Ohh, I see,” Ian says with a nod, casually changing the subject as he remembers Mickey’s earlier texts, “Oh hey listen, that was a really cute photo of you earlier, Mick. You’ve found your angles, I’m impressed,” Ian says, his voice dripping with mischievous sarcasm.

“Ohhh, thanks, man,” Mickey responds with a playful nudge to Ian’s ribs, “My beauty secret is this really cool thing my husband does called making me wait for ten fucking minutes.”

Ian raises his brows at him. Game on. He opens his mouth to respond in kind, but Mickey’s grabbing him by the upper arm and tugging him into a brick-lined alleyway. Ian grunts in protest, hands flying to Mickey’s biceps to steady himself before he’s shoved against the wall.

Mickey’s kissing him like he’s been thinking about doing all day while Ian’s out here being fucking Superman, like he’s been thinking about doing his whole life. He feels Ian’s smile against his mouth and his heart leaps in his chest and he loves him. He loves him. Mickey’s not sure how or when it happens, but suddenly Ian’s grabbing him and he’s being spun and his back’s being shoved against the wall so quickly his breath almost leaves him.

“Watch it, tough guy,” he breaths, and doesn’t mean a word of it. It’s the closest he’ll come to saying do whatever you want with me.

Ian huffs a laugh, threading his left hand into Mickey’s right as he studies his husband’s face. The cold metal of his wedding band brushes against his fingers and Mickey leans forward, capturing Ian’s lips in a warm kiss that reminds him of the dugouts, reminds him of when they were teenagers too skittish and childish and young to know what to do with the swelling in their chests every time they looked at each other. Ian’s the first to pull back, but he tugs on Mickey’s hand and leads them out of the alley.

“I’m hungry,” he says with a shrug by way of explanation when Mickey gives him an incredulous stare.

“So am I,” Mickey replies quickly, glancing pointedly downwards toward Ian’s crotch. Ian barks a laugh and rolls his eyes. He’s never said it out loud, but damn if he doesn’t love how fucking funny his husband is. No one really knows that about Mickey, he thinks. Distantly he remember’s Mickey’s “now they’re black and blue balls” in the hotel room that one night when they were teenagers. Damn if he didn’t think about that one and swoon over his protectiveness and Southside charm for a good week after. In the back of his mind, he remembers Byron’s list of complaints: he’s socially inept, he’s politically ignorant, he’s violent…

Meanwhile, Ian looks fondly at Mickey and knows that he’s funny, he’s thoughtful, he’s loyal, he’s his husband.

“The fuck you starin’ at?” Mickey snaps at him, an eyebrow raised halfway up his damn forehead.

Ian rolls his eyes, “Nothin’. What do you wanna eat?”

Ian sees the hint of a shy smile on his face as Mickey turns his gaze to the various restaurants they’ve been passing, “Uh, I’m kinda feelin’ Sheffield’s, man. That sound good to you?” He asks, looking back at Ian. The midday sun silhouettes his head, creating a halo out of his red hair and glowing against the hard edges of his face. Mickey remembers the round-faced, freckled boy at the convenience store with the floppy bangs and oversized flannels. Hell, he remembers him before that. He remembers third grade, and some loser with a mop of curly red locks and oversized front teeth leaning over and asking him for a pencil. Looking at him now with his wedding band catching the light, his chiseled jaw, and the lop-sided grin directed right at Mickey, he looks like fucking Adonis.

“…Mick?” Ian’s voice snaps him back to reality.

“Huh?”

“I was saying we’re here, Neil Armstrong,” Ian quips, “Come back to Earth, I wanna eat.”

“Ay, references like that are my thing,” Mickey says as Ian’s arm around his shoulder steers them toward Sheffield’s. They continue bickering as they walk in the restaurant, much to the server’s constant exasperation as she leads them to the patio. “Since when?” “Since fuckin’…always, man.”

They sit out in the Chicago summer sun, basking in the warmth of it together as they sip their drinks. Mickey, ever the loyalist, gets the cheapest beer on the menu after casting his eyes over the ludicrously long list of names, only a third of which he can pronounce. That’s what you get for going to a brewery, he figures absentmindedly to Ian. Ian gets one of the beers lower in proof, but he knows it’ll still bring him a pleasant buzz.

“If nothing else man, your meds make getting drunk economical as hell,” Mickey says to him with a breathy laugh as he hands the waiter their menus with a nod.

“You’re telling me,” Ian responds as he leans back lazily, comfortably spreading his legs in the chair as he grabs the sunglasses hanging off his shirt collar and slides them over his eyes. Mickey follows suit with his own pair of sunglasses and damn if the two of them don’t look good. Mickey changed out of his work uniform before coming to meet him and he’s wearing a pair of jeans that actually fit him, a black tank and blue short sleeve button up top that’s open and fluttering in the light breeze. He looks so relaxed and in his element, and Ian can’t help but wonder if this is what he used to wear in Mexico. For once the memory isn’t tinged with heartache; they’re here now.

“You look good,” Ian says, eyeing Mickey up and down from across the wooden picnic-like table.

Mickey flashes him a smile, “Says you,” he responds, and it’s so disgustingly sweet and domestic that he barely knows what to do with himself. He’ll never get used to this, he thinks, and he doesn’t want to. Ian smiles in return before Micky continues and leans forward, “I was thinking about getting my GED.”

“No shit,” Ian responds, mimicking Mickey in leaning forward across the table, a casual hand still around his beer, “What prompted that?” He asks before taking a sip.

Mickey shrugs, “I like my job now, but I was talking to Larry and he thinks it’d be a good idea. It’d give me better hirability or whatever, and…I dunno, I like my job now,” he repeats almost sheepishly, like he’s about to admit something terrible, “But I’ve been thinking about wanting…more, I guess?”

Ian smiles and reaches across to put a hand over the one Mickey has resting casually on the table, “Let’s make it happen, then.”

Mickey meets his eye for a brief moment with a shy half-smile that he hides by taking a sip of his beer.

“I’m serious, Mick. We can get some study books for you, Kev and V can look after the kids when you need the house to be quiet for two seconds so you can study…” he trails off, lowering his head slightly to prompt Mickey to meet his gaze.

“Alright, alright, Jesus,” Mickey finally says with a chuckle, turning his hand over to grasp Ian’s and rub his thumb over his knuckles, “Love you,” he adds quietly, but it’s not shy or embarrassed or scared; it’s just for Ian, and only Ian.

The two of them sit for what could be hours or minutes longer, chatting about their future plans like it’s nothing but it means fucking everything to both of them. Neither of them had ever really let themselves dream of a future like this. Whenever Ian’s mind had wandered to thinking of moments like this, of sentences like “Kev and V can look after the kids”, he’d dismissed it as the wishful thinking of a manic episode. “Fucked for life” had practically been Mickey’s life mantra. They share a house, they share food, they take turns making dinner, they have monthly goddamn traditions that include sunshine and drinks and risky kisses in alleyways.

They stay at Sheffield’s far longer than they had originally intended as the waiter informs them there’s live music that evening. So they stay, both buzzed on their beers and drunk on happiness and sun and music, sharing insults and laughs, basking in the comfort and familiarity of each other’s presence as the sun casts an orange glow over the Chicago skyline.

#gallavich fic #gallavich #mickey milkovich #ian gallagher #this is some teeth rotting fluff yall i went off #im a good mood today what can i say jksjks #i love my BOYS!#i had to pretend to know what its like to be attracted to men to write this so pls appreciate my efforts jsksj #jk but also ...#my writing

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biandnotinthemood · 5 years

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Hoping I See You Tonight (’Cause That’s What Makes Me Feel Alright)

Happy Valentine’s Day, everybody! I’m submitting this fic to @harringroveweekoflove for the ‘FIRST KISS’ prompt. The title comes from the song “if i stay” by obie blue. Hope you guys like it xx

The first time BIlly felt like he could love Steve was after a monster fight. He was sitting apart from everyone else in the mall, wiping down his fire axe with a shirt he’d swiped from one of the stores. The group still wasn’t used to him and that was fine. He wasn’t planning on staying in Hawkins forever anyway. All he had to do was finish high school and then he’d be peeling out of this shithole town, flipping it the bird on his way out. His whole body ached all the way down to his bones and he had blood on his face, but all he could think about was his old man. He and Max were supposed to have been home hours ago and just the thought of what was waiting for him when he finally arrived made him wish he could stay out forever. It’s not like he could just tell Neil he got a little caught up fighting interdimensional monsters in Starcourt Mall. Whatever.

He sighed and leaned his axe against the edge of the fountain he was on, glancing at the cluster of brats swirling around King Steve like a vortex of peeping baby ducks. It was time to go home. “Hey, Maxine!” A weird silence settled over the group the moment Billy yelled and it made him want to climb out of his skin. He hated having so many eyes on him, but forced himself to swallow the discomfort. After all, it wasn’t anything he wasn’t used to already, right? “Tick-tock, it’s time to go.” He grabbed his axe and lugged his body up, not even bothering to say good night or good job or whatever the hell it is you’re supposed to say to people who can barely stand you. Max was still lagging behind him, saying her goodbyes like she wasn’t going to see most of those people in less than 12 hours. “Maxine!”

“I don’t know why you have to be such a dick,” she snarled at him the moment they were alone outside, wrinkling her nose when he lit a cigarette.

“Whatever,” he scoffed, smiling almost to himself, “you’ll be thankful one day.”

“Yeah, right, asshole.” When she climbed into the passenger seat and slammed the door, it was hard enough to shake the whole car. He leaned against his Camaro and kept smoking, knowing full-well he was prolonging the inevitable but just feeling too fucking tired to give too much of a shit. Whether he was 10 minutes late or 10 hours late, it was all the same to his dad anyway. He’d just wanted to get out of the mall. Max was right. Why did he have to be such a dick?

“Hey.” Billy jolted, snapping his head up to see Steve jogging across the parking lot with something tucked under his arm.

“What is it, Harrington? I’m in a bit of a rush.”

“Yeah, it sure seems like it,” he said, flicking his eyes back at Max sitting in the car alone then back at Billy who was still finishing his cigarette and holding his axe like it was a cane. Billy’s face flushed. “I got you something.”

“What, did I forget something?”

“N-no,” Steve mumbled, bouncing in place a little. His big, messy hair flopped every time he moved. Billy would find it endearing if he wasn’t already tossing the butt of his cigarette down and crushing it under his boot. He was out of time. “I just grabbed it for you.”

Billy grinned, squeezing his tongue between his canines to keep from laughing. “You stole something for me, King Steve? And you wouldn’t even let that little kid with the weird teeth have ice cream? That’s pretty cold.”

“What? That’s different, man, I work there!” He punctuated each word with a harsh nod, squinting like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing but never meeting his eyes. “Whatever, just take it.” Steve shoved what he was carrying into his chest and Billy almost didn’t catch it when it fell.

“A jacket?”

“You looked cold.”

“I run hot, but thanks, I’ll definitely... keep this in my closet or something.” He was lying, obviously, but he wasn’t going to get on his knees and blow the guy for stealing a jacket. What sort of precedent would that set? Besides, it was easier to play it off than to admit to himself that those were definitely butterflies in his stomach. Thankfully, Max honked and he got to pull himself away.

And it sucked, it really sucked, because he knew his imagination was going to get the best of him, like it always did. After he got home, after Neil sent Max up to bed, after his dad laid into him, he got to lie in his bed, finally alone and away from all the fucking noise. The sun was going to be coming up soon, probably, and all he could do was think about Harrington. Every little thing about him. The way he fidgeted when he was nervous and even sometimes when he wasn’t, or the collection of blisters and callouses he had on his hands from his special bat, or the little constellations of dark freckles all over his shoulders, or the way he looked down like he was embarrassed whenever he laughed softly, or...

Billy had always been like this. Ever since he was a kid, he’d lived his life with one foot firmly planted in his own head. His mom had always told him he wasn’t like the other kids, that he was special. He’d never believed it, though. He didn’t feel special, he felt like a bitch. Steve had just gotten him a jacket, a jacket, that’s it, and yet here he was, imagining things that would never happen. Imagining Steve getting him more gifts, each more elaborate than the last, or maybe Steve pressing him against the Camaro and kissing him, whispering sweet things that had Billy’s insides turning to sludge, equally disgusting and attracted. Imagining waking up next to Steve, getting to trace those freckles with his fingers while he slept, kissing his soft face, and telling him he loves him until his warm brown eyes fluttered open.

Billy flipped over onto his stomach, anger bubbling in his gut. It was just a jacket.

The first time Billy felt like he could be honest with Steve was after they’d polished off a six-pack of beer. Back in Cali, it’d always been a mission to get booze. One of the perks of living in a backwoods hick town, he guessed. They were sitting on the hood of the Camaro, passing a cigarette back and forth because Steve had left his pack at home and yeah, it was stupid, but Billy wasn’t the one who’d come up with this idea. He also wasn’t going to be the one to complain.

“You still wanna’ leave, right?” Steve asked, looking up at Billy through his lashes and smiling when Billy huffed.

“‘Course I do. This place is a dead fucking end.”

Steve hummed. “You gonna’ go back to California?”

“Well, yeah, where else is there?”

“There’s a whole world out there, Hargrove, but okay.” When Steve lied down, so did Billy. The air was humid and cool, at least by his standards, and the sky was completely clear. It was a beautiful night and Billy hated it with every fiber of his being. Well, almost every fiber.

“Where do you think I should go?”

“I... don’t know.”

Billy scoffed, “that’s real fuckin’ helpful.”

“What I mean is, you’ve already done California, right? And you did Indiana. Why not try something new?”

Billy turned on his side, gazing down at Steve’s pale face glowing in the starlight with a mischievous smile. “You want me to ‘try new things’, pretty boy?”

“Shut the fuck up, that’s not what I meant.” Billy tried not to let his face fall. It was all part of the game they played. He wished it wasn’t a game... “I meant...” Steve trailed off completely, staring up at the night sky while chewing on his lower lip like it was a piece of gum until it was bright and swollen.

“What?”

Steve sat up again. “We got anymore beer?”

“Obviously.”

So they drank some more, sitting and talking and laughing on the hood of Billy’s car until he realized there was no way they’d been sitting close enough to share breath earlier in the night. But there they were, and Billy’s heart was racing, his hands shaking next to him.

“What were you gonna’ say earlier?” he asked, trying to make his voice as soft as possible, even though he knew that wasn’t the sort of guy he was. Steve looked like he was glowing and when he reached up to fix his hair, Billy could see each individual motion mapped out behind him like a shining white ribbon. He was pretty sure he whispered something, but his mind felt foggy.

“I was gonna’ say...”

“Uh-huh?” Billy leaned closer, smiling and gnawing on his tongue when Steve looked down to clear his throat.

“Well, I mean, if you’re dead set on leaving or whatever, I could go with you, y’know, so you’re not, like, alone.”

Billy’s breath stopped short in his lungs. He could already see their life together laid out ahead of him like a never-ending strip of brilliant starlight, every thought or fantasy or memory, whatever, zooming through his head, each one screaming louder than the last. It was overwhelming, it was always overwhelming. Even when it was something he liked to think about, it was still too noisy. He drummed his fingers against his thigh as hard as he could manage, his vision and his head swimming in nothing but Steve.

“Yeah,” he said as soon as he felt solid again, “that sounds cool.” It sounded so much more than cool, but he wasn’t a bitch.

“Yeah?” Steve asked, perking up like a bird and smiling from ear to ear.

“Yeah,” Billy sighed.

The first time Billy and Steve kissed was during the last weekend of the summer. Somehow, the kids had convinced the rest of them to get in their cars and drive for 2 whole hours just to soak up the last bit of summer on the shores of Porter Beach. To call it a beach was way too generous, though, and of course he’d complained about that very loudly for the entire drive. Thankfully, it was just him and Steve in the car. Steve didn’t seem to mind, always either playing along, chuckling to himself, or tuning out Billy’s rambling. Dustin had tried climbing in the car with them, which obviously wasn’t allowed. The only kid who was allowed inside his baby was Max, but she was his sister so the rules didn’t always apply to her. They stopped every time Steve saw something he liked so Billy would pull over and wait while Steve took a bunch of pictures with the camera Jonathan had loaned him.

Their inn was on Dudley Drive and Billy had figured all along the ride that he’d wait for everybody to pick their places and just go where ever there was room for him. He was shocked out of his fucking skin when Steve casually threw an arm around his shoulders and told Ms. Byers they’d be in a room together and watch over Dustin and Lucas.

Yeah, they’d apparently promised to supervise those little shitheads, or whatever. Really, Steve had said all that, so Billy was free to go swimming in the indoor pool that night. He’d been surprised earlier when the Wheeler girl and Jonathan went into separate rooms. He found himself wondering if Steve noticed, if he cared, if he even still thought about Nancy like that. Billy hoped he didn’t, even though it was silly to hope for shit like that.

“Hey.” Billy looked over at Steve, smiling when he saw him walking barefoot above him along the edge of the pool.

“You getting in, Harrington?”

Steve sat down at the edge, hiking up his little orange swim trunks and kicking his long legs under the bright water. “Nah, I’m too fucking tired.”

“Tired? I did all the driving today.” Steve laughed softly, looking down at his lap as Billy swam towards him. “All for you, King Steve.” When Billy did an exaggerated bow, Steve kicked him away.

“Asshole.”

“You know it. What are you doing here anyway? Aren’t you supposed to be watching the rugrats?”

“Okay first of all,” he said, clasping his hands together like he was about to give a lecture, “don’t call them that. And second of all, we’re both supposed to be watching them.”

Billy shrugged. “Well, you see, I just don’t remember agreeing to that, Steve.”

“You’re such a dick!” Steve kicked a bunch of water at him and Billy ducked below the surface, darting around until he was able to get a grip on Steve’s ankles and yank him down with him. Billy could see them like he was hovering above them, watching the way they swam together. It was so easy to love Steve, so easy when he was hearing his laugh or staring at the water dripping down the sides of his face and into his darkened white t-shirt.

When they were sitting on the edge together later, Steve’s hair was drying with chlorine in it and it was making it droopy and even a little curly in certain places. He’d already thrown down his white t-shirt and it’d hit the tiled floor with a hard, wet slap. Steve’s torso was long and lean, but defined in a way Billy’s wasn’t. He wished Steve had a necklace like he did, so they could match and he could tug him closer by the chain. He could picture it so clearly in his head, their lips pressed against each other, the clean blue light from the pool dancing on Steve’s skin, the thick forest outside the giant windows across the room. In his mind, he was never nervous, never had shaky hands or goosebumps all over his arms. In his mind, Steve always liked him too.

“Well, thanks for that, Billy. I was hoping to avoid taking a shower tonight.”

“Gross.”

“Listen, I already showered at home before we left today.”

“It’s still gross,” he said, mostly just trying to get under Steve’s skin. Judging by the way he squinted and turned away, his face pink, Billy was pretty sure he’d succeeded.

“Stop looking at me like that, asshole,” he mumbled.

“Like what?” Billy asked, trying to put on his biggest, saddest puppy eyes. When Steve glanced back at him, he did that thing where his eyes fluttered and he looked down.

“Stop messing with me.”

The words felt like a lance right through his heart and Billy instinctively touched his chest like he was expecting to actually grab it and pull it out, but there was nothing there. There never was, he was just... well, his mom called him sensitive, and his dad called him a queer. Why did either of them have to be right? He felt the stinging in his eyes, but he just rubbed a wet hand on them so he could blame it on the chlorine later.

Billy cleared his throat, trying to breathe through the lump in his throat. Steve didn’t hate him, Jesus fucking Christ. He needed to get it together. “I’m surprised Nancy and Jonathan aren’t sharing a room,” he said slowly, cracking all the knuckles in his right hand over and over again.

“Huh? Oh, yeah, I guess.” Steve waved the whole thing away with a flick of his wrist before shaking a hand through his wet hair.

Against all hope, Billy’s heart picked up in his chest like an orchestra. His dreams almost never came true or if they did, it was never for very long. “So what, you don’t care anymore?”

“It’s been almost a year.” Billy hadn’t been there to see the so-called good times between Steve and Nancy. The first time he’d even realized they were an item was at the Halloween party when good-old King Steve managed to spill a shitton of red punch on his girlfriend’s white shirt. The whole thing had looked like a goddamn crime scene.

“That’s true...”

“I mean, did I think I was going to spend the rest of my life with her? Yeah. But, I mean, you can be wrong about stuff like that, right?” Steve met and held his gaze like he wanted an actual answer, those sweet brown eyes big enough for him to fall into.

“I guess, yeah. I’m wrong about shit like that all the time.” And yeah, wow, he really shouldn’t have given his sadness a voice because now Steve was furrowing his eyebrows and squinting at him.

“All the time?” Billy’s heart was beating so hard and so fast, it was actually hurting him. Everything was fading at the edges. Just like that, he was jerked like a ragdoll from harsh, sticky sadness into sharp, hot panic.

“I’m done here, Harrington.” The words were out of his mouth while he was still scrambling to stand, Steve struggling to follow him.

“Hey, w-wait.”

He was already thinking about the future, each thought zipping and zooming inside him like galloping monsters reaching out and hitting him every time they passed. He could leave in the morning or, fuck it, right now. He’d drag Max out of her room if he had to. Sure, they’d been making great progress, but she could go back to hating him. Steve had already graduated. As long as Billy stayed away from Scoops Ahoy, he never had to see him or talk to him again. It was all so clear to him, so completely perfect, the sort of guy he’d have to be to get through this. He’d been that guy before. He could do it again. He didn’t have to be “special” or “sensitive”, like his mom always said, and he didn’t have to be a fag or a queer, like his dad always said. He could be neither, he could be nothing, he could swallow it.

When Steve grabbed his arm and didn’t let him jerk away, all the noise dropped down to something almost like silence in his head. “Billy. Come here.” And he did, he turned back and watched as Steve slowly raised both of his hands up to Billy’s face. When their lips slotted together, it was nothing like the million scenarios he’d dreamed up in his head. He wanted to pull away and say sorry but every time he tried, Steve would grab him and guide him back.

#mine #harringrove #billy has type 3 adhd and you can't change my mind!

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