This is absolutely unfinished, and is 100% my own memories that i, apparently, really need to let go of. I don't think they belong to me anymore, and their other handlers let go a long time ago.
The sun is hot, soaking into the shoulders of Michaelâs t-shirt. He readjusts his baseball cap, smashing his curls down even flatter. He fiddles with the key ring in his hand, running his thumbnail along the groove in the old penthouse key. it comes away dark and dirty. He should have given the key back when Geoff sold the place, but he could never bring himself to let it go. Besides, no one knew how many copies there really were, and the new owner had surely changed the locks. He canât remember their name.
He glances up from his spot, leaning against Fredoâs latest passion project. Itâs an old chevy something or other. Doesnât mater much. Thereâs an older white guy heading his way, hands buried in his pockets.
âCan i help you?â Michael asks. he doesn't move from the car.
âYou got a lighter?â The manâs voice is deep and gravely. Instinctively, MIchael reaches for his front jean pocket, and it isnât until his hand comes up empty does he remember.
The guy tilts his head curiously at michael. âShouldâve asked you a couple years ago, huh?â He asks with a smile. Itâs not so much a question as an assumption. Michael nods.
âHell, six months ago Iâdâve been your guy.â Part of him wishes he still smoked, could still have an excuse to be standing out here isolating himself. Truth be told, it wouldnât matter anyway. Fredoâs bound to roll his eyes at Michael regardless.
âgood for you, kid.â THe guy says, nodding. âitâs a goddamn rotten habit.â
MIchael huffs out a laugh. âWorse than some, better than others.â He considers the myriad of other ways he used to pass the time. Cigarettes had been the least of his concern. All behind him now, though, so what difference does it make?
âA-fucking-men, kid.â tHe guy tilts his ehad towards Fredoâs door. âgood luck.â
âWith the car or the addiction?â He misses this too, unloading on strangers heâll never see again.
âBoth.â The guy says, smiling. âBut especially the smokes. Quitting ainât easy, believe me. Done it too many times to count.â
Michaelâs heard this speech before, doesnât care too much to hear it again. He doubts even this time will be his last time quitting. But thatâs fine. Heâs doing better for now. Heâll take what he can get.
âThanks.â Michael says. He wants this guy to leave so he can sit here, wax poetically about his car. The guy salutes him and wlks away, and Michaelâs back to waiting alone.
Double-O-Mog is in the shop, or the closest he can get it to these days. The car is old, and the crew has garages full of shiny new ones. itâs not high on the priority list, doesnât need to be fixed. If Trevor had his way, it wouldâve been junked years ago. BUt Double-O-Mog holds a lot of sentimental value to Michael, and Fredoâs got more free trime than sense to say ânoâ. So here they are.
The door dings open, and Michael looks up.
âThis genuinely sucks, doesn't it?.â The windows are down, and the trees are speeding by in a green blur
âSeriously! And Iâm just saying this song makes no sense.â The windows are down, blowing Gavinâs douchey hairstyle in 12 directions at once. Heâs smiling broadly, one hand dangling out of the window, the other reaching for the dial.
âTouch that knob and lose a finger.â Michael says flatly.
HIs left hand is hanging out his own window, pushing against the air presure of the highway. He has no particular attachment to the song, some one off from some band Jeremy had sent him. Mostly itâs fun to argue with Gavin, call him an idiot and hear him squeak in indignation.
âMichael.â Gavin admonishes, laughing. He flips the channel, landing on a Top 40 station. âSo much better.â He says, grinning smugly at Michael.
Michaelâs pretty sure the singer is Justin Timberlake. itâs kind of terrible. Gavin belts out the lyrics, horrifically off key. âCanât stop the feeling!â He draws out the âeeâ in âfeelingâ. He kind of loves this.
A car pulls beside them, glancing over obviously. Gavin waves, and the driver, a twenty something with dark hair and darker bags under his eyes, waves back. âShit!â Gavin says, leaning toward Michael. He points at the other car. âI worked with him years ago. Glad heâs still around.â
Michael presses harder on the accelerator, and the car lurches forward and past the man Gavin used to know. âCan we go anywhere in this fuckin city without running into somebody you know?â He asks. He flips the turn signal, easing Double-O-Mog into the right lane. Heâs 80% sure they need to get off at the next exit.
âExcuse me for being popular.â Gavin says, sitting back in the seat. He glances out the window. âAre we close?â
âI think?â It doesnât really matter. Either theyâll get off and be right, or theyâll be wrong and have to get back on. Or not. Truthfully, Michael could keep speeding down this highway for forever, keep bickering back and forth with Gavin until they run out of gas. Heâd be happier doing that than going to work.
âRumor has it Chris is working out here now.â Gavin says, turning the volume on the radio down. itâs moved on to a Chainsmokersâ song.
âOh yeah? And the odds of running into him?â
âWith me here?â Gavin grins at him. âPretty damn good.â
Heâs drunk. So goddamn drunk. Heâs not sure how theyâve ended up here, squished into the backseat, Jeremyâs body warm where it presses into Michaelâs. The AC in Double-O-Mog stopped working years ago and they never figured out why. Michael drives with the windows down and itâs fine. But now itâs April and global warming has fucked spring straight into summer. The air feels heavy and humid, like it might actually choke him if he doesnât take his shirt off.
âyou are one of my best friends.â He says instead of disrobing. He means it, too. Theyâve been on the edge of this, have spent too many nights drinking together and sitting too close. The whole crew knows thereâs something there. Something Michael has allowed himself to dream of at night but never say aloud. Heâs wondered, in a desperate longing sort of way, if Jeremy feels it too. Maybe he has before the other night, when they leaned against the hood and Jremy wrapped an arm aorund him.\
âI think you might be my only friend.â Jeremy says. His face is turned into the side of Michaelâs, but Michael wonât turn. What happens if he does? Will it be the beginning of the end? If he turns and they kisss and maybe they have sex, what then? Do they stay friends? Become more than that?
âIâm telling Gavin you said that.â Just keep making jokes, keep trying to sober up. The moment will pass and the cat will stay ambiguous.
âI donât talk to Gav like I talk to you.â Jeremy says, huffing a laugh into his ear. âDefinitely not like we are tonight.â He slips a hand to MIchaelâs knee, slung over Jeremyâs lap.
âTo his great dsappointment.â Michael jokes. His eyes are closed, he still wonât do it.
âMichael.â Jeremy says softly. âI donât want you to do anything youâre not 100% on board with doing. We can go home. Iâll drive, if you want.â
How does he explain to Jeremy that this, snuggled in the back seat of his car, is almost too perfect? That yes; heâs 110% into wherever it goes. He wants it. He wants to turn and kiss Jeremy. He wants Jeremy to kiss him back, to push him into th leather seat, let his hands unbuckle MIchaelâs jeans, let his hands wander farther. He wants Jeremyâs mouth on his body, wants to touch Jeremy in all the places heâs never been privvy to. He wants Jeremy to press into him and place kisses into his collarbone.
He wants to go home, to one bed, to wrao his arms around Jeremy and fall fast asleep. He wants to wake up with sleepy smiles and gentle kisses. He wnats to make Jeremyâs coffee the way he knows he likes it.
How does he explain to Jeremy that he is 100% on board with all of it, but heâs terrified heâll only get tonight?
âDo you want me to drive home?â
Michael turns and kisses him.
The parking lot is dark but warm, mugginess making Michaelâs t-shirt cling to him uncomfortably. Heâs leaning on the hood of Double-O-Mog, Gavin beside him, for what feels like the millionth time of his life. He half expects bells and whistles to go off, mark the occasion as something special. Gavinâs saying something about a trip he took, about Alfredo and competitions, sniper guns and one hundred dollars. It strikes Michael that he should be worried, that any place on earth the story would turn heads. But not here.
Here is safe, and fun, and it feels like theyâre on top of the world.
He flicks his thumb against the filter of his cigarette, ashing it into the air. A small speck floats down onto the toe of Gavinâs converse.
âMichael.â Gavin whines. He doesnât move his foot, doesnât shake the ash away. âDidnât anyone teach you itâs not polite to ash on people? Who raised you?â He puts his own cigarette to his lips, blows the smoke into Michaelâs face almost immediately. Michael turns his head away but takes a drag anyway.
âDick.â He looks back to Gavin, their eyes meet. âFor the record, no, she never tld me not to ash on people. She just told me not to smoke at all.â
Gavin nods as if he understands. As if their childhoods are even remotely comparable. As if if he heard the same message, hadnât been caught smoking at 13 and been sneered at because they were menthols and not reds. âYeah, I can see that.â He flicks his cigarette butt and it sails three spots away, landing in a puddle. He whistles in satisfaction. âCan I guess her stance on premarital sex?â He asks, smirking at Michael.
âFirmly against.â Michael says, and his laugh has no real humor to it. He puts his cigarette to his lips but withdraws it. âBut hell, even if we were married, itâs not like sheâd recognize it.â Itâs weird to say out loud. It hurts. He takes another drag, ashes the cigarette again.
âTHatâs fine.â Gavin says, shaking his head. He reaches back, picking up MIchaelâs pack from behind him. âWeâd never get married anyway.â Michael eyes him. âYou mind?â Gavin asks, but heâs already pulling one out, already moving past the potential conversation. Michael shrugs. Gavin reaches out and digs for the lighter in Michaelâs jean pocket. Michael doesnât portest, doesnât push him away. Just laughs and shakes his head. He canât remember a time they werenât like this.
Far before they slept together it even made out, Gavin never could keep his hands to himself. It was always a oint of pride for him, and indication of how much their friendship meant. 'Im so into dudes' he'd say, lying on top of Michael. 'But there's nothing going on here, because we're friends and I respect you too much.' It hadn't mattered, in the end. They'd still made out that one time, and they'd ended up fucking anyway. Four months prior, if his math is correct.
Lighter extricated, Gavin cups his hand gently around the cigarette in his mouth. it lights, he puffs, smoke billowing out of his mouthy after a beat. He wrinkles his nose. âGod, since when do you smoke reds?â
âSince a few months ago.â MIchael says, flicking his own cigarette away. It doesnât even come close to Gavinâs. He remembers the look of surprise on Trevorâs face when heâd pulled 305âs out of his pocket. Heâd shrugged, told him the same thing he'll tell Gavin now.
âI thought you hated them.â Gavin says. They watch the smoke curl up toward the stars. Gavin taps the top of his cigarette and the ash falls to the ground.
âI do.â MIchael confirms, slipping one frfom the pack. The admission is on the tip of his tongue. He doesnât know if Gavin will understand, the feeling or the reason. âOnly smoke âem when I hate myself extra.â he says, putting the cigarette to his lips. Gavin blinks at him but hands the lighter over.
âWell that makes no sense.â Gavin looks away from him, tip of his cigarette glowing cherry red as he inhales. âIf youâre gonna have a bad habit you might as well enjoy it.â He says quietly.
Thereâs the click of the lighter and then, spoken around the smoke-
The word hangs in the air, but neither of them acknowledge it. Michael could explain farther, tell Gavin that honestly, itâs them these past few months, feeling like heâs betraying everyone, but especially Gavinâs ânot technically ex because they never actually called it datingâ. But they were. Everyone knew it, had accepted them like one of the crew. Everything had been great.
Gavin got cagey and broke it off, and then- well, theyâd always been on the cusp too, hadnât they? Drunken confessions of mutual attraction, a kiss, then nothing. Gavin got serious until he wasnât, then they picked back up. By that point, Jeremy had had Matt in his bed, and lads nights always did end in sharing blankets and sitting too close. But there was technically no one to feel guilty about. it was good, great, even. Michael liked sleeping with Gavin, liked the way he liked to cuddle after, liked the way his hand felt around Michaelâs throat.
He still hadnât switched back to menthols, though.
âSo.â Gavin says, instead of addressing the elephant. Just as well. Michael has no interest in talking about feelings, especially not with Gavin. He nods back at the car. âYou wanna have sex tonight? We can drive out to the middle of nowhere, like we used to.â he says with a grin.
the smoke settles in his lungs, harsh and suffocating. The cherry glows, bright and hot, racing toward his knuckles. He shouldnât, should make better choices than fucking his best friend in the backseat of his car.
He flicks his cigarette. âYeah.â He says finally. âSounds like a plan.â
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