Whatever.
He hobbles out of his jeans and sits down on the toilet whilst he brushes his teeth with his phone still in his hand. Hoping. Just a small goodnight would settle him down. He would even settle for another round of abuse if that is what Lukas can offer. Anything.
His screen lights up and Tom almost chokes on his toothbrush.
Because right there in front of him is a blurry picture of a man’s genitals. Sent from Lukas. At 22.03. To him.
Well, he supposes he deserves it. He’s a dick. And Lukas just sent him a dick-pic. Yeah. He’s read up on Grindr.
At least, Lukas is still alive and hasn’t choked on his own vomit. And it’s a nice dick. Even Tom can get on board with that.
He spits out the toothpaste in the sink and rinses his mouth out.
He’s upping his game tomorrow. This shit is about to get real.
MAX
I’ve always had really vivid dreams, which I think kind of goes hand in hand with the rest of my brain's inability to be remotely normal. Normal people don’t have nightmares to the point where they throw themselves out of their beds, or try to climb out of windows in the middle of the night. Yeah. I’ve done that. Not just once. But the one I am having now is seriously fucked up.
Because there is someone lying in my bed snoring into my back. Which is crazy, because this is obviously a dream and I still haven’t woken up. Despite kicking at the leg that is resting against my calf.
So, I have decided that I have probably died in my sleep and this is some kind of fucked-up idea of heaven where my room still looks like shit, my sheets still smell of sweat and spunk and there is still someone curled up against me in my bed. Who is very much alive, because he is making these weird sounds and I am not sure if I should do some kind of ninja commando move and headbutt him as I give him a swift kick in the nuts to set him flying across the room. His body bouncing off the wall opposite whilst I pose like an Action Man doll and shout abuse at him.
Because, it’s a him. Hairy legs and there are definitely no boobs. And I am still too fucking chicken to turn around.
Unless it’s Dad. But it’s not. He doesn’t smell like Dad. And Dad would have sunk pretty fucking low if he got so bad that he needed to come and sleep with me. Unless.
He was fine last night? Wasn’t he?
I’ll have to turn around. Because I mean, if it’s my Dad? Dad is so messed up right now that it’s not even funny. Well, it is. Funny. Because Dad is crushing on Lukas like a teenager and he kept talking about him and I kept having to tell him stuff about Matteo just to give myself a break from the bloody Lukas-love-fest Dad has going on. Lukas is apparently treating him like he is the scum of the earth. I will need to have words with Lukas. Or push him into a virtual corner at the Queer group with my epic round of Truth or Dare, Anxious Youth self-help-group style.
The weirdest thing about this dream I am having is that I have completely turned around and my head is churning on about Lukas and Dad and I am now facing the other way and have a mouthful of hair and a face pressed against my chest. My naked chest.
Because I do that as well when I am sleeping. I get hot and undress myself. I did it once on a school trip, in the bottom bunk in front of everyone. Woke up naked with a load of idiot kids laughing and pointing, all dressed in their fucking childish cartoon pyjamas. I hate pyjamas. Bloody restrictive tight sweat-inducing things.
And if I am not already dead, I am about to die now. Because I am obviously lying in my bed. D’oh. AND this, this human in my arms is not my Dad. THANK GOD. Because that would have been FUCKING awkward. Or maybe less awkward than this. Oh fuck. Hell.
What the arse am I going to do now?
I am lying in my bed. With Matteo. Matteo, who is wearing one of my t-shirts. He must have just picked it up off the floor, the fuck do I know? And underpants. Not boxers like I wear. I hate anything tight. “Free the balls,” Dad always said and bought us these multipacks of cheap cotton boxers from H&M. Not like the other kids who wore these cotton ball-tight things that made my throat restrict at the bare thought of squeezing into something like that. I hate things tight around my waist. Apart from skinny jeans that, surprisingly, are okay. I don’t know why, but they are comfy and…
“Please don’t freak out on me,” he whispers.
I hadn’t even noticed that he had moved. That his face is too close, and his nose is gently pressing against mine.
“N-Not freaking out,” I stutter.
“Liar,” he whispers back, and strokes his hand against my chest. Feeling for my heart. “Your heart is racing. It’s just me. I’m sorry I tried to wake you up last night, but you were kind of dead asleep.”
I try to swallow, but my throat is bone dry. He’s right. I am kind of freaking out. Well, who am I kidding? I can barely breathe, and Matteo is doing those little shushing sounds that I fucking love, and in a way, I want to burst into tears, but that would be like totally uncool and what the hell is he doing here? And why the fuck am I freaking out when this is like the hottest thing that has ever happened to me? I have the man of my wildest, dirtiest, smuttiest fantasies right here in my snake pit of a bed and he is half naked and rubbing his nose against mine and whispering rubbish into my mouth, and why the hell am I trying to scramble into the wall and get away from him?
“Pumpkin. You have to breathe. Shush. It’s just me. You are safe with me. I won’t do anything to you. I just want to be here. I only came here because I fucking missed you. I haven’t seen you for days and that doesn’t work for me anymore. I need to see you every now and then, so I know you are okay. So, we are okay. Because I won’t let you flip me off, Pumpkin. You are my baby, and I’m kind of hung up on the idea of us being friends.”
“Friends?” I croak out. Yeah, ‘No-filter-Max’, my charming alter ego, is apparently not freaking out. “I don’t want to be friends.”
“Neither do I.” Matteo laughs and then, he kisses my forehead.
Oh fuck. His lips are against my skin. And if I wasn’t freaking out before, I kind of am now. Squirming and panting like a baby.
“Okay, okay. Let’s try this.” Matteo scrambles off the bed and falls clumsily onto the beanbag that is on the floor right next to my bed. It wasn’t there last night. Neither was the bedding strewn across the floor. He is sitting bolt upright on the beanbag, leaning towards me with his arms around his knees. Waiting.
Whilst I sit up awkwardly on the bed whining like an injured animal.
“I won’t touch you unless you want me to. Just breathe, Pumpkin. Big slow breaths. Breathe with me.”
I think I try to speak, but I am now half leaning over the edge of the bed and reaching out for him. Kind of wafting my hand in the air. I don’t know what the fuck I am doing. I don’t know what the hell is going on.
“Hug,” I squirm out. That is apparently all I need to say, and he jumps back into my arms. Straddling me like an over-friendly monkey with his legs around my waist and his face in my neck and he is fucking squeezing the life out of me.
“I just want to be with you,” he whispers. “Please, just let me stay here with you, Pumpkin, just for a little while.”
I need to say something back. I mean. Wow.
He has just said that. He did that.