Homophobe

I must had been Jeffery Dahmer in a past life. That was the only explanation for why these things kept happening to me. That, or some ancestor of Hitler.
 
When I finally woke, my mind ripped from the blissful sleep without any consent from me as per usual, I resisted the urge that my legs are itching to do- which was run.  I really wanted to run.  With my eyes remained shut, I didn’t even want to think about opening them, I forcefully tried to calm myself down when I remembered that I wasn't alone.
 
A certain boy was beside me. A certain boy that attacked my face the night before. With his own.
 
For a few moments I lingered silently, focusing only on the steady sound of Chase’s breathing. I didn’t want to think. I didn’t want to remember. Squeezing my eyes shut, I forced my mind to wander anywhere but to the events that took place.
 
I knew I wasn't ready to face that, at all. I didn’t think my sanity, or my heart, could take that. I didn’t even care how gay that sounded, because it was true. It didn’t help either that I’d been awake most of the night mauling over it, replaying it like a movie in my head one time after another, because I didn’t understand how anyone could’ve slept next to that, with the ghost of his lips still on mine. I spent most of my time trying not to hyperventilate, let alone relax.
 
Chase had kissed me. That made about as much sense as a piranha sucking my dick.
 
It was levelled, his breathing, meaning he was still asleep, and I found it somewhat a blessing and a curse. Then I remembered that it was my house, and I couldn’t just quietly gather my things and get my confused-as-ever ass out of there.  And I started to panic, like I always did, because somehow I always ended up in these shitty situations.
 
I didn’t want to stop being his friend, but was it over? It had to be over. Most people couldn’t just get past that, especially… well, that. It spoke for itself.
 
Amidst my frantic whirlwind of thoughts, I felt a foot kick me in the back of my legs, and my breath caught in my throat.
 
It was awake.
 
“Go make your mom make us pancakes,” he mumbled, sleep still thick in his voice.
 
I paused. It wasn’t exactly the confrontation I’d been preparing myself for the entire night before.
 
“Go… fuck off,” I choked out, my voice cracking and making me realize how meek and pathetic I sounded.  
 
“I’m still asleep and I know that was lame.”
 
He nudged me again, which almost pushed me off the bed, before twisting his body so that his chin rested against my ribs. Lying on my side, I still didn’t dare open my eyes. I could feel my stomach begin its irritating theatrics again. Definitely a cannibal of some sort, I had to be, because karma was obviously out to get my ass.
 
“Pancakes,” he insisted. “I want pancakes.”
 
Was that it? Was he not even going to acknowledge it? I knew he was drunk, but I couldn’t believe that he’d forget that. He couldn’t just black out and make out with me. It didn’t work like that. People just didn’t forget those types of things. I sure couldn’t.
 
But a part of me, that swelled a little at the thought, was relieved. I’d been dreading the morning for one simple reason- I figured he’d spew out some bullshit apology and end our friendship like that, because it seemed like the only plausible reaction. While I would admit to the fact that I dwelled a little bit on what it would’ve been like if he did confess to having some secret giant crush on me and had been hiding it the entire time, I was a little more realistic.
 
Pancakes were a lot more realistic.

I could feel his throat vibrate against my ribs at his words, which he kept chanting almost trance-like, “Pancakes, pancakes, pancakes.”
 
“All right! All right!” I huffed while kicking off the covers, feeling more uncomfortable the longer any part of his body touched mine, and sat up. He complained before flopping back onto the bed at my abruptness, but a triumphant grin was plastered across his face.
 
I took one last glance over my shoulder, absorbing every part of him. Sometime during the night he’d stripped off his shirt, exposing his chest, and his hair was a matted mess. Dimples carved into his cheeks at his smile. Head resting in the makeshift pillow he made with his arms. Absolutely no indication he remembered anything at all.
 
As I shut the door, I was suddenly aware of the weight that somehow had started crushing my chest, and slid my back down the surface. Bringing my knees closer to me, my face fell into my hands, a groan spilling past my lips.  
 
What the actual fuck had I gotten myself into?
 

 

“Rock, paper, scissors!”
 
Opening my eyes, I felt a groan press against my throat. My poor, innocent scissors had been defeated. The burning sensation that had consumed my arm throbbed.
 
“Aha! Victory is mine, again! Stick out your hand, bitch!” Layla demanded with a devilish grin, her finger beckoning me closer. It was unfair to me, she clearly had some weird-ass psychic powers on her side, and that was practically cheating.
 
With a scowl, I offered up my already stinging arm across the table, which was crimson with fresh slap marks.
 
“You’ve really got a sadistic streak in you, don’t you?” Mason mused with a lazy smile spread across his face, chin resting in the little crook he made with his hands. His regularly blond bed-head was hidden with a hat.  

For a moment I wondered how soft it was, his hair. Then Layla took her opportunity to smack my arm as hard as she possibly could, which was a lot harder than a person would think with those skinny ass arms, and all thoughts were dispelled except for the pain.
 
I didn’t even know why I agreed to it.
 
“Why, you thinking of switching teams there Reynolds?” She nudged him with her elbow, sniggering.
 
“You’ll be the first to know.”
 
“Goddamit, woman, are you secretly the hulk or something?” I complained with a groan, rubbing my arm with a pout.
 
She grinned broadly in my direction, not a hint of remorse on her face. I was surrounded by sadistic monsters, that was clearly the answer.
 
“Hey, Layla, I’m thirsty, wanna get us some drinks? It’s only fair after you got the pleasure of beating up Ash,” Mason said, ignoring my obvious bristling at his words beat up, and looked to Layla with his as-always convincing winter blue eyes.
 
She hummed for a moment in thought before giving a chuckle and sticking out her palm. “Yeah, I guess, okay, gimme some money and I’ll get us something.”
 
He handed her a ten dollar bill and she disappeared, which I felt was a little like Mason purposely getting rid of her. I prepared myself for whatever he had to say, because it was something he obviously couldn’t say in front of the red-headed girl, and I figured it was something that was going to make me incredibly uncomfortable.
 
When she had finally run off out of ear-shot, Mason turned to me, something like interest revealed on his face.
 
“So how are things with you and Chase?” Mason asked, curiosity sparking in his eyes, an amused smile curving onto his lips.
 
I knew it.
 
For a moment I was taken aback by the abruptness and how personal the question was, but I wasn't that surprised, because boundaries weren't really something that Mason was aware of.
 
I swallowed. Out of all the times we’d talked, Chase was surprisingly never one to appear in our conversations, which was a little weird considering whenever I talked to anyone else he seemed to come up almost half the time. Granted their history though, I never really complained.

Out of all times he had to come up, it had to be then.
 
At the thought, I could feel the tips of my ears burning red, eyes immediately finding interest in my hands. “Oh, you know,” I mumbled with forced nonchalance, “nothing… new.”
 
A glance in his direction revealed that he all but believed me.
 
“Oh yeah? Nothing out of the ordinary? Your crush is still unrequited?”
 
There was something knowing in his eyes, and it scared the shit out of me.
 
“Basically, yeah. Completely, all of it, one-sided as ever.” I shot him my most convincing smile, but it felt awkward on my face. Words apparently were no longer my forte, it seemed.
 
He chuckled under his breath, shaking his head slightly. “And how does he feel about you hanging out with the guy who stole his boy-kiss virginity?” He leaned in, suspicion written across his face.
 
I coughed, clearing my throat and avoiding his eyes. “Well, um, at first I didn’t tell him but… recently, I did, tell him. So yeah I guess now he knows. Or well, I think… yeah, he does. He does.” I nodded my head, as if it confirm it to myself. I didn’t want to ask, though, because that led to questioning a lot more things that took place, and I was still trying hard to forget.
 
I could feel his gaze on me, causing me to fidget. Oh god, I was not cut out for this sort of interrogation. This was why no one ever included me in their bank heists.
 
Or that could be my lack of courage and bad-assery, but for my pride’s sake, I decided my loose lips were a safer blow to my ego.
 
I didn’t really know anyone that robbed banks either way. Or well, that I knew of.
 
“Yeah, and what’d he say about it?”
 
I swallowed.
 
“Well, you know, he said that… he said that it wasn’t exactly to his liking, basically, was what he said. But I think he’s okay with it. Sort of. I guess. He can’t really… stop me, I guess. I mean, it’s not like he owns me. But he’s okay with it. Kind of.”

There were times where half way through my rambling, I knew I should’ve just shut up. But it was too late. The words just kept coming all vomit-like and all hope was lost.
 
Mason grinned at me. “He’s okay with it but not okay with it kind of sort of?”
 
“Exactly.”
 
He laughed. “You’re an interesting guy, Asher Matthews.”
 
A could feel a blush creep up my neck in all it’s burgundy glory, as always. I cursed my brain for allowing me to get embarrassed so easily. Especially with people like Mason and Layla and Chase who all seemed to be impervious to any sort of shame, ever.
 
I hid my face in my hands.
 
“Hey, come on now, no need to tuck yourself away. Plus, I need to study your face better if I’m going to get your picture just right.” He reached across the table, pulling my wrists apart, a smile plastered across his face as he did.
 
“You expect me to pose for you like one of your French girls?” I scoffed, the edges of my lips betraying me as I looked away, hyper-aware of the fact that he had yet to let go off my wrists.
 
“They sure don’t blush as much as you do,” he teased, causing the aforementioned blush on my face to darken.
 
When he finally let go, I realized that I’d been holding my breath the entire time, and I finally take a much-needed deep breath. His gaze lingered on me for a moment before he swung his feet around the bench and got up.
 
“Oh, and you might want to cover up the hickey the size of Texas on your neck,” he said with a wink over his shoulder.
 
Oh, fuck.