Hide the Truth From My Eyes

Mike's POV.

When I first saw Stuart, my first thought was he was handsome. 
He was in the same detention room as me and I couldn't stop looking at him, studying him from head to toes. 

He was a beautiful, very hot and very manly guy, with irresistibly muscular arms, large shoulders, a pretty, square jawline, deep blue eyes and a sexy, strong neck. His hands were large, but his rough fingers seemed very skilled.

I caught myself daydreaming about them running over my body more than once. 
He had this cocky smile that showed off his white teeth, this assured posture, like nothing in the world could affect him. His abs showed off under his white t-shirt, not too apparent, not breaking the line of his torso, but still visible and enjoyable. 

Manly men had always been my weakness since I discovered I was gay, age 9, very early. It didn't start with sexual attraction, no ; but the boys I fell in love with were always that type. And sadly, macho and homophobic. 

Then I started to feel more sexually attracted towards the tall, muscular guys than towards the "cute" boys. But then again they were mostly totally hetero... Jinxed you say?
I went out with some blondy named Sam, before breaking up with him : Stuart always caught my eyes and it was hard to keep a boyfriend with that lad around.

I mean, how could a guy like that like me? 
I wasn't that short, I was almost his size, but I had nothing in my arms. It was like I had no pecs under my skin, my ribs stuck out a little, I was way too thin. My eyes were totally dysfunctional, my hair was a piece of shit and I had no ass. Overall I wasn't really that masculine. At that price he could get a girl. 

Except if what he liked were mops like me.
Turns out he did like me. Or at least at the time, he wanted me. 
You may find it perverted, a 16 years old lusting a 14 years old, but oh was I fine with it, as long as I could kiss this sexy neck of his. Like the bunch of hormones I was at the time.

Then came love. Not only was he handsome but he was funny, intelligent, and defensive over me. Well, all that a teenager needed. 

But soon I couldn't get enough of him ; never enough kisses, never enough sex, never enough I love you's, never enough talking with him or watching a film or hanging out like best friends, never enough of him.

I loved him, that's all.

He didn't seem to realise how beautiful he was, at first. How many times I had to take his head against my chest and caress his hair, in bed, and say him he was the prettiest thing I had seen in my life? 

I'll never get over how perfect he is when he smiles. 

In a dirtier frame of mind, another moment when he's incredibly beautiful is just after he's shot his load, panting and shaking, his eyelids falling shut. 
And when he steps out of the shower? His muscles, his toned skin glistening, his body steaming and the droplets of water running along his chest and back? 
He's so hot. I'm too lucky.

When he appeared in the door frame of the room he was as always stunning, but he seemed different. What with those strands of grey hair? Those pockets under the eyes and those black circles? 

Those three weeks had left him in ruins, and I felt guilty of that. So guilty. If I hadn't fell ill he wouldn't have been in that state. But I had missed him so much during those three long, woeful weeks of pain that I just opened my arms to him and let him kiss and hug me. When I knew I should be telling him to take care of himself, to watch 
I hope he doesn't know my heart could drop me at every second now if my state doesn't get better.

--

Stu's POV.

I came back home from my visit to Mike cheerful, reassured and plain happy.
There was no one home yet. Sophie's next visit was two weeks from there, Jamie was at work, Ian too. I was worrying for the two of them. 

I mean, Jamie no longer broke down crying in class, but a few calls from his colleague Anna taught me that between lessons he locked himself inside the teacher's toilets and cried all that he could. 

Ian worked at a cadence I didn't think he was able to reach. These last days, I stepped in the office, which was pitch dark except from the little desk light, and he would be furiously clicking around on the computer, then getting back to his keyboard, typing, and noting things on a paper. Then he would notice I was observing him, turn on his chair, and glare at me with his bloodshot, shining hazel eyes. His face was colourless usually, except from his impressive black circles under the eyes. His hands trembled and he shouted at me he was working, and that I better step out.

I swear, he was killing himself over work. Watching your best friend slowly go down like that... 
He was up all night! When did he sleep? How was he doing it? What if he was doing drugs to keep himself awake? 

Sean and Lee better be alright. Otherwise, I know that I would not lose two friends, but four at once. Jamie and Ian would not survive to The death of their boyfriends.

I sat on the sofa and closed my eyes. Mike was going to be okay at least. Wasn't he?
I tried to focus on him, on the fact he was doing better. 
It worked until my phone rang.

"Hello?"

"Is it Stuart Richardson?"

"It is. What--"

"You friend, Ian Watkins... He just collapsed in the middle of the office! He won't wake up! The firefighters are taking him to the hospital! He put you as person to call in case of problem..."

Fuck.