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“You’ve got a hole in…”
“I know.”
Steve blinked several times.
Nope. The hole was still very much there. Big and revealing.
Steve blinked at it some more.
There was no way Eddie knew about it. He was pretty weird, granted, but surely, he wasn’t that much of a freak!
“You don’t understand,” Steve tried again. “You have a big hole, right there in your—”
“I said I know!” Eddie’s head turned back, throwing him a look over his shoulder. “What’s your problem, Harrington?”
“No, I-I don’t… I’ve… No problem, man” he finished rather lamely and Eddie turned back to his task.
And it wasn’t a problem, really. But try as he might, Steve couldn’t keep his eyes from wandering stupidly right back to the non-problem. And look, Steve was a jock. He lived and breathed by the simple and sacred laws of the locker room: do not stare at another guy’s junk; and, specially, do not stare at another guy’s ass.
Which was what he was doing. Very much currently.
Unable to stop, apparently.
“It’s just that—"
“What?"
Distracting, his mind supplied for him. No way in hell he was telling him that.
“Just thought you should know, man, that’s all.”
Eddie snorted loudly and Steve immediately took offence, forcing his eyes away.
He was just trying to warn a guy! Be decent for once. Jesus!
Why should he care anyway, if Munson was showing half his ass, his jeans ripped off at the back pocket; grey underwear a bit ripped too, showing more of his pale skin than was probably appropriate.
Why should he care if he found Munson sitting on the picnic table when he came earlier, looking like he got on a fight with the forest floor and lost, badly. Hair wild and riddled with dirt and leaves.
Why should he give a damn about anything, anymore!
Eddie straightened up then, turning with a little bag of five joints dangling off his fingers.
“Here you go.”
Money exchanged hands and Steve took his leave.
He was no more than six steps away, when his own feet betrayed him, making him turn against his will.
“Are you ok?”
Eddie leaned back against the picnic table, giving him a slow once-over.
“Why do you care?”
“I don’t.”
“Then go.”
So Steve did, loudly crushing leaves under his sneakers.
Why should he care, indeed, if not because he felt like bullshit, yet again.