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Turning into the back of the sofa, Adam made another attempt at getting comfortable. Peeling his sweaty legs off Scotts pleather couch, he considered taking the hoodie off. Scott had thrown it across his room, along with the t-shirt he had under and the boxers, once he’d clocked just how little stuff Adam had come. He hadn’t exactly had time to pack, hadn’t really been in the frame of mind to consider how many pairs of socks he should take when getting kicked out. Gritting his teeth, he huffed into the pleather cushion. It wasn’t supposed to be a coming out, he’d only wanted to talk to his parents like a normal fucking family. He’d had it all planned out, a good explanation for how he was feeling, what it meant for them all moving forward, hell he’d even printed some stupid ‘what to do when your child is transgender’ pamphlets off at the local library. Sure, he’d thought it wouldn’t be easy but he really hadn’t considered they’d kick him out, to the curb like a dog that won’t stop gnawing on the furniture. The anger gripped him again, curling him up in a ball, hot and white trapped behind his clamped jaw. A few silent sobs rocked through his body, Adam kept his eyes screwed shut, a weak attempt to stop the tears.
Going to Scotts had been a simple enough decision, Scott had moved out at 15 with money from god knows what. The apartment was shitty, Scott had stolen almost all the furniture off the side of the highway. Heating was permanently off to keep the gas bill low, bar the electric heaters upstairs to help grow the product. Adam had slept on this couch countless times before, stumbling in the dark, dirt on his knees after another party in the woods behind the swings. He’d knocked without hesitating, asked to stay so confidently, he’d even got through a quick runthrough of how it’d all gone down without a single waver. But alone, face pressed into the peeling pleather, he couldn’t hold it down anymore. Arms wrapped around his torso he wept for the girl his parents had always wanted, he mourned the loss of her, all that she’d wanted. He let himself poke the bruise, squirming under the weight of the sting. What would they tell their friends when they noticed their child was no longer around, would they lie, say she’d gone to college, scraped together enough credit to make something of herself. Adam had thought dropping out would be the worst thing he’d done in his parents eyes. How unfair that the thing that had saved him, was what had really done it.
Adam’s jaw ached, he let it open slightly, barely hearing the wail that escaped. Choking on his own tears, was it even anger he felt anymore. The thought ‘I want my mum’ flashed through his head on instinct and he wailed again. Behind him the sofa dipped, a body pressed up against Adams' back. Scott slid an arm around his shoulders, avoiding his chest as if he could read Adam’s mind. Holding him tightly, a leg over both of Adam’s, a weighted blanket of a man. Shuddering against the grip, Adam let himself crack open, let Scott hold him through it, guiding his breath in and out with the rise and fall of his own chest.
“I didn’t even do anything” Adam's voice sounded a hundred miles away, cracked and weak. His throat closed up for a moment, slick with tears and saliva, trying to swallow down the words he wanted to say, wanted to yell. The arm around his shoulders squeezed him tighter, Scott’s chin resting on the top of Adam's head so he was completely swaddled in the man.
“I know man. It’s fucked.” The closest Scott ever came to sincere, Adam gripped it with two hands, as he always did with Scotts scraps of affection.
“It’s not fair-” Voice cracking, a second wave of tears hit. Scotts other arm wrapped around his waist, pulling his hips flush to his stomach. Muttering something in agreement, Scotts tone is quiet, soothing. Adam let it lull him, let it rock him, let his eyes close. His head tips down, nose buried in Scotts hoodie. Everything smells of Scott, weed, smoke and cheap deodorant. It smells like a boy Adam could really love. It smells like a boy who could really love Adam, his body curled around his own like lovers do. Adam let a door close, and for the first time in a while let himself dream of another opening.
Opening his eyes, the sun streaming through the shitty blinds Scott had bought begrudgingly, Adam reached up to rub the salt out his eyes. His whole face felt crunchy, sore and gross. Grimacing, he swallowed, his mouth dry from the evening's excursions. The arm around his shoulder shifted, then slid away. Adam’s moving must have woken Scott, who was moving off the sofa with more speed than Adam had ever seen him possess this early in the morning. Rolling to lie on his back, chasing the affection for a moment he met Scott's eye.
“Morning Scotty.” He grinned, he could see the future stretching out in front of him, he couldn’t help it. Scott grinned back, wolfy, fangs white and sharp. He punched Adam on the arm a little harder than affectionately, and scoffed.
“Sup fag.” Scott stretched, his shirt rising up enough to reveal the top of his ratty boxers.
“You done being a pussy?”
The door slammed in Adam's face, he felt the moment die. Twisting his face into a smile, he grit his teeth through it.
“Fuck off Tibbs.”