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The hallway outside the gym pulsed faintly with the bass of a slow-dancing song. Faint streamers sagged from the lockers, a few balloon ribbons floated near the tile floor, and the air smelled like hairspray, sweat, and punch spiked beyond recognition. No one was in the hallway, no one but two greasers who were supposed to be long gone from school altogether.
Kenny sat cross-legged on the cold linoleum, leaning against a locker with a lazy, cocky grin on his face, holding a half-worn deck of cards in his lap. His pink silk shirt shimmered every time he shifted, the sleeves a little too wide, the top three buttons undone just enough to let everyone know he was cocky about his collarbones. A white tie hung loosely around his neck like it was about to give up on him. His steel-blue eyes glinted with mischief under the flickering fluorescent light.
“Go fish,” Kenny said, flipping a card lazily onto the floor between them.
Bobbie scoffed. “We’re not playin’ Go Fish, dumbass.”
“Coulda fooled me,” Kenny replied with a grin, voice laced in that thick, cheeky Scottish drawl. “With the way yer pullin' threes like magic—what is that now, four in a row? Ye got sleeves under that vest, Houdini?”
Bobbie didn't answer. Just stared, unblinking, as he slowly slid another card from his hand and laid it on the pile. His thick forearms flexed slightly with the motion, the heart-shaped tattoo on his bicep warped and split across muscle and scar tissue. He wore the same thing he always wore, ripped jean vest, white tank, spiked leather bracelets, because Bobbie truly didn’t give a damn about prom. Or dress codes. Or the fact that he looked too old to be here anyway.
“Ye cheat like a little bitch,” Kenny said cheerfully, drawing a beer can from the paper bag beside him. “And you do it badly. But I guess no one ever taught ye how to lie with style.”
Bobbie reached over without a word, grabbed the can, and popped it open himself. Kenny blinked.
“Hey—! That was mine.”
“You didn’t even want it,” Bobbie muttered, voice low and gravelly, like sandpaper over pavement.
“You don’t know what I want,” Kenny replied, lips twitching into a smirk. “You’re just an ass.”
Bobbie leaned back against the lockers with a soft grunt, resting one boot on the opposite wall, his dark eyes catching on Kenny’s ridiculous pink shirt for the fifth time that night. He let the silence stretch just long enough to get on Kenny’s nerves before finally muttering:
“You look like a melted milkshake.”
Kenny threw his head back and laughed.
“Jesus, Bobbie. You been savin’ that one all night?”
“You look like a Valentine’s Day funeral,” Bobbie added.
“Aw, c’mon, babe. Admit it—you like the pink.” Kenny tugged the collar of his silk shirt dramatically. “A little flair never killed anyone.”
Bobbie didn’t respond. Just took another slow sip of Kenny’s beer, then reached out and flicked the knot of the loose tie.
Kenny went still. Not a lot; but enough.
“…What’re you doing?” he said, voice light but careful.
Bobbie’s calloused fingers twisted the fabric slightly before letting it fall back to Kenny’s chest.
“Fixing it. You looked like shit.”
It had been clearly bothering the other all night, since he caught the way it made Bobbie’s neck tick. Kenny hated that it made his ears go hot.
He cleared his throat and looked away, pretending to adjust his cufflinks, which didn’t exist.
“Anyway,” he muttered. “You’re just jealous I look better than you. I at least tried something a little different. You came dressed like you mugged a gas station.”
Bobbie shrugged. “Maybe I did.”
“Jesus.” Kenny smiled again, but it was thinner this time, a little breathier. “You’re lucky you're hot when you're scary or you’d be a friendless virgin forever.”
Bobbie’s brow twitched, just barely. A pause hung in the air like the weight before a punch.
Kenny didn’t take it back.
From inside the gym, the music swelled into something slower, a soulful ballad that made even the tough kids sway.
“Ye ever dance?” Kenny asked, casually shuffling the cards again.
“I’d rather shove a gun up my ass and pull the trigger.” he comments dryly. Bobbie reached down and plucked the top card from the deck without looking. A perfect ace.
“Cheating again,” Kenny muttered.
Bobbie gave the faintest hint of a smirk, just a ghost of one. Barely there.
“You gonna stop me?”
Kenny met his eyes. Held them. Then Bobbie had to put down two more cards down. Two good cards.
Kenny tossed his cards down with an exaggerated sigh, sending a queen fluttering under a nearby locker.
“That’s it,” he declared, flattening his palms on the floor. “I’m done. No more. You’re a cheatin’ little rat and I’m not feedin’ into your delusions of honor anymore.”
Bobbie didn’t even look up. He just picked up the scattered cards Kenny had dropped, casually restacking them with his thick fingers.
“You lost,” he said, like it explained everything.
“No,” Kenny shot back, pointing a finger. “I had a straight. You slipped two kings outta nowhere like it’s some Vegas magic trick. That’s not losin’, that’s fraud. ”
Bobbie shrugged. “Still lost.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
“Yep.”
Kenny huffed dramatically, pulled the crumpled paper bag between his legs, and started digging through it. Inside were several crinkled dollar bills, quarters, some tens, and a whole lot of loose change that smelled like beer and teenage desperation. He licked his thumb and started counting.
“Let’s see… five bucks from Marky and his girl. Ten from that weirdo in the drama club. Another two from—wait, that was from someone already drunk. That was basically charity. And a fuck ton from Ben…”
He squinted at the mess of cash and leaned back, clicking his tongue.
“If I sold each bottle at 50 cents and I started with twenty…” He paused. “What’s that add up to?”
Bobbie didn’t blink. “Thirty.”
Kenny froze. Stared at him.
“…You serious?”
Bobbie took a sip of his, Kenny’s, beer, eyes on the ceiling tiles. “The fuck you lookin’ at?”
There was a long beat of silence. Kenny tried not to laugh. Really, he did. But a snort slipped out before he could catch it, and soon his shoulders were shaking.
“You’re lucky you’re nice to look at,” he said between laughs, “because there’s not much goin’ on in the brain department.”
Before the last word finished leaving his mouth, Bobbie’s boot knocked against Kenny’s knee… hard. Not enough to break anything, but enough to sting.
“ Ow! ”
“Say that again,” Bobbie growled low, eyes sharp, tone dead even.
Kenny held his hands up like a hostage.
“Okay, okay, damn—calm down. Joke. It was a joke , Robert.”
“Say it again and I’ll knock your teeth down your throat.”
Kenny studied him for a second, rubbing his knee. Bobbie wasn’t posturing. He never did. The guy didn’t know how to fake a threat, only follow through.
“…Noted,” Kenny muttered, and shut up.
For once.
But not before sneaking a glance at the smug line of Bobbie’s jaw, the way the hallway light caught on the curve of his lip. He shook his head slightly, the smallest smile twitching at the corner of his mouth.
“Thirty,” he whispered to himself, and snorted again, softer this time.
Bobbie didn’t even look at him.
But his boot nudged Kenny’s other knee, just a little.
The chest was nearly empty now, just two beers left rolling around, warm and slightly sticky from all the handling. Kenny popped one open with the edge of his belt buckle and took a long swig like he was hydrating for a marathon. His words had picked up a looser, sloppier rhythm, more flowing, less filtered. Not that Kenny ever had much of a filter to begin with.
“So I told her, right? I said, ‘Hey, just ‘cause your daddy owns a dealership doesn’t mean you get to talk to me like I’m gonna wash your windshield, sweetheart,’ and she just gaped at me, like no one’s ever told her she was boring before, can you believe that?”
Bobbie didn’t respond. Just stared at the far wall, arms crossed, head tilted slightly like he was trying to telekinetically break the fluorescent light above them.
Kenny kept going anyway, his voice rising and falling like a wave nobody asked for.
“—and then Coach Hadley tried to give me detention again, again , and I’m like, man, I don’t even go here anymore , what’re you detaining, my spirit ?”
He laughed at his own joke, then let out an exaggerated groan and slumped sideways until he was sitting right up against Bobbie. The denim vest brushed against the silk of his shirt.
“I’m so boooooored,” he whined, head rolling back dramatically before thunking against Bobbie’s shoulder. “Jesus, this prom sucks.”
Bobbie shoved him off with a swift grunt and a hard elbow, and Kenny went sprawling onto the grimy tile with a loud oof .
“Hit the dance floor if you’re so bored,” Bobbie muttered, glaring down at him.
Kenny rolled onto his back, staring up at the ceiling like it might provide answers. “Pfft. Nah. Too sweaty in there. Too many sequins. I’m having way more fun with you.”
Bobbie looked like he regretted every life decision that led to this moment.
“Well, I’m not gonna entertain you,” he said flatly, “so piss off.”
Kenny snorted, sitting back up and cracking his neck like he lived on this floor. “What if someone comes by to buy beer?”
“I’ll take their money.”
“Exactly,” Kenny said, pointing a lazy finger at him. “You’ll take my money.”
Bobbie didn’t even deny it.
Kenny groaned again, dramatically dragging his hands down his face. “Ughhhh, we could’ve snuck into the teacher’s lounge. Or the pool. Stolen the principal’s car keys. I bet he drives a damn hearse. C’mon, Bobbie, don’t you ever wanna do something fun ?”
“No.”
“We could go graffiti the gym doors.”
“No.”
“Start a fire in the science lab.”
“No.”
“Help me get laid?”
Bobbie turned slowly. “If you don’t shut up in the next ten seconds, I’m gonna leave you in the dumpster out back.”
Kenny went quiet for a moment. Not out of fear, more like he was assessing the odds.
Then he turned, leaning in just slightly, resting his chin on his shoulder to look at Bobbie more directly. His gaze shifted, just a touch, less annoying, more curious. The way the harsh hallway lighting caught on the sharp angles of Bobbie’s jaw, the cut of that scar, the way his lashes cast shadows over his cheekbones.
Kenny tilted his head.
Paused.
“Wanna make out?”
He pursed his lips like he was offering a cigarette.
Bobbie turned toward him slowly. Kenny was closer than he realized, close enough that Bobbie could smell the cheap beer on his breath and the faint scent of the ridiculous cologne he always drowned himself in. Kenny didn’t back off.
Bobbie didn’t flinch.
“If it’ll shut you up,” he said coolly.
Kenny blinked and had a grin on his face like he wanted to be punched.
Then leaned in just an inch more, his voice lower now, almost a whisper. A half-finished beer bottle swinging loosely in his hand, the other arm thrown lazily over his bent knee.
The hallway buzzed faintly with the bass of a slow, pulsing song bleeding through the gym doors, the kind of song couples swayed to in dim lights and cheap tuxedos.
“So…” he drawled, head tilted toward Bobbie. “That wasn’t a no.”
Bobbie didn’t even bother looking at him. His stare was fixed somewhere ahead, bored and unmoved, like the idea didn’t register as anything new. “Didn’t sound like one,” he said, voice as flat as a dead battery.
Kenny grinned wider. “Promise not to punch me?”
A beat. Bobbie blinked once, slow. “No.”
Kenny let out a short laugh, but it lacked real confidence. “Not feeling the love here, Bobbie.”
Bobbie turned his head slightly then, just enough for Kenny to catch the faintest flicker of amusement, or maybe he was imagining it.
“Yeah,” Bobbie said with a curt nod. “Because I hate you.”
There wasn’t much weight behind the words. He didn’t really mean it, of course.
Then, without missing a beat:
“But I’m still gonna kiss you.”
Just as bland. Just as bone-dry.
Kenny’s smirk curled up like the tip of a flame. “Sweet,” he said, voice lower now, his cockiness softening into something heavier.
A brief pause settled between them, tight, humming. Kenny’s breath slowed. Bobbie’s jaw tensed. And then—
Bobbie grabbed Kenny by the front of that ridiculous pink silk shirt, fingers curling just under the loosely tied white tie, and yanked him forward hard.
Their mouths collided like a threat. Like something violent barely disguised as want. It didn’t come with softness or caution, just a raw, impulsive crash of lips that hit too fast and too hard. Bobbie pulled Kenny into him with enough force to rattle the breath from his chest, fist still twisted in the front of that ridiculous silk shirt, dragging him close like he was starting a fight instead of a kiss.
It wasn’t delicate. It wasn’t even careful. It was teeth and spit and heat, the sharp snap of mouths finding each other after circling like wolves for too long. Kenny let out a surprised sound, a breathy hum laced with something caught between amusement and shock. His hands scrambled for something solid, clutching at the frayed edges of Bobbie’s denim vest, his fingers curling in the worn fabric like it anchored him.
Their lips parted just enough for teeth to clash, then came back together even harder, mouths shifting against each other with bruising force. Bobbie’s other hand buried into Kenny’s hair without finesse, gripping hard at the roots and yanking his head back slightly just to bite down on his bottom lip in something that wasn’t quite a kiss anymore. Kenny gasped, a raw, involuntary sound that vibrated at the back of his throat and made his knees stutter beneath him.
“You—fuck,” Kenny hissed out between a ragged breath, and before he could say more, Bobbie’s mouth was on him again, shutting him up like it was a command.
Their knees knocked, bodies struggling to get closer and rougher at the same time, all awkward elbows and urgency. Kenny shifted his weight, one knee braced against the floor, the other pressed tight to Bobbie’s thigh. Bobbie grunted, deep and low in his chest, as Kenny pushed in harder, hand now slipping under the edge of the vest to grab at the tank top underneath, fist tightening there like he was daring him to shove him off.
But Bobbie didn’t.
He growled something unintelligible into Kenny’s mouth, maybe a curse, maybe his name, and kissed him again, deeper this time, with a force that left no room for breath. His fingers pulled tighter in Kenny’s hair, and Kenny let his head fall forward into it, eyes fluttering shut as his mouth moved like instinct, like he was trying to win something neither of them had named.
It was chaotic and messy, edged in frustration. Not romantic. Not even close.
But it was everything that had been threatening to happen for months.
And now it was happening all at once.
Hard. Fast. Violent.
And far, far too late to take back.
Then, just as sudden, Bobbie shoved him back, harsh and abrupt, breaking the kiss like it never happened.
Kenny barely had a second to breathe before the words were already tumbling out of his mouth, breathless and cocky.
“Damn,” he said with a crooked grin. “We should’ve done this hours ago.”
Bobbie didn’t answer. He just stared at him, unimpressed as ever, like Kenny had just told him the sky was blue.
“Still tempted to toss you in the dumpster,” Bobbie muttered, voice rough and low, barely audible over the thud of bass from the gym.
And before Kenny could push his luck with another word, Bobbie yanked him back in by the tie.
Their mouths crashed again.
And Bobbie had finally found a productive way to shut Kenny up.