Work Text:
The following night, Billie ventures out to that same park. Tre doesn’t accompany him this time, something about his aunt grounding him because of his grades. Nothing that hasn’t happened before.
Obviously, Mike attends a different school than Billie does. Or, at least, shares no classes with him. Billie hardly ever shows up to his cores anyway. If he had known such a boy existed within the restraints of his school, Billie would’ve talked him up the second he laid eyes on him.
He knows next to nothing about Mike. From the state he and Tre found him in, he could guess a less than luxury home life, and probably the occasional dabble in the smoking he claimed to despise.
Thoughts get drawn back to the key moment, up until this point, in Billie’s life. Last night, technically this morning. Mike, the most perfectly imperfect person he’s ever met. This boy, sitting in his mess of a room, appearing entirely at ease and unbothered by the endless clutter that surrounded him.
The teasing game he decided to play while Billie learned his name. It was so frustratingly endearing, and Billie had never in his life felt the euphoria he experienced when his eyes found a magazine of Micheal Jordan.
Not once had he considered another boy being an option for the centre of his interest, yet there he sat, alone in a playground. It’s nearing midnight, and his thoughts have been plagued by Mike for the past almost-day. His fingers brushed where the pen had glided on his arm.
After nerve-wracking minutes spent pacing his room, doubting, and talking himself out of it, Billie scraped together the courage to dial the numbers that were still burning his arm. He sat on his bed, still and tense, then got sent to voicemail. His heart had plummeted in his chest when he heard the pre-recorded message.
“Hey, this is Mike P., uh, leave a message. I probably won’t listen to it, but I guess you can still say something if you want to. Um. Bye.”
It was dorky and awkward, but still managed to put a small smile on his face despite his scattered thoughts of why Mike didn’t answer.
Maybe he was at school, as it had been two in the afternoon when he decided to call.
Billie climbs the tiny ladder to sit on the top platform of the playground. It’s dry and cold. He shivers and digs in his pocket for a lighter with rigid hands. The joint dangles from Billie’s lips as he stares down absently at the plastic floor.
When he got the call that Tre would not be available for their almost nightly meetings, Billie had planned on just not going. His mood was already dampened by the radio-silence that Mike produced, yet that tugging feeling in his chest dragged him outside anyways.
He flinches and curses when a distant voice startles him. “Looking for a light?”
For a moment delight rushes through him. Billie’s head snaps up as he abandons his blind search. The joint falls from his loose lips and he stands to see over the metal bars blocking his view.
Mike is lounging on the bench that he had been found on the previous night. His silhouette looks more relaxed—leaning with the arm wedged into his back rather than his neck—and he lazily gazes in Billie’s direction. He scrambles to pick up his fallen joint as he descends from the playground; maturely, by going down the slide.
When he’s standing in front of Mike, there’s a lighter in his hand, offering it out. Billie snags it without hesitation. “Holy fuck you smell like a junkie, Billie,” Mike groans while playfully covering his nose.
He gasps and even ducks his head to smell his definitely-not-clean sweater. “Hey, screw you! I’ll have you know, I believe I showered two days ago,” Billie says proudly.
Mike whistles sarcastically. “Better than the two weeks that I assumed.”
He grumbles instead of dignifying him with a response. “I thought you resent this ‘self-destructive’ behaviour,” Billie comments while flicking the lighter.
Mike shrugs non-committally. “I think my dad took my sweater instead of his. Found it in my pocket on my way over.”
Billie nods. He exhales, breathing out like a weight has been lifted off of his chest. It goes silent. The wind blows around them, lightly and subtly. Mike seems content to just sit there and bask in nothing. Billie is less comfortable with that.
He rubbed at the numbers under his sweater sleeve. “I called you this afternoon, after I woke up,” he says eventually. His cheeks heat gradually when Mike makes no effort to respond. “You did give me your number, right?” he tries again.
A beat passes. “Yeah,” he sighs out. “My dad smashed his phone; took mine,” Mike replies. Billie is filled with relief, but quickly is distraught at having no virtual communication with Mike.
“Oh.” Billie takes another drag.
“Mhm.” He doesn’t even sound upset over the fact. Maybe it’s happened in the past. “Where’s Tre?”
Taking pity on the weak subject shift, Billie relents. “He called this morning, afternoon, I guess, to say that he’s been grounded because of school.” He makes sure to blow the smoke away from Mike. “I think it’s either his grades or attendance. Both aren’t the greatest. Better than mine, I’d bet.”
The emptiness that followed the clipped, polite conversation is somewhat awkward and absolutely nothing like the night before. Billie feels deflated, expectations heading downward as Mike seems unenthusiastic to see him again.
“You know, I didn’t even want to go out tonight,” Mike says eventually. Ash from the joint gets tapped off and Billie focuses on his friend’s side profile. “I was falling asleep in class today. Got yelled at by two of my teachers, and threatened for after-school detention. Can you fuckin’ believe that?” Their eyes meet. Mike’s voice grows softer.
The shorter’s eyebrows pinch together. “Why did you come out, then?”
A small grin pokes through Mike’s stony demeanor that he appeared with. “I thought about you.”
Billie coughs through his inhale. Heat seeps up his neck and he struggled with a quick-witted response that he would typically shoot back. He settles on a chuckle after it’s been a little too long to actually say something, which is admittedly worse.
This version of Mike is so different from the one he ended his nightly excursion with. Well, he’s as closed off as he started out, yet open and willing to share the intimate details of his personal life. And to think that Billie climbed out of his window soon after his mother departed to bed with hopes of spending his night making out in a public setting. He can settle for a trauma-dump, he supposes.
“Do you want to see my room?”
Billie’s head whips back around to Mike. He swears he gives himself whiplash from the force. The sex-driven ambition returns in the back of his mind, the blissful ignorance of what they’d just spoken of. “How could I say no to that? I think you owe me, after you got to see mine earlier.”
Mike rolls his eyes in what Billie wishes to be exasperated fondness. “I have a feeling that you would find a way to see it one way or another.”
They start walking away from the park. Mike leads the way. Billie scoffs. “You’re saying it’s bad to have some persistence on my desires?” The taller seems to choke on a chuckle.
An odd look gets sent his way at the same time. “You desire to know what my bland living-space looks like? Well, rest assured, it is one-hundred percent literally the most damn boring room you’ll ever have the displeasure of witnessing.”
Billie shoves at Mike’s shoulder with his free hand. “I think I’ll be the judge of that. You’re fucking biased, anyways, you shouldn’t even have an opinion!”
Their banter continues throughout the short walk to Mike’s house. Billie finds out that he lives in a similar area to him. He has no idea why he never considered Mike living close by. He and Tre would make the trek over to that random-ass park, and Mike has probably been going there since he was little.
The trailer homes are almost liminal in their identicalness. The world around them shrinks until it’s just them. No other person can bother them, digestive sounds continue on as electrical wires buzz faintly and birds perch on rooftops. It’s so private. Only the two of them. Nobody else knows what’s going on inside of their heads.
Their footsteps echo in what should be eerieness, but comes off as another noise to speak of them. Billie lags behind and watches Mike’s silhouette lead them. His hands in his jean pockets, sauntering in an unbothered way that makes Billie imagine how he must have a reputation at school. Was he a loner? Popular kid with lots of friends? Billie would honestly rather Mike be bullied than the type to go around kissing anyone just because they asked. Considering his actions with that name-guessing game, Billie can only assume it’s the latter.
Mike stops in front of a copy-pasted house. “This one’s mine.” He turns to Billie. “Now, my mom is a light sleeper, and she desperately needs it. If you even breathe too loud I will boot your ass onto the street.” Billie flushes with anticipation and anxiousness simultaneously.
“Yes, sir!” He mock-salutes Mike while his back is turned.
“Yeah, and put out that joint or finish it before you come inside,” Mike wheezes out with one leg already through the window. Billie quickly takes a few more puffs before he deems it short enough to waste. He stamps it under his foot and twists it for good measure.
Once inside, Billie finds himself resisting to agree with Mike’s earlier statement of his room being nothing special. It’s definitely cleaner than his. Although there isn’t a lot around that can even make it messy.
There’s three posters on the walls: two bands and a movie. A chest of toys from Mike’s childhood sits on the floor and tucked away in a corner beneath dirty clothes. Shelves with second-hand books surprises Billie, as his new friend seems like the type of person to just sleep or maybe even study to pass time. The bed is unmade and is void of anything that could symbolize nostalgic joy. Right next to the door that leads to the hallway sits a bass guitar next to a ratty amp. He gasps and immediately goes for it.
“A bass!? Why did you never mention that you play?” He has the gull to give Mike an accusatory look.
He’s met with a shrug. “I mean, I saw your guitar yesterday, but it’s not like we actually did any talking…” Mike said with a smug little grin that Billie thinks is frustratingly attractive.
Billie crosses his arms and turns back to the instrument. It’s definitely seen better days. Scratches and stickers litter the surface, stains from God-knows what discolour is more than it already is. It’s so personalized that Billie feels like he was never meant to see it.
“I still have your number written on my arm.” It comes out of his mouth before he can stop it. He’s unsure why he even thought of it. Billie keeps his gaze on the bass while embarrassment covers his face at Mike’s lack of words.
“Sick,” is what he says eventually. “Maybe I’ll be able to call you sometime soon. We can jam together after school, or something.”
A hand lands on Billie’s shoulder, forcefully requesting him to turn around. He does, and it met with a shockingly affectionate expression. “Tre plays guitar as well… drums, too,” Billie mumbles as he struggles to hold Mike’s stare.
The blonde flashes his teeth in a genuine smile. His hand draws Billie closer. “Maybe we can start an amateur band. Be a group of tributes.” The words are muffled in the shorter’s mind. He can feel Mike’s breath on his lips. His neck is tilted up ever so slightly and his heart is racing. He hopes that he’s been quiet enough that Mike won’t throw him out.
Mike is still talking. That soft grin is still present. Billie is at ease yet he hears nothing. He inches closer, praying for Mike to take the hint and shut up. It takes a few agonizing seconds, but he does realize their position and kisses Billie. Not as charged as it had been less than a day prior, yet still amazingly life-altering on Billie’s part.
They hardly separate. “You know,” Mike starts, kissing Billie again. “I could use the landline in the kitchen.” He pulls him along so they can sit on his bed. “Less private conversations— but it’s something, right?”
He’s straddling Mike again. Breathless, Billie answers, “As long as I get to talk to you.”
Mike laughs, and Billie pushes him down so he’s practically laying on top of him. Mike’s mom is sound asleep.
—
“Dude! I’m still fucking grounded. My aunt is more pissed than I thought over me flunking that chemistry test earlier this week,” Tre whines into his receiver.
It’s the next night, technically day. Billie is at his house, nearing four in the morning, and Mike is laying next to him, sound asleep.
He smiles to himself with a hand in Mike’s hair as he talks. “Yeah? That sucks ass. I went out with Mike last night, thanks to your absence, though.”
Tre hums. “No wonder you sound so damn pleased. I thought I caught you post-nut. Who the fuck is Mike, by the way?”
Billie chokes on a laugh. “Oh right! Blondie, that’s his name. He came over to my place after we dropped you off. Had a heated makeout sesh.”
Tre’s eyeroll is felt through the phone. “I can’t believe your shameless flirting actually got you somewhere. I thought you were trying for a quick-fuck.”
“No. I think I really like him.”
It’s silent. “Shit, dude. Do I need to make another friend? That takes so much time and commitment!”
If Tre were sitting next to him, he would most likely punch him. “Hey, fuck you! Now you owe me a joint, for that.”
Billie’s best friend sighs. “Yeah, whatever. I assume he’s with you right now because you’re a clingy fuck. So I guess I’ll piss off and leave your horny ass alone.”
Billie sputters and his cheeks flush. “Hey! What the—” Dial tone fills his ears, and he bitterly tosses his phone onto his desk. He can’t really be mad at Tre. Deep down, Billie knows that he’s happy for his friend.
The buzz of his alarm clock is all Billie can hear. The CD that was once faintly playing as background noise has long since ended its track list. Mike’s slowed, methodical breathing has stopped.
Where his hand has been absently massaging Mike’s hair, Billie looks down at it. The sleeping boy is now awake, and staring at him with glazed eyes. “I didn’t know that you kiss and tell,” Mike says after a minute of quiet.
That startles a laugh out of Billie. “If you were planning on telling me any secrets, Tre is, like, legally obligated to know.” Mike tries to hide his smile by rolling over to cover his face with blankets. “Oh, you’re so shy now! What happened to the confident Mikey that I met seventy-two hours ago?”
The blonde groans into the comforter. “He’s fucking dead. You killed him and now you have to initiate every single kiss.” Billie chuckles. He cups Mike’s cheeks, and tilts his head up to kiss him softly.