Work Text:
Today was a special day. Golden boy Timothy McNaughton had finally figured his way into the Spencer home.
Not like it was hard, it was just a matter of asking the quiet junkie if he cared to watch the game, if he cared to watch it at his flat, incidentally and specifically.
"The cable guy hasn't arrived in days! Can you believe that?! 4 full days without Daria! My life sucks man heh-eh" Timmy tried desperately not to look like a poor fuck in front of the welfare kid. Kevin had no idea what this Daria fixation was but if timmy was into it he guessed it was some gay shit.
--------------
And so there he was, sitting on Spencer's matty carpet, The whole house reeked of piss, old laundry, food soaked into fabric, and warm rot dialed up a few gigabytes past tolerable. The floor he was sitting on was disgusting, full of crumbs and ash, broken glass, which he discovered when tapping his fingers trying to take the edge off, yet it was better than sitting with Kevin on his bed, his mattress rather.
It was yellow and lacked a duvet, a fitted sheet or any sheet at all, his only cover was a blue blanket that felt like a towel dotted with small round burn holes.
The peppered blanket reminded Timmy of a day in school when Kevin was putting off a smoke on some poor kids forearm.
"What the fuck are you doing Spencer?" Timmy blurted at the sight of the gruesome scene, Kevin stopped frowning at the kid and stared blankly at Timmy. Then at what he was doing and who he was doing it to. He let the kid go before explaining to Timmy he had already forgotten why he was doing that in the first place and for what purpose but he probably had it coming for looking like Elvis Costello and getting away with that.
Timmy liked this about him and gently put his hand on Kevin's shoulder, in a soft humane gesture of approval. Gently. Softly.
Despite the tenderness, Kevin's nervous system spiked, he flinched as if he had been scraped by a bullet. Kevin took Timmy by the neck of his shirt with one hand and and warned him if he ever laid a single hair on him again, Kevin relit the smoke held between his lips, Timmy tracked his hand from grabbing the lighter from his pocket to the tip of the fag and back, if he ever laid something other than his “Peripherally Gloom” eyeballs, he would make his arm look like a loyalty card.
Timmy thought of this as he almost lays his head against Kevin's dangling legs, he excitedly swings them whenever someone on telly gets hurt. Timmy felt the mattress bounce against his back as he thought of his forearms stiff, blue and full of holes. He thinks of Kevin holding him by the wrist and looking down at him with one of his filterless cigars, cherry bright red, ready to make contact against his pasty skin.
"heh-eh" he can't avoid saying out loud as he thinks this. Awkward, awkward and cringe, good thing Spencer didn't notice, or at least he was fine ignoring him pretending he didn't hear anything until Timmy snapped his neck up to look at Kevin and his reaction, who in return stared at him for 2 full seconds, then raised an eyebrow in confusion
Timmy tried to smile. It resembled a threatened monkey showing its teeth, Kevin tilted his head and scratched his temple.
"Soooo Spencer, I'm totally parched, why don't you offer your guests some punch? Heh-eh" the idiot finally suggested. Kevin explains they have to go downstairs for that.
The kitchen is a warzone, Fatty and The Percinator are blind drunk, unable to recognize the other, they are verbally jousting again
“How did you get into my house?! I am calling the cops if you don't get the fuck out”
“Shut the fuck up intruder, I have a gun tucked in my pants and I am not afraid to use it”.
Timmy refuses to go downstairs and excuses himself to the toilet, Kevin knows this will end with both his parents bruised and passed out on the floor. He completely ignores the yelling and flying ashtrays and successfully retrieves half a six pack of Barfy's and a couple bottles of cough syrup before heading upstairs again.
Timmy locked the toilet door behind him. He regretted every decision that brought him there. Their toilet fucking sucked, it made a weird noise and didn't flush, it was more like a latrine rather than a proper toilet and NO ONE seemed to bother, he filled the rubbish bin with water from the tap and attempted to make the filth flush, barely worked. He rinsed his hands with water, unsurprisingly soap was lacking along with monogrammed towels. He got out quickly, the walls made his skin itch.
Kevin is already downing cough medicine like its pop, no mixer or even water to dilute it, he is on his 3rd bottle but he looks and acts normal, as normal as he is that is.
Timmy enters Kevin's room and takes a second to appreciate how different his room at home from this place is, Timmy's bedroom is not only bigger but lavish in comparison, he's got his battlestation, his bookshelves and a bass collection hung up on the wall, not to mention his walk in closet and the fact everything is wallpapered to hell with band posters. Kevin's room in comparison, was empty, except for his bed and the cinderblocks upon which the telly was resting, all you could see was the empty walls with its grime spots, only decor is a huge poster of a movie featuring John Cusack.
Kevin explained he had never seen the movie, neither did he like the actor nor was able to read the title correctly, but he stole it from a bus stop and was proud of that, and it helped hide the holes he had punched into the wall during his "Demonic Deliriums".
Timmy asked if they were fighting or just talking, referring to the bum fight Kevin's parents were performing downstairs, Kevin replied that unless there was glass breaking, it was safe to assume they were just talking.
Timmy took one of the beers and sat on the bed this time, next to Kevin, it was warm, the beer, that is, their fridge hadn't been working for a while. Kevin leaned away, on account of him being unappreciative of spatial invasion.
Timmy had never tasted cheap alcohol, the drink Kevin passed onto him was warm and smelled of piss soda. When he said he drank he referred to shots from his parents liquor cabinet. The only other beverage option is that purple medicine Timmy knows from rappers dying young.
"Soooo do you watch this team a lot?" Timmy had no idea what the fuck he was asking, he was once again attempting to have a conversation but Kevin didn't reply "I tried watching hockey once but couldn't understand why everyone was running in circles heh-eh"
Timmy turned to look at Kevin, his eyes fixed on the screen "y’know, my father once got tickets for a match from one of his shareholders, but we weren’t able to make it, there was a blizzard downtown and we had to take the stupid old Lexus instead of the truck cuz it was at the shop..." Timmy shut up, what he was saying was dumb and Kevin wasn't even listening, or so he thought ‘cause at the abrupt silence, Kevin turned over at him to see if there was something wrong. Their eyes looked at each other’s for the pulse of a moment before Timmy leaned in, almost as if on cue. Kevin widened his eyes, then he frowned.
He noticed Timmy tryna act fruity and jumped to his feet, broadened his shoulders and warned him that, as a violent sociopath, the closest thing to "making love" he was able to simulate, was kissless sex.
His reply and the dry tone in which he spoke dealt 60 HP piercing damage to Timmy. His stomach dropped like a flimsy dial up connection. The million hundred scenarios he built in his head never included NOT starting the things with a kiss. Critical error, must restart.
What was his next move going to be then? What options did he have? Yawn and place his arm behind his shoulder, then, no kiss? Straddle his tiny frame and then not kiss him? He ran debugging mode in his head but how do you debug someone who doesn't work on a script?! He understood then Spencer's whole operating system was fucked. He rolled the dice in his head and picked his next best move.
Timmy did nothing. He straightened up and stared straight into the telly, green grass and some dudes running, football or "American" football, Timmy had no idea what he was looking at. Kevin explained he agreed to have him over because the sports channel is the only channel he is able to tune from his room, that and the "Itchy Monochroma Geometrics". He attempted to educate Timmy on the fact tht the telly downstairs is capable of receiving the news and the "fucking game show hosted by a crooked [REDACTED] pervert" that is actually a talk show but The Percinator was always too drunk and unable to understand that.
It was over for Timmy, no kiss, no frangelico shots and no music channel, no violent heavy metal videos to ease his mind through simulated violence. Timmy stood up after dissociating after 6 full minutes. Defeated he spoke "woah Spencer it's getting late isn't it? My stupid parents are expecting me for dinner, y’know. I'd rather leave before they file a missing persons report heh-eh" Kevin responded by handing him his bike helmet and waving.
Timmy shut Kevin's bedroom door and sighed before going downstairs. He saw Mr Spencer lying on the kitchen floor drooling, a dark crust of dried blood forming on his temple, Mrs Spencer was half-asleep, half-naked on the couch "leaving already pretty boy?" She asked lazily and solemnly, raising her torso to take a better look at him
"Yes correct, it is getting darker and I don't want to ride in the cold heh-eh"
"Hm, you're right, when did the days become so short? Anyway, thank you for spending time with the boy, you are the first and only friend he has brought in here"
"No problem Ms Spencer, take care"
--------------------
Kevin waited for the front door to shut and stood to turn the tv off, he avoided looking through his window to the road and went to bed, alone. Not to sleep but to stare at the ceiling. The room was finally quiet, no football and no voice. His heartbeat barely relaxed when he had gone spiraling again.
“What was HE THINKING?!" Speaking not of himself, but not of Timmy either, of course, he is not smart enough to machiavellianly machinate this. Whatever he understood this was. Whatever happened today was. Dumbass “Minesweeper Expert”, stupid ass "here is how you open a padlock with a can"
"Reckless Information", it was Timmy who exhaustively ranted over how rich people always lock their front door but never the back one, how no one bothers to change their gun safe combination from the default one (1234), how you can turn basically invisible from the business class by wearing janitors uniform. "Intelligent Nimrod" he mutters, it makes Kevin so mad. He frowned at the ceiling, then turned, frowned at the used but new to him TV set he'd stolen just yesterday after Timmy invited himself over.