Chapter Text
Gary is not obsessed.
Gary is not a freak. He is not creepy. He is not gross.
He’s not a faggot.
He hates faggots.
Which is why he’s struggling to breathe next to Jimmy on the couch of the dimly lit common room.
He’s flipping through channels. Petey is in his room.
Gary itches to get closer, but tables the thought.
Scratching makes it worse.
It’s just his ADHD.
That’s it.
Yeah.
Just impulse. Dirty impulse. Vile. Dirty. Impulse.
“Wanna smoke?” He finds himself asking weakly.
Then when Jimmy turns to look at him his chest caves in. It feels worse than recovering from top surgery.
Worse than over binding.
Worse than- fuck, he doesn’t know.
“Nah, I’m tryna keep a clear head here,” he says bluntly, turning back to the TV.
He aches looking at him.
His outgrown buzz cut. Scars from shaving on his scalp. Freckles.
Acne scars.
Constantly red cheeks and nose.
God.
“Quit staring,” Jimmy gruffs. He shifts uncomfortably.
“You wish I was staring, I bet you’d love it,”
He quickly stands up, awkwardly fidgeting with his studded wrist cuff.
“Whatever, man,”
He sighs, rolls his tight shoulders, and leans back.
“Petey says you’re a fairy just like him,”
A roll of the eyes. A scoff.
Jimmy sighs harshly, and just turns up the old ass TV.
—
Back in his room, he paces.
He hates this. Hates this feeling.
It’s invasive and perverse.
He’s sexually confused.
Jimmy wouldn’t want someone like him anyway.
What’s he talking about?- of course he would.
He’s intoxicating.
Gary is a genius. A brilliant mind. A deceptively delicate body, being admittedly a little anorexic.
Not in a sick way.
Really.
In a beautiful way.
Yeah. Totally. Yes.
Not sick.
Not weird.
Not a fairy.
Not into Jimmy Hopkins.
His breath shudders as he paces. Holding himself. Pinching the hair.
When someone knocks he snaps back to reality.
It’s infuriating. Don’t they know he’s busy?
He’s a genius, he doesn’t have time for these insects.
Storming over to the door he swings it open.
“What?” He barks, glowering.
He tries not to soften when he sees it’s Jimmy.
The other shoves a brown paper bag into his chest.
“Pete says to eat. I don’t know what he put in there. Pretend to be grateful, jackass,”
His eyes widen, and he moves to look into the bag.
Oh.
Oh no.
Oh no this is-
A note. Pack of animal crackers. Fruit snacks. Sweet N Low packets. Zero sugar gum.
Freeze dried strawberries.
It’s thoughtful.
It makes him nauseous for a new reason.
It’s not remorse. Just guilt.
He swallows hard.
“I’m telling him you said thank you. Act like it or I’ll pummel you, got it?” Jimmy huffs, shoving his hands in his pockets. He’s scowling. When is he not?
Gary nods slowly.
Then he remembers to be annoying.
“Promise to kiss your knuckles before you do?” He lets out.
Whoops. Uh oh. Fuck. Damn it.
Not what he meant!
Jimmy laughs lightly for once. Pulling his hands out.
“Sure, man,”
And then he’s gone.
—
Sunk down on the floor, he stares at the note.
The contents of the bag on his dorm floor.
You suck.
You’re really mean to me.
But you’re my friend I guess and I don’t like watching you starve. It’s weird to watch.
Please eat these.
Yours, Pete K.
He huffs, crumples it and throws it across the room.
Stupid fucking Pete. What a bitch.
Moron.
He doesn’t suck. He isn’t mean.
Pete should be grateful he gives a worm like him the time of day.
He huffs, puts the food back into the bag. Hesitates over the animal crackers. They were his favorite when he was doing ‘better’ Freshman year.
And then he throws it away.
He feels better empty. If Pete was really his friend he’d know that.
And yet he doesn’t feel satisfied.
—
Later that night someone knocks on his door.
He groans, opens it.
“What?” He hisses quietly. It’s lights out.
It’s Pete and Jimmy.
He rolls his eyes.
“Wanna sneak outside? It’s nice out. Clear sky tonight,” Jimmy says plainly. Petey eagerly nods.
“It’s a great temp, trust me, man,”
He forces a laugh, then it grows naturally.
Something ugly. Harsh. Encouraging his mild vertigo.
“Why would I stargaze with you pansies?”
Petey instantly halts. Frowns. Looks down at his pink socks.
“Because for some reason you’re our friend?” Jimmy says harshly, then tacks on, “Whatever man, was just asking to be polite.”
When they start turning to walk off he winces, reaches out against his ironclad will.
His eyes are shot wide, mouth agape.
“I was just teasing! I’ll go- I’ll go, let- let me get my shoes on,”
Fuck, was that desperate?
If it was these idiots didn’t notice. Ha. He’s so smart.
Or something.
Oh well.
Now he’s sneaking down ornate dark oak stairs in a Sisters of Mercy shirt. It’s old. For the Some Girls Wander By Mistake album.
Good era.
His basketball shorts are sagging. His sandals sweaty.
Jimmy is in a wife beater with pit stains and red shorts.
Pete in an airy, girly white t-shirt; the one with the weird scalloped edges and dark gray sweatpants.
He scoffs. Why does he even bother cataloguing this.
Cataloguing how it was clearly wash-day, since Pete’s growing out curls look nice. Smooth even. He supposes.
How Jimmy’s muscles moved under his shirt.
How his jaw was tensed.
Fuck, the scars and burns poking out.
Decadent.
Intrusive thoughts want him to add more. To push him harder than he means.
Oh boy.
He lets out a shaky breath.
Lets Jimmy awkwardly guide him to the blind spot of the shitty cameras.
Stupid Jimmy.
He licks his chapped lips, adjusts his tank top. His eyes are narrowed. Face still flushed. Still scowling.
Gary wants to run his hands across that sun-kissed skin.
No he doesn’t. Ew.
Oh god. Ew. Ew!
Why would he even think that?
Pete must be infecting him.