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"You could smile a little more." Curly mutters, nudging Jimmy with his elbow. "You look like you'd rather be six feet under right now."
The shutter keeps going off.
They're a class of twenty six — difficult to get everyone not blinking. Or not fucking around with each other.
"Stop telling me to smile. My braces are ugly."
"Will you quit saying that? They look fine." He hisses, glancing over at him.
"Mh."
"Alright everybody. Last damn photo, last chance to look good."
Giggles and murmurs break out around them.
Jimmy mutters something under his breath, roughly linking their arms together. "Fine."
"Thanks." He whispers, returning the gesture.
They stand at the printer, pulling out the photo.
"Told you I'd look like shit." Jimmy says, flicking on his lighter, holding the flame to a cigarette.
He nods to the two of them in the picture. "Especially next to you. Mr. Prom King and his pity friend."
"It's not pity. We've been together our whole lives."
Jimmy raises his brows, wind blowing hair in his face. "Yeah. I know. I'm fucking with you."
"Mh. Gonna go to the bathroom. I'll be back."
"Don't fall in the toilet."
Curly sighs, turning the door knob to the bathroom stall.
"Walking around without your guardian angel? Never thought I'd see the day. Not after last time."
He looks back, groaning softly. "It's our graduation. We're adults now. Proper." He says, trying to step into the stall. "Can you act like it?"
"Yeah. We're adults. We are, aren't we?"
"Dean? You done? We finished smoking. Let's—"
Fuck.
"Almost. Just having a chat with Grant. Top of his class Grant, prom king Grant. Stay outside."
Curly grunts as Dean shoves him inside, locking the stall door. "Act like adults, you said?"
"Come on. What are you trying to do here?" He mutters.
It takes a second for his brain to register the punch. The ringing in his ears is the first hint. Then the flare of pain in his jaw. The dizziness as Dean turns him around, forces his pants down.
"Just tryna see what's got the gutter fucker so obsessed with you." The sound of a belt buckle rattling behind him. The feeling of his own boxers being pulled down over his ass.
Dean shoves him forward. He barely manages to press his hands against the wall to catch himself. "Don't fucking call him that!" He groans, kicking out behind himself. There's no reaction when he hits his shins.
"Oh yeah? He's got matted hair like a fucking prostitute addicted to crack. Wears the same clothes all week, barely passed the exams even with you holding his dick! A little rat from the gutter is what he is."
He grunts. "Get the fuck off me, Dean!"
The door to the bathroom slams open, hinges creaking as it slams against the wall. "Where's he? Where the FUCK is he?!"
Jimmy.
"Fi-f-first st-st—"
"GET IT THE FUCK OUT!"
"First stall!"
Dean hisses under his breath, shoving Curly away from him with shaking hands. He's always been like that when consequences come his way.
"You can unlock this door yourself or I'll do it for you, you fucking asshole!" Jimmy is screaming. Anyone walking past the building can probably hear him.
"Fuck, yeah, relax, Christ—" Dean stammers, presumably shuffling about to pull his pants up.
He glances back, trembling while trying to fix up his own clothes. Jimmy doesn't need to see him like this. Not again.
The lock turns. The door opens.
"Jimmy. Jim—" Curly immediately stammers, turning on his feet. Jimmy doesn't even look back at him, just rips Dean out of the stall and throws him against one of the sinks mounted on the wall. "I'm fine, don't—"
"God will you just shut the fuck up, Curly?!"
"Okay." He whispers hurriedly.
He looks down at the ground, flinching at every punch that echoes and bounces off the tile walls.
There's a sickening crack, followed by a hoarse scream. Curly presses his eyes shut, wincing at the sounds that follow.
Crack.
Pop.
Crack.
Squelch.
Jimmy tosses him to the floor once he's done, chest heaving from exertion. His face is glistening with sweat.
"Fuck off now. Get the FUCK out!"
Dean and his two friends scurry out of the bathroom like rats into a gutter. Curly can't understand what they're saying.
Finally, he looks at Curly.
He's slumped down by now, sitting on the toilet, legs spread.
"Stop crying. Don't fucking do that." Jimmy mutters, walking closer and locking them in the stall. He moves further down. "Doesn't suit you."
Curly shakes his head. "I'm not. 'm not cryin'."
He looks down at Jimmy, hands on his knees as he crouches. "Close your legs. Feels like I'm about to suck your dick." He huffs, pushing them together.
A weak chuckle comes out of him, followed by a sob.
While he cries, Jimmy keeps looking at him, holding on to his legs. "You fucking idiot. Christ." He sighs, eventually rising to his feet. "You're making me look like the handsome one right now."
His weeping prevents him from responding properly. So Jimmy just keeps talking. "What was he gonna do? Stick it up your ass? That it?"
He shrugs shakily, his breathing hitching as he tries to control it.
"I should ask him. Then stick a knife up his ass, blade first."
"No. No, don't." He gasps, shaking his head. "Stay. Please, stay, Jimmy. I don't want to be alone right now." He continues.
"They're not gonna come back."
"It's not about that. Please just stay."
Jimmy stares at him for a long time. Finally, he exhales, slumping down to sit on the floor.
"Your gown..."
"Who gives a fuck about the damn gown?"
He leans back, head thudding against the stall door. "How much do you think they're gonna charge for a hinge-less door?" Jimmy asks.
"Seriously?"
"Moment of passion. I had to come save my damsel in distress."
"—Don't worry about it. I'll pay." He mumbles, wiping his nose with the back of his hand.
"You can't keep doing that forever, you know? Your mom's gonna catch on."
"I can do what I want, it's my money."
Seeing Jimmy in handcuffs is unfortunately a very familiar sight. He's taking a new cigarette from the police officer that had put him in them.
The police force where they live is small. At some point, his friend had become acquainted with all of them. Unfortunately. This particular one was the oldest, the sheriff.
"Did you think they weren't going to call the police?"
"One of them pissed themselves."
Jimmy mumbles, shrugging, taking a drag.
"Struggling to see the correlation."
"Thought they'd be too scared."
"Your friend there to pay your bail? You're a repeat offender now. It's gonna get more expensive."
Curly freezes in place when Jimmy glances over at him, cuffed hands folded in his lap.
"Yeah. He's here. He'll pay up."
Jimmy smiles. It doesn't quite reach his eyes.
"He's good to me like that."
"Well, Mr. Grant." The officer begins, staring at him from across the desk. Jimmy sits in the jail cell next to it, still in his graduation gown. "Considering our circumstances here, the bail you're looking at comes out at... 12,439$ upfront."
He blinks, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
It doesn't.
"Like, right now?"
"Doesn't have to be, but if not your friend there will spend a good while in that cell." He nods Jimmy's way.
That's almost all the money his mum had given him for the month. She'll know he used it for this.
Fucking damn it.
"Damn. Twelve grand." Jimmy says as they sit in the club, barely having arrived in time for the (proper) graduation party. "You know, you didn't have to." He adds as he sips away on his cocktail.
"You think I was going to be here on my own with Dean's friends around?" He asks with a sigh.
Jimmy just scoffs as he leans forward in his bar stool.
Curly clears his throat, leaning forward in return and properly looking at him. "Thanks for helping me, but seriously... I can't keep paying to bail you out at this rate."
It's an awkward interaction. Mostly because it's like talking to a brick wall.
"You've been to juvie, not prison. It's not the same."
"Shit, really? News to me."
He rubs his face. "If you ever fuck up, they'll take that into consideration, you know? For sentencing?"
The music grows louder around them.
"Maybe my family's finally gonna stop trying to contact me if I go to prison." Jimmy chuckles, running the rim of his glass over his bottom lip. "God, I'm a genius."
Curly takes the drink from his hand, forcing the rest of it down his throat, face scrunching up like he's just bitten into a lemon.
"Hey, what the fuck? I paid for that." He hisses.
His entire body freezes up as Jimmy grabs his jaw, turning his head to the side and pulling him close. He forces his mouth open, closing the distance. Their lips meet and Jimmy's tongue slips into his mouth, moving over his own.
It only lasts a few seconds.
The entire time, he's frozen in shock, eyes wide.
Jimmy stares back at him.
What?
What?
He lets go.
They sit, neither of them speaking for a moment.
After, Jimmy groans, shifting to sit straight again. "Thief." He scoffs."Can't taste shit anymore."
"Did you—did you just— kiss me?"
Curly's mouth feels dry and empty.
"The fuck? No. I was trying to see if your greedy ass left any for me." Jimmy hisses, scowling at him.
"Right. Sorry."
They're friends.
They always have been.
That's what he's been convincing himself of.
That this is a normal friendship.
That his feelings for Jimmy are entirely platonic.
And the thought that they might not be is horrifying.
"Let's go get laid." Jimmy grins, standing up abruptly and smacking Curly's back.
He winces. "What? You're hammered. Are you even gonna get it up?" Curly quickly snatches his wallet off the counter, following behind him.
"Maybe you can't. I'm good to go." He looks back at Curly, smirking.
In the back of his mind, when their eyes meet, a thought creeps up on him.
He wants to see it for himself.