Chapter Text
The air is thick with anticipation.
Gary’s hand is next to Pete’s thigh, he’s leaned in.
“I- no, no,” he says quickly, standing up.
He runs a hand through his twists and listens to the white and gold beads clack.
“Come on, you’d look good!” Gary exclaims as he gets up. The dorm bed squeaks. It makes Pete’s stomach turn.
Gary hugs him from behind, gently places his chin on Pete’s shoulder.
“I don’t know,”
“Green beads would be cute,” he hums.
His hot breath on his neck makes him feel tingly. His skin crawl.
“I don’t know. I don’t like to do bright colors,”
“You could do a dark green. It would be sweet. Would match me.”
He doesn’t know how to say that’s the thing he’d hate about it.
That in a way he’d be showing off that Gary Smith has too much influence over him.
He huffs.
Gary moves his hands up. Holds him tighter. He hums and lightly kisses his neck and jaw. It’s domestic. It’s sweet.
Pete really likes it.
He loves this Gary.
The one that drives him around on summer break. The one that takes him on surprise dates with his favorite flowers. Fuck- the one that allows treatment.
This year has been awful and it’s barely begun.
He lets something he doesn’t mean slip.
“Uh, do- do you like Jimmy more than me?” He whispers.
Gary laughs and pulls away. He grabs his chin and makes Pete look at him.
“Oh, darling, no.”
He kisses his forehead, then smiles coyly.
It gives him butterflies.
He has that mischievous sparkle in his narrow brown eyes.
Latching his hands together, he swings them to be behind his back, and giggles.
“Would a sleepover calm you down, babe?” He asks, voice honey sweet.
He immediately nods, words caught in his throat.
—
In Gary’s bed things are nice.
It’s warm. Band posters and art supply everywhere. Bullworth doesn’t switch around dorms, so it’s accumulated quite a bit of junk over the last year.
Bôa plays softly on the CD player.
Gary sneaks a cigarette out the window, half leaned out. His shirt is off, top surgery scars on display.
He’s wearing green pajama pants.
Bare feet with paint and floor gunk.
Acne scars.
Old nicotine patch.
Christ, Pete finds him horribly pretty.
Pretty despite constant self harm scars. Cigarette burns on his lower back.
Despite showing bones.
Sighing wistfully, Pete manages to idealize this. To make it romantic.
He slinks out of the bed, slips into his bunny slippers and tip toes behind him.
Then, he presses himself against him. Lets his arms wrap around. Feel his cold pale skin.
“Jesus, fuck! Petey,” Gary gasps, choking on the smoke.
“Sorry, babydoll,” he mumbles sleepily.
Gary puts his cigarette out and bats him off, “Let me close the window really quick,”
“Yeah, of course,”
He stands idly as Gary shuts, locks, and double checks he locked the window.
“Check the door for me, will you love?”
A pained giggle escapes Pete, “Yeah,”
His face burns as he skips over. He’s far too giddy over the pet name. He just hasn’t been called one he actually likes in a long time.
He checks the main lock. The deadbolt.
“Yeah, you’re good,”
Gary sighs in relief, “Perfect,”
And then they’re back in bed. Laying on their sides, facing each other.
Gary has his face buried in the crook of Pete’s neck. His arms and legs lazily tangled around him. Pete has one leg over the other’s torso. An arm over his shoulder.
“I love your perfume,” Gary mumbles, huffing it.
It makes Petey snicker. Then falter.
Does he though? Yesterday he said it was too girly. But who doesn’t like the smell of strawberry shortcake?
Gary sighs into his neck. Visibly relaxes in his arms.
“I forgot I like this so much,”
“Like what?” Pete asks just because he wants to hear it. Wants to hear him say his name. That it’s Pete that makes him comfortable.
“Laying with you, stupid,”
“What do you like about it?”
He hums, pauses, then says, “You’re warm,”
It’s not enough, so he fishes.
“What else, boy?”
Part of him wants to push him away, just to hear Gary whine and beg for one in their relationship. But he doesn’t dare test it.
“God, you really need a lot of reassurance after the other day, huh?” He scoffs.
Pete ignores it, favoring instead to melt into butterfly kisses and bitten lips on his neck.
“C’mon,” he whispers.
“Fine, god. I like how you smell and I like your soft skin. And your lips are pretty. You’d make a pretty girl,”
Pete bites the inside of his cheek.
“I told you, I don’t wanna talk about that. I’m a boy till we graduate,”
“Whatever, lady,” he murmurs.
Gary traces shapes into Pete’s exposed skin. It’s distracting. Exhilarating.
That and the little yawns completely erase how he was feeling thirty seconds ago.
Gary is falling asleep. Hands against his brown skin, coming to him for warmth.
It’s cute.
Gary’s like… like a really mean cat.
That hates you but also curls up in your lap.
Gosh, Pete could gush about him for ages when it’s like this. When it’s good again.
He could throw out his Nicole Dollanganger CDs and never have to get high to get through a hang out again.
Could kiss him for hours. Hug on him till Gary’s body is raw and he stops playing pretend that he doesn’t like him.
He could yap someone’s ear off about how hot he is when he smokes. About how sweet he is when he holds the door open.
When he calls him his girlfriend in private without pushing that he comes out of the closet.
When he buys her nice lipgloss and puts it on her- uh, him in the backseat of his Cadillac.
When he kisses it off of him in the backseat of his Cadillac.
“Say you love me?” He asks gently.
Through speech slurred by sleep, Gary replies, “Love you, girl,”
And wow.
Does he revel in that.
It’s amazing.