Gay fanfiction

Friday night, the basement is filled with the smell of smoke and booze. The old radio was playing music in the background, static occasionally interrupting the electric guitar solos of some local station that was playing bad punk music. With a huff you reached over, trying to adjust the antenna.

"You really gotta have to update that ol' thing." Billy chuckled from the other side of the couch, a bottle of cheap alcohol placed between his legs and a badly rolled joint dangling between his fingers. He looked really out of it, giggling at everything and anything. But you didn't even mind, automatically joining in his fits of giggles. It's not like you were any more sober than he was.

"Do you have any money?" You slurred, turning your head to glance at him with a wobbly grin.

"No." Billy huffed, raising an eyebrow at you. "What does that have to do with your radio?"

"If you have a problem with my radio, you could at least buy me a new one." You responded, still grinning at him. It was just a silly joke, and seeing the confusion on his face made it even funnier. You swore you saw the wheels turning in his head before he fell into another fit of giggles.

You don't even really remember how Billy started being your friend. Is he even your friend? Well, he's sitting in your basement, your parent's basement, drinking some cheap beer and smoking some sketchy weed you bought from your local dealer. Or maybe stole. Same thing.

The other boy had been your classmate for a while, an outsider, a troublemaker, or whatever teachers liked to call him. But eventually, you started talking, maybe because he was so similar to yourself. A sad teenager with a lot of psychological problems. Just that you didn't see yourself or him like that. The world just didn't understand you or whatever teenagers liked to tell themselves.

You got along well, well enough that you shared everything with him. Not just your booze and drugs but even your bed whenever he was running away from his father again. He was your friend, or best friend, or maybe something else. But during times like these, too high to function, it didn't matter much to you. Neither does he seem care.

"Do ya' sometimes just wanna run off?" Billy murmured, his accent thicker, his voice slurred. At this point, you weren't 6 feet apart anymore. Your limbs were tangled together, his head leaning on your chest. You were sure he was going to fall asleep sooner or later, right on top of you. Hopefully, your father won't walk down the stairs; he really doesn't need to see you huddled together with another boy.

"Run to where?" You muttered back, staring up at the ceiling. There was no more weed to smoke, and you felt too sick to have another sip of alcohol.

"Anywhere." Billy's breath was calm, his arm wrapped around your middle. Was it considered gay to lay together like that? "I thought of going to the military."

"Why would you do that?" You almost felt bad for laughing, but the thought of running away just to join the army and roll around in mud just felt odd to you. But maybe that was just you. Because a lot of boys your age were talking about joining the military. Maybe you thought about it once or twice as well.

"Dunno." Billy hummed as he shifted even closer to you. "Would you come with me?"

"Sure." Did you really think about it? No. Did you just agree because you're high out of your mind? Probably. But you also meant it at the moment. You would go anywhere with him right now, even if you had other plans with your life.

"Cool." It was the last thing that came from him before you felt quiet snoring vibrating through his chest. Maybe life will be kinder to him in the future, that's what you hoped. It doesn't matter if he's your friend or not; you do care where he went and how he was feeling. At least you do in this moment, with his weight pressing you into the old basement couch.

Entering the ER where your boyfriend works, you're struck by the level of organised chaos. Nurses rushing back and forth, patients on carts being wheeled away, and the overhead boards filled with a backlog of patients waiting in the waiting room; you do not envy the job these people do, but damn are you grateful for their work. 

You pull off your sleek black motorcycle helmet and tuck it under your arm as you glance around for Michael. You don't notice the raised brows of interest and the appraising looks down your body from the nurses nearby. 

"Hey there, young man, you lookin' for somebody?" A woman with clipped-back blonde hair asks you, a polite smile on her face and a no-nonsense demeanour - one look at her badge tells you that she's the 'nurse leader'. 

"Oh, yeah, is Michael Robinavitch around?" You offer a friendly smile, "I'm a- a friend." 

"Yeah?" The lady, Dana Evans, nods and gestures for you to take a seat at a nearby desk, "I'll try to find him for you, hun, but he might be busy, sit tight." 

"Sure, no worries," you shake your head, settling down into the seat, "Thank you." 

She waves you off with a 'no worries' and your eyes follow her as she effortlessly navigates through the busy aisle, further into the ER. You accidentally make eye contact with the two nurses stationed at the desk and give them a nod and a smile of acknowledgement. 

You can hear them whisper to each other in a language you don't understand, "Kaibigan yan ni Dr Robby? Sa tingin mo, single siya?" 

The one with a headscarf chuckles quietly and playfully smacks the other, "Subukang huwag magambala sa bawat guwapong mukha."

You awkwardly glance around, kissing your teeth as you wait for Michael to show up. You know he's a busy man, which is precisely why you brought him lunch - the man would, no doubt, only down a couple of protein bars or two, and a fruit if it's a good day. However, if it's a meal you lovingly bought for him? Well, you'd know he'd feel guilty not eating it. Is this classed as manipulation? Whatever, it's for a good cause. 

"Hey, pretty boy," A hoarse voice calls for your attention and you glance up, addressing you is an older woman handcuffed to a wheelchair, "Didn't know the hospital had a rent boy service nowadays." 

Your brows shot up before a laugh escaped you, "Oh, I'm not a rent boy, unfortunately." Did you look like one, what did a 'rent boy' even look like-?

"No?" The woman gave you a leery grin. "Here I was hoping I could take you for a spin," she playfully scooted her wheelchair closer. 

Before another incredulous laugh could escape your lips, a familiar voice arrested both you and the woman's notice, "Myrna, I hope you're not harassing my friend here?" Michael's voice is lilted in amusement. 

"Oh, 'friend' is it?" Myrna looked between you two before scoffing a laugh, "Whatever, fruitcake, have fun with your boytoy." She blew a condescending kiss before rolling on. 

"Again, let's not with the insults," Michael half-heartedly scolded, rolling his eyes at the middle finger he received back. 

"She seems charming," you grin, "Are all your patients like that?" 

Michael turns to you, eyes softening slightly before he shakes his head, "No, no... Myrna is her own brand of special. Is everything okay?" His eyes scanned over you, looking for any injuries or maybe using the concern as a guise to appreciate you in denim and leather. 

"Oh yeah," You shake your head instantly, "Don't worry. I just brought you lunch though." Holding up the grease-stained brown bag, "I don't know how well the burger held up after a motorcycle ride but hey, at least I didn't steal any of your fries." 

Michael takes the bag and the soda can you hand over gratefully, "You really didn't have to-" 

"No," You admit with a shrug, "but I wanted to. It's almost like I like you or something. It's crazy." 

He chuckles at your humour, brown eyes gazing into yours with no small amount of tenderness and fondness, and damn, if he wasn't at work right now, he'd spend the time to give you a proper thank you. The sight of you, so casually handsome, waiting for him at his desk, smiling up at him; him- a man, a decade or two your senior, you could have anyone you wanted... yet you still want him. Obviously, there's something wrong with you but hell, it makes his chest feel warm. 

"So," You mindlessly fidget with the pen on his desk, "What time do you get off? Wanna get some ice-cream and go for a ride after your shift?" 

"Yknow, with all the junk you eat, it's a wonder you stay in shape," He playfully reprimands.

You gasp in mock affront, pointing the pen at him accusatorially, "Hey! I eat healthy... Enough. Whatever, old man, you're just jealous that I still have metabolism." 

Michael's brows raise at your cheek and he has to bite back a grin, "Is it me or are you being especially bratty today?"

"Wow," You shake your head and laugh, discarding the pen and standing up, "I try to do something nice and what do I get for my troubles? Insults. I'm hurt, yknow?" 

He leans in and to anyone else, it looks like he's just grabbing something from his desk behind you, but he whispers low in your ear, "Hurt?- Want me to kiss it all better when I get home?"

You lock eyes with him, a heated glance is shared between you two before your pulling on your helmet to hide your blush, "You better." 

"I promise." Michael isn't aware of the stupid smile that's on his face as he watches you walk out; how you effortlessly lifted his mood with your banter and reactions never ceased to surprise him, it's as if you knew just what to say and when to say it. 

"Incoming trauma, five minutes ETA," Dana informs from where she's suddenly at his side, a subtle sly smile on her lips, "C'mon pack it in, Romeo." 

"I'm not- it's not-"