thinking abt leno in that apt, the only one not in a fuckass talladega costume, which had felt like the cool aloof mature decision 3 weeks ago but now just feels unspeakably lonely. standing as far as possible from will, who’s chosen his shiny new toy, and gabe, who’s chosen will, even though leno was the one who stayed with gabe to chase their dream another year the way they’d promised. but gabe still went running back to will’s side like always, and leno knows it’s bc gabe needs to be loved as desperately as leno, so he attaches himself to a person who loves easily and makes himself a person who’s easy to love: and leno will never be either of those things. leno only knows how to make himself hard to love so it hurts less when nobody does.
thinking too abt leno at circle tavern, nursing a beer and watching will and gabe hang all over each other like nothing’s changed, and even when mack shows up and will lights up and immediately sways into his orbit, gabe just smiles and acts like it doesn’t kill him that will has a new person to nap with. and maybe it doesn’t! maybe it’s just leno!! bc the next day they all go to dinner at their italian place, the old boys’ spot, with the same leather booths and folded-arms photoshoot and truffle parm fries; except instead of will gabe leno, it’s will gabe mack—as though will is intentionally trying to rewrite every single memory he has of leno by scribbling mack over the top
and leno knows why he wasn’t invited, knows he was a bitch to the kid last night, and so what if he was? celebrini’s just like him, leno can feel it, hungry and ruthless, 200 lbs of barely leashed predator quivering under will’s plea to play nice—so slip the fucking leash, kid. why can’t we all just be fucking honest for once in our lives, he’d thought; bc leno can only accept a love that’s perfectly honest, but only if it’s honestly cruel. bc nobody has ever lied to leno for any reason other than selfish, so he can’t conceive of a boundary that’s meant to protect rather than exclude.
but when celebrini had finally snapped under leno’s needling; when leno had looked, triumphant, at will—you see? he’s no better than i am. he’s just like me. if you’re going to hate me you have to hate him too—will hadn’t even looked at leno. he’d been too busy looking at celebrini, who’d flinched and turned to will, guilty and apologetic and defensive about it, with an affectionate softness that will has never offered leno. and that’s when leno had realised that it was possible for will to cage leno for being a wild animal while petting celebrini for his teeth and claws. that will, who once pressed his lips together and wrenched leno up off the ice for daring to cry after losing natties, hissed at him to get his shit together because nothing embarrasses will more than a public breakdown, was all along a will capable of smiling fondly at celebrini for failing at kegstands and punching windshields and getting kicked out of bars. that maybe it wasn’t the public display that embarrassed will after all; maybe it never had been. maybe, all along, it was just leno
blakekathryn
pixelskylines
areudirty
origamiaround
