THE NEW KING OF HAWKINS .

                                          𝐁𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐏𝐑𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐎𝐅 𝐌𝐘 𝐓𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐁 ,                                   𝐒𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐖𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐒 𝐖𝐀𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐌𝐄𝐒 .

                                                 𝐇𝐄𝐈𝐑𝐆𝐑𝐎𝐕𝐄                                               𝚒𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚍𝚎𝚗𝚝, 𝚙𝚛𝚒𝚟𝚊𝚝𝚎 && 𝚜𝚎𝚕𝚎𝚌𝚝𝚒𝚟𝚎                                         𝑩𝑰𝑳𝑳𝒀 𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑮𝑹𝑶𝑽𝑬 𝚘𝚏 𝑺𝑻𝑹𝑨𝑵𝑮𝑬𝑹 𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑺  .  

  𝐀 𝐒𝐓𝐔𝐃𝐘 𝐈𝐍 :  maniacal laughter, the roar of an engine, 𝚞𝚗𝚋𝚛𝚒𝚍𝚕𝚎𝚍 𝚟𝚒𝚘𝚕𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎, porn staches, adolescent alcoholism, 𝚌𝚒𝚐𝚊𝚛𝚎𝚝𝚝𝚎𝚜 && 𝚙𝚎𝚛𝚖𝚜 && 𝚕𝚎𝚊𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚛, 𝐑𝐀𝐆𝐄, 𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬, 𝑹 𝑨 𝑮 𝑬 — the continuation of a cycle, music so loud it’ll burst your eardrums .

                               𝚙𝚎𝚗𝚗𝚎𝚍 𝚋𝚢 𝚓𝚊𝚜𝚙𝚎𝚛 |  𝚝𝚑𝚎𝚢 / 𝚑𝚎 | 𝟷𝟿  |  𝙴𝚂𝚃 𝚝𝚒𝚖𝚎𝚣𝚘𝚗𝚎

                                                                    𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑹𝑫

// LIKE THIS && i’ll come over to send you memes !! multis please specify for whom <3

AND THERE IT WAS. Tate should have known that Billy wasn’t going to simply allow that little fact to pass by him; not even a laugh at his lack of intimacy was going to be enough to sate him. He was going to pick and prod, ask questions and demand answers. The blond rolled his eyes a bit, trying to seem unfazed although his pallid face was becoming progressively warmer by the second. He decided that his best course of action would be busying himself with his recently lit cigarette.  “Shut up,”  he snapped.  “I know you’ll suck the face off of any living, breathing girl but some people want a little more than that.”  Did he sound pathetic? Did he sound like some kind of hopeless romantic? Perhaps he was both of those things. Tate was so desperate to find himself emotionally close to someone, he often feared intimacy as much as he yearned for it because what if they left right after? He wouldn’t be able to handle it. He might go completely crazy.

“You know I’m not social. You know I had issues back at Westfield. When would I have ever had the opportunity for something like that?”  Tate wasn’t even entirely sure he had any real friends up until the move to Indiana. The town sucked, it was boring and the air always smelled stale, but the universe does as it always has and threw him through a loop. Had introduced him to someone so insanely opposite and yet so incredibly the kindred.  “I’m not expecting anything cliché. I’m not looking for any sort of crazy movie scene with fireworks on top of a Ferris wheel or some shit, but it would be nice if it was with someone who actually cared about me. I don’t think I’m asking for anything unreasonable with that.”

A sigh left his lungs. He tapped the mid of his cigarette against their shared ash tray, while the other hand had began to anxious rip and tug at the frayed edges of the hole in the knee of his jeans.  “I had… people I talked to back in Los Angeles, but they weren’t really my friends. Or at least I wouldn’t consider them my friends. They never asked me to hang out with them outside of school, or anything like that. I talk about being comfortable being by myself, but that wasn’t so much by choice. I had to learn to be comfortable alone.”  And even then, there were some nights where the loneliness was so thick, it had nearly suffocated him. He was touch starved and love starved and friend starved. Tate hadn’t meant to turn the conversation into something so negative. He pursed his lips together in the moment of silence, and brought the cigarette back up to his lips for another drag.  “I hate parties, Billy but I hope you know the invite means a lot. Just knowing you want me there, even though I don’t want to be there, holds a lot of water.”

“So- I guess I’m waiting for that. For someone who likes being around me. Someone… You know, someone like you, I guess.”  The words had tumbled out of his mouth before he could really think about them. He parted his lips again, like he wanted to correct himself, but how could he go back on that?  “I uh…”  He looked at Billy, brows slightly furrowed, almost expecting a reaction of anger. The comment wasn’t any sort of stark confession but it was certainly an odd remark that two guy friends wouldn’t typically make. He had never told anyone before about his preference for men; he was afraid to.  “You know what I mean,”  Tate said, trying to cover his ass under a guise of ambiguity.  “You know what I’m trying to say.”

   𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐓𝐎 𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄 𝐒𝐏𝐄𝐀𝐊, 𝐉𝐔𝐒𝐓 𝐍𝐎𝐖, was perhaps the longest Billy has ever gone in his life without opening his mouth to spit 𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑴 as an interjection. Not even the comment about sucking the faces off any living girl  ( which was 𝐔𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐄, by the way, no matter how trigger-happy a kisser he was, && no matter how the stick-shift in his jeans needed little to change to sixth gear, )  was met with speech !  Just the quirking of lips into shark-like smile, the ghost of a laugh that shakes a chest.  Maybe it was ‘cause he was curious : wanted to know, 𝑱𝑼𝑺𝑻 𝑨 𝑩𝑰𝑻 𝑻𝑶𝑶 𝑴𝑼𝑪𝑯, what goes through the mind of a nerd like Langdon when it comes to the idea of romance.  Cause that’s what he wants, right ?  Romance ?

   && 𝑭𝑼𝑪𝑲’𝑺 𝑺𝑨𝑲𝑬, 𝑹𝑶𝑴𝑨𝑵𝑪𝑬 … Romance was never something Billy was good at.  He’s a firecracker lover — Set the flame && 𝑩𝑨𝑪𝑲 𝑼𝑷.  He goes up quickly, explodes with a 𝐁𝐀𝐍𝐆 && a flash of something brilliant, beautiful, before fizzling out again && leaving in his wake the lingering smell of what was, and what has 𝐂𝐄𝐀𝐒𝐄𝐃, now that the show is over.  Billy is a one-night-stand man, he’s the nicotine headrush of your first cigarette that is gone just as quickly as it hit you.  𝐈𝐍 𝐓𝐑𝐔𝐓𝐇, 𝐇𝐄’𝐒  𝑺𝑪𝑨𝑹𝑬𝑫  𝐎𝐅 𝐑𝐎𝐌𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄.  Romance breeds the opportunity for love, and where there is love, there is loss ; attachment can only lead to heartache, && Billy has known this since the moment his mother left him with a  monster.        — 𝑮𝑶𝑫 𝑫𝑨𝑴𝑵 𝑰𝑻,  is that ever pathetic !   But thats just the way it is.   ❛ Take the goddamn hand life’s given you, and play, ❜   his father would say, voice thick with lungs full of cigarette smoke, beer in hand … 𝑨𝑵𝑫 𝑺𝑶 𝑩𝑰𝑳𝑳𝒀 𝑫𝑶𝑬𝑺, but no matter how many times he attempts to fill the blackened divot in his heart with late night fucks && behind-bleacher make-out sessions, the curiosity of what 𝑪𝑶𝑼𝑳𝑫 𝑩𝑬  remains, the 𝑾𝑨𝑵𝑻  lives on.  Maybe that’s what this is — Living vicariously through the ideas of one who’s yet to ruin it for himself.  Maybe he wants to know if he’s got it in him to fit the mould Tate’s mind has made of an embrace that means something.

   But it ain’t about him, && it ain’t about that. 𝑶𝑽𝑬𝑹𝑻𝑯𝑰𝑵𝑲𝑰𝑵𝑮, that’s what that is, && believe it or not, Billy’s mind is capable of such a thing. The typical flash of white canines has faded with the listening, the thinking, resting into the dull upwards tug of the corners of lips, a closed-mouth smile as ice blue eyes bear down onto Tate.   ❛ You know, someone like you, I guess, ❜   — Lips part at this, as though he’s going to say something && eyebrows raise. Eyes flick to Tate’s lips, the other looking, briefly, like he may retract his statement. Ever the people-person, Billy notes the micro-expressions :  furrowed brows, an expectant gleam in dark eyes, like he’s 𝑩𝑹𝑨𝑪𝑰𝑵𝑮 𝑯𝑰𝑴𝑺𝑬𝑳𝑭  for something. But nothing comes, nothing bad — What could be anger is instead an expression of slightly taken aback curiosity, the corner of his lip twitching into what wants to be a smile.   ❝ … Someone like me, huh ? ❞   The air has thickened so quickly that brief moments of silence feel like they may 𝑲𝑰𝑳𝑳, && then Tate speaks again :  You know what I mean. You know what I’m trying to say.   Billy thinks he 𝑫𝑶𝑬𝑺 know what Tate means, what he’s trying to say. What’s the word for that ?  When you say something that shows what you’re really thinking ?  Oh, yeah :  𝑭𝑹𝑬𝑼𝑫𝑰𝑨𝑵 𝑺𝑳𝑰𝑷.

   Gaze flicks behind his friend, to the door, even though no-one is home. Maybe he’d expected to see the apparition of his father standing there, fists clenched, ready to strike … If Neil knew the thoughts that were running through Billy’s mind right now, they’d be packed && headed off to the next town by the stroke of midnight. They’d left California ( partially )  for this same reason : Billy caught behind a door thought closed, a boy in his bed. They were already on edge by little Max 𝐌𝐀𝐊𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐀 𝐁𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐊 𝐅𝐎𝐑 𝐈𝐓 in search of her dad - && when little Max opened her 𝑩𝑰𝑮 𝑨𝑺𝑺 𝑴𝑶𝑼𝑻𝑯 about ‘ wrestling ‘ … Well, that was it.  But nobody is home. The door is closed.   

   ❝ Yeah … I think I do know what you’re sayin’, ❞                                                   I won’t have a faggot for a son.    Desire is quick to turn aggressive, softness catching flame && burning 𝐇𝐎𝐓.  Hummingbird heart beats against Billy’s ribcage, he licks his lips.   ❝ I think I know exactly what you’re sayin’. ❞   A mixture between 𝐖𝐀𝐍𝐓 && 𝑹𝑨𝑮𝑬. Jaw clenches, then unclenches. Billy could shake with this white-hot feeling. Hesitation, a lifetime of it, and then 𝑨𝑪𝑻𝑰𝑶𝑵 !  Weight is shifted very quickly onto knees, && leaning forward, fingers are quick to grasp Tate’s jaw, and 𝑯𝑨𝑹𝑫.  Breaths come heavy && eyes are wild with something vicious— No, not vicious, not angry— 𝑹𝑨𝑽𝑬𝑵𝑶𝑼𝑺. Hesitation again :  Stop. Don’t stop. The fuck are you doing ?   Billy pulls Tate closer to him as he pushes his face forwards, theres a half an inch between the tips of their noses.  Billy wonders if Tate thinks he’s about to hurt him, Billy himself halfway struggles with this conundrum.                                             I won’t have—                                                                   Fuck off, Neil.