#doolins

Fucking. Pricks.

These are the only words Jeremy will allow himself to focus on now, because if he doesn’t, he’ll be forced to focus on other, more pressing matters. For one, maybe the rising heat he feels in his cheeks, or the panic building up in his chest, or the fact that instead of his friends showing up to meet him at the library as they had planned, in comes Trevor Collins - the actual definition of tall, dark, and handsome.

He won’t even allow himself to realize that that was definitely more than one thing.

Those fucking pricks.

Looking back on it, Jeremy really should’ve known. When have his friends ever suggested to study?

“So uh,” Trevor began (God, Jeremy thought, he’s just one guy, he shouldn’t possibly be this cute), “your friends told me about your dilemma.”

Jeremy ground his teeth. Oh he’s got a dilemma alright. “Oh did they?”

Trevor shrugged and nodded sheepishly, pursing his lips. (Seriously, the amount of cute he holds should be illegal.)

“Yeah, but it’s nothing to be ashamed of! Chemistry is really hard, it took me awhile to get the hang of it. I wouldn’t blame anybody for falling behind.”

Jeremy swallowed. So not only did they ditch him, but they told someone else (and that someone had to be Trevor, really?) that he was failing chemistry. What fucking pricks…

“Your friends just wanted to get you the help you needed, but Ryan said some stuff about neither of them understanding the material enough to help anyone on it. So they asked me if I could help you.”

“Oh.” Jeremy could just barely make out the sound. He could understand Gavin or Michael coming up with some stupid scheme like this, but Ryan being a willing compliant. Again, Jeremy couldn’t reiterate this enough: fucking pricks.

He was wracking his brain trying to get him out of this. He should’ve hidden his crush better. He should’ve known that his friends would be exactly the type to do this shit.

“I’m sorry”, Jeremy started tentatively, “but I don’t have any money to pay you.”

He turned to resume working on his homework and started to feel relief when Trevor said, “Oh, don’t worry.”

Ironic, considering that’s the only thing Jeremy does in response.

“You don’t have to pay me.” Trevor smiled a little at the end of that sentence, which to Jeremy, helped soften the feeling of his impending doom.

“Besides,” Trevor said again, “your friends even offered to pay me if you couldn’t.”

Jeremy looked down, trying to think. He was surprised at how far his friends would’ve gone for this, And it’s not like they lied to Trevor about him failing to get him here. He stared at the chem homework he was doing before Trevor came, which had Jeremy practically pulling the hair out of his head.

He felt like if he kept trying to find excuses, he’d only dig himself into a deeper hole. And Trevor was one of the smartest kids in the class, surely it wouldn’t hurt to have him be his chem tutor.

Jeremy heaved a big breath and sighed.

“Okay,” he said, and gestured to the chair across the desk.

“I’m sorry for the trouble.”

Trevor just chuckled. “Oh it’s no trouble at all, really. So what exactly don’t you understand?”

The lights are off. If he looks up, he would see the dangling lamps that hang from the ceiling, old and decrepit. He doesn’t look up though. He looks ahead, at the single chair placed in the middle of the huge room. A prison of cement. Boxes are piled against the far walls, leaving an oddly circular space right in the middle of the warehouse.

The Corpirate always did have a flair for the dramatic.

His feet are light on the ground, small taps echoing through the empty building as he walks as slow as he can to the centre. Memories of past occasions at this spot haunt his mind; the person he was before he met the Fake AH Crew, before he sold the Corpirate out. When he tortured and maimed and did so many horrible things that he swears he can still see the blood on his hands sometimes. He doesn’t want to go back to that.

He feels his courage nearly evaporate into the dirty air around him when he spots the Corpirate, leaning against a pile of boxes on the opposite side of the circle and staring right at him. There’s a smile on his face, and he radiates confidence and anger.

Trevor feels sick to his stomach as he looks back at him.

Stopping at the edge of the circle, a fair distance from the chair, he forces himself to push his worry away. He replaces it with a smug glint in his eyes and arms folded against his chest. He hears the Corpirate laugh, and crook a finger at him to come closer. Trevor stays where he is.

If he turns his head, he’d spot the several lackeys hidden behind boxes, with oversized guns and bulletproof vests. The Corpirate never did go anywhere alone after all; his paranoia was blatantly obvious even to the most oblivious, and it was one of the few things Trevor had over the Corpirate. Even the most powerful of men could be manipulated.

“It’s nice to see you again, boy.”

His voice is low and honeyed, and it sends a shiver right down Trevor’s spine. He tries not to let it show on his face, but judging by how the Corpirate’s grin grows, he hasn’t done a good enough job.

“Yeah, I can’t say the same for you,” he drawls, hugging his arms tighter. The Corpirate cocks his head to the side, his smile ingrained onto his face as he examines Trevor.

“Always so mouthy. You know, I probably should have killed you when you were nothing but a little brat.”

“But you didn’t. And so here we are.”

“And here we are, indeed,” the Corpirate muses, thinly disguised irritation covered up by amusement. “I think we both know where this conversation is going, but I’ll tell you anyway. I don’t take kindly to people who stab me in the back, and you knew this. And yet, you still went to the Fake’s.” He looks Trevor over, scoffing at his slim frame with cruel eyes. “I know you’re far from stupid, so you must have thought that was the best option. It wasn’t.”

Trevor unfolds his arms and lets them fall to his side, bracing himself. “Oh yeah?”

“Yeah,” he replies, and cold metal is pressed to the back of Trevor’s head.

He finds himself laughing then. A cold, sudden burst of uncontrollable giggles erupt from his mouth, as he stares the Corpirate, the man he hates with all his being, right in the eyes. The sound bounces around the warehouse, and Trevor almost wants to cry at how harsh and malicious he really is. Almost.

“You don’t wanna kill me. You can’t.” He snarls at him after he stops laughing, clenching his fists and locking his jaw.

“I wouldn’t bet on that.”

The gun presses against his head harder. Trevor keeps his glare directed on the Corpirate, an idea bursting into colour in his mind.

“If you had wanted me dead, you would have killed me already.” The Corpirate doesn’t reply, and so Trevor continues with unrelenting pace. “I’m useful to you. I always have been, and I always will be. No one else in your sorry little crew has anywhere near as much skill as I do, and you’re not going to get anywhere near the top without me.” He spits the words out like gunfire, concealing the way his skin crawls with an emotionless façade.

The Corpirate shrugs, and nods to the man behind Trevor. The metal leaves the back of his head, and he hears him step away from him. “You’re right,” he says, stepping forwards to the middle of the circle. “Maybe it would be easier having you killed, but hey,” he tilts his face up, his grin terrifying in the moonlight, “what’s the fun in doing things the easy way?”

Trevor lets himself smile. “The catch?”

“You come with me now. And you don’t question anything I do, ever again. I don’t care how valuable you are, you’re dead on the spot if you cross me again. Understood?”

“I understand, but I’ll need to give the Fake’s some kind of excuse as to why I’ve left. It’ll be suspicious if I don’t, and they’ll come looking for me. You don’t want that.”

The Corpirate crosses the circle in a flash, and he has Trevor by the throat as soon as he can so much as blink. Trevor closes his eyes, trying to ignore the hot, unpleasant breath on his face, as well as the hand around his throat.

“Fine,” he hisses into his ear, his hold tightening. “But you don’t tell anyone the real reason, and you meet me here in five hours. Agreed?”

He nods erratically, and the Corpirate lets go of him. Trevor stumbles back slightly, rubbing his neck with one hand. “Agreed,” he chokes out, wincing at how hoarse his voice sounds.

The silence in a building as huge as the Cardell is suffocating, and Trevor wants to disappear as the Corpirate turns his back on him and starts walking away. He lets himself fall apart for a split second, before pulling himself back together and straightening up.

The Corpirate pauses in his stride, tilting his head to the floor in front of him as Trevor stares at his back. “Oh, and boy? If you break any of the promises you just made, I can take things far more precious from you than your life. Like your little… Pet, for example.”

An icy cold sensation of terror washes over him, his eyes widening as he realises what he means. Jeremy. Of course.

He doesn’t respond, and Trevor watches as the Corpirate leaves the warehouse, the rest of his lackeys following after him.

Trevor falls to his knees.

-

There is an odd felling of peacefulness to the base at two in the morning that there never is during daylight.

It’s like another realm, almost; faded and not quite real. Of course, that could be his dissociation, but Trevor would rather take the first idea over reality. His knees are sore from kneeling on the warehouse floor for over an hour out of numbness, and he’s sure his face is devoid of any colour.

It’s chilly and quiet, and he finds himself standing in the middle of the hallway, looking at the old carpet on the floor, the haggard edges, the cracking paint splashed on the walls. It’s worn, the whole apartment is, but it’s home.

Home. What a funny concept that is.

He had never had anything close to a home, really. There was the flat he and his mom had lived in when he was little, but he didn’t remember anything from there really. Just blood on the floor and dilated pupils.

And now, he’s getting the one he stumbled into ripped out from under his feet.

Funny.

The stairs creak under his feet, and he braces himself for a yell from one of the bedrooms, or a thud, or anything that signals someone being awake. Nothing. Thank god. If someone were to catch him sneaking about in the middle of the night, he wouldn’t be able to bluff his way out of it.

No. He has a plan. For that, he can’t talk to anyone but Jeremy. Anyone else would see right through his act, and although he’s aware of how Jeremy will too, Trevor can persuade him to keep it a secret. Hopefully.

He walks slowly, in some sort of stupor and discovers himself on the roof. Of all places his feet lead him, they had to take him here. He walks past discarded bottles and to the little garden.

Jeremy is sitting on the bench, staring into the distance. He doesn’t look up as Trevor sits next to him, instead letting loose a small sigh. Trevor fiddles with his hands in his lap and stares at the floor in front of him, his blood roaring in his ears as he tries to collect his thoughts.

Out of the corner of his eye, he sees Jeremy tilt his head up to the sky and shake it slightly, before looking back out at the city.

“Where were you, Trevor?” He sounds tired, and Trevor hates that it’s his fault. He bits his lip and he can hear Jeremy sigh even louder as he turns to look at him. “Tell me. Please.”

“I- I was… It’s a long story.”

“It’s the Corpirate, isn’t it?” It’s not phrased as a question – his tone is too monotone and quiet - but rather a statement that Jeremy already knows the answer to. He just needs Trevor to confirm it.

Trevor nods his head slowly, before realising that Jeremy wasn’t looking at him and letting a small “yeah, it is,” escape him. He sees Jeremy put his head in his hands and groan, and he can barely restrain himself from comforting him however he can. He doesn’t think that Jeremy would be very comforted by him though, considering that it’s his fault.

“God, I can’t fucking – I can’t believe you,” Jeremy spits out, pulling his hands from his face and resting them on his legs. He turns to glare at Trevor, the terror shining in his eyes betraying the anger resting in them. “You were meant to let us help you. We’re a crew, Trevor, I’m your friend! We wanted to help you, but no,” Jeremy stands up, facing Trevor as he yells. “You don’t let anyone help. All you do is push everyone away and I’m sick of it.”

“I had to,” Trevor says, his voice calmer than he had anticipated.

Jeremy pulls at his hair, walking in a small circle in front of the bench and swearing under his breath. “Trevor.” He’s calmer now, his feet still and voice low. “Trevor, you can’t just give yourself up to the Corpirate. You hate him, I know you do, I know you better than anyone else.”

“Yeah,” Trevor swallows. “You do. That’s why I’m sorry.”

The anger in Jeremy has seemingly dissipated, being replaced instead by sorrow. Trevor pushes himself off the bench and walks to where Jeremy stands just a couple of metres away, grabbing his hand. He traces a small circle on it, avoiding his eyes and focusing on each individual wrinkle on them. The scarred knuckles, his short nails, the way in which the lines seem to run on forever and ever and ever. He lets loose a breath he didn’t realise he was holding, and looks at Jeremy. He’s looking right back, vulnerability coating his features.

“Jeremy,” he starts, voice nearly breaking, “you know just as well as I do that the Corpirate isn’t going to fall unless someone takes him out. You also know I’m the best person to do that.” Jeremy furrows his brow and opens his mouth to argue, so Trevor places a finger to his lips to try and give himself some more time to explain. “I am, Jer. I know how he works, and where all his warehouses are, and where he keeps his drugs and all the nasty shit that would have him in jail for the rest of his life. Except he can’t go to jail, because he’d get out eventually and then all hell would break loose.”

He drops his finger from Jeremy’s lips, and notices that their left hands are still intertwined. Jeremy clears his throat, shaking his head as he tries to process the information.

“So you expect us to just let you give yourself up?” He asks, a note of desperation that Trevor had never heard before in his voice.

“No, I don’t. That’s why you can’t tell anyone.”

Jeremy splutters, the corners of his mouth turning down. “You want me to lie? What if you get hurt, Trevor? I won’t be able to find you, and they won’t either. Please, you need to think about this- “

“I have, Jeremy. Over and over again. If anyone comes after me, he’ll kill them. Just let me finish what I started.

A beat of silence falls, before Jeremy’s small voice breaks it again. “Why does it have to be you?”

Trevor sighs, stepping close to Jeremy. “I’m the best option. If my plan works, he’ll never bother anyone again. I won’t be constantly running from him anymore, and he won’t be able to hurt any of you.”

“Did he… Did he threaten us?”

“Yeah, he did.” Trevor almost laughs, some twisted irony hitting him as he holds Jeremy’s hand and breaks his heart. “He threatened you, mostly.”

“Me?” Jeremy’s eyes are laced with confusion. “Why would he do that?”

“Because – oh man, Jeremy, for a sniper you sure are oblivious as hell.”

“What do you – oh,” his eyes flash with a sudden realisation, and he looks at Trevor as if he contains all the stars in the night sky.

Trevor swallows the lump in his throat and moves even closer to Jeremy, rubbing the back of his head with one hand. He’s pulled forward into a tight hug, and he rests his hands on the small of Jeremy’s back.

“I’m so sorry, Jeremy. For all of this,” he mumbles into Jeremy’s neck, and he feels the faint shake of Jeremy’s head as he sighs again.

“Don’t apologise. Please.”

He pulls back slightly, and now his hand is tracing the outline of Trevor’s jaw and smoothing the hair back behind his ears and he looks so incredibly sad. A stab of pain goes through Trevor, his regret flooding his lungs like a tidal wave and driving out any determination he had previously had to see the whole thing though. All he wanted was to stay in this moment with Jeremy for eternity, observing the sad smile on his usually joyous face twist into something more wistful, the way his hair dances in the wind, the peppermint and vanilla sent on his shirt.

Jeremy’s fingers still and drop from his face, and he looks to the side for a moment, before turning his head to gaze at Trevor. They’re so close to each other that he can feel Jeremy’s breath, how it seems to float above their heads in the cold air and dissipate. Jeremy clears his throat and interlocks their fingers together, squeezing them as he speaks up. “I was really, really hoping it wouldn’t be like this. I wanted it to be – y’know – special.”

Trevor can’t help but smile at the thought that they could be safe, possibly, and happy. With each other. Maybe not here, but in any other universe. A place far away from this bullshit that had consumed their lives bit by bit until they had nothing left but vague hopes and agonising regrets.

“It’s okay,” Trevor says, fondness tinting his tone and transforming into a thousand tiny butterflies in his stomach. “I can deal with this.”

Jeremy’s smile lights his entire face up, and he pulls Trevor by the collar of his shirt to meet him in the middle. His lips are soft compared to Trevor’s chapped ones, and he tastes of mint and coffee and fucking sunshine and its addictive in the best possible way. Trevor leans into the kiss, a hand almost cradling Jeremy’s waist as his other hand curls through his hair. He’s happy, he realises halfway through, his eyes closed and a smile on his face. There’s this feeling that he hasn’t felt for a long, long time rocking his mind, and he can’t quite place it until –

Oh.

There’s something horribly comical about this whole situation to Trevor, and he couldn’t figure out what it was until a boy from Boston with obnoxiously bright green hair and laughter that could fill an entire stadium with joy pulls him in for a kiss after he breaks his heart. It’s love. Or something close to it, anyway, he’s not really sure. Only that could explain why his heart is beating so fast, or how tears are wetting the corners of his eyes as he mumbles apologies into Jeremy’s lips.

He breaks away, leaning his forehead against Jeremy’s for a moment. A gentle kiss is pressed onto Jeremy’s forehead after he moves back slightly, and he hates himself more than he ever has for leaving him like this. His hands are the last things that leave him, and he feels cold and empty.

Jeremy keeps his eyes closed as Trevor steps away from him, a last apology and a promise floating through the air between them. His boots hit the floor with soft thumps, stopping briefly before resuming and fading gradually until there’s a slam of the door closing. Then, he’s gone, and the silence is suffocating.

It hits him all at once, and he lets himself crumble to the floor. It hurt – a numb, burning sensation in the centre of his chest which seems to be growing by the second, and that only Trevor seemed to be able to fix. Trevor, whose kiss felt like liquid fire running down his throat and setting everything in his body alight in the most exquisite form of destruction. Trevor, who he might never see again.

Jeremy has never been good with having faith; his sorry beginning and chaotic life had seen to that. He had always thought it best to keep his emotions tucked away neatly in a little pocket, far from harm. That’s something he shared with Trevor. They’re both scared of what could be. If they both survive this, Jeremy thinks he’d like to make that jump with Trevor.

With that in mind, he makes his way down from the roof and back to his room, where he curls into a ball on his bed. He spots one of Trevor’s hoodies slung over the back of a chair, and he lets himself cry. He cries until he can’t anymore, his cheeks stained with small tracks and his body slowly falling asleep.