#evilfreckledcutie

evil-freckled-cutie

Levi tipped his head back against the sink, remembering how to breathe. His stomach was empty, but still churned uncomfortably, wanting to throw up more but unable to produce anything to do so. He gasped for air, then listed onto his side and closed his eyes.

Every time he promised he wouldn’t drink anymore.  Every time he went against that promise.

He pulled his cellphone out of his pocket, and went onto FaceBook. He scrolled down through the timeline, looking at Marco’s pictures of his family, remembering how horrible he’d been to Marco at high school. Jocks and band kids weren’t supposed to get along, and Levi and his friends had made that point clear. They could’ve done and been so much, but instead, Levi got the money, fame and addiction, and Marco got to live.

He passed out on the granite floor of his bathroom, covered in his own vomit and broken in so many ways.

 ---

So when he woke up in the bedroom he’d had at his parent’s house in school, he wasn’t sure what the fuck had happened. “What? Ugh, more hallucinations? Where’re the fucking barbiturates when you fucking need them,” he said quietly, rubbing his eyes and-

Shit! Where was his tatt?

He bolted upright then, finding he wasn’t hung-over in the slightest. Weird. So fucking weird. He got up and peered out of the door, finding the house exactly as it’d been when he was younger, and his mother looking at him curiously. “Hurry up and get dressed! School bus will be here in five minutes!”

Why was he staring? He shouldn't be staring. Armin couldn't pull his eyes away, his mind suddenly filled with the whole concept that he had just walked in on his roommate masturbating and probably buck naked beneath the sheets. It was with this realization once again that Armin came to the conclusion that he really needed to look away, no matter how much he wanted to continue looking at the other male, and so he jerked his head to the side. "S-sorry!" He mumbled, tilted his head down to look at the ground. A bright flush stained his cheeks, and he found himself pulling on the hem of his t-shirt in an obvious sign of his anxiety, as it always seemed to come. He didn't know where to look, especially as Marco apologized. It wasn't like this was some abnormal thing. Hell, Armin did it, even if it was typically in the shower or when he absolutely knew that Marco was not coming back anytime soon (and with an always very-cautiously double - even triple - checked lock on the door. It wasn't as if he'd walked on Marco committing a murder, or having sex, or something like that. This was normal. They both did it, it was just...

Armin heard Marco apologize and he shook his head, although he still couldn't bring himself to look back at Marco, out of decency and out of such embarrassment. "There's nothing to apologize about, Marco, please... I shold've knocked." Armin mumbled beneath his breath, clearing his throat and wondering if he'd ever been in a situation quite as awkward as this before. As it stood right now, he didn't think that he had. There was not a thing that he could think of in the entire universe that was more uncomfortable than this situation right now, especially as he heard the mattress begin to creak. Armin startled and straightened a little more, closing his eyes most of the rest of the way so that he didn't catch any glimpse of something or other. He could hear Marco still moving around, but he didn't know what was happening until he heard Marco ask Armin to give him a moment.

Shoot, he was probably trying to get dressed.

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