ok here’s my fic 👀👀

Chapter One😴

“Look, if you’re going to be followin’ me around all the time, at least make yourself useful, God.”

Curtis shrugs off his bag and borderline throws it at Oliver.

“Fuckin dog. I can’t even—“ Curtis hisses a string of curses under his breath. “Father forgive me, but I can’t even catch a damn break.”

Oli practically whines from his halfstep next to the older boy, sweet pulchritude gleaming with delight. He’s almost never this close to Curtis, he could almost… hm.

“—…and my- ugh, helloooo, earth to Oliver? Goodness. Stop droolin’ on my bag. It’s new, y’know.” Curtis growls.

Oli pouts shamefully, wiping his bitten lips with his torn sleeve. “What? I wasn’t…”

“You were droolin’, dude. Shut up.” Curtis snaps. Momentarily, Curtis’s complexion contorts into uncomfortable hunger. Right, he hadn’t eaten since whatever the school liked to classify as lunch.

“You’re hungry? I got money, y’know.” Oli laughs hesitantly. “Got some from a bet. Did you know I can do, like, 30 pushups? Crazy, right? Hell, I could’ve done more but—” The dark-haired twinkie pauses in his annoyingly rhythmic stride. “Hey, I was thinking of startin’ this band. Some bullshit for a few extra pennies, yeah? N’ you’re the only guitarist I know, fer sure, ha!”

“Surely you’re mad. Shit like that ain’t savin’ ya a dime, mate. N’, m’ nowhere near a spot academically to be startin’ no band. Likewise, why would I ever spend more time with ya than I need to? Pretty sure I’d be sparin’ my mental pence just by avoidin’ ya,” Curtis sneers condescendingly at Oliver, as if the mere idea of making music with him was extremely laughable.

Oliver’s smile falters. “So dramatic, N’ for what? Jesus.”

Curtis furrows his eyebrows, offended. With blown, bewildered eyes, his pupils dart around carefully for eavesdropping sisters. “I— uh- shut up! My folks would shoot me dead if you got sent to the confession box while m’ supposed to be nannying ya. What’s your deal!?”

Oliver takes a sheepish step backwards. He runs his slender fingers through his choppy locs, a nervous habit . In doing so, Curtis is able to peek chipped paint on the nails of the boy. “And what do ya think you’re doin’ with nail polish!? It’s like you’re tryin’ to get taken by the devil, mate!”

Chapter two 😴

“Ah, c’mon, don’t be a wet blanket, Jaz..” Oli presses her bony figure against the cold metal of the locker. “Boyfriend shmoyfriend, girlayyyy. Y’know I don’t do no commitment shit… i’m here for a good time, and here you are… a walking great time. So… why dontcha get a ride home with ya boy… and we can…?” Oliver gestures suggestively with one hand pressing his pointer finger and thumb together to make an ‘O’, the other hand poking his other index finger in and out.

Jasmine giggles, easily charmed by his antics. “Ugh, you’re such a sleaze, Sykes. Get lost.”

Timeskip a day or two — 3:43AM.

X4522279x: Ols.

Olisaurus: ??? *~*

X4522279x: Stop being a damn womanizer.

Olisaurus: Eyerollz. You texted me at 3:45am 2 tell me 2 stop getting action? Cockblock !!

X4522279x: Ew. don’t say it so casually. Lust is a deadly sin, pervert.

X4522279x: And no, that’s not why I actually text messaged your computer.

Olisaurus: wowowowaaa way 2 waste my time !! cut 2 da chase

X4522279x: Do you even still believe in Jesus? Read:3:49AM

Timeskip— summer break

“Good word. Are ya sure we couldn’t have just caught a cab?” Curtis whines for what seems to be the 20th time in 5 minutes. He pants heavily, his shoulder-length hair clinging to his neck.

“And spend 15 quid? I think you’ve forgotten that we’re doin’ this to save cash,” Oliver retorts.

“Y’know I’m totally pissed atcha for making me go along with this ‘band’ bullshit, right? I mean- I’m not even good at guitar. And you don’t even play an instrument. And, and— well, you can’t make a band with just two lads, and, ugh dude, this is completely ridiculous.”

Oliver rolls his obnoxiously pretty eyes and a short huff of irritation escapes his annoyingly kissable lips. Hm. ‘No wonder he’s such a slut,’ Curtis speculates, which instantly made him feel reprehensible. He shouldn’t even be considering such ignominious things. Especially not… for a boy. No, not for a boy. Not for anyone, but especially not for a boy.

Curtis blinks out of the train of thought occupying his conscience once he can feel a set of brownish-green eyes on him.

“Curtttttt. Thinkin’ about a chick, mate? Why’re ya so spacey?” Oliver teases.

“Hm? Oh— uh huh. A girl,” Curtis murmurs. “I mean— what?! No— I wasn’t thinkin’ about a bird. Fuckin’ creep,” Curtis is strangely quick to defend his oh-so-pure love life.

Oli chirped proudly from his spot on the sidewalk, “Not a babe, huh? Sureeee mate.” Oli’s eyes twinkled with delight. “Tell me then, if not a chick, whatcha thinkin about? A guy?”

Curtis’s eyes widened with shock, utterly scandalized by the insinuation. “What the hell!? I’m not a… I’m not gay! The only fags I like are the kind you get at smoke shops, okay?”

“N’ don’t call me a queer ever again. My mum says the gays burn in hell anyways.”

Oliver walks in dead air beside Curtis while the other boy continues to wail about his apparent hatred for bl. As Oli continued to listen to Curtis’s incessant hate-speech, he —as any curious teenager would— became acutely shameful of the way he thought about the other boys at school.

Oli would often stay after all their classes for the day had come to an end, hoping to maybe catch a few glimpses of the boys at soccer practice outside. His favorite drill of theirs was a scrimmage. The kind where one team had their shirts on, the others bare-chested. He knew it was wrong. He knew God had shook his head and decided that Oliver was to burn for eternity because that is what happened to boys who thought things about other boys that boys shouldn’t be thinking about other boys. But boys are all Oliver found himself thinking about.

Hell, he can’t even remember the name of the chick he met up with the other day, but he replays his most intimate interactions with Curtis every night before he lets sleep take him.

“I mean, if you weren’t such a player, I’d think you had it for a dude,” Curtis continues. “My mother doesn’t even let me listen to Bowie because he apparently kisses guys.”

“Dude, just shut up already! Nobody likes it when you keep harpin’ on the same subject, okay!? You’ve beaten the horse past species recognition, for God’s sake,” Oliver spits.

“Don’t tell me to shut my mouth, mutt. I’ll punch ya lights out, honest.”

“Big deal. I’ve seen ya fight. You throw fists like a girl.”

“No I do not! I can knock you out right here, fuckin’ animal. ‘Promise!”

“Oh my god, piss off, will ya? Just go home. I don’t want you with my band anymore,” Oliver retorts stubbornly. “And don’t talk to me at school anymore either, weirdo. I mean seriously, do ya shower? Like, ever?”

“Faggot.”