- ; Never Quite Right

        [ besides. he’s a hero. he saves lives. ]

                      Breaks my heart to see people in shitty relationships. Personally, this is why I don’t get tied down. I dunno anythin’ ‘bout guys, but girls are fuckin’ annoying. Too annoying for a relationship.

I liked to think Chad was a smart enough guy that had he not been killed he would have left his husband. But who was the worst company to him? I nodded, my eyes dodging his as I entered his pristine home. “Wha—”

     ❝ Fine.❞

         Because he’s not stupid; and Chad’s one of          the few friends he has. He spends most of his          time at bars & in other guys’ beds; he can’t stand          to look at someone after they’ve fucked, and sex          is totally above friendship, so even guys he could          be friends with? They never see each other again.          And he doesn’t really meet many women; because          all he does is drink and work and order takeout. 

         But he’s sure he’s right. About Chad. About Patrick.          He’ll bring it up again later.

       ❝ Seriously? Grow up.❞

           An eye roll from the blonde before he rises as well, pushing his chair             back less noisily than Chad. If Chad really wants to do this — well. He’s            not sure he can out-diva him. Because, really, Laurence is much more             like a gay on a Ryan Murphy show than most guys he meets, but Chad?            Chad takes the fucking cake. That’s part of the reason Laurence’s tried so            hard to befriend him. Not that he’s really been trying hard. Or trying. In theory,            he would try hard.            Because Chad gets it; gets him, and even though half the shit he says sounds            like fucking Martha Stewart, there’s something that keeps Laurence around.            He hasn’t had anything close to a friend in years, not since Elijah, and while            he’s not quite sure he’d call this friendship, it’s certainly not not-friendship.            For once he’s not the most dramatic in the room, and it’s nice. Mostly            because he doesn’t feel like Chad has the right to call him out on his             shit when he does shit like this. And he can always deflect to Patrick.            Which is kind of a dick thing to do, but whatever gets Chad’s mind off of             whatever ridiculous thing Laurence has just said or done. 

           But he’s still not going down without a fight. 

There was a fair amount of time for contemplation before the door creaked open, my host standing on the precipice.  I gave Chad a tight-lipped smile and a nod, waiting for his okay to step into the place he still thought of as his home.

                    She’ll probably leave it there, too.                     Let someone else rid the house                      of the demons it contains.

       It’s not a trash can,             but it’ll have to do for now.

                                  "Why did you get this piece of shit thing in the first place?"

   It’s mere curiosity that lilts her voice, prompts the question to leap from the tongue she’s been biting to pierce the air around them. It’s heavy, thickens the atmosphere enough to be cut with a knife.           She’s well aware she’s encroaching on territory better left alone, the sleeping carnivorous animal one would be better off not poking,                                                                                          but she can’t help herself.

       ”I mean, I know people use this kind of stuff to                 spice up their sex lives or whatever, 

     "You really don't know how to take the subtle 'Drop it' hints, do you?"      A scathing sigh follows, chased down with another helping of wine.      Though he's probably humoring her whole line of questioning because conversation is a rare commodity for him. There's few in the house he finds tolerable, and right now a little companionship is wanted.       "Why that? Because the shop owner suggested it, and let's be honest. I'm not about to clamp something around my balls with spikes on it. Just the lesser of all the evils in that place."       Memories of that shop give him chills in the worst way: the dank red lighting, whips and crops hanging off of hooks, and glass cases of what look more like medieval torture devices than sex toys. 

       ❝ At least I look my age. I think I see one right now. Ask nicely and I’ll help            dye it.❞

           He runs a hand through his hair, shrugging. If Chad doesn’t want his             help, it’s his own damn grave he’s given. Laurence has tried, and that’s            good enough for — well, him. And ‘tried’ is questionable. Doubtful, even.

Okay, so no one’s ever accused me of being saintly. It’s not like I’m Freddy Krueger.

          [ but then again, dean is far from an expert in relationships. ]