I don't give a damn about my reputation

I like your freckles

Vance POV

For future reference?

I feel a hand slide up my back and grab onto my shirt. Bruce is trying his best to stay awake, but I know he's won't be able to much longer. Good job I know where his home is.

I carry him outside, eyeing the phone box across the road. I think calling a cab would be a better way to get him home. I drag myself, Bruce attached to me, across the road, I manage to get inside the phone box and type the number for a cab.

"Hello? Yeah, I need a cab outside Grabber's Diner? Thanks. I need to go to," I stop suddenly. I can't take Brucey to his house. Not like this. His parents would definitely kick me out. Fuck.
"I need to go to Layton Avenue. Hurry up."
I put the phone down and get back outside in the cold, icey air filling my lungs.

Why did I say my house? We're not, friends.

For 20 minutes or so we waited. I found myself glued to the sidewalk, thanks to Bruce burying his face into my neck. Continuing to mumble shit like,
"You smell so nice"
"You're warm"
"What perfume do you use?"

Honestly, I find myself smiling at his words. Fuck, come on Vance. Real men don't show their pathetic feelings. It's just ammunition for others.

"I like your freckles, Vance"

I turn to see Bruce millimetres away from my face. His brown eyes reflect the lights around us. I've never noticed his eyes before. They are, really pretty.

He stares at me with those puppy dog eyes. I find myself stuttering in reply "w-what did you say, Yamada?"
"I love your freckles. They make your face even more pretty," he smiles sleepily, his head resting on my shoulder with an arm around my waist

No one has ever noticed my freckles before?

"What-whatever Yamada, go to sleep and shut up," I mumble. I feel this heat run into my cheeks again. Like when he touched my hand to bandage my knuckles. Like when he snuggled into my chest in his bed. Like when he burried his face into my hair. And now, when he complimented my freckles

Did he say I was pretty?

He surely didn't mean it, I mean. He's half asleep and probably thinks I'm a girl. He's always being flirted with by girls. Plus, I'm not a fucking faggot. I'm not a pathetic little faggot, like, like,

Finney

I would never be like that. Freak.

Men should like women and that's that.

Even if not, my dad would beat it out of me. He always says it. And he means it. He would

"Vance," I hear Bruce say. I feel his hand reach up and cup my face. He places his thumb below my eyes, wiping away my tears.
Shit, I was crying? Fuck
He sits up to cup my face with both hands, his soft skin upon my cheeks. He pulls my face closer to him.

He better not fucking kiss me, I swear I will-

I'm suddenly met with his forehead on mine. A small smile on his lips. "I think you are wonderful"

I feel those tears again. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No, I won't cry infront of bruce. A man should never cry in any circumstances. Never.

"Please don't cry Vance."

I just sat there. Tears flowing like nothing. Why? Why would he make me do that?

"Don't touch me," I growl "please"

He moved himself closer to me. Those beautiful eyes locked with mine. He definitely knows how to get to people. I try so hard, but those fucking tears. They don't fucking stop. They just keep flowing.

He moves his hand away from my face, and pulls me into a hug, my head resting on his chest. It feels. Warm. It feels. Nice. For fuck sake, it's hard to describe.

We just, sit there. No words exchanged. Just me and Bruce. I move my arms and place them around his waist. I wanted to be. Closer, to Bruce. I've never experienced something like this before. People often look and act like they think I have no feelings. I've always had them. I just. Ugh. I'm not good at this shit. I'm THE Pinball Vance Hopper, I don't do this sappy bullshit.

I learnt my lesson the first time

I immediately shoot up as I hear the sound of tires of cobble. That should be the cab. I stand up and offer a hand for Bruce to take. He hesitantly grabs my hand as I yank him up. I don't let go, as I drag him over to the cab.
"This the cab for Layton avenue?" I ask
The driver nods and gestures to the door. I open the door and move aside, letting Bruce get in before me. I slide in and shut the door. Immediately, Bruce passes out in the backseat, resting his head on my shoulder. I look at the clock outside the diner. It's only 7:30 at night, why is he so tired?

Maybe it had something to with what Finney said.

How could his dad work him that hard? He's 16, why would you put so put pressure on him to play baseball? People don't play that young.

I feel Bruce's arm snake around my waist as he burrows his face into my shirt. I glance over to the driver, a smile on his face. The fuck is he looking at?

"You seem like a good boyfriend, kid," he starts
"Oh, I'm not his fucking boyfriend"
"My apologies" he turns his head back towards the road

Why do people keep saying that?

I'm not his fucking boyfriend. He isn't mine either. We are just. Acquaintances. We're not even friends, right?

Sure, I feel warm when I'm with him. And sure, he is the only one to ever be kind to me, but that doesn't mean anything. He's probably just bored. He's messing with me

He's messing with me