Leroy Adkins is an underperformer. He barely graduated. He barely got a job, and he hardly socializes in his day-to-day life.
Zachary Turner has been sick for as long as he can remember, and as he grows older the crushing realization that he never...
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Leroy wasn't sure what happened to him, but there was a complicated numbness in his chest and buzz in his head that had started right after he had gotten home from dropping off Zachary and remained there until now, far into the next week with no indication of easing up anytime soon.
It was like they lodged a plaster into the panicked faucet of his brain that had burst open at the pipe when Zachary had kissed him. He didn't want to deal with the leak, or the warning sign that he was about to fall about from exhaustion and overthinking things, so he shut things off as quickly as possible.
It came with consequences—leaving him lying awake in bed for most of the night as he replayed the kiss in his head and heaved. He remembered the feel of Zachary's lips—the ticklish feeling his twist coaxed from him when it touched his cheek. He remembered his sighs, and small sounds—murmurs that still made his stomach twist up with want from just remembering them.
Leroy felt sick.
The whole situation was consuming his mind, and he didn't know how to make it stop.
He hadn't spoken to Zachary for a week, yet his mind couldn't get rid of him, and his lips and emotions shouldn't let go of that altercation in the car.
He wanted it to happen again, but he was also afraid that it would happen again. He couldn't make up his mind and had probably started and deleted seventy texts since Zachary asked him how he was doing on Monday morning.
Leroy could barely think straight or follow a conversation at work or with his sister and mother at home. Every once in a while, someone would have to physically touch him to get his mind to focus on them and not the static of thoughts in his head. Oftentimes he would look up, disappointed, yet relieved that it wasn't Zachary.
It was one of those days, where his manager had probably repeated his name seven times before he blinked and focused on her at the zoom meeting.
"Leroy?" the manager said with a tone of concern, probably wondering if he was still there with them.
"Yes," Leroy said, turning on his mic and camera, before forcing a smile for his manager and coworkers. It was a Friday—the day he got to work from home. Thank God. Having to work in person since Monday had been torture.
"I was asking if you got the rest of your work done before Monday. I know it's the weekend—" she paused. "But you haven't really been hitting targets."
Leroy sucked in his lip before nodding. "I know. It's okay with me."
"Have you been feeling well? Because you know, you have sick days you haven't used yet."
Leroy blinked.
Sick? Did he look physically sick? Fuck, that was tragic.
