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 had a particular talent for hiding. Well, not in the literal sense—it was in a more metaphorical way. Things that would frustrate others and push them in a way that would make them implode simply triggered a shutdown response in Leroy's mind. If he didn't talk about it or acknowledge it, those feelings ceased to exist. Well, as much as they could stop existing in his subconscious mind.
Leroy had a really hard time empathizing with himself, and, by extension, a really hard time empathizing with others. Because if he could get over it, they could as well, couldn't they? It was what made his mother so unbearable to watch.
Though things were noticeably different with Zachary. The older man tapped into a well of compassion Leroy didn't even know he had—and clearly didn't have for himself. Hearing Zach cough even a little was enough to get Leroy to ask a series of questions out of concern. Hearing Zachary sound a little moody in a phone call would sometimes eat at him all day in a way that made him contemplate dropping whatever he was doing to visit the man at his place.
Zachary was important, and the small issues and problems of his day-to-day life needed Leroy's immediate devotion.
It was so apparent that Leroy even noticed the behavior in himself, and sometimes he would stop and pause, wondering what made him treat Zachary so differently. Sometimes, a small sliver of guilt would eat at him, telling him it was because Zach was disabled, and Leroy perceived him as partially vulnerable and needing help—but—that wasn't really true. As bad as it sounded, Leroy could give a rat's ass about most people, and people who came off as needy or needing accommodations often created the same annoying feeling in his stomach he felt when his mother couldn't keep it together. So, Leroy had simply settled on the fact that he did what he did because he was enamored with the older man. His humor, his smile—the awkward way he held a plastic fork.
He didn't feel resentment.
He felt resentment when dealing with other people who tried to lean on him. He didn't get anything, and yet he had to give constantly. It didn't matter if it was at work, or back in school when dealing with women and peers who barely acknowledged him outside of what he could do for them.
Zachary understood him. The man wasn't just taking from Leroy without giving back or with disregard for Leroy's current problems and issues. He felt seen—heard—even when not much talking was going on. There was a shared kindness and comfort that Leroy couldn't really explain, even now that they were wrapped up in Zach's bed, doing nothing but napping and occasionally looking out the window.
"It's too hot..." Zachary muttered, bringing Leroy out of his thoughts. The younger man's eyes flickered to Zach, watching him rub his eyes with the back of his hands as he stretched. Zachary was wearing shorts today—courtesy of the heat wave. The sight of his long legs that made up the majority of him fascinated Leroy, and now also slightly annoyed him because it made sharing his bed difficult.
