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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Zachary should have just shut his mouth.
At least that's what he couldn't stop repeating to himself in his head throughout Tuesday and Wednesday. He'd gone and muddled something that was doing quite fine with his dumb spur-of-the-moment declaration of love. It was like when he was younger, and everyone would be having fun and doing fine, and he couldn't just ride out the pain for an extra half hour. He just had to complain that his chest felt funny, that his head hurt, or that there was a sharp pain in his stomach. He just had to say something to ruin, something that was already fine with his impatience.
Leroy had seemed frazzled the rest of that Monday evening and had all but run away when he'd decided to go home. The whole evening had been painfully awkward. They hadn't even said goodbye to each other, and Leroy avoided looking Zachary in the eyes when the older man walked him to the door.
He spent most of Tuesday and Wednesday throwing himself at work, and even when his fingers started to cramp up and his vision began to blur staring at his laptop screen, he switched to penning down his ideas for the project. He just needed his mind to be on something—anything but be idle enough to think of the stunned look on Leroy's face when he had admitted the feelings he'd been dealing with for a while. He couldn't help wondering that maybe he'd scared Leroy off—that maybe he had just truly been an experiment for someone who was down in their luck dating women. No matter how often he tried to convince himself that Leroy probably felt the same way about him—or at least was building up to it—the little voice at the back of his head made him doubt that by insisting that there was no way that was the case.
Why would Leroy even love him?
What would be the appeal?
He was average looking and had just gotten his first job at thirty. He might even lose it in the coming months, but he didn't want to think about that. He wasn't the most interesting or the most outgoing. They spent most of their time curled up in bed because Zachary was in some level of pain. They had never even gone for a walk.
Zachary didn't think he could manage a walk.
And that was pathetic in a way that made his eyes burn and his confidence wane.
"Fuck," he sighed, noticing his vision blur even more from the thin sheet of tears that were starting to cloud his gaze. "Why did I have to ruin it?" he scolded himself, blinking back his tears before putting his work aside. He was done for the day. It was a bit early at three o'clock in the afternoon, but he would sign out, anyway, and let his teammates know.
He spent the rest of the afternoon reading and trying to get his mind off stuff. He and Leroy didn't have their daily over-the-phone chat—it was the second day in a row, and he was starting to feel a little depressed.
Maybe this was the end?
Would Leroy reach out to him at the end of the week and put him down, or would he let things slowly fade until they weren't talking to each other much at all? Sometimes Zachary would pick up his phone and toy with the idea of messaging first, but the natter some back and forth with himself he would drop the plan, deciding that he didn't want to make things more awkward than they already were.
