The Blue Boy

What Are We?

We stop laughing and look at each other seriously.

"What is this?" I ask, putting my hand onto his. He smiles at me.

"It's whatever you want it to be," He holds onto my face tenderly, making me feel like the only boy in the world.

After everything that happened today, this feels really nice. I don't know exactly what I'm feeling, but I know that I can't deny it.

I close my eyes, enjoying his warm touch. "Can we be...a thing?" I pause, "We could hold hands and stuff...cuddle..." I smile and blush.

Larry laughs cutely and leans his forehead onto mine. "That's fine by me," He hugs me closer.

I love this. It feels weird falling for someone so quick, but this just feels natural, I guess. I've fallen so hard for Larry motherfucking Johnson.

"Dude," I giggle, "I'm so fucking high,"

We both laugh and end up cuddling until we decide to head back inside. We were more sober now, so Larry could probably tell Lisa that I'm staying here for awhile.

Fuck, I need to grab my bag and my meds.

"Larry?" He hums in response, "I left my bag and something else in my apartment,"

He stays silent for a minute or two then says, "I'll go up there with you to get it, just...fuck" I know he's worried about my dad, I am, too.

After an eternity, I'm ready to grab my stuff. I just hope he's passed out or something.

Larry holds my hand as we slowly make our way up, the tension strong. When we were outside my door, I stop.

"You're gonna be okay, Sal, I'm here," he squeezes my hand in reassurance.

I take a deep breath and open the door. There's no sound coming from inside, so that's good? It still fucking stinks, though.

I see Larry cover his nose and mouth when we walk in. This time, I squeeze his hand.

When I see that my dad's passed out on the floor, I move quickly to grab my bag, my meds, and open Gizmo's food bag so he can help himself.

When I finally get back to the door, I'm almost hyperventilating. Larry hugs me and soothes me, petting my hair in calm strokes.

"You did it, you're okay," he keeps whispering things like that until I can breathe.

We start to go down the elevator, the tension has lifted surprisingly, and it feels calm.

"Sal," I turn to look at Larry, "What're those pills for?"

"My depression and anxiety," I didn't plan to sugar coat it, but it just sounds harsh now that I have said it.

He seems caught of guard, but relaxes and takes a step closer to me.

"Y'know," I start, "we should change the music in here sometime," He laughs and nods. Right now it was some shitty pop, so it could use a change.

We get downstairs and Lisa looks confused about why I have my bag, but doesn't ask. "Hey, boys!" She smiles.

"Hey, Lisa," I smile too, but she just can't see it. Larry and Lisa have started to tell when I'm smiling based on my voice and stuff, though.

We head into Larry's room and fall back onto the bean bags.

. . . .

Suddenly, I open my eyes and I'm still on my apartment floor. Pain is coursing through my body. What the fuck?

W-was that...all a dream? Did that just n-never happen?

I groan and sit up. The thing with Dad was obviously real, though.

I try to stand up, but my chest starts throbbing, so I just have to crawl to the bathroom. It feels like I'm bleeding, so I need to hurry.

While I'm bandaging myself up, it hits me: me and Larry aren't...god fucking damnit!

I punch the wall in frustration, leaving a small dent. Tears well up on my eyes.

I tie the last bandage a little too tight, but it doesn't matter. Nothing really matters. My mind swirls with the images me and Larry.

The images that never really happened.

I trudge along to my room, not really thinking about anything but his face. His laugh. His smile. His lips.

I start punching my bedroom wall while tears fall down my face under my mask freely. I rip my mask off and toss it on the floor.

My knuckles burn and leave blood marks on the wall.

My punches slow in speed and dull down in intensity. Soon, I'm just pawing at the dented wall.

"Fucking hell..." I soon succumb to my emotions and fall onto the floor, crying my eyes out.

My mind is still full of him. Everything about him is so perfect, but he isn't mine. If there's a god, him and I are gonna have a word sometime.

I know that I won't ever tell him how I feel in a million years, and that just makes it worse.

The tears make me feel weak, but they won't fucking stop. I want them to stop. Stop.

I need him...