One-Shots [BBS]

BigJigglynoss [1]

okay we just gonna pretend it's 2014 and these boys still share rooms at pax bc if they don't get to be affectionate my heart will explode

there's also some cheesy ooc dialogue but listen anthony is enraptured

Okay, what the actual fuck.

Listen, Anthony's tired. He's had an ungodly amount of caffeine and alcohol the past few days, plus a couple of uppers and downers that are questionably legal at best. It's a con, and nobody's ever at their best health during those. Not even moderate health.

He's stayed sober enough that his eyes haven't crossed yet, at least. He's doing better than Scotty.

But if his head's this fucked up, he needs to go to the hospital or something, because he left the party early to slip back into his shared hotel room, and he could have sworn that, for just a second, before Evan could tug the shirt down over his head and turn in surprise, that the man had something large and feathery sprouting from his back.

It's an absurd thought, and Anthony tries to shake it off as he apologises to Evan for the flustered smile. He gathers his things and moves quietly, heavily into the hotel bathroom. He catches his own gaze in the bathroom mirror and it takes him a long second to tuck away the feeling that there's something Ev's hiding.

When he steps out of the bathroom, leaving the light on for Tyler to stumble back in later, Evan's curled up under the covers with only his hair sticking out. Jiggly tries not to stare at the back of his head.

—

It's barely a thought in his mind the next too-early morning, ranking far, far below getting his hands around a hot cup of coffee. Evan reminds him, briefly and unintentionally, as he rouses himself and puts on his game face. Anthony watches him slowly piece the puzzle back together, settle his shoulders back and low, keeping his shirt away from the small of his back. Evan always sits up straight, back away from the chair, head ducked.

Anthony observes quietly, from the corner of his eye three seats down. Evan covers his face when he smiles, and it baffles Anthony.

—

Anthony would never give up convention season for the world. Even if he feels like dog shit dragging his body around for eighteen hours, there is a world-shattering fullness in his heart that bubbles and sparks every time he can grab one of his friends to get their attention, or someone approaches him to ask for an autograph, or someone at a booth yells. Or or or. Anthony revels in it. His cheeks hurt from smiling.

His friends handle it with a familiar negligence of grace, flying down aisles when they feel like it, screaming over vendors' borrowed consoles. Anthony's chest hurts, and it boils into his throat and he almost can't breathe with how much he loves.

Evan notices, which isn't particularly odd. He's the only other one standing off to the side, smile crooking in the corner of his mouth as they watch Tyler bite his tongue as he concentrates on whatever game is in beta right now.

He looks Anthony over, shuffles one step closer and nudges Anthony with his shoulder. He doesn't say anything, and Jiggly doesn't move away. It's easy to stand there, shoulders touching, watching, amused, at how far Scott can lean over a controller.

It sits like a brand on Anthony's shoulder, the place where he could feel Evan's heat, shifted as each of their shoulders jumped in laughter.

It clings to him like smoke as they drift along to the next booth.

—

It's easier to breathe as they fall into step with each other, dialogue flowing easy over dinner. The fancy dinner is tomorrow night, and right now they eat greasy diner food standing up, laughing at each other as they juggle massive burgers and shakes and fries on a cold, narrow Boston street. They sit, crouched over with knees tucked up to their chests, and eat over the gutter.