WICKED BOY (Preview) M/M

(CHAPTER (5): Patreon-Exclusive Story)

"I don't want any."  Lucas was always persistent, blunt wiggling between his fingers like somehow it could entice me into taking a quick drag. "I told you — it makes me feel weird when you bring it in here. My dad could show up."

"You are so annoying."  Lucas rolled his eyes, inhaling until the paper burned, slowly, at the edges.  He held his breath for a moment, eyes sliding lazily to mine.

I watched him through the smoke, his bright eyes blown and relaxed. He smiled at me, a soft thing, playful at best — wicked at worst. Then he leaned closer, and my heartbeat jumped in a silly — naive way.  Smoke filled my nose quite quickly after that, and Lucas grinned fully as I sputtered unhappily.

"... Not so bad, huh? And no daddy in sight."

"God — you're such an ass.  I said — "  I flushed, unhappily waving the lingering — rank-smelling fog.  "That I didn't want any — Lucas. It reeks."

Lucas laughed so whole-heartedly that my frown melted into confusion — coughs echoing in the small room soon after that. He patted my back until they subsided.

"... Like you know what you want, little Milo."  He smiled, softened by the haze of his high.  "That's what I'm here for.  To tell you."

—

"I'm so sorry for calling this late, but — I need you to pick me up, Isaac." I don't know who else to call, and apparently, that means that I'm resorting to an all-time low, "Like five minutes ago, super emergency — need you to pick me up."

"What are you babbling about?" Isaac is half-awake, I can tell, probably poring over his studies for next week's exams, "From where, Milan?" There's a pause, a pause long enough for me to know he's taking a sip of his coffee, because Isaac is easy to remember, to remember every detail.

Simple and predictable. Safe, even.

"The Mclaughlin event," I swallow, "I went with Dad, and I'm just, you know, not comfortable —" I shrug even though he can't see me, hope my nerves from Lucas are convincing enough in my voice. "I'm not comfortable being here; I feel like I'm suffocating on five-hundred-dollar perfume."

Isaac laughs into the receiver, which says he believes every ounce of it —

"I thought I was off fake-boyfriend duty tonight. I could have gone, you know. I offered, and you wanted to go at it alone." He's right, he absolutely had, but I didn't want to invite him, was too scared that it would take the relationship to a more severe level — introducing him to my father's clientele — then, that it'd leave an awkward taste in the mouth of our strange friendship.

Funny how things worked out that way anyway.

"You were totally right," I breathe, slip into the next hallway over, near the doors, "I was wrong. You know I'm bad at these things, so bad — that I'm probably going to do that awful thing where I get nervous and vomit, and it's not going to be pretty. Please come get me?"

"Don't worry," There's a shuffling of papers in the background, a jingling of keys, "I don't want you puking in front of your dad's investors. I'll be there in a little over five minutes; it's not too far from my apartment."

I let loose a loud sigh of relief, feeling the corners of my lips curling up, "You're great, so great — thank you." I feel my stomach turn at the words, how Isaac was quite possibly drowning in confusion on the other side of the line,

"No problem, um — " His voice is lower, quieter — has that rough edge to it like he had some dinner nights when his feet kicked across mine under the table, "did you want to come over maybe tonight after I pick you —"