WICKED BOY (Preview) M/M

I met Lucas when I was eight.

He was taller than me, tougher, and with a light in his eyes that said he could do anything - be anything that he wanted to be. I'd instantly taken a liking to him, even when he pulled my shirt over my head and pushed me into the puddle that contained more ice than water, pelting me with his glove covered fists.

I asked him if he had super powers, I remember saying it - coughing out a bit of blood that trickled from my nose. He'd snarled at me, given me the worst sort of look that a child could give, and I'd thought - aha, he does.

As I laid in my bed for three days after, I thought of how I'd like to be as tough as him. I told Mamá how cool it was that his reflexes were so fast already, and I even told her that I thought he was going to grow up to be a superhero.

"I wonder what kind of other super powers he has," I wondered aloud, blinked up at her from the sheets as she cleaned my face, "His eyes are scary, I bet he shoots lasers from them."

Mamá hadn't agreed. She'd called him a blossoming brute and thrown out my oxford shoes - replaced my broken glasses with a sigh, "He's worse than your father," she chided, "stay away from wicked boys like that, Milan, they're trouble waiting to happen."

It was the one time that I didn't listen to my mother.
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(preview for a patreon-exclusive story. MANXMAN)