Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Gary Barkovitch insists he fell. The teenage boy, no older than 14, had come to his Meemaw's house with a bad limp and a nose full of blood. He's now sat in one of the dining table chairs, plastic-covered cushions squeaking as he jerked from the antiseptic-soaked cotton his grandmother had brought to his face.

"Yknow I ought to tell those youngin's parents bout all this," she started, carefully inspecting the red splotch pasted on his right cheek. From the worry on her face, Gary knew he'd have an ugly bruise on his face for the next while. "I told you Meemaw, I just—" he winced again, "I took a nasty fall on the way home,"

His grandma's face grew cross. "Don't you lie to me, Sonny."

Gary fiddled with the lace doily on the table next to him, looking down at his feet.

"You at least want to tell me what it was about?" The hardwood floors seemed so interesting right about now. He doesn't want to ignore her, lest she get crosser, so in a voice barely above a whisper, he asks, "I ain't soft am I?" It's so quiet, he's not sure he was really talking to her in particular.

He hears Meemaw sigh as she puts aside the last of her now blood-soaked tissues before cradling his face in her hands, carefully avoiding the spots that looked too sore.

"Listen to me, Gary. Them boys rough you up because they're mad they can't make you hard and mean like them,"

"Sure, yer a wee quiet, not the biggest fighter, but what's wrong with that? A boy can't be sweet?"

Gary can feel her thumbs moving stray blonde locks out of his face and he digs his jagged nails into his palms as he fights his urge to cry.

"I like you sweet." A quick kiss is placed on his forehead, and it fills him with a tenderness that makes the tear clinging to his lashes fall. His grandmother wipes it away without a word.

She steps back to let Gary lift himself off his chair and tuck it back under the table. He tries to hide how badly his jeans were rubbing on his scraped ankle.

"Now run off and take a good shower, don't let me catch you on that bed in yer condition!"

—

Gary inhaled the sharp air as he took in his new campus. Fucking Maine. Wasn't his first choice, but he goes where the money goes, and he'd be insane to turn down a full ride.

He's marching his way to his residence building now, morning sun far too bright to be lugging around 3 pieces of luggage. After weaving through hordes of emotional families and jittery freshmen, he finally made it to his floor.

Room 304. He fumbles with his keys for an embarrassingly long time before finally getting the door open. He finds a bare twin bed, a wooden desk and a matte black swivel chair tucked in, cubby holes and shelves on both ends of the desk and an empty corkboard nested between the pair of shelves. He pans to his right and sees the same, minus the chair being blue. It's almost eerie how parallel everything is.

Guess he made it here before his roommate.

He shoved his suitcase and the rest of his bags into a corner and began unpacking. God, fuck all those people with their families helping them do this shit. By the time he finishes, he's tired out his mind. Gary flops down on the hard twin mattress, softly breathing in his sheets, still smelling like the fabric softener from home. Closing his eyes, he said a silent prayer to no one at all that this would be different, nothing like the Carolinas.

—

Barkovitch startles awake at the sound of a loud thud.

"What the fuck?"

"Oh shit—sorry man, did I wake you?" Gary rubs open his eyes to a huge pair of glasses, eyes behind them full of what looks like guilt for waking him up. He has a box full of books and journals at his feet, stray pages littering his side of the room.

Gary pushed himself upright with a grumble and tried to wipe the drowsiness off his face while his new roommate continued a string of apologies.

"—really hope we didn't get off on the wrong foot, Oh, uh, I'm Richard by the way,"

No response.

"…Harkness."

"Yeah I got your fucking name." Jesus, this shit is so awkward.

Gary feels a bit sorry for the guy. He's clearly trying, but he was never the best at holding new conversation.

"And you're..." Oh shit yeah— "Gary, uh, Barkovitch."

Real fucking smooth, man.

"Oh yeah, uh—Orientation, you plan on going to that right? Asking cuz it's like now if you wanna come with." said Harkness, flashing a friendly smile as he adjusted his glasses.

Fuck yeah, orientation. He forgot about that. He now realised he would've probably slept through it. Realistically, he still could, but he felt too bad for this kid to turn him down. "Yeah, ok. Sure, man."

—

There's a crowd of people when they arrive outside. People are laughing, writing down each other's room numbers and sharing names. Waves of people walk by the various booths posted up by the college, with overenthusiastic club members handing out flyers. Some girls were already bunched up in little cliques. How the hell do people manage?

"Harkness—?" Gary calls out for his roommate, realising he'd been people watching for so long he'd gone and disappeared. Fuck.

He looked through the big crowds, suddenly feeling very small compared to everything. He bit at his lip, nervously itching at his hands as he weaved through the person after person. How the fuck did he lose him so quick? Curse his tiny 5-foot ass.

Eventually, he found him by the Journalistic Society booth with an absurd amount of flyers and sign-up sheets already in hand.

"Where the fuck did you go? I—" Gary cut himself off, cringing. He sounded like some desperate kid who lost his mommy. He's known this guy for like an hour. If Harkness heard the panic in his voice, he didn't comment on it. "I told you I was coming to check out the clubs and stuff, did you not hear me? No worries though—I've barely made it to half of these yet,"

Gary just gave a quick nod before starting to walk ahead. He didn't really want to look at Richard right now. At the end of their little lap around the booths, he actually ended up with a flyer of his own. Turns out Maine State has a pretty big photography club, which he guesses he should've assumed, given how good the program was.

They made it to the free food trucks, and Harkness is golfing down a shittily put together chicken slider. He's also trying to hide that he's eying up some blonde guy standing across from them. Very poorly hiding it. Of course he'd end up rooming with some faggot. The guy is pretty tall, built too. He looks like a dick. Richard's little Ken doll then chuckles, and Gary realises he's talking to someone.

Holy Shit.

Gary stops picking at his fries, his mouth gone dry at the sight of the man next to him.

He's a bit shorter than the blonde, braced against one of the shoddy food trucks. His arms are crossed, palms under his biceps, fuck his biceps—and his beautiful, tanned skin is gleaming in the afternoon sun. Gary let out a shaky breath he didn't know he was holding. His features were sharp, contrasted by the dark, flowing hair that cascaded down his broad shoulders, stopping at the biceps he was still trying not to look back at. His mouth was pulled into a small crooked smile that Gary found so goddamn endearing he felt sick.

Holy Fucking Shit.

Gary watches the mystery man's smile fall, brows furrowing, and it its only when Harkness taps on him that he realises he's glaring at him. Fuckfuckfuck—

"You good, Barkovitch?" is all he hears before he shoots up, grabbing his flyer and bag of fries and deciding he was finished with orientation. With everything today, actually.

Gary hides out in his room the rest of the day, thoroughly embarrassed and pissed at what his day had turned into. He skips dinner and forces his eyes shut when he hears his roommate come in for the night. He's hit with a pang of guilt at the soft "Goodnight" he hears from across the room.

That night, he dreams of strong arms and long hair falling onto his cheeks.

Chapter Text

The first few weeks of college fly by quicker than he thought they would. Gary actually liked his professors; they saw potential in him. The photography club had been a success, too, him finding a new hiding place in the photo tech room. Harkness ended up not being half bad as a roommate—good at keeping his shit on his side and not making too much noise when he came back late from whatever nerd project he's on that week. His only issue is that he's made it his personal mission to get Gary out of his dorm.

"Come on Gary, it's just lunch! Right in the dining hall!"

Harkness is shoving his journal and too many pens in his messenger bag as he waits for his response. He meets with the Journalistic Society after lunch (He knows most of his schedule by now, but you couldn't pay him to admit that).

Gary was trying his hardest to ignore him, trying to make himself busy at his desk, knowing he'd been fucking around for the last hour.

"I know you're not busy man, cmon," Guess it didn't work.

He can practically hear Harkness pout from behind him. "If you come, I won't bother you ever again, swear it! Scouts Honour!" Gary stifles a laugh. Fucking Scouts Honour- what's with this guy?

He spins around in his chair to face his roommate with an exasperated sigh and rolls his eyes at the way Richard's face lights up when he finally agrees.

—

It's not like Gary didn't know some of Richard's little buddies by now; he's seen (and avoided) them countless times. He knew Pete through some of his liberal courses, but he had made a bit of an enemy of him by this point. All he asked was what was assigned last class, and somehow Barkovitch made 'I dunno, was having a shit day and skipped' come out more like 'Fuck off, ask somebody else'. Pete stopped trying to talk to him after that.

There was also the Ken Doll, who Gary learned was named Stebbins. Harkness had been hanging around him more lately and giddily recalling all of the day's events to his roommate the moment he shut their door. Gary couldn't believe the shit he just said sometimes. Hark was such a queer that he almost found it endearing.

Outside of those two, he didn't know much of the rest outside of their names, which kept floating in the back of his mind as he walked down the dining hall food line behind Harkness.

He was now watching the group of six as he and Harkness shuffled down the line. There were the "Muskeeters" or whatever gay shit Harkness said they call themselves. Ray was (unsurprisingly) next to Pete, with Hank and Art opposite them. Art was laughing at some shit Hank had said, almost choking on his water. On the far right, he could see Stebbins listening quietly as he picked at his tray.

See, Gary had been avoiding Harkness's little friend group for many reasons:

He didn't want to impose on his roommate's life.

He never fared well in big groups back home.

The most beautiful man he'd seen to date was always there.

You know. Many Reasons.

His last reason seemed to come up more than others. Said man, whose name he learned was Collie, Collie Parker, was now sitting across from Stebbins, softly smiling at the same joke Hank had made. His hair was up in a loose ponytail now, face resting on his fist. Gary suddenly felt that all of this was a terrible idea.

Don't fuck this up, Barkovitch.

"You coming, Gary?"

He was snapped out of his panic by Harkness, already making his way towards his friends. His friends. God, he wanted to vomit.

Gary sharply swallowed as he trailed behind, picking at his hands as they made it to the table.

He cringed as he watched the conversation abruptly stop at the sight of him. Harkness seemed not to notice. As Harkness introduced him, he felt each face turn to him periodically, eating away at the little confidence he had with each stare.

He watched silently as the group made room for them, Harkness chatting as they sat down. Gary now found himself next to Art, Harkness seating himself beside Stebbins.

"Gary? You're in my Lit class, yeah?" he heard Pete speak. "

"Uh, Yeah." Gary couldn't decipher his tone. Given their last real interaction, he didn't trust it to be an inviting one.

He let himself fade into the table's conversation, fiddling with the strap holding his camera. It's why he's not expecting a question thrown in his direction.

"So, what got you on that camera stuff, man?" asked Art, a small, seemingly genuine smile across his face.

The question almost excited him. Gary couldn't help but smile as he began. "I got my first camera when I was small, one of them shit disposable ones. My Meemaw—"

"Fucking Meemaw?" Hank cut him off.

Pete started up with a small laugh. "You a country bumpkin, Barkovitch?"

He felt himself tense. "I ain't no fucking bumpkin—"

Hank kept going. "No, no guys, you gotta understand—his meemaw got him wee old camera when he was just a youngin!"

Gary could hear others at the table start laughing. Laughing at him. This was a terrible fucking idea.

"Hey fuck all the way off man. Nobody asked you shit."

"No but seriously, fucks a Meemaw?" More Laughter.

"Nobody asked you anything either you dumb fucking queer." Silence.

Fuck.

So now that's too far —

That got Ray going. "Hey man, nothing called for all that it was a joke—"

"Nonono, I'm just a fucking country dumbass, right? I didn't comment on any of your sissy bullshit,"

He was talking to Pete again, "or your prissy fucking writing—"

"Hey." Barkovitch's head snapped towards a slam on the table.

"Calm the fuck down dickhead. No one is coming for you." Fuck, Collie—he looked like he did on orientation, eyebrows furrowed and his eyes glaring with warning. Gary really didn't know what to do with that. With any of this.

"This is fucking stupid," he shoves himself up, grabbing his stuff.

"Hold on, Gary!" he feels Harkness tug him back by his wrist, but Gary shakes him off. Probably harder than he had to.

All he heard when he turned his back was indiscriminate chatter and Harkness calling after him.

—

Gary was running.

He wasn't sure where, but he trusted his feet to carry him somewhere, anywhere to get away from whatever the fuck he'd done. What the fuck was wrong with him?

He scratched into the scabbed skin of his neck, wincing as he felt his nails dig under one. He's so fucking stupid, Harkness just wanted to do something nice for him and he fucked it up—his hands trembled as he itched at the old wounds on his nape—why couldn't he be normal for two fucking seconds?

His legs ended up carrying him to the photography hall, which was thankfully devoid of anyone able to question him. Gary watched his hand as he unlocked the darkroom, the scabs and blood had dirtied under his nails an ugly brown. He all but slammed the door behind him and threw himself onto a chair. He was now staring at his feet, eyes adjusting to the red safelight, blurring with tears . He wasn't sure when he'd started crying.

He sits like that for a while, chest heaving as he braces his head against the table in front of him, smelling the synthetic air of the darkroom. He only got up when he felt uncomfortably wet, tears making small wet spots on the thighs of his jeans and making his face sticky.

He pulled up the collar of the tee he was wearing as he left, hoping it would help his hair hide his shame.

—

The sun had begun to set when he made the trek back to his dorm. When he unlocked the door, he was met with his still unmade bed and the mess of papers and journals on Richard's desk. He knew his roommate wouldn't be back for another half hour, so if he played right, he might not need to talk about any of this today. Or ever.

After a quick, cold shower he stood in the bathroom, staring at himself for too long before slapping himself out of his thoughts. He's lying in bed when Harkness comes back.

He hears the lock click. "Gary?"

"…."

"It really wasn't as bad as you think."

"Fuck off."

"No, seriously! you didn't need to…you know—"

"Fuck off Harkness."

"I'm sorry about Hank and Pete, they really didn't mean to offend you or anything. Honest!"

Gary clutched his pillow closer to his chest. He could hear his roommate shuffling behind him.

"I—" He hesitated when he heard Harkness stop.

"I didn't mean to fuck up whatever you guys had," said Gary into his pillow. He didn't know if Harkness could hear his kinda apology, but he couldn't bring himself to move.

His ears burned when he heard Harkness give a small chuckle behind him.

"You didn't fuck anything up! Well, not too bad at least."

…

"Okay."

The rest of the evening moves past without too much friction, and Barkovitch felt the pit in his stomach grow a little less deep.

Chapter Text

Gary Barkovitch was an asshole. Collie Parker knew this well by now.

Collie recalls him having to shut him up back in September, Harkness dragging him down, all nerves. He had been dragged a few more times now and isn't any less scratchy. He was impulsive, quick to anger, and didn't know when to back down. For someone who likes to dish out so much, he sure couldn't take it.

Gary reminded him of the stray dogs from back home. Pathetic, limping things that would bare teeth and snarl if you got too close, but yelp and whimper the moment you barked back.

And oh, Barkovitch barked.

He'd been at least trying not to lash out these last couple of outings, but once he got started, it's like he couldn't stop himself.

Collie could see it now—recognising his ticks. How he picked at his hands when he was nervous, the way his face scrunched when he felt jabbed at, how his eyes dart when he's looking for approval. How regret flashed in his eyes when he said something he knew he didn't mean. He'd become so predictable, Parker had no clue how no one else had picked up on it.

He'd gotten good enough at it that he'd been able to shut him down before he got to biting, a hard glare or a tough squeeze of the shoulder usually enough to have him back down. You could almost see the ears pressed to his head as he then avoided Parker's gaze while the rest of the boys moved on.

The group were in the residence's common room now, most of them sprawled across the couch or floor with Collie and Stebbins bracing against the couch back.

Moments like this let Collie sit in his head for a bit. He'd grown attached to his little group over the last few months, now full of laughs and stupid bits that go on too long. It all made him feel a little less homesick, and his fondness grew as the air grew colder and the tree leaves fell auburn. They pissed him off, don't get him wrong, but in that sweet, endearing way that made you want to roll your eyes and bite back a smile. They definitely still pissed him off, though. They were right now, actually.

Pete and Hank were deep in a debate, an idiotic debate.

"In what fucking world would 10 naked ladies make more sense than 10 million bucks?" Pete was yelling back at Hank, a wide smile on his face.

"You know the shit I could do with 10 naked ladies?"

"You know the shit you could do with 10 million dollars?"

Ray starts adding on now, "You could get twenty chicks with that much money man, think big. " Pete points back at him, nodding in agreement.

"I don't want to pay for my naked ladies, that makes it gross!"

Pete was pissing himself laughing at this point. "So how'd you think this flock of naked ladies are getting naked, Hank? How they getting here, through your sheer sex appeal?"

"Exactly, realistically, someone's paying for the ladies anyway!"

Hank fell silent for a second, face contemplating Ray and Pete's words.

"Dumbass didn't think of that, huh?" scoffed Stebbins, adding his rare comment to one of these idiotic hypotheticals. That got a Collie biting back a laugh.

"Okay, what the fuck ever! Why are we questioning the logistics of my naked ladies?"

Collie learned farther into the couch. "Yeah, why are we? Don't you have a whole woman back home, dickhead? Or is that someone else?" He emphasised the dickhead as he gave a bitchy smirk, feigning ignorance.

Baker slung an arm around Hank, still laughing himself silly. "Oh yeah! She apart the ten Olson?" Hank threw a weak jab at his side. "Leave my Cle, outta this, you assholes."

Everyone was up roaring again, and Collie found himself chuckling, smiling behind his fist as he looked off to the side, away from the men on the floor. He spotted Gary sitting at the end of the couch. He looked lost, off in his own brain, far, far away from a hoard of women or ten million dollars.

Parker considered asking him if he was okay, but if he could guess, he wouldn't react well to being put on the spot in front of everyone. And there wasn't really a way to say 'Hey man, I can tell your letting something up in that skull of yours bother you, and I wanted to see if you're good.' without that happening.

He settled on lightly tapping on his shoulder, feeling the ridge of his collarbone through his thin T-shirt. Gary startled out his thoughts, peering up at him through his messy blonde hair. It was getting long now, properly brushing his shoulders. Collie just nodded at the boy as he shifted himself back to the group. Barkovitch looked confused, mouth twitching to say something, but settling on turning his head away, a faint blush on his cheeks. If Collie were meaner, he'd tell him he looked flustered, but he decided to save him the comment.

__

It was a cool late afternoon, early November already chilling the autumn air. The boys were congregated around a park table on campus, having picked up a late lunch together. Collie was a bit peeved, seeing as the lunch had been so late because they were waiting on Harkness to wrap up with entry for the college paper, and after waiting outside his dorm for ages, Barkovitch came out announcing that there was zero chance we were getting the man out. Stebbins had bailed, too. Collie had left him moping around their dorm, utterly fucking miserable with the flu. And worst of all, no one could fucking decide where to go. Narrowing it down to Mexican or Greek was already an hour-long affair, and the group had been so divided that no one had the bright idea to just do both.

They'd all settled now, the usual set talking amongst each other. Ray had been complaining about a charity walk one of his clubs had organised. He'd been trying to convince the group for the last week to come with him, but no one had taken the bait.

"Come on, guys I swear it won't be that bad!"

"That why you been complaining about it all week?" Art said. Collie's sure the boy would've gone, but he had a late midterm that day and couldn't afford to be out walking at 6 in the morning.

"You guys can't all ditch me!"

"It's not ditching if none of us said yes to begin with," snarked Hank, finishing the last of his burrito.

Pete chuckled as he wrapped his arm around Ray's side. "Look on the bright side, you still got me!"

Ray leaned into him, a dumb smile on his face. "Guess I do, huh? Swear you're the only one who always sticks with me for these things."

"I think I'd stick with you to the ends of the earth, compandre."

Gary, who'd been silently nursing a Coke, snickered to himself. "That's so fucking gay."

Pete rolled his eyes at the blonde's comment. "Is it? You always seem real hopeful about me being a queer. Tryna suck my dick, Barkovitch?"

Collie saw his eye twitch. "Fuck off, man."

"No, why is that your default for like, everything? Got something to say?" Ray had a smart smirk on his face as he added to the teasing,

Gary scoffed. "You calling me a fag, Garraty? cuz I don't take that shit, especially not from—"

"Can I just say the bleach blonde sitting all pretty on your shoulders isn't helping you seem less of a fruit?" Hank, ever the instigator, decided to tack on his own comment.

Gary's teeth were starting to bare now.

"Fuck did you just say to me?"

"Lay off Barkovitch," Collie warned, shooting a glare at him.

"No, if he wants to start dumb shit, he can start it, man! I don't fucking care, I ain't no pussy, not like these fucking fairies—"

"Hey."

"No, this is bullshit!"

Don't you fucking bite Barkovitch.

"I'm not letting these stupid cocksuckers tell me shit—"

Collie grabbed him by the upper arm, a punishing grip, pulling him closer, staring daggers into him.

"Shut your fucking mouth before I—"

"Whoa, whoa, whoa, guys! Let's all calm down, okay?" cut in Ray, his hand now on Parker's shoulder, trying to de-escalate the situation. "Doesn't call for all that, man. It's fine." Parker scowled at him before moving his attention back to the mouthy bitch.

"You," Collie clutched his arm tighter. "Go cool your shit or whatever bullshit you need to fix whatever this is," He then let go of Gary's arm with one last squeeze, the blonde wincing as he stumbled back, eyes wet and angry with tears he was trying to will away. "Just get fucking lost, Barkovitch."

And with that, Gary took off. Collie watched him disappear off the trail, hands hooked under his arms and tail between his legs.

The others were grumbling among themselves, the conversation eventually finding its way back to charity walks and leaving Ray hanging. Collie remained relatively quiet the rest of the afternoon. He wondered if Gary's arm would bruise.

Chapter Text

What the fuck was that?

Gary was walking through campus, pissed off, arm stinging, and way too fucking hard. God, what the fuck? When he made it to some random building, he threw himself into the nearest bathroom in a panic. He locked himself in the end stall, practically ripping open his jeans as he palmed himself through his boxers.

Collie had been…dealing with him for a little while now, but he'd never put his hands on him, not like that.

He shoved his hands down his boxers, biting back a whimper as he finally touched his cock, already embarrassingly red and leaking. He moved in quick aggressive strokes, really not wanting to drag this out longer than it had to. He'd rather not have to do it at all, but he thinks he'd fucking explode if he didn't. He bit his lip to shut himself up—he knew he was loud and God he couldn't believe he was doing this. He tried to think of anything other than what he knew was the cause of his boner, but no matter what his mind found his way back to his face and his stupidly strong hands, which were just fucking on him—

He snaked up his arm, skin buzzing as he hovered over where he was grabbed. He wonders if he'd be able to see the outline of his fingers when it bruised. With that, he grips onto his arm, squeezing hard.

"Fucking Shit," he tastes iron as he bit down harder, breaking skin. All he can feel is the burning pain from his arm, his shaking hands on his dick, Collie looked so fucking angry—

All the other times Collie had warned him came rushing back. All those glares, hands on his shoulder, hands on his neck…What would he do if he saw him now? Call him disgusting, for sure. Yeah, a nasty fucking pervert who got hard from a man shoving him around.

He felt repulsive but he couldn't stop, and now he was stabbing his nails into the rapidly forming bruise through his shirt and pressing at his tip and it all hurt so good he could cry—Jesus fuck he was crying, when did that happen?

If Ray didn't stop him, would he have done more? Maybe he would punched him then, left his nose bloody and more of him sore. Gary coaxed more blood out of his lip. Would Collie want to taste it? His brain supplied him with the thought of him kissing him, licking and biting at the cut in his lip, devouring him, their spit turning pink. He'd be holding his arm again, slotting his fingers where they were before, pressing down to hear Gary wince and cry.

With one last searing dig into his arm, Gary came hard, choking on a moan with his knees buckling. He braced back against the bathroom wall, eyes screwed shut, trying to catch his breath. Jesus Fucking Christ. Something was seriously wrong with him.

He silently wiped off his cum covered hand and grimaced as he put himself back into his now ruined boxers.

The walk of shame back to his dorm was brutal. He just about sprinted past everyone he saw, and there was this lingering feeling that everyone knew. Everyone knew he was a perverted faggot who jacked off in college bathrooms. While thinking of a man beating the shit out of him. Christ, what sort of sexual fucking deviant was he?

When he made it back to his room, as he unlocked the door, he silently prayed (despite how gross that felt, especially now) that Harkness had run off somewhere. He was met with Harkness hunched over his desk, still furiously writing. Prayers never seemed to work for him.

"Hey! What happened to you, man? Kinda look a mess."

Gary spat out a "Nothing." before slamming the bathroom door behind him. He winced as he took off his shirt, long sleeves pressing on his arm, reminding him of the wound he had waiting for him.

When his top half was bare, he spared a moment look at it, and as he suspected, an angry red bruise was blooming on his right upper arm. He squinted as he took it in, tracing where the red started and stopped. He was right. If he really tried, he could see around where Collie's hands had been.

He tears his eyes away from it after a while, forcing himself into the shower, scrubbing hard and violent, hoping his guilt would wash off with the dirt and grime. The water came off and he stepped out. It didn't.

He was staring at the bruise again, feeling a pit grow in his stomach. Despite the buzz he felt under his skin, why he got it was looming in the back of his mind. Shit was going so good and he just had to blow up and ruin it. He felt like shit, but those fuckers don't know what they're talking about. Who the fuck were they? He wasn't—never was— "Argh!" He exclaimed as he slapped himself, trying to knock himself out of whatever bullshit he was stuck in. He'd been in the bathroom too long, and he didn't need his roommate interrogating him.

"The rest of the guys head back?" Harkness called, looking up from his work.

"I dunno, Probably not."

"What are you doing up here then? Something happen?"

"Nope." Gary popped the p as he threw himself on his bed.

"You sure? Cuz—"

"Christ Harkness could you just fucking drop it?"

Harkness raised his hands, a look of "Okay, Okay!" all over that stupid face of his. Barkovitch doesn't know why he's so damn invested in his life anyway.

When night falls Gary still felt like shit. Who knew bedrotting for hours wouldn't make him feel better? If anything, he felt significantly fucking worse. Eventually, Harkness left to grab something from the dining hall before it closed, probably starving from skipping lunch. He always joked that he got so invested in shit sometimes, he forgot he had a body to take care of. Gary never gave him the satisfaction of a laugh, but he did think it held some merit. Though he can't say he's often invested in something especially productive, not like him.

Being left properly alone just let him get even more in his head about the whole thing. All of them probably hate him, much less Collie—he hated the way his stomach turned at the thought of Collie properly and thoroughly hating him.

Outside of whatever stupid queer shit he felt about him, Gary did actually like the guy. he was like him in a way, Gary thought. Okay with being in the background sometimes. He was funny, really funny. He was blunt in a way he found so fucking refreshing. They ended up liking a lot of the same bands, Collie's actually been to a couple of shows (Lucky bastard). They were both eyeing the Bloodrust show coming up in a couple of months, and Gary had this stupid fantasy about asking him to go. Together. He was honest and kind and just so fucking cool and Gary just fucked it all.

It took hours to wrangle himself to sleep, and when he did, it definitely didn't help him feel better.

—

He's oddly low to the ground, head not past the cheap painting hung up by his bedroom door. It's only when he peers at himself in the reflection in the mirror nailed on the wall that he sees himself. He's around 8, hair ratty and tangled from sleep and match pajamas flooding his arms. They were his favourites, but he didn't quite fill them out yet.

Gary startled when he heard faint crying, wailing coming from the bathroom in the hall. He swallowed his initial fear as he tiptoed his way down the dark hallway, inching closer towards the sliver of light coming from the cracked-open door. As he grew nearer, the cries became more distinct, high and breathy. He knew those cries. He braced for impact when he peered into the room.

"Mama?"

His mother looks at him, eyes wide with shock. She's on the floor, knees cradled up to her chest, back braced against the small, stained bathtub. The ends of her dress were getting wet by the leakage around the tub his father never bothered to get fixed. The bathroom always smelled moldy now.

"What are you doing up, sweetpea? You shouldn't be up for a few hours, you'll be bone tired…" She was frantically wiping her face, trying to hide the evidence that he'd already so clearly seen. She was pulling that smile Gary hated, the one she pulled whenever she was around those mean women from town. Or his dad. Or Meemaw, sometimes. She would have the most miserable look in her eyes, and seeing it again now made Gary's chest ache.

He slowly inched closer to her, eventually settling on the floor next to her, wrapping himself in her arms. He could feel her chest stutter as she choked on a new sob, clutching onto him like he'd get up and leave if she dared hold him too loosely.

"Gary,"

He looked up at her through the stray hairs covering his face. Their eyes were locked now. Meemaw always used to say he had her eyes.

"You gone grow up one day and you gon' find them special people that make you feel all whole, okay?"

"Okay," he wasn't sure he understood.

"I just—you're the only one who sees me with any sort of empathy anymore," she places her forehead on his."I don't even know if the Lord loves me no more." His stomach churned.

"None of them out there like me, would rather I just—No mind, mine aren't here, Gary, they aren't and I know it's too late for me." He jumps as she sharply raises her torso, grabbing his face to cradle it between her two palms. "But it ain't for you, son, no it ain't. Mine ain't here, and yours might not be, but that don't matter cause you gon' go off and follow your dreams, whatever lovely dreams they end up being, and you're gonna find folk that gon' make you feel like someone."

Gary could feel his heartbeat in his ears. His mother spoke all frantic and rambly, the way she got when things were bad. It all felt so urgent and he didn't know what she meant at all.

"Okay, Gary?"

"Okay—"

"And you're gonna cherish those people, and you don't ever let them go, don't let nothing ruin it Gary, 'cause this—" she coughed out another sob. He could hear the mucus in her chest. "Aint nothing in this world worse than being lonely."

She fell back into the crook of his neck and cried and cried and then he was crying too, and everything was wet and all he could smell was mildew and the scent of her shampoo and they both knew they should get up before Daddy heard them but they just couldn't get up—

—

Gary awoke with a start, breath shaky. He could feel the sweat dripping off his brow and the hair sticking to his face. He screwed his eyes shut trying to calm down his breathing, but every time he tried, he felt his chest heave harder than the last.

"Gary?" Fuck.

He heard the ruffle of bedsheets next to him and Harkness, fumbling on his bedside table for his glasses. "You okay, man? You were tossing a bunch earlier but I didn't want to wake you."

God, did he wake him up?

"If it's nothing, I can leave you alone, yknow if that's what you want,"

No. Not alone, he couldn't be—

"No," he sounded so small. "I don't want to," he hated how his voice shook.

"No to me coming over there or no to leaving you alone?"

"I don't know."

There was a beat of silence for a moment, but then Gary felt a dip at the foot of his bed.

"So what's the deal? Had a bad dream? You seemed pretty out of it."

Bad dream. It all sounded so childish. "I guess."

"…Wanna talk about it?"

He just shrugged. "It was just some shit from when I was small, with my Mama." He wasn't sure if we wanted to spill his guts to the guy he'd been rooming with for a couple of months in the middle of the night, but he started speaking before he could decide against it.

"She—I can't remember a time she was happy, not properly. Wasnt all that stable I guess, but people were just awful to her, you know? No one in our town liked her, thought she was crazy and just—I had found her one night and she was in shambles, just bawling man," He rubbed at his eyes, slightly burning.

"She had nobody man, not my dad, the fucking dick, no parents, no nothing. And when I found her I just went and sat with her. She just cried and cried and begged that I'd never…" His throat felt uncomfortably tight and his nails were digging into his palms.

"She made me promise that I'd find my people when I'm older, get some good friends and not fuck it all up and I just—Fuck man—"

Harkness piped up then. "Yeah. Yeah, I get it." Gary wasn't sure he did, but he appreciated the sentiment regardless.

"Your mama, was she nice? She stay at home with you?"

"Yeah, was real sweet." He felt bile rising in his throat. He couldn't bare of thinking of her some nights. "She wanted to be a singer." His eyes stung more now.

He suddenly felt a hand placed on his shin, it was light but enough to be grounding. "Anything else?"

He didnt want to speak about her anymore, so he didn't."My uh, old house had this painting, was this tabby cat laying in a grass field. The grass was all yellow from the sun and the cat was just sprawled there sleeping. Lazy fucker," he heard a small giggle from next to him, and he felt himself smile. " Swear that's why I like cats now. Wanted one like hell, but my Meemaw was allergic."

"I'm sure we could sneak a cat in here one of these days," said Harkness. Gary could just hear the stupid smile on his face. "Yeah?"

"Yeah."

The two then fell into a comfortable silence, only broken by Gary's occasional sniffling. Gary doesn't know how long Harkness sat there, but whenever he made his way back to bed, he'd been too asleep to notice.

Chapter Text

Collie did a sharp inhale as he took in the cold autumn air. It was barely past 6 and he'd gone off for a walk on one of the nearby bike paths. He took in the trees in little linear lines, running parallel to the path he was following. Every few days he'd come out early, before most of the morning set came out, letting himself take in the air and the flora. It was pretty, yes , he'd always liked nature, but he couldn't help but think it didn't come close to what he left behind. But for now, it scratched the itch well enough and the cool air was always a good wake up.

As he walked, he took in the familiar path he watched turn yellow and auburn in the past few months, fallen leaves crunching under his feet. He began picking up his pace, knowing there was a park bench coming past the curve of the trail. He wanted to rest for a bit. It's only when he drew closer that he heard rustling from just ahead of the bend.

He peered over the few trees to find a focused Barkovitch, knees in the grass, quietly adjusting his camera. He was pointed towards something above him, and when following his gaze, he noticed a small bird sitting in a tree. He stilled his movements, not wanting to startle the picture's subject and used the opportunity to take in the photographer. Collie had never seen Gary in his element like this. His hair framed his face, some of the length being trapped behind the leather camera strap around his neck. His eyebrows furrowed in concentration as his eyes flit across his camera display. He looked so soft, almost peaceful, something he had never seen on the man's face. It did his features well. A faint breeze had blown some of his blonde hair onto his bottom lip, but he seemed too focused to pull it back. Collie wishes he were closer so he could. It was only when Barkovitch was satisfied that he withdrew, staring down at his camera with a small smile on his face. Collie decided it was time to make his presence known.

"You usually out here this early?"

He watched Gary startle, looking up at him from his place in the grass. "Fuck are you doing here?"

How could he still have a tone this early in the morning? "Should be asking you that, never seen you out here this early."

Gary gave a small glare as he got up, dusting the grass off his washed-out jeans. "Was stuffy as fuck inside, just decided to come out. That a problem?"

"Didn't say that." Collie purposefully kept his tone sharp, expression flat. He was still pissed at Gary for his little outburst the day before, and his current behaviour wasn't helping. Seemed like his tone was picked up on, because his attitude shifted soon thereafter. Gary was now looking away from him as he made it back on the road. Collie watched him itch at his wrists as they naturally began walking side by side. Fuck the bench, I guess.

"Hey,"

Collie glanced over to the man on his left. Gary was still looking off to the side.

"I uh, didn't mean to—yknow, fuck up everything yesterday."

"Uh huh."

"I just start saying shit and I never want to hu—I didn't mean—"

Collie put him out of his misery. "Alright." He could feel the shake in the boy's voice, and this is the most of an apology he's gotten out of him since they met.

"Yeah. Alright."

Collie started again as they continued down the path. "You come out here a lot? Haven't seen you before."

"Nah, not really. I mean, I was here like, an afternoon to do some shit for one of my classes," Oh yeah. What do you do in a photography program anyway? He's got to ask about that one of these days. "Always wanted to come out here early, though. Figured I'd get some pictures out of it. Place is real pretty."

Collie nodded in agreement. "Maine is fine enough. Nothing like home, though."

"Prettier, you think?"

"Much Prettier. Couldn't compare with a fucking thing here." His heart swelled as he spoke, fondness laced within his words. Parker thought he'd drive himself mad with homesickness one of these days.

Gary was finally looking at him again. "We had green shit back home, but it was like, different, I guess. Fuck ton of grass where I was."

"Sounds boring." Gary gave a small shrug. "Kinda was. Got some good ass shots outta that grass though. Can always find a good subject in something."

"Got any good ones out here? How'd the bird turn out?"

Gary's eyes widened, guess he hadn't realised how long Collie had been watching him. "Oh, yeah! Pretty good actually, was kinda rushing cuz birds are the fucking worst to catch. Swear they hate me, half of em fly away. Mean fuckers."

"Maybe they don't like you cuz you call them mean fuckers."

Gary laughed, corners of his eyes crinkling a bit. "Nah, gotta be bird senses or some shit. Can't be cuz I'm a dick to them, there's plenty of bird watchers who are pricks. I know like five."

Collie gave him a small chuckle, seeing in his peripheral how Gary's eyes lit up at his approval. It was sweet, flattering even. The pair lulled into a comfortable silence as they walked, and Parker let his hands find his pockets as he lulled his head back. Eventually, Gary got to fiddling with his camera again, so he slowed whenever he heard him stop to take a photo. He let his gaze fall on Gary then, the peace overtaking his features again before he quickly stepped up to keep pace. When they reached the end point, they turned back, wanting to get off the trail before too many people showed up. The sun was properly out now, and Collie let his eyes fall shut as he felt the warmth on his face.

He then heard the click of the camera shutter and opened one eye to peer at the source of the noise. Barkovitch quickly pulled his camera down, focusing too intently on the display. He clearly wasn't meant to notice the photo. They remained quiet for a moment before Collie decided to break the silence.

"Can I see it?"

"See what?"

"The picture you took."

Gary's cheeks dusted with a light flush. "Oh. I guess," He quickly pulled it up on his camera, letting the display face Collie. He bent down a bit, bringing his face closer to the small screen as he took the photo in. It was good, really good. He told him as such. "Thats actually pretty good."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah." Gary was beaming, nails tapping on the plastic of his camera. It was all so damn sweet he almost forgot it was fucking Barkovitch he was looking at.

That was a really good picture. "Where'd you find a subject in me, huh?"

He could see the exact moment Gary went stiff. "What?"

"What you said before, about finding subjects in anything. What caught your eye like that?"

He was genuinely curious, but Gary suddenly couldn't keep his gaze again and Parker could see the panic in his eyes. He might've pushed him a bit too far. "Just—the sun and shit—Jesus its not that fucking serious," He was scratching at his camera strap, hands twitching towards the meat of his arm. " Don't make it weird."

Sigh. "Alright man, fuck."

The pair walked silently the rest of the way back. Collie tried to pick up the conversation, but decided to spare him the trouble. He could practically feel the nerves radiating off his pale skin.

When they finally made it back, Gary all but ran towards his residence building with nothing but a small muttered "Bye." leaving Collie standing there, watching, He grew smaller the farther he went, and Parker winced at the slap he saw Barkovitch hammer into himself before entering the building.

He really had to train that habit out of him.

Chapter Text

It's been two weeks since he and Barkovitch had their little unplanned walk, and things had been relatively normal. Barkovitch seemed a bit on edge for a couple of days, but eventually settled back down. He weaselled his way back into the group, thanks in large part to Ray and Harkness vouching for him. He had his moments, sure, but Collie was able to shut those down before they got to the point of boiling over again.

He was now sitting on Pete's bed, legs propped up on the bed, leaning against the wall, with Stebbins near his feet. Pete was pacing around their room, a bottle of cheap vodka nestled in his arms. Ray was helping him with whatever he was setting up, giggling as Pete threw quips across the room. Those two, man. The group had planned to go out that night to the bar close to campus, nothing crazy, and had decided to all convene in Pete and Tressler's dorm to pregame. He wasn't sure how Tressler would've felt with all those people in his space, but Pete swears he had a late night of planning with the radio team (whatever that is) and wouldn't be here to be bothered.

Eventually. Art and Hank showed up, a two-litre Coke in hand, leaving only Harkness and Barkovitch. Everyone fell into easy conversation, finding some place in the small dorm to throw themselves in. After a few, they finally heard Richard's hurried knocking, the two roommates making their way in. Did Harkness have his fucking backpack on? Does he go anywhere without that thing?

Barkovitch seemed to actually try tonight, more than usual anyway. His blonde hair was tucked behind his ears, and he was absentmindedly brushing a few strays back in place. His white tank top was tight, a bit too long for his torso, bunching at the top of his washed-out jeans. He was fiddling with the cuffs of his black leather jacket, standing awkwardly behind his roommate. The jacket looked good, adorable on him actually, but he still cursed at it for hiding the waist he knew was underneath. Fuck.

Gary caught him staring, meeting his eyes briefly before looking off to the side, small scowl on his face. Cute. He watched him find a wall to lean on, bracing against Pete's desk shelves as he watched the others shift around to accommodate the newcomers. The rest of the night went off without a hitch, most of them getting nice and tipsy before all piling into Ray's piece of shit wagon. There was a whole ordeal as to who got the front row backseat (Pete got shotgun, obviously), ending with all 6 of them smushed together in rows of 3. Collie gave a mean smirk at Gary, who was smushed into the side of the car, poor thing stuck in the back with Stebbins, Harkness and his fucking backpack. He bites back a laugh as Barkovitch flips him off as best he can with his body bracketed between the car and all of Stebbins.

When they made it, Collie sighed as the warm air of the bar enveloped him, chill of the November air mellowed. They found a space to crowd as they all ordered their drinks, Ray enjoying his first drink of the night, seeing as Baker was getting them all home.

As the night progressed, Collie was nursing his second rum and cokc watching the more outgoing (and drunk) of the bunch enjoy themselves. Hank and Pete had gotten into some dumbfuck debate again, and the alcohol wasn't helping either of them be more coherent.

Parker goes to take a final swig of his drink before he's startled by a tap on his shoulder. When he whips his head back, he sees Stebbins staring back at him. How the fuck does a man that big move so quietly?

"What?"

Stebbins keeps staring at him, pointing his head towards the back of the bar.

What he finds when he looks is a bored-looking Barkovitch, hidden away in a dark corner with his back against a wall, people watching as he rocked back and forth. When had he slipped away from the rest of them?

He's pat on his shoulder again."Go get 'em, tiger," he hears Stebbins say, voice laced with sarcasm. Before Collie had a chance to retort, he had gone off to save some random table from a very drunk and very chatty Harkness.

Sigh.

With nothing better to do and more interest than he'd like to admit, he weaved his way through the small crowds and posted himself next to Barkovitch.

"Hey."

Gary kept his head straight, not looking up at the man beside him. "Hey."

"Fuck are you doing alone back here?"

"I dunno. Music here is shit."

"Mm." Collie was staring, he knew it. That leather jacket had come off, he now remembers seeing it draped somewhere earlier. He was happy he could finally eye that waist, hugged tight by the white ribbed fabric. See, Collie would've loved to keep staring at his midriff, loved to, but he suddenly found himself preoccupied as his eyes trailed upwards. Barkovitch had a nasty bruise on his arm, blotchy patches of red and purple surrounded by an almost sickly yellow bloomed on his upper arm, faint scratches lying around and on top of the wound. Had he been picking at it? No wonder it was still this bad. He sharply swallowed as he stared at it, feeling himself twitch in his jeans. He did that. Fuck.

"Fuck are you looking at?"

Collie's eyes snapped up to his face, meeting an unamused face. The jury was out on whether the blush on his face was from him or the alcohol.

Let's push our luck. "You clean up nice." The blush deepened. Definitely from him.

"Uh, thanks, man. You too." Collie watched his eyes flicker down to his biceps being hugged by the sleeves of his t-shirt. Collie then crossed his arms across his chest. The sleeves definitely weren't big enough for his arms, but the way Gary's eyes widened made the squeeze worth it.

Barkovitch shakes his head, clearly trying to get himself out of some daze, clear his head or something. Strands of blonde hair had fallen in his face, and Collie took the chance to swipe some back behind his ear, letting his hands linger on his cheek. His face was soft and warm from the flush.

Parker looked around a bit. They were almost entirely behind a wall, the hallway dark with the burnt-out bulb dead overhead. Hm.

Barkovitch brought his hand to his, probably to pull his hand down, but he felt him tense as he felt his forearm. And for fuck's sake, Barkovitch could only let his eyes flicker to his lips so many times before Collie had to do something.

Their first kiss was quick, experimental. Just to see how far he could push this little game of theirs, and when he pulled back, Gary just stared up at him, all dazed and wide-eyed, with a whole lost puppy look that Collie found too fucking cute. Before he had a chance to move back in, Barkovitch moved for him, smashing their faces together, nearly tripping them in the process.

He kissed like he was hungry, fucking starved for it, and Collie was the only man who could feed him. Collie snaked his hand around his waist as he licked at his teeth, Barkovitch quickly getting the message and letting him deepen the kiss. He dragged them further into the hallway, further covering them with darkness.

They hadn't done much, not yet, but Barkovitch is already so fucking noisy, whimpering into their kiss, gasping as Collie bit at his lip. Collie slotted his leg between the blondes', grinding their hips together as they pulled back for air.

"Mmgh-!" Gary cried out at first contact, shuddering at the breath tickling his neck. He pushed back with the same fervour as the kiss, letting Collie nip at his throat, down to his shoulders. He hooked his hands around his neck, grabbing fistfuls of Parker's dark hair as he continued and fuck, Barkovitch sounded like a wet dream—it was so easy to get him to whine, him giving high-strung whimpers with each rock of their hips, choked back cries every time he bit and sucked at his neck.

"This what it takes for you to stop talking?" Collie smiled into his neck, "Don't gotta fucking grab you this time?" The small whimper Gary let out at that gave him an idea, an idea that had been floating around in his head since he saw his arms bare.

He used his free hand to draw up his arm, from his palms to his forearm, till he met the discoloured skin of his upper arm and then he was pressing into—

"ArghhFuck—!", Barkovitch all but screamed, pain clearly unexpected but very welcome, and Collie took that as his sign to shut him up. He found his way back in his mouth, never stalling his movements, now punctuating each thrust with a small squeeze of the bruise, and he knew he had no right to talk about how shit it was healing cuz holy fuck he wasn't helping.

Gary pulled back, his head hitting the concrete wall behind him. "C-Collie—" Yeah, he was going to be jacking off to the sound of that for god knows how long.

Parker tilted his head in intrigue when Gary's hand reached over his, pushing down—was he urging him to press harder?

He did, and Holy shit. The sound Barkovitch made was fucking sinful.

Tears were welling in his eyes, probably from the grip he held on his arm, but there wasn't a single part of him telling Collie to stop. He could feel the blonde's hips begin to stutter more, rhythm only kept by the arm Collie had wrapped around his waist. "You close, baby? Going to c—"

Before he could say any more filthy shit into his ear, they both snapped their heads towards the front of the hallway at the sound of a hard "Ow!" A poor drunk girl had stumbled there, crashing into the wall. She blushed furiously when she saw them and ran back, a string of apologies running behind her.

Collie finds himself biting back a laugh at how ridiculous this all was. What the fuck were they doing? He turned back to Barkovitch, the small smile plastered on his face quickly dropping as he saw the man underneath him. He was still staring into the space the girl had been, and he looked unerved, fucking terrified actually, and something in Collie's chest twisted at the sight.

"What the fuck," whispered Gary under his breath, which was still coming out in pants. "What the fuck—" he practically shoved Collie off him, untangling their legs, and clutching at his hair, at his arms, shit he was panicking—

"Gary—" his eyes snapped to Collies immediately before squeezing shut at the hard slap he gave himself,

"Don't you fucking do that, Barkovitch."

All he got in response was a harsh glare, him beginning to make his escape. Collie geared up to follow but was immediately shut down by a sharp "Don't." as Gary fled, disappearing from his line of eyesight.

Fuck. Collie wants to go after him to grab him and shake whatever bullshit is wracking around his head, but he knows better. If he grabs him by the tail, he'll just yelp, and definitely not the way he was earlier. That thought reminded him of the problem currently straining the denim of his jeans. Zero fucking shot was he going back to the group like this. With a deep sigh and a reminder to ask Harkness to check up on that blonde fucker, he found himself in one of the bar's shitty bathroom stalls, back braced to the graffited door.

He groans as he pulls himself out of his boxers, already a mess of pre from earlier. He told himself this had to be quick, and with the material he just got there was no way it wouldn't be. All the fucking noises that just fell out of Gary just replayed in his head—every whine, every whimper, every moan, god, he was going to fucking kill him. Even when he had pulled back all scared, his face was flushed with streaks of tears staining his face, and his bruised arm was an angry red from all the manhandling. As bad as he felt, all he could focus on was how fucked out he looked. God, if that's how he acted from a little heavy petting, imagine actually fucking him. Collie groaned as he picked up pace, spurred on by the thought of Barkovitch underneath him, even louder, squirming and trembling with each thrust—Shit. It was the thought of him calling out his name, just like he had earlier, that had Collie spilling into his hand, stumbling over his own breath.

He hurriedly cleaned himself up, trying to make the night he had a little less obvious. Based on the looks he got when he made it back to the group, it didn't help much. Stebbins looked at him pointedly as he walked past him. Condescending dick. After a thorough round of drunk teasing from Hank and Pete, Harkness found him with a slightly worried look on his face.

"You seen Gary?"

Hank scoffed. "Has he ever!" Collie gave him a small shove, glaring at him.

It was only after Harkness asked that he realised that Barkovitch had left his jacket, which was still spread over the back of a chair. If the man left like he was almost certain he had, he must be fucking freezing.

"I think he left. Can you check on him? When you go back." Harkness adjusted his glasses with concern as he spoke. "Did something happen?"

"Kinda," said Collie, voice hushed, hoping his tone would help him get the message.

He still looked a bit lost, but after a quick whisper from Stebbins, he seemed to get the picture. His brow furrowed with even more worry now. Collie shoved his hands in his pockets as he leaned back against the bar. "Just—make sure he's okay, alright?" He doesn't want shit to do with me right now.

Harkness gives him a vigorous nod before stuffing the leather jacket into his backpack. Collie silently wishes he had taken it. Goddamn Barkovitch.

Chapter Text

"Gary!"

A teenage Barkovitch made his way to the dining room, and his grandmother and her friends sat at the table, engrossed in conversation. Meemaw looked up from her place at the table, with a smile that Gary knew meant a chore was going to be thrown on him.

"Go get your aunties and me some water, yeah? and pass the cookie tin from the top shelf," she said, shooing Gary into the kitchen. He nodded quietly as he walked, a bit annoyed that he had to cut off his alone time.

"You hear about Jacob's boy?" he overheard one of the women say. "Oh yes, everyone was asking him about it in church today!"

"What did he say?"

"Wouldn't say shit, man's probably sick with shame,"

"I mean, who wouldn't be? No father wants to hear their son was caught with a boy," Gary stilled, glasses set on the countertop.

" Caught?"

"Caught! Right near that riverside, them youngins always run off to."

"The one the high school had a whole kerfuffle over, right?"

"Thats the one, alright. Someone saw him and some kid from the town over and ran his ass back to his father." Gary silently cursed as his trembling hands caused him to spill as he filled one of the glasses.

"Damn straight! I know he was pissed after what happened with little Betty last year,"

"Oh, he was fuming, Martha, we all know how hot-headed he is"

"Secretive too, won't say what happened to him. The boy that is." Jesus Christ.

"Think he ran off like his sister?"

"Nah, I think his daddy prolly dealt with him, he's real strict like that."

"Or, he got sent off somewhere, same place they sent that one from a few years ago." He really didn't want to listen to this shit right now. Gary came back in, resting the now full water glasses on the table.

"Speak of the devil, when are you dealing with that hair, son?" He stiffened.

He looked up at her, trying to look as unbothered as possible. His grandmother talked for him. "His hair is just fine, Martha!"

"Come on, Nance, his hair is gonna be past his shoulders soon, it makes him look like a sissy!" Oh.

"Now you leave him alone. He ain't no sissy, right son?" Gary nodded, looking at his feet.

"You go take this back to the kitchen and run back to your room, mkay?"

"Yes Meemaw," responded Barkovitch, grabbing the empty tray before scurrying away. He prayed as he left, and the conversation would move on from him.

"You can be upset with me all you want, but you know I'm right." It didn't.

"Size of him doesn't help either," he heard everyone at the table hum in agreement.

"I really don't know why you let him get away with nonsense like this. It's no damn wonder all them boys pick on him, you can hardly blame 'em for thinking he's—,"

Gary heard the women jump as he slammed down the mental tray, clanging angrily as he rushed past them, up to his room. They didn't know what they were talking about. He wasnt—he'd never. They were all wrong. Those cocksuckers at school, those kids from church, all of Meemaw's stupid fucking friends who always gave him weird glances. He wasn't no fucking queer.

—

Fuckkkk.

Gary was trudging down the dimly lit streets, chest stuttering and eyes blinking away tears. This shit sucks. His arms trembled as he clutched his biceps, trying to hold onto the minimal body heat he had. He really should've weighed his options better and just picked up the stupid jacket and taken whatever embarrassment that came with it. At least that would made some of this shit situation better. He was cold, tired, disgustingly sobered and still fucking hard.

He tried to zone out for most of the walk home, trying to focus on his boots dragging on the pavement—he kissed Collie—the cars passing through—his dick hurts in his jeans—the breeze stinging his skin—anyone could've seen him. He tries to blame the alcohol, but the sense at the back of his brain scratched at the thought. This was more than just tonight.

When he makes it back to his residence building, he throws himself up the stairs till he's fishing for his keys, thanking God (should he be talking to Him right now?) he hadn't put them in his jacket. When he finally gets in, he cringes at the mess of clothes left on his bed. He remembers earlier that night, a nervous Barkovitch trying to pick what to wear, how to wear his hair, what Collie was going to wear…this night was fucked from the start. He grabbed an older shirt from the pile and a new pair of boxers and locked himself in the bathroom. He rushed past the mirror, not wanting to see how fucked he looked. He peeled everything off and stood in the shower, turning the tap. He kept turning until the water was scalding hot, fogging up the room and warming his face.

Barkovitch was gritting his teeth, he could feel his mind betraying him. No matter how bad the water burned his back, how hard he scrubbed at himself, he couldn't get those thoughts out his mind—Fuck Collie had smelled so good and all that bullshit he was whispering when he was against him, the feeling of him pressed against him and how he held his hips—

And just then, the water hit the bruise, and Gary could fucking scream.

He sharply inhaled hot steam as he grimaced at his own thoughts. He wasn't letting himself do this, not again. There are only so many bathroom jack-offs he can take. Like. Mentally. He shuts the shower off, hastily gets his clothes on and throws himself onto his mattress, shoving the clothes by his feet. He groaned into his pillow, smushing his face into the fabric. Why did he have to choose this week to use those stupid scratchy pillowcases Meemaw gave him? He thought for a second that he wanted to go home, but immediately rejected the idea once it entered his thoughts. He couldn't bear being there now, but didn't particularly want to be here either. He didn't know where he wanted to be.

—

He's in a field, behind the cracked rock, near the riverside. His face feels warm, and he can hear the soft woosh of water hitting river rock from behind him. His cheek feels warm, heat radiating off of whatever--whoever he was lying on, their hair, beautiful hair, was tickling his face. The mystery boy keeps his head straight, Gary only seeing his jaw and his hair blowing in the faint breeze. The boy raises a hand to his face, pulling away strays, petting at his jaw, running them over his lips. He shuddered as he felt the man run through his hair, scratching him from the crown to his nape. He could hear himself making a faint sound, leaning into the man's touches, letting himself be—whatever this was.

Before he knew it, he was being lifted by the neck and pulled into a kiss. The feeling was making him loopy, the feeling of his tongue in his mouth, the strong hand on his waist and one rubbing soothing touches into his nape.

He doesn't remember how he got on his back, but all he could focus on was how warm he was, hands were gripping on his hips, and it burned so good, fuck everything felt so hot. He could faintly hear himself, and he sounded inhuman, unrecognisable to his own ears, and he felt so floaty and hot and perfect and when he fluttered his eyes open (when had he closed them—?), he saw that hair and that jaw and those arms and those eyes and fuck he couldn't bear it anymore. He was so overwhelmed, eyes squeezed shut again as he got lost in the goodness of everything, and then suddenly something rocked him and his head lunged back, pushing into the grass and forcing his eyes open with the shock of it. Fuck it was so good, so fucking good—

"Colli—" the cry dies on his lips as his mouth runs dry, eyes locking in on something in the far distance. Suddenly, all that goodness twisted into something horrible, and his stomach lurched, and he could feel bile rising as the figure grew closer, raising its hand to point to him. He tried to force himself up, away from the—the—

He couldn't move, and he couldn't close his eyes anymore, and all there was the pointing man, unhinging his jaw to call something—

"Barkovitch?"

—

Gary lunged up out of his sleep. His eyes were burning, and he was hyperaware of how much his clammy hands were trembling. What the fuck. What the fuck?

The dream was swirling around his brain, uncomfortably pressing itself into all the crevices of his skull. He clutches at his hair, trying to rip the thoughts out of his stupid fucking head. What was wrong with him? His stomach turned, and he felt the unignorable urge to vomit. He shoved himself off the bed, rushing towards the bathroom until he was left dry heaving on the floor, clutching onto the bathtub next to the toilet. He sat like that for a bit, pain stabbing his chest with each heave, but despite each great effort, nothing ever came up.

Shakily, he got up from his place on the ground, leg buzzing after being stuck awkwardly for too long. He braced against the bathroom sink, staring at himself in the dirty mirror. He looked pale. Sickly. No shit he did. His body was just reflecting the disgusting shit inside him, trying its best to expel the poison he let seep into him. But no, that didn't work. The depravity within him couldn't be rid of that way and was still stuck, clutching at his insides. He had fed into it—this was his fault, his fucking fault for allowing himself to let it bubble up to the surface and barely its ugly head, in front of people, no less. He cringed at the memory, and his chest squeezed tight with guilt at the heat that coiled in his tummy. This shit was over. Whatever this was, it was ending now before he fucks up again, jesus he came so close to—his eyes drifted to the bruise, and that heat kept rising. No. He's not fucking doing this.

Harshly splashing cold water on his face, he turns to head back to bed. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob, deeply inhaling before striking himself across the face. He didn't care if it took avoiding the fucker or putting him off him or something, he wasn't letting this happen again. He crawled back into bed, wincing as Harkness tossed in his sleep, and forced his eyes closed.

Chapter Text

It's been a week since him and Barkovitch had their little moment at the bar, and what an agonising fucking week it's been. Harkness had come to him the morning after, looking all dejected, admitting he hadn't gotten anything out of him. Collie tried to hide the worry on his face as the smaller man apologised. Stebbins had also given him another pointed look that day, but had not commented further. He debated asking Stebbins for advice, and eventually decided to day after.

—

Collie took the last of his stuff out of his gym locker, body slightly sore and mind annoyingly full. Stebbins had stepped out the shower, face still red from the steam. Collie stared at him for a bit, contemplating whether to even bring it up.

Sigh. "So,"

"This about Barkovitch?"

Collie couldn't tell if he'd been that visibly stressed or if it was just Stebbins doing his weird psychic thing. "Yeah, man." he sat on the locker room bench, waiting for the taller man finish dressing.

"You know what happened Saturday, how he ran off and shit, right?"

"Yeah, Rich told me about it. It seems like your guy is in a pretty shit mood."

Collie pinched his eyebrows as he kept looking down at his protein shaker. "I wasn't reading that shit wrong, right? Like he's definitely been, yknow—whatever he's been doing,"

"Man's been eyeing you since orientation, Parker." What?

"What?" Stebbins just shrugged.

Is he fucking with him? "Hey, don't shut up now, who told you that? Harkness?"

"Nah."

"So how the fuck do you know that?" He just shrugged again. Bastard.

He knew by now he wasn't getting anywhere by continuing that line of questioning. "Either way, what was that then? I know he has a fucking—I don't know, complex or some shit," Stebbins hums in agreement.

"Like the whole thing with Pete and Ray or whatever, shit even Harkness,"

"From SC, man," he heard Stebbins grumble as he pulled his shirt on.

"Yeah, yeah, I know, country hicks and whatever, but is it that deep?" Collie stared down at his shoes, deeply sighing. "Deep enough to just fuck off and leave, just like that? He went out in the freezing fucking cold, Billy."

Stebbins gave an indignant noise at that, slamming his locker shut.

Collie held his head in his hands, and releasing the loose ponytail he had in his hair. "I just don't get it,"

He looked up as he was nudged by a bottle, his friend standing next to him, bag in hand.

He pushed himself upwards, grabbing his gym bag and following behind Stebbins. "Maybe I'll give him a couple days."

Stebbins gave him one of those insufferable, indecipherable looks again. "Maybe."

—

The rest of the group seemed not to know everything, and with how Barkovitch quickly shut down any inquiries on what happened or where the fuck he ran off to, it was going to stay that way. Collie didn't mind that; it wasn't anyone's damn business. What he did mind was how the blonde fucker was showing off.

Barkovitch is ignoring him. Worse yet, he's aggravating him.

He seemed to be in a shit mood all week, moping around with that perpetually pissed look on his face every time Collie spotted him. He would have found it weirdly endearing under other circumstances, but it's far less sweet when it's directed towards him.

Parker had tried to talk to him directly a couple of days after that night, but was immediately curved, Gary running off the moment he spotted him. Collie had far too much pride to go after him, so he let it go.

Another day, he tried talking to him with the rest of the group, just prompting him to join in on the conversation. He was given nothing but a glare before Barkovitch went back to looking off and sulking. Collie didn't want to cause a scene, so he let it go.

They were all hanging out one afternoon, and someone offhandedly made a stupid joke toward Gary, and he almost immediately flipped his shit, and when Collie raised his voice, gearing to shut him up, Ray told him to drop it, so he did. He let it go.

That brings us to today. Parker didn't know what was in the goddamn air, but Barkovitch was acting like a total prick, even outside of his usual prickness. He'd already been real annoying about Pete's writing, which had Ray on edge and even Harkness was getting it today. All the jokes towards the (admittedly) nerd shit he was ranting about had far more bite than usual. It was weird. Barkovitch just kept yipping on and on, eyes flitting back to him, almost like he was trying to gauge his reaction. If this bitchy attitude of his was for him, there was no reason for it to be affecting everyone else.

The blonde barked out another stupid ass quip, and this time Harkness actually seemed kinda bummed, awkwardly adjusting his glasses. Collie decided that was enough.

"Hey fuck off, you jackass," he said, warning already lacing his words.

Barkovitch flinches at his voice. "Aye, no one was fucking talking to you,"

Collie wants to fucking shake him. "Excuse me?"

"Fuck off, man, I don't know why you always fucking put yourself in bullshit that doesn't concern you—" Collie yanks him by his sweater, bringing their faces together.

"Maybe if you didn't want to act like a whiny fucking asshole all the time, I wouldn't have to."

He saw something in the other man's face twitch before he tried shoving his hand away. When he wrangles Collie's hand out of his shirt, he turns around, trying to fucking run away like he always does. "Yeah, whatever. Fuck you, Parker—" Then he's flipping him off—no fucking shot is he letting this go.

Before he can get too far, he grabs Barkovitch by the nape of his neck, roughly guiding him away from the group. "I'm not playing this fucking game with you, " he says, right by Gary's ear, holding his head down as he brings them to an empty, more secluded area for them to talk. "You don't get to run off like you always do,"

Barkovitch had been oddly silent for this whole ordeal, the last sound that came out of him being the initial gasp at being grabbed. When Collie finally found somewhere he deemed suitable, an alley between two buildings, he shoved the blonde against the brick of the wall behind him, caging him in.

They stared at each other for a bit, waiting for the other to say something, but Collie wasn't really in the mood for patience today.

"What the fuck has been your problem?"

Gary was looking up at him, still taken aback from everything, but now with a bitchy scowl on his face.

"That's what you drag me here for? Cuz' I piss you off? Fuck's new?" he spat out, trying to keep eye contact.

"Nah, I dragged you here because ever since last Saturday, you've been acting like a pissy little bitch and making it everyone else's problem. If there's some bullshit you want to say, grow some balls and say it."

Gary scoffed and looked off to the side, with a stupid idignant smirk. "Not everything is about you—"

"Don't you fucking give me that." He wanted to fucking rip that look off his face.

"If it was just your usual sulking I'd fucking drop it, fuck if I care, but no. You've been a fucking dick this entire week and practically running off anytime I even look in your goddamn direction." Barkovitch was glaring hard at the floor now, not meeting his eyes.

"I know this is about me. You gonna call me an idiot, Barkovitch?" he grabbed his face to force him to stare back.

"Tell me I'm wrong?"

He watched as the blonde's eyes dashed between his features, clouded with thoughts and no response on his lips. "Well?"

The last thing he feels is an arm on his forearm, right where he was holding the man's face. He expects it to push him away, but instead, he's pulled forward,d and now Barkovitch is kissing him. It's more of a bite than anything, but still an honest-to-god kiss and Collie is happy he had caged him in, because Gary looked ready to run when he pulled back.

What the fuck?

Chapter Text

Holy shit. He just kissed Collie. When he pulled back from—whatever the fuck he just did, Collie was staring down at him, confused. Why the fuck did he do that? What the fuck Gary—

He tried to plan an escape, find some way he could run away from this bullshit, but Collie had him thoroughly trapped, and when he realised there was no way he was getting out, Barkovitch let out a shaky breath, staring at his feet.

"Look at me," He didnt want to. He really didnt want to.

"Barkovitch." His eyes snapped up to his, and he felt a whine catch in his throat. Collie's gaze felt like too much sometimes, especially now with him looking down on him, eyes dark and full of…want?

Gary tried opening his mouth to say something, but instead of words, he found Collie engulfing his mouth with the same fervour that he had moments earlier. He hadn't realised how much he missed the taste of him until he had it again. It was a mess of teeth and tongue, Collie nipping at his lip until he broke skin, lapping up the blood that fell. The feel of Collie's hair brushing his skin sent shivers down his spine, and he already felt all-consuming.

He felt him pull back, holding his face, thumb grazing his canines as he panted. Barkovitch randomly felt the urge to fight, regain some of the power he had lost embarassingly quick—the way he always does around him.

He bit. And bit hard.

"Fuck!" Collie jerked his hand out of his grasp, glaring daggers into him.

"Bad dog." Holyyyyyshit.

Something was wrong with him, there had to be. Collie spat it out with such malice, with a harsh growl in his voice. Why the fuck did it get him so goddamn hard?

He felt his hips move involuntarily, bucking up towards Collie, and he let out a shaky whimper as the man on top of him met his hips, grinding them together. Barkovitch could hear himself, every embarrassing whimper, every stupid whine he let out as Collie properly slot his thigh in between his legs, grip on his waist pulling him further into him.

Holy fuck, he never thought this would feel better sober.

Collie had one of his hands, rough and warm around his neck, and another had snaked its way up his sleeve, finding his way to the discoloured, sore skin of his arm. Barkovitch cried out as he applied pressure with both hands, each thrust of his hips dragging more noise out of him. He let the hand from his neck fall to the collar of his shirt, pulling at it to expose the bare flesh hidden underneath. Gary could hear the fabric strain and crackle from the stress, but Collie had his face buried into his neck, groaning into his cool flesh as he began biting—marking—his shoulders, so he really couldn't find it in him to care.

His knees were getting weaker and weaker, and the hand on his arm was pressing harder and harder, and all he could hear was Collie and his own senseless babbling. Jesus Christ, could he shut up?

Just then, Collie bit down on him, dragging his nails down his arm, and it all burned so fucking good—"Fucking Christ!" Guess not.

Collie chuckled into his shoulder. "This what you wanted?" his hand was back on his waist—"This what that bitch fit was about?"

He got real close then, breath tickling his ear, palm weaving its way up his chest, he whispered, "If you missed it so bad, all you had to do was ask," and then those hands were pressing hard at his nipples, that was it for him.

He felt himself jerk wildly as he came, clutching onto Collie's biceps, too gone to make a mental note on how firm they felt in his hands. The man pulled him into a kiss, an attempt to quiet him, swallowing his cries as he held him through the aftershocks.

Barkovitch slumped against Collie's shoulder, trying to catch his breath, form a damn thought, anything. Holy shit, that just happened.

"You good?"

Barkovitch finally raised his head, and Collie was staring at him, face still so close. He nodded in response, his hips jerking when he tried to move, realising that Collie hadn't moved his leg. He was also still hard. Did he fucking cum first?

Begrudgingly, he lightly pushed Parker out from between his legs and reached to begin undoing his belt.

Collie looked down at his hands, confused. "Fuck are you doing?"

Barkovitch felt his face flush harder, grumbling to himself as he finally got the belt undone and got Collie against the wall. "Just—just let me fuckin' do this, okay?" Barkovitch let himself drop his knees, slightly wincing at the stone digging into his knees.

He pulls Collie out of his boxers before he can psyche himself out, and tries not to stare. It's really hard not to.

Collie tutted from above him. "Well?"

Oh fuck off, jackass. "Yeah, yeah, asshole."

He does an experimental lick, getting used to the surprisingly not unpleasant taste, before lightly sucking at the tip. With more confidence, he properly takes him into his mouth. He squirms at how Parker's hands already find their way into his hair, guiding him up and down his shaft. Barkovitch sucks and licks wherever he can, using one of his hands to make up for the length he couldn't take yet and the other to use the back of Collie's thighs as leverage. He was periodically staring up at Collie, hoping for any sign of approval. He knew to keep doing something when he got a firm tug on his hair, a drawn-out 'Fuuckkkk' among other expletives. It was when he pulled off to take in a breath, before taking him completely, throat fighting his gag reflex and eyes watering, that Collie really got going.

"Oh fuck—" damn fucking right. He ignored the stinging in his eyes as he swallowed around him.

"Fuck Barkovitch, Good boy,"

He looked up at Collie through tear-ridden lashes as he let out a strung out moan, digging into his thighs. Holy Fuck—

Collie shuddered as his moans sent vibrations straight to his cock, keeping Barkovitch in heated eye contact. "You like that, huh?"

Gary nodded as he came up for air, too far gone to be embarrassed anymore. His own crotch was becoming its own problem now, cock straining and leaking against his already ruined boxers. As he took Collie into his mouth again, he moved one of his hands in between his legs, grinding down to relieve some of the pressure.

Maybe how fucking loud he was wasn't too bad, because Collie seemed to really enjoy the feeling of him whining as he sucked him off with as much vigour as he could while juggling trying to to fucking keel over and—"Fucking look at you, humping your hand like a fucking dog," God, how does he always say the filthiest shit?

Collie tighted the hand in his hair, keeping him on his cock as he spoke. "You that desperate for it?" He furrowed his eyes up at him, hoping it conveyed how strong his yes was. "Fuck, been so good while on your knees, knew you'd be good—" Gary revelled in how hot and floaty the praise made him feel.

"—think you deserve something better?"

Barkovitch didn't even have time to question what he meant before something was shoving away his hand, and a boot pressed against his crotch.

"Jesus Fuck," Gary shakily exhaled as his mind put together the pieces. Collie gave a light press of his boot, an encouragement—or a warning. "Go on, pup," fuck, you didn't need to ask him twice.

He continued with a new rhythm, punctuating the movements of his mouth with a rock of his hips, getting lost in the rhythm and the words that fell out of Parker's mouth, turning his mind to mush.

He could tell Collie was close now, and he whined at the feeling of him twitching against his tongue.

"Gary—fuck im close—" he tried to pull him off, but Barkovitch used his own hand to push him right back. If he was doing this shit, he was doing it for real.

He guessed Parker realised he wasn't coming off anytime soon, and tightened his grip in his hair again. He let out a guttural groan as he came, keeping his cock rammed in Gary's mouth. And fuck, if he thought his mouth was full before, it was definitely fucking full now. He could barely breathe as he tried his best to swallow, while not letting up his own pace, still frantically humping Collie's boot. and its when the last of his cum hits the back of his throat that he finds his own release. Collie lets him off his cock, and he cries out and grinds down on his boot one final time, his whole body trembling with the force of his orgasm. He slumps against Collie's thigh, fucking exhausted, and he can only vaguely hear the sound of him putting himself back in his jeans. the clank of his belt was so unimportant behind the post orgasm fuzz his mind had been clouded with.

Eventually, he feels Collie grab his face, pulling him away from his thigh. His thumb was swiping off the cum and spit that hadn't made it down his throat. He prodded at his lips, and almost on instinct, he found himself opening them, taking the digit into his mouth and sucking. He could feel Parker's gaze on him, but he didn't care, not when he slid in his pointer and index finger, coated with his cum and Gary's drool, ready for him to lap up and suck clean.

After letting him lazily suck on his fingers, Collie took them out of his mouth, watching as the blonde was almost reluctant to let them go. Gary tried to rest against his legs again, but was dragged up by strong arms and forced to stand on shaky legs.

And then he's being walked to his dorm, hands periodically coming to pull down his sweater over his crotch every time it rides up when they go up the stairs. Each step he took sobered him more, and by the time Collie had set him down on his bed, he could feel the familiar guilt begin to settle in his stomach. He lay down, worn out from everything, and a headache was quickly forming.

Hair had fallen back in his face, and Collie brought his hand up to fix it. He jerked back without thinking, immediately regretting it when he saw the hurt twitch in the man's features.

He pulls his hand back, resting it on his own thigh. "So uh, we'll talk, yeah?"

Gary pushed his cheek further into his pillow, not wanting to meet his eyes. "Yeah," he clutched the pillow harder, "Whatever."

He heard Collie sigh, and the weight on his twin bed lifted. "Alright."

When he hears the door close, he feels the weight of everything that happened slam into him all at once. What the fuck did he just do?

Chapter Text

Gary draped over his shitty twin bed, letting the tar and muck of his actions seep into him, excess coating and dripping onto his skin. He lay there staring into nothing and picking at his hands, his eyes squeezed shut. He had to get up, he knew that. His class was soon, and he needed to… change. A bath would be good, but he was 10 minutes shy of being late, so he dragged himself up and changed out of his boxers, trying to ignore the sensory nightmare that was the drying cum stuck to everything.

With new jeans and his old backpack, he made his way downstairs, keeping his head held down, praying he wouldn't see anyone he recognised. No one would've seen, he knew that logically, but that didn't change the lingering feeling of eyes on him, knowing eyes.

The lecture passed in a blur, his mind occupied by far more things than image composition. When he heard the screech of chairs against the floor and hurried footsteps, he let himself follow them out, his legs carrying him to the hopefully empty darkroom. He needed to think. Once he was covered in dark red light and clicked the lock behind him, he braced his head against the wooden table, letting his foot tap against the metal bar of the stool.

All those fucking people back home—they were right. He was every awful thing they thought about him. He couldn't keep him away, couldn't keep himself away. Tears were burning the corners of his eyes. Imagine how Meemaw would feel, seeing what he'd become? She'd be crushed, utterly humiliated. Would she talk about him the way she did about the others? Would she sound as disgusted? as repulsed? His chest stuttered as he coughed up the phlegm coating his sinuses. Gary couldn't bear that. He could handle all those randoms talking shit, fuck them, but not her. She couldn't—He couldn't lose the only person who loved him properly. Unconditionally. For a brief moment, Gary felt himself question that, harshly rubbing the wetness off his face. God, Gary course she did. This shit didn't count. He knew better.

But what was he supposed to do? His master plan ended with him humping Collie's leg like a dog— fuck, he still can't believe he did that—and he even seemed more soft on him than before. As soft as shoving his cock in his mouth could be. Barkovitch bit his cheek as heat flushed his face. He couldn't even focus on sulking when it came to pretty fuckass Collie.

Barkovitch found himself stuck between a rock and a hard place. Fuck was he going to do? He didn't need anyone in his business, so it's not like he could ask anyone, right?

…

Ughhhh. Fucking Harkness.

—

When he made it back to his dorm, he almost hoped he'd find it empty. But no, there Harkness was, hurriedly scribbling at his desk, giving a quick greeting as Gary closed the door behind him.

He really didnt want to do this shit, man. Richard was lasered in on the notebook below him. Gary fiddled with a loose thread on his sweater as he sat on his bed. This was stupid. Maybe he should drop it.

No. What, was he scared? Fuck no. He wasn't some pussy. Yeah. Yeah!

"Hey man,"

Harkness shot up, peering at him over his shoulder. "Yeah?"

"Can I—fuck, can I ask you something? You're not allowed to laugh or talk about this with anyone, or whatever bullshit,"

Richard blinked wide eyes at him for a moment before breaking out in a smile and moving to sit on the bed opposite him. "Uh-huh?"

Yeah, this fucker's way too giddy about this. "You heard the part about not fucking laughing at me, right?"

"Yeah, yeah! Course," his roommate crossed his arms, hunching towards him.

"Okay." Gary let out a drawn-out exhale before he began.

"So um. Me and Collie we…" Me and Collie. Sounded way too official for whatever the fuck they were.

Richard perked up before he got to finish his thought. "Are you finally gonna talk about what happened the other night or—"

"No! Fucking no, I'm here about today!"

"Oh shit, when he dragged you off?"

"Yeah," Man, he kinda sucked to Harkness today, huh? "Uh, sorry for...yknow,"

"Yeah, yeah, you're fine! Where the hell did you go anyway?"

"That's not fucking important, okay, just we—" a lump formed in his throat as he tried to form the words. Saying it out loud made it so much more real. "We kissed. And other shit but that doesn't really matter," he sighed out that last part, really hoping Harkness wouldn't get too hung up on it.

"Oh my gosh Gary, seriously? That's great!"

"No it's—fuck Rich, that's the problem,"

Harkness raised a brow at him. "Do you not like him?"

Gary hated the way his cheeks warmed. "I do," he mumbled.

"And if he's down to kiss you and whatever else you got up to, I'd like to assume he's pretty keen on you too," he said it so matter-of-factly, like it was the easiest thing in the world.

"Uh-huh."

"Sooo what's the problem?"

The fuck is this guy not getting? "I'm not supposed to do this fucking shit, alright? It's different when it's you guys. I just can't—" that didn't sound right. "I-I'm not supposed to," That sounded worse.

His roommate was now looking at him with something he couldn't quite decipher. "When you guys have a moment or whatever, do you enjoy it? Make you happy?"

Gary stared at his hands, thinking for a bit. The guilt afterwards was miserable. The everything after was miserable, but when he's actually in it…

He couldn't say it didn't. Collie was fun. He was dangerous that way.

He finally formulated an answer. "Think so."

Harkness leaned back, lying flat on his back and staring at the ceiling. "Then I think you should give it a chance." Hah.

"That ain't fair,"

"Why not?"

Barkovitch felt his chest clench at the way Collie had looked at him earlier. At how he didn't say anything. Didn't say any of the 'it's not your fault I'm like this, you're way too fucking good to me and I don't know how to deal with the shit you make me want.' that he could've.

"I suck, and he doesn't deserve someone that fucking sucks,"

"He don't know… why I'm the way I am," he's surprised he's still bothering.

"Why don't you tell him then?"

Tell him? Gary let the thought roll around in his head, debating the pros and cons of a conversation that would be unbelievably embarrassing regardless of outcome.

Pros. Collie would maybe get why he'd been such a skittish bitch. Maybe he'd lose interest and free Gary of whatever fucking shackles he'd been stuck in.

Cons. Parker might not get it and think Gary hates him or something. Worse yet, he's disgusted and hates him.

Barkovitch groaned into his hands. Much to consider.

"Well, I still think you should go for it," Harkness rolled onto his stomach, staring at him, a far too gleeful look past his glasses.

"You guys would be real cute too, the way he looks at you—"

"Alright fuck off four eyes, that's enough." Richard burst out into giggles, and a very red Gary threw his shoe at his head. The blonde smirked as Harkness jumped back, starting a whole different rant about him keeping his 'nasty ass' shoes so close to his bed.

Huh. Though the course of action wasn't one he was going to enjoy, it's not like he had better ideas, so as his roommate continued his tirade on room cleanliness and shoes inside, he began planning how the fuck this was happening. And if his chest fluttered a bit at the prospect of this being something, that was for him to know.

Chapter Text

The morning air had started to sting now. The weather was sobering, trees more and more bare and leaves cracked and crumbled beneath Collie's feet, drier than before. The sun was still struggling to rise, leaving him in a pleasant dim that eased him out of his morning sluggishness. He'd grown fonder of the path than he thought he would, and his little walks had become a daily comfort. He furrowed his brows as the breeze blew against him, stray strands of loose, long hair tickling the back of his neck. He hadn't bothered to put it up, figuring he'd do a quick ponytail before he went to the gym.

As he kept on, he heard brisk steps behind him and prepared to greet one of the regular morning runners. He came down a bit later than usual, so he had anticipated more company than he's used to. Instead of the sound passing him, he heard the steps quicken, and a mumble of his name.

When he turned, he was met with a shivering man trying to keep pace with him, flaxen hair getting in his face and teeth slightly clacking.

When Barkovitch noticed he'd been spotted, he decided to shout from behind him. "Why the fuck do you still come out here this early? It's freezing, man."

Collie chuckled as he slowed a bit, letting Gary catch up. "Air's colder now. No one told you to come out like that," he gave a pointed look at Gary's V-neck long sleeve, before gesturing his hands towards the dark jacket he had on.

He heard him grumble a 'Whatever.' under his breath as he started looking down at the fallen leaves, the two now walking side by side.

Collie felt the urge to tease him about where his leather jacket went, but he bit his tongue. Perhaps it was too soon to bring that night up again, given how yesterday ended.

"Why are you out here, Barkovitch? Don't seem to be here for a hike," Collie looked down to his bare neck, decidedly missing that leather strap. "Or pictures."

"I'm uh, here for you," Collie bit back a smirk as the blonde's cheeks dusted red as he caught himself. "Well, not for you or anything, I just gotta talk to you, and you're usually here, so I just," he trailed off, seeing his raised brow. "Came."

Barkovitch was actually trying to talk? That's new, but welcome. "Alright. Go on then."

Collie watched his demeanour shift, one hand pulling on the cuff of the other's sleeve. He could see him thinking, racing behind his eyes, lips falling open and shut again like a car that just won't start.

After a few more tries, he finally got it started. "This is about us, or whatever," he saw him cringe as he got out the 'us'.

Gary was pulling on a loose thread on his sleeve as he continued. "It's not that I don't like you, alright," Collie felt himself involuntarily hold his breath—

"I do," —his exhale was so sharp it burned.

"I'm just, I don't know." his voice shook so badly, and Parker hoped his furrowed brows didn't show the weight of his worry.

"All the shit I do, the running off, and whatever else isn't your fault, okay? Never was. I'm just—just—" Collie debated reaching for his shoulder, scared any sudden movement would send him running. He wasn't sure if it was just the chill in the air, but Gary seemed so fragile, had terrible tremors. He doubts the man knows how hard he's shaking. "I'm just fucked in the head and don't know how to fix it—" his own wince cut him off, and Collie's hand lurched to pry the nails out of his palms. "Fuck, man, I'm not supposed to want this shit. Not supposed to do any of the shit we do,"

Collie hummed in response. His hands were cold. "But do you?" Gary lifted his head to him, confused. "Want it?" Collie finished.

Collie felt Gary's fingers fighting against his, itching to get back to the meat of his palms. A nod was all the blonde could muster before looking back at his shoes, dirt-stained sneakers dragging against the gravel.

"I'm sorry."

Collie let themselves stay like that for a while, their hands still limply held together and words lingering in the cool air.

Collie tried to make sense of what was said. Something in him was reassured by the fact that, yes, Gary did like him. But the other bit was...much. Much to navigate. Not impossible, though. Far from it. Collie wasn't one to step down from a challenge, anyway. Would be worth it, he thinks.

"Look, man," he started. He could feel Gary flinch in his hand. "I know you got shit wrong with you, that's no problem for me."

"Dealing with you's not my issue," he gave Barkovitch a playful nudge with his shoulder, smirking at the embarrassed glare he got back.

"And I wanna keep this shit up, us, if you'd let me." and oh God, something in his chest burned at the way Gary stared at him, blinked away tears sitting on the corners of wide eyes. "But I need to know that you're not going to run away all panicked and upset every time I come near you." That broke their gaze, and Gary's eyes went back to his shoes.

"I don't want to keep this up if it's hurting you," Collie pressed into his palm, signalling for him to look back at him. " I know it's not easy, you don't have to tell me that. All I'm asking is that if this is something you want, really want, that you'll try."

They were silent again for a moment, and Collie's breath hitched every time Gary's mouth quivered with a response. Each response died on his lips before he blinked himself out of his thoughts and turned his head to face Collie head-on.

"I—I can try, I think,"

"No promises, but I'll try." Parker felt him squeeze his hand a little tighter, before going limp again when he realised he'd been noticed. "I wanna try."

"Yeah?" Collie couldn't stop the smile that overcame his face.

Barkovitch gave a shy smile back. "Yeah." The sun had finally come out properly, and the blonde threw his head back, chasing the warmth it brought. That would've made a good picture.

"Alright. Let's turn back then, you look like fucking death." Collie grabbed at Gary's shoulders, rubbing his hands aggressively on his sleeves to generate warmth.

Gary laughed as he struggled to shove him off. "Get off me, asshole!"

The two fell into giggles, and Collie very narrowly pulled Barkovitch out of the path of one of the bikers barreling down the path. The rest of the walk back was surprisingly easy, and Barkovitch, though his hands were still shaking, lost the tremble that had been in his voice.

He and Barkovitch went their separate ways once they made it back to their residence building, and Collie got ready for his workout with an unabashed giddiness he was happy Stebbins wasn't there to see. This was a thing now. He wasn't sure what exactly, but something he could work with.

Gary Fucking Barkovitch. He was going to be a piece of work.

Chapter Text

Barkovitch stared at himself in the mirror, trying to tame the flaxen hair falling into his eyes. He adjusted his washed-out black band tee underneath his leather jacket. He bit the inside of his cheek at the outergarment, but decided it was fitting for whatever tonight was going to be. Gary hadn't been this excited to go somewhere since he was like ten, and that was to go to the state fair. He smiled at the crinkled, red 'Bloodrust' logo plastered on his shirt. He couldn't fucking wait. With one last 360 and a grab of his dorm key, he made his way to Collie's dorm.

After trekking up a few flights of stairs, he was left standing in front of the wooden door. He stared at it for a few seconds, suddenly felt very nervous, with a faint buzz underneath his skin. After reminding himself that he was already late, he gave the door a few hard knocks. He heard faint grumbling for a moment, then the door swung open and there Collie was.

Fuck, he looked—God.

His hair cascaded down his shoulders, onto his arms. He was also wearing a band tee, a much newer one, a much tighter one—does every shirt he owns hug his arms like that? Gary could see part of a dark belt chain from behind the door, and some gross juvenile part of him got all giddy and compelled him to fiddle with the chain links hanging off his own belt loop. They were kinda matching—

"The fuck took you so long?" Rude. He shrugged as he followed Collie into his dorm, letting him gather his stuff. When he stepped in, he awkwardly waved at Stebbins, who was looming at his desk. He pretended not to see the look he gave Parker, nor the look the tanned man shot back.

After what felt like far too long, Collie grabbed his jacket and signalled that it was time to go, giving Stebbins a hurried goodbye before closing the door behind them. They quickly went down the stairs, their energy building with each step. When they made it out of the building, their eyes met, both beaming despite the sting of the outside air.

Gary couldn't stop himself from chuckling at the uncharacteristic excitement plastered over the other man's face. "Christmas come fuckin' early?"

Collie's crooked smile didn't falter as he gave Barkovitch a shove. "Fuck yeah, man. We're seeing Bloodrust tonight!" said Collie, picking up his pace as he made it off the campus grounds. Gary felt his smile grow wider, stomach still jerking from his laughter. "Real exciting stuff,"

"Damn right, and we might fucking miss it if we don't haul our asses. Hurry the fuck up!" Parker was basically shouting now, voice fighting against the growing distance and the wind. With a click of his tongue and cheeks growing sore from mirth, Gary jogged up to him, flipping him off as he practically skipped past him. Sure, he didn't have Collie's stupid muscles, but he was fucking quick. "Fuck now, Parker? We're gonna be late," he sniggered, nearly stumbling as he walked backwards on the uneven concrete. Collie's eyes glint with competition, glaring at the smirking Barkovitch.

Then he was speeding up, holding pace before passing the blonde entirely, nearly sending him toppling over. With nothing but a shout of "Dick!" leaving him, Barkovitch dashed in pursuit, and soon they were both racing down the sidewalk. The dim streetlights were illuminating them as they ran, and their boots were sending dust and gravel flying beneath their feet. Between the wind blowing in their face and their laughter ringing in their ears, they nearly ran right past the bus stop. Gary crashed first, catching himself on a post, chest hiccupping with the exertion and all the goddamn hysterics. "I win," he said between pants, seeing Collie slow in his peripheral. He could feel Parker rolling his eyes from behind him. "Yeah, yeah, whatever."

The bus didn't have them waiting long. The bright headlights were blaring in their faces before they could catch their breath. Gary sighed at the warmth of the bus interior and threw himself down on the nearest window seat, Collie sitting next to him. He leaned past Parker's frame, assessing his surroundings. Given the time of night, there weren't too many people on with them—a man standing near the back, a tired old lady sitting a few rows ahead. Surely its passed her bedtime, he snickered to himself.

He was jumped out of his daze by the man beside him clearing his throat. Parker's eyes were shut as he threw his head back against the seat, his Adam's apple bobbing with the movement. Barkovitch suddenly felt very aware of how close they were, how their knees were touching, belt chains jangling as the bus shook. A particularly hard hit of what he could only assume was a speed bump or a person sent him flying back into his seat, the force pushing him against Collie's side. His cheeks flush pink, and he braces himself, expecting to be pushed off, but what he gets is…nothing. No stupid comment, no grimace or jostling. Parker makes no move to move him, so Gary stays. Collie kept his eyes shut, only shifting to pull out his hair from underneath the head laid against his shoulder. The rest of the ride is thankfully uneventful, and Barkovitch quietly loses himself in the hum of the bus motor and the smell of Collie's hair.

—

By the time they got to the venue, it was already pretty packed, and the openers were in between songs. Collie peels off his jacket when they make it inside, immediately feeling the heat of the radiators and all the leather-clad bodies stuffed inside.

Everyone looked so cool. Was it possible to feel impostor syndrome about a shitty concert? "Everyone's all dressed up, huh?" commented Gary as they made their way to the bar. "Aren't we?" is all he got back. "Well, yeah, just—half these guys probably just roll around like this, huh?" he took an eyeful of all the colour-filled heads and denim jackets riddled with patches. He tried doing that once, back in high school, but Meemaw got so mad she threatened to take down 'all those damn posters of men in makeup!' if he tried to ruin one of his jackets again. He's plenty far from her now, though, and has got plenty of jackets to ruin. Hm.

He suddenly jerked away from cold on his neck and craned his neck back. He was met with a beer and a Collie taking a swig of his own. "It's the shit you like, right?" Gary definitely played up how much he liked beer around the guys, calling a random brand he recognised when asked what he preferred. He popped the cap off on a nail jutting out from one of the wooden tables and took a sip, sighing at the chill it brought to his insides. "It's beer, man, who gives a fuck?"

The two begin making their way to the stage, bullying their way through the clusters of people till they squeezed themselves near the front. The excitement from earlier came rushing back, and Gary found himself getting caught up in the cheer, yelling with the rest of the crowd. Then Bloodrust came out, and he shouted so loud he thought his voice would go. Collie clearly thought so too, pressing his beer bottle to his lips, pushing him to finish the last of it. Gary drank it dutifully, throwing his head back as Parker tilted the bottle farther and farther, till the last of it dripped on his tongue. They stared at each other, heated and heavy, before Collie took the now-empty bottle he held and disappeared for a bit, presumably to find somewhere to get rid of it. The band was riling up the crowd further, and fuck, Barkovitch felt riled. Collie had properly lost himself in the rush of everything, but soon after he left, the first song started, and Gary couldn't focus on how long he'd been gone because he was seeing fucking Bloodrust. He was singing (screaming) song lyrics, completely lost in booming drums and brash vocals.

Then, somewhere between verses, there was a hand steadying his waist. He prepared to elbow the fuck out of some random, bitch to them about personal space, but when he turns, he's met with a tight black band tee, and silky dark hair cascading over shoulders.

"Boo."

Gary decided to still give him that elbow before turning back to the stage, letting Collie snake his hand around him without question. He his back tickled from the vibrations of the man's chest, and he turned his head to face him. "Fuckr'e you laughing at?"

"What?"

"What are you laughing at?"

"You're red!" How did this fucker expect him to hear anything?

"What?"

"Your face!"

"Fuck's with my face?"

Collie was properly laughing now. "It's all pink!"

Gary felt himself descend into cackles, their little screaming match tickling him far more than it should have, and hey, sue him if Collie's grossly endearing smile was infectious. "Yeah, some of us do that, Parker."

Collie exaggerated a shudder. "Freaky shit."

They continued enjoying the show, thrashing and moving with the crowd, Collie hitting and grabbing at his shoulders whenever one of his songs came on. Gary tried to ignore the rush each knock gave him.

Then their song came on—Gary didn't realise they had a song till that very moment—and they turned to each other, eyes sharing the same feverishness. They clutched on to each other's arms, rocking each other violently with each beat, cheeks stinging from the screaming and glee. Then the bridge started, and the rocking slowed, and Gary could feel Collie's fingertips on the leather of his jacket. Their eyes remained glued to each other until they weren't, drifting down to their lips, then eyes, then lips and then Collie closed the distance.

He tasted like cheap beer, and he felt himself blush like a schoolgirl when the man licked at his teeth, asking for entry. Gary thinks he'd let him do just about anything right now, so he let him in happily, wrapping his arms around his neck, nipping at Collie's lip when he felt large hands dip under his jacket. Parker brought their bodies closer, arms wrapped around his waist and squeezing him through his shirt. They had kissed before, a few times actually, but something about this moment felt like their real first, the others not counting. They didn't feel like this. Gary felt positively woozy, like the ladies from his mama's old romance flicks. He could dreamily fall onto a bed right about now.

The wooziness might have been from lack of oxygen cuz when Collie drew back, he nearly lost his balance, left panting into Collie's mouth. Music continued to blare in their ears, and neither man felt like pulling back. "Ga—"

Parker cut himself off as they both perked up at the start of a new song, a shared favourite, and they both decided that whatever needed to be said could fucking wait.

They screamed, shook and clutched on to one another till their ears rang and feet were sore, and Barkovitch doesn't think he's had this much fun in his life. He was dripping with sweat, hair stuck to his face, voice hoarse, tispy, seeing the band he's liked since he was fucking fifteen live and an unbelievably sexy man up under him.

Collie looked fucking delicious. Sweat was dripping down his temples, hair wild and flying with each head bang. His muscles were flexing with each thrash, and Barkovitch nearly fainted when he wrapped his arms around his neck, letting his hair fall onto Gary's shoulders, moving them in time with the music. Collie seemed to be taking great pleasure in throwing him around, and Gary was convinced he'd shaken out half his damn sense. Soooo fucking worth it.

—

When the show 'ends' it's around 3:27 am, courtesy of some random's watch, and the pair make their way out of the venue. They paste themselves to a wall, and Gary lit the cig he snagged from one of the guys they ran into when leaving. The wall felt cold on his nape as he braced against it, closing his eyes as he inhaled. The smoke and the wind were almost lulling him to sleep, the body pressed into his side not helping. Collie was shivering.

"You good?"

"It's fucking freezing."

"Yeah, well, no one told you to come out like that," Gary snarked, taking another drag of his cigarette. Collie shot him a playful glare as he shook out his jacket and hastily put it on between shudders. Gary appreciated the soft fabric against his face as he dipped to lay his head on the man's shoulders.

"Tonight was fun," Collie said.

Gary felt his face try to twitch into a smile. "Pretty fuckin' sick, the band and shit."

"Damn right. but outside of Bloodrust, which was always going to be pretty fuckin' sick," he played up a shitty country accent at the end, poking the blonde with his elbow. For some reason, it didn't sting the way it would with anyone else. Barkovitch actually found himself laughing.

"The rest of tonight. Us."

"Mm." He put out his cigarette under his boot.

"You had fun?"

"Yeah."

Collie reached for his cheek, bringing their faces together, kissing him, chaste and soft. "Good."

Gary felt his breath stutter. "Fuck, man," he pushed Collie back through a shaky exhale, turning his head away to hide his deepening blush. "You're so fucking gay,"

Collie burst into laughter, wrapping his arm around his shoulder and pushing him into his side. Gary grumbled in protest as he was pressed further against the cotton of his t-shirt.

"Yeah, Barkovitch, I'm a major fucking fag."

"Hey! You two still need that ride?" The two raise their heads to meet Joe? Joey? Jacob? J-Something, who was one of their spur-of-the-moment buddies they had made sometime in the night. He was with about six other people making their way towards a beat-up black van.

Was it ideal to get in the back of a random stranger's van with like seven other grown men in it? Probably not. But there they were, packed up against 2 drunk guys with a hopefully less drunk driver barreling down the dark roads. There were streaks of light spilling through the window whenever they sped past a streetlight. The faint light source kept illuminating Parker's face, passing over his brows, his nose, his neck, down to his sleeves. Gary wondered if he could feel him staring.

The bigger man's hands drift down to his hips, dipping his hand underneath his shirt to caress the bare skin there. His hands were roaming up his sides, stopping at his waist and back down to his hips to grab and squeeze . He kept up this rhythm, light touches affecting Barkovitch far more than he'd like to admit, and he gasped when Collie's fingers got hitched under the waistband of his jeans. Collie drew back, shushing him. "Don't wanna fuck with our ride home, right?" Another streak of light ran over him. Fuck.

Gary nodded before lying back on his chest, watching Collie continue to let his hands roam. He was lightly trembling now, breath a little uneven, stomach jerking every time those large hands dragged across him, and they kept inching closer and closer to his thighs—

Bram!

The whole van shouted in surprise as they rocked and aggressively dipped. "Fuck! Sorry guys, stupid fucking pothole—why doesn't the city fix this shit? Well, we know why it's cuz—"

Gary couldn't focus on much of James—Jax maybe—'s monologue because that wandering hand was now firmly at the top of his thigh, fingers bullying their way into the junction between his leg and his crotch. Gary burrowed his face in further, hoping to silence himself. Then those fingers brushed against his half-hard dick.

"Mmgfh-!" Collie dug his nails into the denim, pulling his hands back down. Gary put his hand over Parker's, trying to shift them back, but he wouldn't budge. After a few more tugs, he gave up, hands falling back to his sides.

The rest of the ride home entailed a soundtrack of one of the men's terrible EPs, sharp turns and a shit ton more plot holes and those stupid sexy hands fondling him more.

By the time they jumped out of the van, shouting a mess of thank you's and good nights or good mornings, Gary was stupid hard, flushed to hell and unbelievably pent up. The early morning air was incredibly unforgiving, and it served as a great distraction as they rushed to their dorm building. The steps were a goddamn chore, and when they reached his floor, Gary began to peel off the firm torso he'd been bracing on. "Wait, Barkovitch," Collie stopped him, catching him by the forearm.

Gary stared at him as he was rummaging through his pockets. "Fuck, uh," Collie drifted off again.

Where the fuck were his keys? He knows he had them when he left—

All his pockets came up empty. "Fucking shit shit SHIT!"

Collie furrowed their brows in concern.

"Fuck Parker, I—I think I fucking lost my keys." He was looking forward to jacking off in the bathroom and passing out. He couldn't exactly do that without a room.

"Oh fuck, Barkovitch, those are a pain to replace—"

"Yeah, I know that, asshole!" Gary held his face in his hands, visibly stressed.

"Hey, you can stay at mine tonight. Would be pretty dickish to wake up Harkness at like 3 in the morning, no?"

Gary wasn't jumping at the prospect. On one hand, sleeping in the same room as Stebbins sounded…creepy. On the other, he didn't have too many options.

They make their way up the two extra flights, and Gary stands behind Collie as he fumbles with the lock (which he missed twice). When the door finally opened, he was shocked to see an empty room with two empty beds. He stood there dumbly after getting off his shoes, reassessing how this night could go. He then felt strong hands reach to get off his jacket, and Collie's breath tickling his neck. "Seems like it's just us, huh?" Parker began planting kisses down the now-exposed skin, shucking off his outerwear till both jackets hit the floor.

Gary exhaled as he leaned into Collie's touch, displaying more skin for him to mark. When Collie was satiated, he was pulled into a searing kiss, Parker greedily swallowing all his gasps and whimpers.

They keep inching deeper into the bedroom, and Gary ends up stumbling backwards, back hitting the mattress. He had little time to recalibrate because Collie was on him in seconds, capturing his mouth again and slotting himself in between his legs. They began feverishly rocking against each other, finding the energy they held earlier that night, and Collie latched on to his neck, worrying the sensitive skin there. He began hiking up Gary's shirt, pulling back to gaze up at him with a look that read 'please?'.

Gary nodded. Parker moved quickly, maybe not as precisely as he would've been if his mind wasn't occupied, but the offending garment was off, and those fucking hands were on him again. Barkovitch squirmed under Collie, who was unabashedly ogling him, eyes tracing over his bare chest, his hands on his waist, his tummy—it was all so overwhelming.

Gary reached up towards Collie's chest, tugging at his top. "Off."

Collie chuckled at his request, then straightened his back and held the hem of his shirt. He raised the shirt over his head, muscles flexing beneath the now-exposed tanned skin and long hair falling behind him. Gary didn't know whether to focus on his pecs or the happy trail that led lower and lower…He screwed his eyes shut. "Fuck."

Parker continued his groping, bringing his lips to his chest, ghosting over his nipples and leaving angry red hickeys down his torso, till he reached the top of his jeans. "May I?"

Gary nodded again. "Words, pup." he couldn't bite back the whine at the pet name.

"F-fuck it's—yeah, go ahead."

That's all Collie needed. He was practically ripping him out of his jeans, lifting his hips to get them off, leaving them in the growing clothes heap on the floor. He nuzzled into his hips, kissing the pelvic bone pressing into his cheek and palming him through his boxers. Barkovitch was already whining at the attention, and he choked out a gasp when Collie grabbed at his ass. "You ever been fucked, Barkovitch?"

Barkovitch could feel the blood leaving his extremities and rushing to his face and, more importantly, his dick. "Collie I—Fuck," he buried himself in his hands, suddenly finding the sight of Collie far too much.

Hands gripped at his wrists, prying his palms away from his face. Collie looked like he wanted to devour him from the inside out. Gary really, really wanted to let him.

"Where's my answer, Barkovitch?"

Gary tried to find somewhere to hide. Collie didn't let him. "No,"

Collie's kisses turned into sucking bruises on his pale skin. "You want me to change that?" the man mumbled into the strained, pre-cum soaked fabric.

"I've never—Fuck I'm—" he felt Collie shift upwards to face him, cradling his face, rubbing the apples of his cheeks. "Hey, hey, hey, we don't have to do anything if you—"

"No! Nonono—fuck Collie, please?"

Parker leaned down and pressed a quick kiss to his trembling mouth. "Ok, pup."

He leaned over to his nightstand, pulling something from his bottom drawer. When he came up, he revealed a small bottle and set it next to them. His hands went back to Gary's boxers, lifting his hips to get them off.

Barkovitch now lay there, completely bare and cock twitching, trying not to look away from the man by his hips. He couldn't tell if embarrassment or arousal was winning him over. Collie then licked up his cock, like he was cleaning the precum that had dripped down. Arousal won. "Fuck, Collie!"

Parker then shifted up a bit, propping himself up on his arm, using his hands to spread the blonde's legs further.

He poured lube onto his fingers, rubbing his thigh in soothing motions as he began to circle his hole. "It's going to feel a bit weird, alright?" He begins pressing in, "It might hurt a bit, but if it hurts too bad, tell me."

It does feel a bit weird, and Gary cringed at the slight burn. Collie leaned down, kissing him through it, pushing further until the last knuckle. "You okay?" it was said against his lips, soft and quiet. Gary shyly smiled as he nodded. Collie was disgustingly sweet.

Then his disgustingly sweet boy moved that finger. Barkovitch wetly gasped, knocking foreheads with Parker as he jerked upwards. Collie winced at the impact, laughing once getting over the initial shock. "Getting good now, Barkovitch? Pretty dickish to hit the guy with a finger in your ass."

"Shut the fuck up and keep going, asshole." Gary spat out, pissed off expression softened by the crimson of his face.

Collie kissed his annoyed frown and continued. He was right, it was getting good now, each press and thrust having him pathetically mewl from above. Collie was peppering kisses over, so when he suddenly pulled out, Gary had his voice ready to complain. He was promptly shut up by a stinging bite to his thigh. "Calm the fuck down, I'm going with two now." If Collie noticed how Gary's dick twitched at that, he didn't mention it.

Two definitely hurts more than one, but the lube makes the slide easier, and it starts feeling real fucking good a lot faster. Then Collie hits something and—"Fucking Christ, what the fuck—" he cuts himself on with a wanton moan at the fingers pressing up in that same spot. "There he is," Collie mumbles, eyes still on the digits moving inside him. Collie was doing this scissoring thing that was driving him mad, and his eyes fluttered every time those fingers dragged over his walls.

Unfortunately for his shame, he can hear himself, and he knows he's being very loud and very mouthy. Christ, how is he going to sound when he actually gets dick in him?

Speaking of which, "Aren't I fucking ready by now?" he wriggled his hips at Collie, pouting again.

The man below him laughed as he pulled out, fussing with his belt. "With that attitude, you are."

Gary watched him strip his bottom half, mourning the feeling of fullness from before. Once his cock was out, hard and heavy, Gary remembered just how big it had felt in his mouth, the girth of it, the weight. Suddenly, that dick was far more intimidating than before.

Collie spread his legs further, lining himself up with Barkovitch, watching him twitch as he teased his hole. Gary was getting pissed now. "Stop fucking around—"

Holyyyyshit.

The pair shuddered out in unison when Collie finally started pushing in. He had barely gotten anywhere, barely past the tip, and fuck. The stretch was much, made him wince a bit, but Collie was in him now, and he wasn't about to stop because it was a little hard to breathe. Collie had to remind him to relax, exhale coming out of his quivering mouth as he clutched at the sheets behind him. Collie soon bottomed out, sweet nothings being whispered to the blonde, trying to help him adjust.

Gary was nearly overwhelmed by the sheer fullness of it all; that foreign feeling from earlier had completely dissipated. This didn't feel wrong—couldn't feel more right actually.

"You good?" Parker asked.

"Feels like ur in my fucking lungs, man," Gary whispered, eyes screwed shut.

"You ready for me to move?" Collie was rubbing his thumb into the splotchy red expanse of his thighs.

Gary nodded before correcting himself. "Y-Yes."

So he starts moving.

The drag-out pulled a sinful whine out of him, and the punch back in left him no quieter. Collie was doing these slow, hard strokes, making sure to hit that spot that drove him mad earlier. It was good, really good, but Barkovitch was greedy and soon found that something in him was itching for more.

"F-fuck can you—" a particularly hard thrust cut him off. "Go faster?"

Collie was looking down at him, that delicate, worried look from earlier still on his face. "You sure? It seems like this is a lot for you already—"

"Oh shut up, Parker. Fuck me like a man," and Collie didn't need to be told twice.

With a renewed grip on his legs, the man set a new rhythm, snapping his hips against flush skin. The first thrust punched the air out his lungs, Gary coughing once, twice, having choked on his own spit with the shock of it all. He kept pathetically gasping for air as Parker continued his bruising pace. The force of him kept rocking him backwards, the poor bedframe creaking under their movement.

It burns, burns so fucking sweet, and Collie's dick keeps slamming into that one spot that has him crying out, and he's trying so hard to look at him, but his eyes keep fluttering, each thrust catching his senses off guard.

"Fuck—Collie!" his hands are scrambling for purchase on the sheets beside his head, grabbing at the pillows, the mattress, anything to try and ground him, but that stupid huge perfect cock kept knocking him off his footing.

"What's wrong, pup? Though this was what you wanted?"

Gary was trying to throw out an insult, but the words promptly died on his spit-slick mouth, because Collie was raising his hips further, pounding into him at a new angle. Barkovitch reached to grab at Collie's shoulders, wrapping his arms around his neck and leaving harsh red lines as he was fucked mercilessly,

He gave one last effort to see Collie's face, his mind already clouding with that familiar fog. He was staring down at him, hungry and eyes dark. He was groaning with every thrust, occasionally calling out his name and leaving brief kisses and bites on his trembling legs.

Barkovitch felt his eyes glaze over, rolling back as he was consumed by the feeling of Collie in him, filling him, in, out, in, out—

He can feel Parker's mouth on his neck again, and he can smell his soft hair falling in his face, feel their sweat mingling and fuck, Collie keeps hitting that spot over and over. Each thrust was pouring sense out his ears, ringing with his own moans, out his mouth, from the drool pooling on the bed next to him, out his untouched cock, weeping and leaking as it knocked against his stomach, and all he could think of was CollieCollieCollie.

He vaguely registered the man above asking him if he was close, and all he could muster was a whine and a squeeze of his shoulders in response. Collie was near him now, he could feel his heavy breath on his skin and that heavy cock inside him and his glistening, far too bare shoulder so close to his mouth—

"Argh—Fuck!"

Gary bit down on that shoulder as he came, feeling nothing but his dick shooting ropes onto his stomach, his eyes hitting the back of his sockets, and the taste of flesh and spit under the divots of his teeth.

When he released him from his mouth, he had no time to recover from the white spots behind his eyes because then there were barely two more thrusts before Collie stills, and something warm and sticky was coating his insides. He gave a dopey smile as he pulled back to see Collie's wrecked-out face. He was good for him.

The man on top of him flops down, barely missing his shoulder as he panted into the mattress. Gary blinked dumbly at the ceiling, letting Collie move him into his arms. He liked the warmth against his bare skin, the sound of Collie in his ear. He wasn't sure what he was saying, but that didn't matter much.

They lay like that for a while, Barkovitch nuzzled into his chest and licking at the bite on his shoulder, Parker rubbing his back and kissing his forehead. Gary whines when the warmth peels off of him, weight rising from the bed. Gary grabs at the air in front of him, calling him back. Parker catches his hand and kisses it quickly. He says something about cleaning him up, and he sees the bathroom light turn on, spilling light into the dark room. When Collie returns, he's fighting sleep, on his stomach and drool drying on his face.

He then feels cold between his legs and smells something vaguely soapy. He spreads his legs and rolls over when prompted to, letting Collie clean him up, meeting his eyes as he wipes his face. When he's done, he helps Gary shimmy into some new clothes. The shirt was too big and smelled like Collie. Collie…

Soon enough, Collie came back to bed, surrounding him with his limbs, their hair almost tangling together. Gary finally drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat and a hand stroking his hair.

Chapter Text

The winter holidays seem to fly past him. Collie wasn't really ready for how it would feel to spend his first Christmas away from home. To wake up to the cold of his bedsheets, not the weight of excited bodies piling on top of him, bright and early. Christmas morning was a bit miserable, and he may have spent an hour looking at his little photo album, chest aching with loneliness. He misses his sisters, his mother, all his cousins. It was Stebbins of all people who dragged him out, brought him down to be with the others. It was a bit hard to stay miserable around the likes of Pete and the other boys stuck up in Maine, and besides him and Gary couldn't both sulk.

With Harkness back home, they were practically inseparable, Collie lingering in Gary's dorm for most of Boxing Day and the days that followed, enough for Stebbins to make a snide comment on how cold his vacant bed had become. Those days were fucking great. Waking up next to a dishevelled, sleeping Barkovitch, all open-mouthed and adorably vulnerable, did wonders for his mood. In the confines of the boy's dorm, he'd let Collie be all sappy on him, kiss him silly once he woke up, watch him work at his desk, fuck him hard against that desk—shit felt like a dream.

Collie doesn't know if he's ready for Harkness to come back. When they were outside that room, he clammed back up, nothing like before, though. He wouldn't bite back nearly as much, glaring hard or hissing out something snarky instead of the usual snarling and retreat. Was a change of pace Collie readily welcomed. Now that he didn't have to worry that he'd immediately limp off like a kicked stray, Parker could properly appreciate how fucking adorable he was when he was all riled. His pout and furrowed eyebrows, his hastily put-together quips, he was like an angry blonde puppy who nips at your ankles. Barkovitch would probably try to punch him if he told him that, though, so he kept that bit to himself.

The days after Christmas came and went, and most of the guys who had gone home came back by New Year's Eve. With more of them back in Maine, they seemed determined to make the day a fun one. Clementine had come back with Hank for New Year's and was making quick friends with the rest of the Muskeeters. She made it a point to rub it in everyone's faces that she was saving this operation, actually cooking everyone a proper lunch. She was right, though, so not a soul argued. Pete and Ray were attempting to bake a recipe from the cookbook his mother had let him bring back. How successful they were was yet to be determined.

Gary was actually bothering to be helpful, crouched down by the small table by the TV, debating with Rank what board games were worth having out. Rank seemed deadset on keeping the chessboard from the basement.

"That's not a fucking board game, Rank—"

"—It is! It literally is!"

"Who the fuck is playing chess at a party, dumbass?" he sounds genuinely baffled behind his yelling. Collie had to stifle a laugh.

"It's hardly a party anyway!"

"Who fucking cares, dipshit? No one is trying to watch your ass play chess!"

Collie left the two to argue, making his way to the kitchen to make himself useful.

The afternoon is spent with hurried planning, burnt cookies, a heated game of Monopoly and the best food the boys had seen for months. They only settled on where to go that night when Pete remembered their usual spot was hosting something. Good thing too, they'd be fucking damned if they were spending New Year's in this shithole.

By the time night falls, the gang has gotten ready, all waiting in the common room for the last of the bunch (Ray and Pete) to make their way down. Some insist they would go on without them, but when one of the missing persons is the owner of your ride, your options become limited.

Collie was sitting on the couch, watching Gary, Clementine and Hank very heatedly playing cards as they waited. Collie had to thank the couple because there truly wasn't much cuter than Gary when he was pissy.

The blonde had a perpetual scowl on his face. Parker wasn't all that tuned into the game, but he could pick up that his boy was losing.

"You guys are totally fucking cheating," Gary grumbled under his breath.

The two others cartoonishly gasped. "Or maybe you just suck, Barkovitch," Hank sniggered.

Clem giggled, holding her card hand to her mouth. "Pretty solid theory."

The three of them keep arguing until Pete and Ray finally find themselves downstairs. Ray stood in the foyer, jangling his and Clem's keys in the hallway.

"Let's get this show on the road, people!"

—

The bar was pretty packed, filling more as the hours drew closer to midnight. Most of the crew were appropriately drunk by now, Collie himself tipsy enough to have his insides all warm.

He was perched by the table they had claimed, watching his friends spread across the floor. Ray and Pete were plastered, grabbing onto each other on the dancefloor next to Art and Hank, who was no more sober. Clem was not too far off, flushed and giggly, taking pictures of the bunch with the Polaroid camera she had in her purse.

Stebbin was off in the corner nursing a Coke, sulking and strikingly sober, scaring off any poor sap who tried talking to him with his creepy riddle and rhyme-ass train of thought.

Gary was up on a barstool people-watching, jacket draped over the low back, and his boots bouncing off the chair.

Collie slid over to him, hoping he came off casual—nonchalant.

"You bored?"

Gary grumbled, bracing his arms on the bartop behind him. "As fuck." he emphasised the fuck by throwing his head back.

"Guess Harkness isn't here to talk your ear off, huh?"

Collie caught the smile Gary tried to hide. "Definitely quieter."

"We have other friends, you know," said Parker, pointing his head to the rest of the group.

"Yeah, and those friends are acting a fuckin' fool right now."

"Really? You not up for any dancing, Barkovitch?" he nudged him with his shoulder, laughing at the immediate daggers being shot at him.

"Don't even fucking think about it."

"That's why you're so fucking bored, man. You're being boring."

Gary rolled his eyes at him. Collie paid no mind. "Sure you don't wanna get out or something? You look like Stebbins right now."

He watched Gary crane his neck to find the other blonde, grimacing when he saw the sorry sight. "Yeah, In here's kinda stuffy, uh—" Collie was already grabbing Gary's jacket. "—Uh-huh."

The cold air hit their faces, Barkovitch shuddering as they found somewhere to plant themselves. They stood in a comfortable silence, lightly bracing against one another, before Collie decided to ruin it.

"Last couple days," Gary stiffened when he spoke.

"Been enjoying your holidays trapped up here? Room to yourself?" Mostly himself. Not much to himself.

Gary shrugged. "I mean, being able to keep the curtains closed till ten has been nice."

Collie chuckled. "Yeah," Collie sharply exhaled, seeing his breath mist in front of him. "It's been nice being, uh, over." It's the first time either has properly acknowledged the unspoken softness that had been stewing in his dorm. Waking up to tangled limbs, kissing early into the afternoon, falling back asleep sweaty and smelling like each other—none of it ever left the confines of those four walls.

"Yeah," Barkovitch falls silent. "Thanks for hanging around." That was one way to describe it.

"Made shit less lonely, I guess."

Collie chuckled awkwardly in response. He left the question hanging in the air. What were they when this week was over? "Don't worry, couple more days and four eyes will be back to keep you company,"

"Ready to get yer big ass out of my fuckin' bed, all my shit smells like you now. "

"Could've kicked me out nights ago, Barkovitch."

He paused. "Yeah. Could've."

"Didn't though."

Gary looked away from him. "Guess not."

Their conversation was cut short, everyone filing out as the final hour of the year began drawing to an end. Their friends found them, Collie waving them off as they began shuffling towards the pair.

"Y'all got a real solid spot out here for the fireworks," said Pete, arm hanging off of Ray. Hank pitched in, sandwiched between holding up a drunk Clementine and bracing against a less drunk Art. "Gotta be grateful, guys, their canoodling saved us a few fights!"

Collie chuckled at the comment, lightly placing his hand on the small of Gary's back as a 'don't take it on'. A drunk Barkovitch was always easier to rile. The blonde pouted in response, but let himself be moved towards everyone. More and more people were crowding now, and the group huddled closer on the pavement, ensuring no one got lost in the growing sea of people.

"I'm feeling for poor Baker, nobody to kiss when the clock strikes," said a loose-lipped Clem, pawing at the boy from Hank's shoulder. "I think I'll be just alright, thank you," retorted Art, patting her hand lightly. Ray giggled, "Poor Baker? Poor Billy!" he said, putting a sympathetic hand on the tall man's stiff shoulder. He just groaned in response, keeping up his silent protest of his missing boy.

The topic of conversation seemed to have piqued Gary's interest, as he silently watched the teasing and chattering go on, never reaching out to input. Did he want to ask? Want him to ask? Similar questions ran through his head as the owner of the establishment came out to announce that the countdown was about to begin. Everyone vibrated with excitement as the man made his way to the front of the crowd, eyeing the watch on his wrist.

Then the countdown started.

10...9

Gary was still pasted to his side and was picking at the hem of his jacket. Collie wished he could just pry into his skull and see what he wanted.

…8…7…6

Should he kiss him? Was that what they were? The sex and the teasing and playing house of it all was one thing, but this felt like something else. Somehow more intimate. Couple-y. Was that what Barkovitch wants from him?

…5…4…3

Could he take that from him? He didn't want to scare him off, not after making so much progress. The soft shit was always harder to ease into. God, he looked so pretty, eyes dashing between the sky and his face, glowing with anticipation—

…2…1

Collie practically lunged forward, all impulse, holding a surprised Barkovitch by his jaw as he pressed a soft kiss to his lips. Gary presses back, his hands brushing then holding his own. His fingers were cold, his lips warm, and his body burned where it met Parker's. His hair bracketed Gary's face, shielding him from the prying eyes of the outside. This moment was theirs, the cheering and crackling of fireworks nothing but noise.

When he pulled back, he half expected Barkovitch to jump back, run from him. But he lingered, hand still over his. Collie couldn't tear his eyes away from him, face illuminated by the lights in the sky, dazzling over his eyes, his nose, his lips—was he smiling?

Yes, his boy was leaning into his side, their hands interlocked underneath Collie's jacket, a small, sheepish smile plastered on his face as he gazed up at the lightshow. Parker turned to join him before he got caught staring. Those fingers occasionally rubbed against his, caressing his nails and knuckles. Collie felt him flinch every time a firework boomed in the sky, and every time, he squeezed his hand right back.

When the sky began to calm, and the crowd began flowing back inside, Collie leaned into Gary's shoulder and whispered, "Happy New Year's."

His fair cheeks dusted pink, squirming at the breath tickling his neck. "Yeah," it came out breathy and faint, but Collie heard it, and now he was confident that he was supposed to. They tightly held each other's palms, leaving little crescents where their nails hit skin.

Their little bubble was promptly burst by the rest of their friends crowding around them, shouting New Year's wishes, faces happy and arms tugging at each other. They let themselves get swept back inside to enjoy the rest of the party. Barkovitch held onto his hand the rest of the night, getting drunker, much drunker. Drunk enough to let Pete and Hank drag his ass to dance. It was Collie who had to confiscate him before he crashed into more people than he already had.

Once it was time to leave, Barkovitch was left slumped in his arms in the back of Ray's car. In those arms, he babbled his train of thought, nonsensical grumbling joining the noise in the back seat. Then, quietly, looking up with a sudden clarity, juxtaposed against the tired dazedness in his eyes, the blonde slurred into his chest, "I think I love you, man."

Collie smiled down at him and pushed him further into his chest, kissing the top of his head, before coaxing him to sleep.

Chapter Text

He and Collie had been together since that night on New Year's. They weren't exactly going steady; it had been quite rocky, actually, but they were something you could actually put a label on now. Collie would sometimes call him his boyfriend, which always left Gary furiously blushing and punching at him. He still couldn't get himself say it out loud, the word still stuck behind his teeth. Even after that night, when he was drunk and open to the softness, it had been a fight to keep it up. But Collie understands, he's sure he does.

Gary doesn't know how he lucked out so badly.

Collie was so confusingly good to him. Doesn't get mad at him when he just—can't. Would hold him in bed when he cried from the guilt, wouldn't bring it up in the morning because he knew Gary would die of shame. Knew how nervous he was to his hand in front of the others, had whispered how proud he was when he limply clutched back. "I know you're trying," he'd say, and Gary was. He really was. He'd been more doted on than he'd been his entire life, was so warm and gooey all the time, and as embarrassing as it was, Barkovitch doesn't remember a time when he was this giddy.

It was the morning of the 14th now, February 14th. Inconsequential day of the week. He was sprawled out on Collie's bed, waiting for him to finish showering. He listened to the water hitting the tile, imagining how it looked running down his shoulders. Mmm.

When he got out (towel hanging way lower than it needed to—oh fuck you, Parker) He pet Gary's head that had been smushed against one of his pillows. "You got anything planned today, baby?"

"Nope," said Gary, eyeing the muscles of Collie's back as he pulled a black tee over his head. He didn't have any classes today. Well, important classes.

Gary felt the bed dip under him and a warm chest pressing into his back. "You good to come out with me then?"

"Come out?" Is this man actually trying to take him out for Valentine's Day? "For what?"

Collie chuckled into his neck. "Oh, nothing in particular."

Fuck. He called Pete and Harkness fags like ten times in the days leading up to this mushy heart bullshit.

"You're not making me celebrate this gay ass holiday, Parker."

"Oh, I'd never." Barkovitch could feel the smile on his back. "Just been crammed in here for fucking days, I'm bored."

Gary wasn't convinced. Collie could tell. "Can a man not want to spend a day with his boyfriend?" He almost sang the dreaded word, coming real close to his ear.

"God, get off me, you fag—" Barkovitch was batting him away, Collie now nipping at his shoulders and wrapping his arms around his middle. "—You aren't helping your fucking case—Collie!" His stupid, strong arms pulled them up, crashing back against the mattress, trapping Gary against his chest. Barkovitch kicked at his feet, not putting up much of a fight. Maybe he didn't hate being trapped. What-fucking-ever.

Eventually, Gary stilled again, letting Collie hold him, hands going up and down his sides. "Didn't get my answer."

Gary rolled his eyes as he craned his neck back to face him.

"Fine."

He threw a pillow at Collie, trying to smother that stupid smile off his face.

—

Outside was freezing. Gary swaddled himself in his thick jacket, still trembling against the chill of the winter air. Collie was rubbing his hands together, twitching at strands of hair blown against his neck. He'd put half his hair up to avoid this problem, but the rest of the dark locks just did not want to cooperate. They had been idly walking around town, Collie letting Gary lead the way. He secretly loved window shopping, would look forward to going to the market with Meemaw when he was young and fantasise about all the lovely random things he'd buy. They had roamed a few stores now, and Gary was having a time and a half. They went into one of those fancier stores, serif font for the store logo, with frankly boring-looking clothes, and gawked at the outrageous price tags. Collie had asked why he was even in here, knowing damn well he didn't even wear clothes like that, and Barkovitch promptly informed him on the beauty of judging shit you'd never in your life buy, let alone afford: "The least you could do to rich people is judge the shitty stuff they buy."

They went to a few more clothing stores, before stopping at a shop with an old lady at the register, store filled with curtains and carpets alike. There was barely room for the two of them, but Gary was thoroughly entertained by all the tassels and gaudy embroidery patterns. There was a connected second-hand store, and Collie seemed to enjoy that the most. They were both looking through the assortment of random trinkets, turning to each other to show off each new find. After ten minutes of exploring, Collie tapped on his shoulder.

"Babe," Gary's chest still fluttered at that sometimes. "Look what I found,"

When he looks down, there's a little figurine, paint shining under the warm overhead lamp, two small cats, one grey, one calico, cuddled up together, tails swirled on the platform they were perched on. It was adorable. Reminded him of those small collectables that used to be on display cases and vanities back home.

"Ain't that fucking sweet?" the blonde ran his finger up the cool ceramic, feeling the grooves of the paint between the grooves of fur. He absentmindedly cooed at the tiny things, itching at the whiskers and backs of their ears. Collie sighed out a chuckle from above him. Gary thinks he heard the word cute from under his breath. He chose to ignore that.

By the time they reach the counter, there are 3 rings, one leather belt, a worn-out flannel that Barkovitch swears he has plans for and a small kitty figurine.

Once they pay and leave, they find their way to a cafe, where Collie goes in to find them something warm. He returns with 2 steaming cups, and the most obnoxiously Valentine's pastry he's ever seen. It was dyed pink, swirled with red jam, and its packaging was littered with hearts and corny conversation hearts.

"What the fuck did you buy?"

"A danish," he had the most shit-eating grin on his face as he handed the paper bag to him. "For you."

Gary snatched the stupid thing and glared at him."I hate you."

The taller man ruffled his hair as he began nibbling at it. "No you don't."

It was, unfortunately, really fucking good, and Gary finished his half (he broke off a piece and all but forced it into Collie's mouth) and quickly threw away the festive bag, which was burning into his hands. The hot coffee warmed his palms, body shuddering in relief. That was also pretty damn good, and Collie seemed to agree.

As they continued their wandering, Collie tapped on his shoulder, directing his attention to a shop sign. 'DOUBLE LOBE PIERCINGS FOR $30', it read in white and light blue chalk.

"Your ears aren't pierced, right?"

"Nope. Holy virgin ears over here." He popped the p on the 'Nope' already seeing where this conversation was going.

"Trying to have them match the rest of you?"

"Shut the fuck up."

Collie nudged him with his elbow. "Come on, live a little, you thought that one guy at the bar was so cool,"

"Stop making me sound like a fucking fanboy!"

Barkovitch was then getting dragged across the street, sat in a too-cold leather high chair, and hair pulled into a loose ponytail. Collie was wandering the small tattoo parlour while they waited, checking out the case of jewellery they had on display.

The woman who was going to stick a pin in his ear was talking about something, trying to make small talk, but Gary really just wanted to get this shit over with. It's not that he didn't want to—he was actually pretty excited, but the longer this took, the longer he had to get in his head about it and change his mind. No way he was letting that happen—he was going home with holes in his lobes today. He was unfucking his ears. Or would it be fucking them? Whatever.

By the time the girl was ready, Parker had drifted his way back, standing next to him, watching the piercer shift towards Gary. He passed something to her before resting his hand on the back of the chair.

"You scared?"

Gary shook his head. "Ain't no pussy."

"Not expecting tears then," interjected the piercer, marking the lobe. "This good?"

Barkovitch looked up to Collie rather than the mirror held up to his face, subconsciously waiting for his approval. The standing man crossed his arms as he squinted at the matching markers, eyes darting between the two. Barkovitch only gave the okay once he got the nod from Parker.

The first was quick, him only slightly wincing at the pinch of the needle, but it did take a hard squeeze of his shoulder to brace himself for the second. He now knows what Collie had passed the lady, a pair of black star studs, which he presumably just bought.

"You like them?"

Gary smiled at the things. They were really pretty, the type of thing he would've never gotten to wear a year ago. "Uh-huh."

The whole ordeal passed rather quickly, and now Gary had ears, tingly and red from both the bite of the air and the new holes, with stars adorning them.

They wandered for another couple of hours, the small bag Barkovitch had brought stuffed full and a camera full of new material. Next to the camera was a little bound book that was burning a hole in the lining of his bag. It had been doing so for a few days, probably a few weeks now, but Gary hadn't had the guts to take it out yet.

It was around 4ish now—minutes to 5 maybe? 4:37, the small analogue clock on the back wall of the diner answered. They were finally getting a proper meal in them after dicking around for the last however many hours.

"What do you want?"

"Fries and the second one," he pointed up to one of the burger options on the written menu board.

Collie scrunched up his face. "That one looks boring but okay."

"Fuck're you judging my order for? What are you getting?"

"That one." It was some complicated ass burger, number eight, shit had caramelised onions. "Who the fuck are you? Fuck do you need so much shit on ur burger for?"

"It's like six things!"

"Yeah, exactly."

"You're just mad mine sounds better."

"Doesn't though. "

"Keep your boring ass burger then, jackass."

"I fuckin' will, thanks."

Once their food came, they sat across from each other in a booth near the back. Gary was shovelling down the basket of fries. He ended up finding his burger just okay, and he was kinda pissed cuz Collie's did look better.

Collie caught him eyeing his food, the most annoyingly smug grin on his face as he took another bite of his stupid million-ingredient, really good-looking burger.

"What's the matter, Barkovitch?"

"You're not making me say it."

Collie laughed as he brought the sandwich to his lips, letting him take the bite he so clearly wanted and fuck him and his caramelised onions, the thing was fucking great.

The two kept eating (Gary occasionally opening his mouth so Collie could let him steal more of his food), and Barkovitch lost himself in thought, staring at the apples on that wall clock. He broke out of his thoughtlessness when he felt fingers ghosting over his. He tensed, still a knee-jerk reaction, but he exhaled shakily, letting his hand rest, and fingers intertwine with his.

He looked back at the other man, who had a small, smitten smile on his face, eyes placed on him, unwavering. Gary had to shove more fries in his mouth before he said something mortifying.

—

It was around six when they finally got back on campus. The ride home was uneventful, and the pair had held a comfortable silence on the bus. Collie's arm was snug around Gary's shoulder, his eyes closed, resting against the window. Barkovitch thought he'd fallen asleep, but every few minutes fingers ran through his hair, reminding him of his presence.

Once back in Collie's empty dorm, Gary peeled the jacket off his back, pleased with the weight now off his limbs. Collie had sat himself on his bed, ponytail taken down, and palms bracing him up. He sighed as he threw his head back, clearly grateful to be back home.

Gary felt a bit guilty. Despite Parker's lies about today not being a Valentine's date, which it definitely was, the fucker—Collie had doted on him all day. The stars in his ears seemed to tingle on command at the thought. He didn't have a planned gift to give him. Barkovitch clutched the strap of his bag again. Well, technically, he did, but would it be weird to give it now? No right?

Before he could keep dwelling on his mind, he was distracted by a groan coming from the bed in front of him. His boyfriend was stretching, his arms crossed over his head, his shirt riding up, slightly exposing his happy trail. Gary's dick twitched.

He slowly inched towards Collie's place on the bed, slinking down to the carpeted floor beneath his feet. Collie raised his head to look down at Gary, who was now resting his head against his clothed thigh. "What are you doing?"

Gary slunk further in between the man's legs. "Trying to say thank you,"

"Baby, you don't have to—"

"Just let me suck you off Parker, oh fuck." Gary curtly responded.

Collie laughed as he shook his head, undoing his belt and eyeing Barkovitch as he brought his face closer to his crotch. He still had his hair pulled back, and his crossbody still draped over him. Once getting his jeans open, the blonde made quick work of getting his hands on his dick, feeling it get harder with each stroke.

He got lost in the rhythm of his hand, watching intently from his place on the ground, until he was grabbed up by his hair and led to the cock in front of him.

"Enough playing. Say ahh,"

Asshole.

Barkovitch listened dutifully, opening his mouth, letting him be fed his dick, inch by inch. He immediately got to work once that heavy weight sat in his mouth, revelling in the taste of pre against his tongue. He was stroking the length he hadn't gotten to swallow yet, bobbing in time with the movement of his palms.

He pulled off for a moment, licking and suckling at the tip, eyes gleaming as the man above him sucked in a breath at the stimulation. He continued teasing for a few moments longer until he was being yanked back down by his bag strap, leather digging into the back of his neck as he gagged and whimpered at the sudden intrusion.

Collie whispered out an apology at his pitiful noise, petting at his flaxen locks as he sucked.

"So good, pup, always making me feel good, right?"

Gary hummed in agreement, feeling Collie's thighs shake at the vibrations sent up his dick.

See, by now Barkovitch had sucked Collie's dick a lot, dozens of times. The first few times, he thought, eventually, somehow, the novelty would wear off and he'd suddenly not like it anymore. That moment never came. If anything, he enjoyed it more, and he was getting to his favourite part. Collie was really unravelling now, twitching in his mouth, and the thighs bracketing his head were tensing every time his nose brushed his stomach. He was whimpering out Gary's name, broken moans and praise running out of him like a burst pipe, pre cum leaking out of him at the same rate, hot and ready for Barkovitch to lap up.

"Great fucking gift, baby, fuck—" Shit, the gift—it was still somewhere tossed around in his bag. Gary leaned back into Collie's hand, not-so-subtly letting him know he was free to take the reins. He needed to do some crisis assessment.

Should he even given him the gift? He might think it's weird, creepy. His eyes fluttered back as Collie kept thrusting into his warm mouth. He'd been working on it for ages, was supposed to give it to him weeks ago, but he always ended up pussying out, freaking out, and adding to it. He whined in frustration, and the man in front of him suddenly got a whole lot louder, frantically muttering something under his breath. Fuck, what if he thought it was totally weird and stalkerish— Mmmghk?!

Cum hit the back of his throat, cock in his mouth twitching, and Collie groaning above him with hand tugging on the leather strap to keep him down. Whatever thoughts he had were overtaken by the need to lap up the last of his spend, holding onto Collie's muscular, trembling thighs.

When Gary fully pulled off, tucking him back into his pants, he took in Collie's appearance, chest heaving, eyes pressed shut and loose hair framing his face. Barkovitch would've been content to sit there and admire him, but he was struck by an idea. Couldn't force him into the awkward pregift preamble if he just caught him off gaurd right?

He practically tore open the leather bag (whose strap most definitely left a red mark on his neck) and quickly shoved the small leather-bound book into Collie's lap.

"What?" said Parker, finally coming back to his senses and swiping his hair past his shoulders. He blinked up at the man, still on the ground and hiding his face in the meat of his legs.

He heard Collie flip through the pages, hearing the metal rings clink against the plastic cards.

"This for me?" His voice sounded small to Gary's ears, uncharacteristically so. He shook his head yes into the denim of his thigh. Collie reached downward, wrapping a hand around his waist and hoisting him up from the floor. He sat him next to him, clearly wanting Gary to go through it with him.

There were pages upon pages of photographs, some of which he had openly told Gary he liked, some of Collie, a lot of Collie, an embarrassing amount of Collie—

He stopped at one closer to the beginning, face softening more than the blonde thought possible. It was the one he had taken of him last fall, with the morning sun falling on him, tanned skin glowing in the warmth. He wondered if Collie recognised where it was from.

The silence was starting to weigh on his chest, so he broke it, "I was supposed to give it to you ages ago." Collie's hand was hugging him tighter. "But I guess now works."

Parker gently placed the booklet beside him on the bed before pulling the blonde into his arms. "You better hope I never tell people how fucking sweet you are," he whispered into his hair, dragging them further onto the bed, lying flat on his back.

Barkovitch braced up on his boyfriend's chest, leaning over to be face-to-face. "You like it?" Collie held his face by the jaw, peppering kisses all over his face until Gary was scrunching his face in protest. "Love it."

Barkovitch barely had time to smile back before Collie's mouth was on him again, kisses turning hungry and feverish, hands roaming under his shirt and squeezing his waist—

"Whoever's in here, I'm giving you thirty seconds to get your clothes back on and out of any compromising position neither of us wants to see."

Fuck.

They reluctantly pulled apart, Collie kissing Gary's hip before he pulled down his rucked-up shirt. "Thanks for my gift, baby."

Gary smiled down at him. "Thanks for my Valentine's date, fuckin' liar."

Their collective laughter was rudely interrupted by Stebbins banging down the door again, palms hitting the wood with a distinct boom.

"I'm fuckin' leaving, asshole, calm down!" shouted Barkovitch, swinging his bag around his neck and waving Collie goodbye. He brushed past the stone-faced blonde waiting outside as he left, flipping him off as he overheard him huff out a 'finally'.

Before heading upstairs, he went down to their mailboxes, realising he hadn't emptied his since Christmas. When he fiddled with the faulty lock of the square locker door within the rows of boxes, he was met with an assortment of envelopes.

He began sorting through them as he went up the steps: holiday greetings from Aunt Bridget, a card from his rich uncle up north with a few 100 dollar notes (sucking up to him when he was small paid off big time), another from Aunt and Uncle Jones, and a plain-looking envelope from Meemaw.

The last one was confusing. She sends out all her cards by Christmas, and her holiday cards definitely wouldn't be this…regular. He tore open the envelope, revealing a letter.

Dear Gary,

First Christmas without you! Aunty Marge and her girls came and visited this year, real shame you missed them. How is the weather treating you over there? I heard Maine winters can be right awful—please dress appropriately and not just those tees you like wearing all year. I hope you're wearing that damn scarf I had Linda get you from upstate, it was a pain for her to get it, you know shes terrible with choices.

Anyway, Surprise! Your uncle will be driving me down to Maine the week of your birthday, and we should be reaching on the 31st (of March of course). I'd stay for ages if I could, but he'll be back for me by the 6th of April. I asked him to let me stay longer, but he gave me an awful lecture on wasting away my pension. What else is it for if not to spend more time with my grandson? Hopefully the cold clears up by your birthday—I'm sure you can handle it put your poor Meemaw sure can't! You'll have to tell me all the things to see while I'm up north, and a good place for us to get you a birthday milkshake, yeah?

Can't wait to see you in a few months, Gary. The separation is starting to take a toll on your old lady!

Lots of Love,

Meemaw

…

He stood frozen in the stairway of his home of the last six months, sharply swallowing as he reread the cursive letters. His mouth felt dirty now.

Chapter Text

The whirr of Meemaw's car hummed in his ears as he braced against the backseat headrest. Barkovitch just wanted his junior year to be over. It was almost weird seeing the school parking lot so late, he usually beelined off school grounds as soon as the bell rang. The sun coated everything with a swirl of oranges and pinks, making the tips of the grass glow gold. Maybe if he just stared at it for a while, he could fall asleep before—

"Yknow im not mad at you, right son?" she peeked at her watch."I was supposed to be at my book club right now, but I'll always show up to stick up for you."

Gary licked at the drying blood under his nose, tasting the copper flat on his tongue. His nose had started bleeding again on their way out of the principal's office, and he hadn't bothered to wipe it off.

"I know."

"I know, who?"

"I know, Meemaw."

"Somebody oughta do somethin' about them boys, awful set of kids." Gary just hummed in response.

Meemaw angrily honked at the car overtaking her. "Spreading such downright awful lies, they ain't had no right to do what they did, Gary,"

That cocksucking group of assholes from his class decided it would be funny to say he was staring (which he fucking wasn't) at one of the guys during gym. Like he was some perverted faggot.

"Fucking sissy, he's crying cuz he wants yer dick in his mouth, Jerry!"

Gary dug deep into his scraped palms at the memory. Fucking Jerry wasn't even worth fucking perving on.

"I'm proud of you for standing your ground."

Standing his ground. Ha. He got his fucking ass handed to him. Could hardly call it a fight, only evidence of Gary's pushback being a red angry scratch on Jerry's arm, and he already heard those dicks whispering about him 'leaving his mark'. He was so fucked on Monday.

"People don't know what them terrible lies can do to people, just attacking someone's character like that. Thats how rumours start!" she said to him, like he didn't already know that.

He was called a fag for the first time when he was seven. He hadn't known that word then, but he recognised the laughter and disgust that came after. He had come to his mother after and saw the fear that flashed behind her eyes. She had hushed it off, told him it was nothing to worry about, but as he grew, he quickly learned otherwise. Before he understood what being gay meant, he understood that it was wrong. A horrible, perverse thing to be. That's what everyone drilled into him, especially it seemed. His father, the church elders, the boys at school, Meemaw, the ladies at the corner store, they never let him forget.

It always felt like he was being told off whenever his Sunday school talked of the dangers of homosexuality. Felt charged when Meemaw's hairdresser always tried to sit him in her chair and 'cut that darn hair off'. He knew why the other boys stopped talking to him once they hit middle school. Was generous to act like this was what it was going to take to start fucking rumours.

Gary had been tuning out Meemaw's rambling, her voice grating into his wounds like the loose gravel in the school parking lot.

"—You ain't no damn queer, they had no excuse to pick a fight! They just—"

"So if I was, it would be fine then? What they did?"

Gary doesn't know what overcame him, what could've possibly provoked him to say such a thing, but he cringed into himself as the words left his mouth. He knew it was the wrong thing to say the moment he said it.

Meemaw had fallen silent, mouth slightly ajar, her berry coloured lips quivering as she stared at him through the mirror. The ringing in his ears had come back.

"Well, you're not. So I don't gotta go about entertaining such goddamned nonsense," she was angry now, ringed fingers gripping the steering wheel tightly. "I-I-I raised you better than that, spent all your damn life raising you in that church—"

Gary felt his chest caving in, trying to smash into himself, trying to hide. "—Despite the faults your father had, I know he did too. Till the day he died, he made sure to try and raise you with morals and discipline—"

His eyes began to burn, the fresh bruise on his face crying out as he wrenched his eyes shut. She just kept going, the squeak of her squeezing the leather steering wheel screaming in his ears. Barkovitch doesn't remember how long she went for, but eventually she grew quiet, nothing but the sound of the wind blowing through the passenger window.

"Look at me, sonny." Stars began dancing behind his eyelids from how tightly they were held closed.

"Gary Barkovitch." When he peeled his eyes open, she was blurry past his welling tears.

Her face softened, left arm reaching back to hold his hand. "Don't let that crowd get to you, okay? I know it's hard hearing something from people for so long, but that doesn't mean it's true."

"You're not queer, Gary. Right?"

The boy nodded, staring down at his bruised knuckles.

This answer wasn't good enough. "Right?"

She was squeezing his hand so hard his knuckles creaked painfully. "Course, Meemaw."

She smiled at him, caressing the raw skin of his fingers. "Lets have a redo on today, yeah son? Only 16 once, right? I still owe you that birthday milkshake! How's Derry's sound?"

He didn't think he could stomach much of anything right now, but a no might start her up again. A chat with Mr Derry would keep her occupied.

"Real good, Meemaw."

—

It was six days till his birthday. Two days till Sunday. Two days till Meemaw comes home.

Ever since opening that letter, Gary had been trying to forget it, ignoring the gnawing at the back of his brain every time he saw the letter on his desk. Ignoring the nausea that came whenever he noticed fewer and fewer squares left for Harkness to cross off his calendar.

The week leading up to doomsday had been fucking terrible. He's woken up sweaty and frantic the last couple of days, awful dreams his brain wouldn't let him remember, only leaving the guilt permeating his bones.

Gary hasn't fucked Collie since last Thursday. It's not that he hasn't wanted to, at least on a base level, if the amount of times he's fucked his fist through tears said anything. Just something keeps whispering at him, fogging his brain whenever the man dared to dip below his jaw. It warned him, reminded him, no matter how careful the man was, no matter how well bruises faded, she could tell. You could tell. That thought would've had him glassy-eyed and breathless mere days ago, but now it sat heavy on his chest, cracking his ribs violently against the muscle of his organs, stealing his air through the punctures in his lungs.

Collie had been good about it, always coming off without a fight, but Gary could tell he was…confused. He couldn't blame him. He hadn't spoken a word about the visit beyond the date, and that was weeks ago. Despite how much space it took up in his mind, he couldn't make himself talk about it without feeling his stomach churn.

So the days continued, and Gary didn't fuck him. Avoided his dorm—the air there held too much of what they did before. Avoided his own bedroom—he didn't want to taint it further with what he knew he couldn't stop himself from wanting. Then it was avoiding him, every wrong, immoral, moreish thing he wanted to let him do. Every perverse thing that he wanted to do.

Gary hadn't kissed Collie in four days. He so badly wanted to. He couldn't let himself.

Every time he had the urge to lick at his teeth, he grit his own till his jaw hurt. He'd thought of him down his throat so many times this week, his tongue had ugly red lacerations from the points of his canines. He tried gripping at himself, palms pressed harshly against his arms, trying to replace the firm weight that Collie could always give him—but nothing, night after night through tears and silent wheezing into his pillow, nothing helped. Shit wouldnt even fucking bruise, just made his hands sore.

Now he stood in the doorway of his empty dorm, staring at long black hair and furrowed brows. Collie blinked away his visible worry, replacing it with a small smile. "Night."

Gary swallowed the lump in his throat. "Night."

They awkwardly stood there for a moment before Collie looked over his head, into the darkness of the room. "Can…I come in?"

"Oh—yeah. Course."

Gary turned to make room for the bigger man, dragging his feet against the carpet, when he felt solid hands wrap around his waist. He flinched, a small gasp leaving his mouth. Shit. He tried playing it off, leaning his head back into Collie's warm chest, hoping he didn't notice. The hands stilled for a moment. Gary knew he had.

"Baby," the pet name felt undeserved. What kinda of… fucking christ what had he been letting Collie call him? Collie didn't deserve this, god Gary couldn't even say it back—

"Are you okay?" He began peppering kisses on his nape, rubbing at his hips in soothing circles that had him leaning into the affection. It was the most he'd gotten, no, let himself have , in days, and each press of his lips mellowed prettily under his skin. He tried to keep his mind blank, let himself enjoy it. It wasn't too much—it was innocent, he could tell the difference by now. He squeezed his eye shut, trying so hard to chase away the gnawing thoughts shaking in his skull, but when those lips met the junction of his neck, it burned, was bubbling up under his skin, threatening to burn through. He drew his neck away, cringing into himself.

"M'fine."

That little concerned sigh rang in his ears, and Collie moved to look over his shoulder. facing him. "You know you can tell me anything, right? You've been acting off for the last bit, and I figured you wanted space or something. Have I been coming on too hard? Am I reading this wrong—"

"Fuck, no Parker—I just—the old lady's comin' soon, I've just been getting ready for that, alright?"

That did nothing to satiate him. "Is that what's all this about? Her visiting? If you need help with anything, I can help—did she say something? Do something—"

Gary stumbled forward, tearing himself out of Collie's hold. "It's nothing. Can you just fucking drop it?"

The room fell silent, and Gary didnt dare look back. He knew whatever sorry look was on the man's face would shatter him.

Steps creaked from behind him, till Parker loomed over his hunched figure again. "Okay," Collie leaned in, holding his face and placing a small kiss on top of his forehead. "Goodnight."

Gary waited for him to let him go, walk past him, before whispering back, "Night."

The light of the hallway spilt into the room as Collie left, pausing for a moment before closing, shrouding the room in darkness again.

His eyes stung from the salt running down his cheeks, stomach scorching him from within. He deeply inhaled, trying to chase the lingering scent of faint musk, grasping at anything before the evidence of Collie's presence left.

His diaphragm jerked wildly as tears running down his throat choked him, leaving him grabbing onto his desk. He hastly sat down, trying to level his breathing, but everything seemed to make shit worse. The two uncrossed boxes on the calendar across the wall, the kitty figurine he had left on his desk shelf, the envelope that held the dreaded letter that he just couldn't fucking throw away—

He grit his teeth as he groaned into his fists, grinding his forehead into the wooden desk below him. Shaky hands covered his ears, a weak attempt at shutting everything up; he just needed to focus on his fucking breathing.

He sat there crying till he had nothing else to cry, limply lying in his arms, staring off into the dark gap between his elbow and the polished wood. His mouth tasted like spit and salt, and his face was uncomfortably sticky, but he was too tired to move. So he lay there, listening to the slight thump of his upstairs neighbours, the occasional chatter from behind the door and the monotonous click of Richie's bedside alarm clock. It was the rhythmic tick, tick, tick that finally lulled him to sleep.

—

Saturday is spent cleaning, impulsively rearranging and hiding anything remotely incriminating. Photos shoved in boxes under his bed, jewellery tangled together in his desk drawer, clothes compacted into his laundry hamper. He was going to take the figurine down, but couldn't bring himself to. He changed his sheets, using the ones from home, the itchy ones, but he knew she'd like them. He hastily took out his earrings, hiding them away in the little plastic bag they came in and shoving them into the bathroom cupboard.

As the hours dwindled into the night, he'd scanned the room twenty times, moved his shoes twenty more and adjusted the books on his desk whenever his hands itched for something to fix.

When he lay in bed that night, he quietly clasped his hands, the first real time since getting to Maine. Gary had only spoken sparingly to Him, brief flashes in his mind when he needed a quick mental reprieve. Meemaw would be unbelievably disappointed.

Heavenly Father, please hand me your blessings as I sleep and carry me in your grace throughout the night. Keep me in good spirits and good dreams, to let me do your will and worship you when morning breaks. You are good, you are great, and you are faithful.

He said the rehearsed prayer she had taught him when he was young, that they'd recite together every night before he got too old for his grandma to put him to bed. From then on, he was expected to keep it up on his own. He thinks he stopped around the time of his 16th birthday.

And, um…

It felt so awkward now, but he had to.

Please God, protect Meemaw as she travels tonight, and protect—protect me. Please don't let her hate me—and—and let her—let me have your mercy and let this week pass—

He paused, fingers trembling from between his grasp.

And please God don't let him hate me—tell him that it isn't his fault and—and—

He wheezed unbearably loud from his place on his back, holding his breath, and listening for any sign of Richie stirring. When he heard nothing, he let himself quickly say the ending of the rehearsed prayer.

I love you, gentle Jesus, in your precious name I pray, Amen.

The amen shook him as he turned to the wall, holding still clasped hands to his chest. Gary doesn't believe in the goodness of God, not really. Even when he was young, most of his rituals were driven by the fear of hate and punishment everyone drove into his mind. When he wasn't petrified of a fiery hell, he was scared of His punishment through the living. And he was oh so scared now. God had only ever disappointed him, but this was his last try, his shot in the dark. Maybe He'll finally be out there listening to his pleas rather than his sins.

—

He awoke nauseated and uneasy on Sunday. He couldn't stomach breakfast, so he spent the couple of hours before Meemaw was supposed to see him picking an unassuming outfit to wear, scanning his room again, and staring at the X crossed over the last day of March.

He lay in his bed, dressed and ready, waiting for the alarm he set to blare. Once that loud fucking bell (and Jesus, it was loud) rang, he lurched himself up, sharply exhaling before forcing himself out the door.

The walk to the front office was the quickest one he thinks he's had on campus, him dragging his feet doing little to stall the inevitable. Soon enough, he's only a few feet away from the front of the building, and there stood a short lady with agonisingly permed, meticulously teased hair, red satin-finish lipstick over thin, smiling lips. The woman began waving frantically at him, beckoning him to come closer. He sped up, not wanting her to think he was ignoring him.

"Oh, baby!" Meemaw said as she waddled towards him, gripping him in a tight hug, squeezing his arms to his side.

"Hey, Meemaw,"

She tugged him down to plant a kiss on his cheek. "Hay is for horses, sonny."

It took everything out of him not to roll his eyes, "Good morning, Meemaw. Drive was okay?"

That got her going. "Oh yes! Your uncle made it a fine old time, ignoring all that prattling about how much damn money I'm spending. I always tell that man to get out my damn wallet—" she paused abruptly, eyes lasered in on something just past Gary's face.

"Did you pierce your ears?"

Gary's face went pale. "Uhh—"

Then she was grabbing at his face, pulling his head closer to see the offending holes up close.

"Christ Almighty, Gary." She clutched her handbag as she looked away, as if looking at him pained her.

"I-It was a—I lost a bet, Meemaw, I'm—" Wow, Gary, was that the best you could do?

"I don't give a rat's tail how you got it, Gary, I leave you alone for 9 months, barely! and look—"

Gary started to tune her out, brushing through his hair to try and cover his ears, his everything if he could.

"Gary!" He startled at the call, his eyes returning to his grandmother's face.

"Are you even listening to me? I hate it when you get all spacey on me," Meemaw chastised him as she prompted him to walk with her, clutching on his shirt sleeve.

"Sorry, Meemaw, where are we going—?"

"You're gonna show me your little room! I have to see if you're living right, you know I've been so worried about you on your lonesome—well, I guess it's not all alone right? Got another kid up there with you,"

She continued as they walked, her arms loosely wrapped around his. He hadn't expected her to want to see the dorm so early. He was prepared, overly so, but it was far earlier than he expected, and he was praying he could avoid an interaction with the other boys sooner than it needed to be.

He all but drags her into the residence hall, trying to speed past the common room—

"Aye, Barkovitch!" Prayers were failing him real early today.

Meemaw freezes, interest immediately piqued. "Who was that, Gary?" she peeps into the common room, spotting Ray, Pete, Hank, and Art sitting together on the couch.

"Are those your friends?" She's darting off before he can stop her, leaving Gary to do nothing but follow. "Sonny, you must introduce me, you never write to me about your friends, I was starting to get worried!"

And then he was in front of his friends, uncomfortably standing next to his excited grandmother.

"Wow, Gary, you didn't tell me you had a sister!" Hank said, winking at the woman next to him.

Meemaw giggled as Gary shot a glare at him, the other boys smiling at Hank's antics.

Barkovitch awkwardly exchanged greetings, making sure his grandmother didn't move to sit down. He doesn't think he'd recover from his friends being tortured by her ramblings.

"Awful good to meet you, ma'am," said Art, reaching out to shake her hand. She happily took it, clearly charmed. "Aren't you sweet?"

She began a little conversation with Baker then, the others occasionally pitching in, clearly amused at the whole situation. He'd have more than half a mind to be embarrassed, but Gary's eyes kept lasering on that fair hand on Pete's thigh, and at the third dart of his eyes, he began dragging her away, despite her complaints.

When he knocks on the door, he gets back a small "Come in!" from Harkness behind the door, and when he peeped, the smaller boy was grabbing his things, about to head out.

His eyes widened at the woman behind him before giving Gary a sympathetic look.

"Is this your roommate, Gary?" Gary nodded.

"Awful nice to meet you, name's Richard." Harkness gave one of his beaming smiles, trying to be pleasant.

"So lovely to meet you," responded Meemaw, not looking at the boy much as he stepped into the shared space.

"Wish I could stay and chat, but I'm 5 minutes away from being late, nice meeting you, Miss!"

The boy dashed to the door, not before stopping briefly to whisper to Gary. "Good luck." Barkovitch gave an appreciative nod, or he hopes it came off like that, he wasnt on top of his social cue game at the moment.

The moment the door shut, the inspection officially began.

"You really oughta iron these sheets,"

"Do you boys need so many snacks? You're just looking for critters in here!"

"Jesus, Gary, when was the last time you cleaned this mirror?"

"You should really encourage that boy you live with to clean up that desk, it's unsightly, all them papers."

Gary wasn't really focused on what she was saying, more focused on ensuring she didn't find anything she wasnt supposed to. After the fifteenth "Yes, Meemaw, I'll fix it," she finally relented and was ready to leave.

As he guided them out, his sight locked in on an eyeliner pencil rolling under his desk. If his anxiety wasn't spiking already, it definitely was now. She hadnt seen it, had she? Surely not. He would've heard from her about it by now.

He squeezed his eyes shut, willing away the thought. She hadn't seen it. There was no way. He had more important things to be stressing about today.

—

The restaurant they sat down at was quaint, the noon sun filtering in, illuminating the walls. Gary chose here after Meemaw insisted he pick somewhere for the two of them. Truth be told, it wasn't his first choice; he had never been, but it had been the first place he saw on their little walk that he hadn't been with the guys and Collie. He knew realistically it would've been fine, but that stupid voice kept telling him all it would take is one server to recognise him before his whole life is ruined. So here he sat, in a quiet spot downtown, with an apple-and-blueberry-themed tiled accent wall and a waitress who looked like she was one voice raise away from crying.

Gary ordered for both of them, Meemaw insisting on getting the touristy lobster stuffed sandwich with a charmingly gimmicky name that she had a good laugh at. He got something significantly smaller, keeping in mind he was paying for this off his couple of photography gigs. Damn, he really gotta keep hunting for those, shit was getting rough.

Gary took a big sip of the iced lemonade, stirring the straw as he finished. He always liked it when he could tell there was a bit of honey in the drink.

He decided to take up the conversation first. "How have you been holding up? Yknow," Alone.

"Oh, trying to make the most of these here retirement years. Been going to bingo more, Martha started up her book club again, feel like I got so much time on my hands."

"Thats good."

"Its real quiet sometimes, though." Ah. Gary grimaced in something that looked like guilt.

"Miss having my little boy in the house. Sometimes at night, I still think I can hear you trying to smuggle all those glasses out of your bedroom. All that clink clink clanking."

Gary's face softened, hand reaching to hold her painted fingernails.

"Gotta ask Larry's boy to help me with the yard now. Much better at clearing the yard than you, but I got so used to those weird little heaps you leave in the fall, all them shapes. Still don't know why you bother making them so…square?"

It was because it made it look neater, at least to 12 year old him when he first started.

"Didn't have my little helper to bake with me last Christmas, I mean, sure, there were Marge's girls, who are darn adorable, very eager, but not much of a help, and they steal far more batter than you!" Gary laughed at that, a genuine, incredibly fond laugh, thinking about him when he was their age. "I'm sure I took just as much when I was tiny, Meemaw, theyre ten."

"No, no, no, you were real pleasant when u were small, nothing like those rascals, I'm telling you—a handful those two! Marge really oughta start raising them better. I pulled her aside an afternoon before she went back up north and told her that,"

She kept on about Marge and her apparently poor parenting habits, periodically taking sips of her own drink, red lipstick leaving splotches on the styled water glass. It felt all so terribly homey, like they were back home on a Sunday, still in their church clothes, sitting out on the back porch chatting (gossiping) about the ladies in the choir. It was an almost perfect replica, lemonade and everything. All that was missing was a gospel record and the sweltering sun of the South.

It was in that moment that he realised he missed her. Missed her voice and her sun-spotted hands, and the sound of her chunky 'going out' necklaces. Missed her little stories that dragged on too long, the way she cooed at him like he was still that sad little boy she took in. It was also in that dreadful moment that he realised he didn't want to lose her.

The silence that fell when the food came (talking while stuffing your face was impolite) was appreciated. He didn't trust anything but tears to come out of him right now.

He was grateful for the breeze of the outdoors when they finished up, giving him an excuse to wipe at his eyes and hope to rid the signs of his sentimentalism. When he dropped Meemaw at her hotel, she planted a wet kiss right on his cheek, some 'Scarlet Rouge' for sure imprinting on him based on her little giggle. She handed him a tissue before he left, and he hastily wiped off the colour as he walked back to the bus stop. He stared at the lipstick smudged onto the tissue the entire ride home.

Chapter Text

Gary is woken up by Harkness coming back from an 8 am class, light from opened blinds spilling onto his face. He winced at the sudden brightness, head ringing from the clunk of Richie's books onto his desk. At his disgruntled groan, Harkness turns to his drowsy body, muttering a hushed apology.

"You finally up, Gary?"

"Kinda,"

"Happy Birthday!" he exclaimed, as much as you can in a whisper.

Gary sits up, putting his weight on his arms, spitting out the loose hairs in his mouth. He yawned, stretching his back like a cat as he threw himself back on the mattress, face now where his feet were. "Thanks, man."

Harkness roughly ran his hands through the blonde's hair, giggling as Barkovitch swatted him away. "What's the gameplan looking like?" asked the smaller boy, flopping down on his bed, book in hand.

"Gameplan?"

"Yeah! What are we doing today?"

"Uhh, I'm supposed to meet the old lady for breakfast—shit, what time is it?" Gary reaches over to grab Richie's alarm clock. 10:03. "Fuckkk."

"You don't get tired of seeing that woman? You always come back all—" Harkness furrows his brows and pouts, pulling an upset face.

Gary rolls his eyes, rubbing the tiredness off his features with the back of his hands. "That lady made my uncle drive all damn day to get her ass here, I better go see her."

He forced himself up, hurriedly putting together an outfit and grabbing his towel. "Today's like, most've why she's here anyway."

"Okay, don't come back too late, we gotta do something for you!"

Gary shuts the bathroom door behind him. "Really don't!"

"Course we do, you gotta get your cupcakes and stuff, Hank and Pete are itching for a re-do on the filled thing they tried on mine."

"God, yeah, she wants to bake me something, the guys wouldn't be too on my ass for that, right? Her using the kitchen? I can't be fucked to deal with her if I say no," Barkovitch jumped as the cold water pierced his skin. No time to wait for the water to warm up.

"Nah, probably not, and if they are, you'd better pick who youd rather have on your ass, them or Meemaw." Gary laughed as Harkness put on that stupid country accent to mock his old lady.

"Cool that shes baking for you though, my mama used to make me a cake too!"

"Yeah, I'll at least have an edible fucking cake today."

There was an audible, exaggerated gasp from behind the bathroom door. "Low blow, Gary, low blow,"

Gary shouted out a "You'll fuckin' live!" as he pulled his head through the unassuming shirt he chose.

He came out of the bathroom to meet a curled-up Richie, still reading whatever nerd shit he had going on this week, and his bag on his nightstand. "Already got your wallet and your keys," said his roommate, flipping to the next page.

Gary gave the boy a light 'thank you' punch as he put the strap of his bag over his shoulder and stumbled to the door.

"Good luck! Don't be too miserable, birthday boy."

Gary finally got his fucking laces untangled and got them done up. "Thanks, man."

—

"Where in God's name have you been?"

"Morning, Meemaw," Gary said, cringing at her cross face as he stepped into the hotel room.

"Morning! Barely morning anymore," she hissed as she pinched at the exposed skin of his arm. He flinched away from her. "Yeah, yeah, I'm sorry, there was uh—lots of sh-stuff holding me up."

Meemaw glared at him, not taking his excuses.

"I got here as quick as I could, promise."

The old woman sighed, pulling his face down to kiss him on his cheek. "Alright. Happy Birthday sonny."

Gary smiled into her hands, still warm from what he assumed was the tea that sat on the little hotel table.

"Ohhh my boy is so big now!" She grabbed him with surprising force, rocking them side to side as she hugged him. "Thought I'd be better after your eighteenth, but—Lord, I used to hold you in my hands!" his grandmother stared at him, taking in his stature. "Used to be at my hip, got no business being my size."

"Taller, actually."

She drags him out of the hotel room with her. "Oh, shush!"

"So, you aren't still mad at me, right?"

"Oh course I am. 10:30? We'll have to get lunch at this point!"

He was scolded all the way to the Derry's Diner replacement, some small spot in town, he'd saw a couple of weeks ago. He wasn't sure how good it would be, but he could smell butter and sweetness as he and Meemaw drew closer, so that must be a good sign.

The sit-down was pretty okay, Meemaw commenting how lucky they were that breakfast hadn't closed yet, disregarding Gary repeatedly telling her that brunch goes until two. He gets pancakes, already slathered in butter, and scrambled eggs, careful not to let the sugary syrup touch them. Meemaw just got some toast and a simple omelette. She didn't have much of the bread though, giving away most of the slices to her grandson. She's "watching her figure".

Meemaw began cutting at her omelette. "So, big boy, all alone so far away,"

Gary looked up from his plate, giving her his attention. "Yeah?"

She placed the egg on her single piece of lightly buttered toast. "Listen, son. I have faith in you, wouldn't have let you run off if I didn't."

"And course you're on your own, been meeting and will meet so many new faces, experience things you never seen before,"

"Uh-huh," said Gary, unsure where this was going,

"Hell, you already have! I just want you to remember who you are. Not to let anyone hold no sorta influence over you."

Barkovich resisted rolling his eyes. She starts sounding like a broken record at a certain point. "Think I'm impressionable, Ma?"

"Don't sass me! A lady who's lived a lot more life than you have is trying to share some wisdom."

She sighed, setting down her fork. "I just want to make sure youre doing things right when I'm not here."

"Yes, Meemaw, course—"

"You just sayin' that? Or you actually listening to me?"

Gary stops mid-chew, peering at his grandmother's expression, trying to read between the wrinkles of her brows and the tight purse of her lips.

"I'm listening, Meemaw. Promise," he said, hoping his tone held confidence and not the slight worry he felt.

Her face relaxed from the hard look she had had previously, taking Gary's empty hand into hers.

"Alright then. You're big and grown now, but you're still mine."

Her grip tightens. "Still your fathers, still God's."

She always held eye contact that would either comfort Gary or make him queasy. He wasn't sure which one it was doing now. "Just remember that, 'kay?"

Gary brought their hands up to his lips, planting a quick kiss on top of her hand. "Always do."

She chuckles at his show of affection, taking another small bite of her omelette.

"You been praying?" she asks.

"Yeah," he lies.

She jabs his arm. "You sure?"

"What, you want me to start calling bible verses?"

"Maybe."

"Meemaw!"

The old woman laughs, poking him with her fork and shaking her head as he pulls a face. Gary watches her eyes settle on his face, crows' feet crinkling deeper as she takes in his features.

"You're really growing into your face,"

Gary smiled. He'd noticed that too. "Yeah, feel like I look even more like Mama." If that was even possible.

Meemaw stiffens. Gary notices.

"Ehhh…"

"Ehhh…?"

"Got your father's nose."

Gary stares at her for a bit, not really knowing what to say. "I mean, I guess." Not really.

The waitress comes back, her cheery demeanour cutting through the suddenly stuffy atmosphere.

"Anything else you two would like?" she asks sweetly, smiling a little too hard at him.

"Why don't you order your milkshake, Gary?"

So he does, a large caramel milkshake for the birthday boy.

"I'll have that right out for you, Gary," she said, voice far too sing-songy when getting to his name.

When she walks away, Meemaw is beaming ear to ear. Oh god.

"She seemed sweet."

"Don't you start."

She's desecnding into giggles before raising her hands in resignation. Could this milkshake come any slower?

—

By the time Gary and his grandmother make it back on campus, it's quarter past three. Meemaw is walking slightly ahead of him, purse on her arm, grocery bags on his. She was eager to get to baking, so she moved brisker than usual, kitten heels click click clicking all the way to the kitchen.

As he lags behind, he hears a harsh gasp from ahead of him, Meemaw planted in front the kitchen door. When Gary goes to see what has her so troubled, he's met with a fucking scene.

Art was trying to clean up egg (?) that had spilt over the counter, Hank was nursing a burn in his mouth, presumably from the melted (not softened) butter next to him and the microwave, Pete feeding Ray icing off his thumb, and Harkness trying to light the stove with an old box of matches.

"God dammit, Rich, you said he'd be out all day!" called Hank, shouting across the room to the boy on the floor. "No I didn't!"

Meemaw looked dumbfounded, mouth slightly ajar, trembling with angry words. "No, no, no, no. I can't work in a mess like this. Gary, please tell your little friends to fix this kitchen so I can get started, I don't have all afternoon."

Gary cringed at her words, letting her pass to wait in the doorway of the kitchen and common room, her mumbling about pig sty's and mannerlessness. He felt the weight of the group's gaze on him. "I'll—I'll do it, don't bother with her," he said, voice dejected as he tried to grab the sponge from the sink.

"God, Gary, it's your birthday!" said Harkness, finally getting the oven lit. He takes the sponge before Gary can, shoving him away from the sink. "I'll do it, kay? And the rest of you guys try to figure it out, man! How hard is it to follow a recipe?"

"If it's so easy, you try it!" shouted Hank, offended.

"We figured it out without Art that one time, didn't we? We got this, man." added Pete.

"Exactly! Who are you to do—stop eating the fucking frosting!" Hank was swatting Ray with a rubber spatula, Art looking on as he beat the last of the eggs and finished off the batter. What the fuck would they do without that guy?

Gary still helped clean up a section of the kitchen despite Richie's protests and called in Meemaw to get started. She was still scowling, not pleased by not having the kitchen to herself, but she dropped it to start on her cake.

As the two worked, Gary was able to zone out a bit, secretly flipping off Pete when he asked why he didn't help more when they bake, seeing as he clearly can. The real answer is that he hates baking cupcakes, always spilling batter and having to meticulously frost them a million times, but it was funnier to have him think he's just being a dick. Besides, he did help! He's the only reason they figured out how not to burn the cake bottoms black.

With both confectioneries in the oven, they all crashed in the common room waiting for the small timer to ring. Meemaw decided to take the time to try to vet his friends again. Gary had told her not to go too hard on them on the way back, trying to spare his friends her questioning. He doesn't know why he bothered.

"What are you studying?"

"That a cross? You a man of God?"

"Where are you from?"

"Hope Gary hasn't been causing any trouble,"

"Wow, aren't you tall!" Huh?

Gary gave a confused hum at that. None of the musketeers warranted a response like that, and certainly not Harkness. Who the hell—

"Look who decided to join us!"

When he looks up, he finds the resident Ken doll, Billy, and next to him Collie, unreadable expression on his face. Was he okay?

Stebbins didn't give the old woman a response, trying to beeline towards Harkness and the others, but if there's one thing Meemaw was good at, it was trapping you in a conversation.

She stood in front of him, blocking his escape, a lipsticky smile flashed at him. "And who are you?"

Stebbins stared at her blankly, not amused by her persistence. Gary kept his eyes on Collie from behind his grandmother, still trying to figure him out. Their eyes met. After some deliberation, Gary gave the man a small wave, trying to force up a small smile. A 'sorry I've been ignoring you and am now subjecting you to this woman, I fucking suck' smile. The man returns the gesture, nodding with it. Gary could finally read something on that face; he was sad. He was making him sad.

"Stebbins." his voice cut through whatever Barkovitch was going to beat himself over. Before she could chirp out another question, Stebbins was pushing past her, forcibly freeing himself. Whatever works, I guess. Collie and Gary shared a look at his bluntness, both trying not to laugh. They hadn't done that in a bit.

"And him?" Meeting the parents so soon, Parker?

"Uhh," Gary felt so antsy all of a sudden, chest tightening as he exhaled. "Meemaw, this is Collie, my, uh, friend." Friend. It sounded so ugly, burned as it left his throat. Felt like a lie. Sure, he couldn't even bring himself to call them what they were, or at least were the closest to— but friend? That was wrong. Wrong wrong wrong. It coated the inside of his mouth with it's wrongness, and he couldn't bring himself to say anything more.

Meemaw took the taller man's hand and gave it a firm shake. "Lovely to meet you, Collie!" Gary bit back a smile at the other man's half-hearted attempt not to scowl at her.

"Heard a lot about you." Collie curtly replied, before turning his attention to Barkovitch, placing a warm hand on his shoulder. "Happy Birthday, man."

With the business of the afternoon, Gary had half forgotten. "Thanks, Parker." he involuntarily leaned into his touch before quickly pulling away as Meemaw turned in his direction. She rushed off hurriedly, mumbling something about checking the cake. Gary watched her leave.

When he turned back to Collie, his face had fully dropped, him glaring daggers into her back. The blonde chuckled, folding his arms into himself.

"You can at least try to act like you like her."

Collie turned back as she disappeared into the kitchen. "I don't need that woman tolerating me." That got Gary laughing harder.

Collie smiled at his amusement before dipping closer to his ear. "On a real though, you okay? Day hasn't been too much?" He raised back up, not wanting to linger. He was so considerate it ached.

Barkovitch sighed, letting his head rest on Collie fleetingly as he rocked on his feet. "Surviving. She's been okay. Been grilling half the guys, though. Be ready."

Parker scoffed. "I'm not sitting through a conversation with that lady."

"Be fucking mature!"

"No."

Gary rolled his eyes at him, unable to hide his smile.

"Gary, come help me take this here out the oven!" Collie's scowl came back.

"Let me go before she starts hollerin' this whole fucking place down."

"Gary!"

The blonde gives Collie a look of 'see?' before darting off to help her.

The cake gets finished and done up, and before Gary can track how many hours had passed, he was standing in front of a lemon cake with a lit "19" candle and his friends singing happy birthday.

He awkwardly stood as they sang, uncomfortable with the attention. Most of his birthday cake cuttings were spent in Meemaw's dining room, her helping him get himself a slice until he was old enough to cut his own. He quickly makes his wish (he can't tell you, or it won't come true!), blows out his candles and begins helping dish out the remains of the cake.

When the affair is over, some of the boys filter back into the kitchen, trying to finish off their experimental cupcakes, the flavour of which they still refuse to tell Barkovitch. It's mainly Hank and, surprisingly enough, Stebbins, who do the decorating, both far more steady with their hands than you'd give them credit for. The rest of the group lag behind in the common room, falling into steady conversation.

Gary doesn't engage much, mainly looming in the background, laughing at a joke or two and cringing when someone says something Meemaw wouldn't be too fond of. Speaking of which, she had been oddly silent for a while now, and Gary realizes he's lost track of her. He looks around for his grandmother, trying to find where she ended up.

It doesn't take long for his eyes to land on her, her lips pursed in what he recognises as stark disapproval. He follows her line of sight, landing on a comfortable Ray and Pete sitting with the others. There was a hand on a jean-covered thigh, a head of tight coils layed ontop a shoulder, apples of his cheeks rubbing against the fabric of a white t-shirt. It was casual, uncaring, dangerous. His stomach lurched.

Gary put himself between the three as inconspicuously as possible, trying to look unbothered. "It's getting late, isn't it?"

Meemaw's face didn't soften, only shifted towards him. "Guess so."

"Should probably send you off, it already being dark out," she only hummed in response.

Gary, still terribly on edge, wrapped his arms around his grandmother, leaning in when she hugged back. "Thank you for today, Meemaw. Happy you came."

She softly chuckled into his neck, patting him on the back. "Anything for my boy."

The embrace seemed to have worked as he got her to say her farewells, lots of "Lovely to meet you"s and "Be good now!"s.

When they step out, the night air stings, and Meemaw shivers, putting her coat back on. The street and campus lights are on, yellowing the pavement, coating everything in their warmth. The walk to the bus stop is quiet in the beginning, until Meemaw decides to start up.

"You know I wasn't talking just for talking's sake this morning, right?" she begins.

Gary side-eyes her a bit, confused by her statement. "Yeah-?"

"Good! Now," she slows her pace, encouraging Gary to match her.

"What an interesting set you've gotten involved with,"

He awkwardly laughs, put off by her wording. "Ha, yeah. They can be much,"

"That boy, the tall one, he's a strapping young man, isn't he? Oughta ask him for advice," she teases, pinching his much smaller arms.

"And that Baker, good godly boy, if not a bit subject to influence."

Gary paused at that. "What got you thinking that?" She ignores his question, continuing her train of thought.

"Those two, Pete? Peter was it—and the stockier boy,"

Gary stumbles over his breath. "Pete and Ray?"

Meemaw keeps on walking. "Ah yes, those two." Gary hears her licking her teeth. "They close?"

Fuck. "Close enough. Been pretty good buddies since last year."

"Hm."

She slows to stop near a bench, not too far off from the bus stop. "Look son, I know you're excited to have people who like you, have friends and whatnot, but you need to understand that not all company is good company," she tapped her heel into the concrete as she spoke.

"You're letting the devil sink his claws into you, Gary. This is how those people trap you. Discernment, son discernement," the venom at which she spits out 'people' is as dehumanising as she meant it.

Gary can't meet her eyes, silently listening to her lecture like he always does. He hated how she spoke about them, the accusation in her voice. How could she say that about the only people to ever give him a fucking chance?

He thought shit was going so well, at least not this badly—did she want him to just fucking abandon his friends? Be alone and miserable again?

"They aren't fucking deviants, Meemaw, they aren't doing anything to me!" Barkovitch interrupted his grandmother mid-sentence, not bearing to hear them anymore.

The moment he says it, he's hit with that dreaded, familiar feeling. The feeling that whatever he did was the absolutely wrong thing to do.

Meemaw's face contorted into some ugly, confused combination of anger and surprise, taken aback at his perceived gall. "Lord, you've already been around them folk too long, can't even see what it's doing to you,"

She takes a step closer to Gary, all but forcing him to look at her. "Been keeping my mouth shut because I try so hard to trust you, Gary. Why're you putting me in a position to doubt how I raised you?"

Her eyes look pained, darting across her grandson's face. "Is the sin and excitement from these strangers more important to you than me? Than God?"

Gary is even more confused and put off by her words, not understanding where it was all coming from. Could seeing two guys on a fucking couch be enough to have her like this?

"What are you talking about—? None of my friends are children of the damn devil, Meemaw, I haven't done anything—"

The woman across from him scoffs. "Christ Almighty." She can't even look at him. Why can't she look at him?

"Meemaw?" his chest was spasming, heart slamming against his ribs—what did he do?

"Meemaw, I didn't do anything—Meemaw?" His heartbeat was deafeningly loud in his ears, louder than the hiss of the wind or the tap of her heels. He was panicking, and panicking hard. What does she know?

He keeps skipping over breaths, face trying to follow hers, frantically calling to her, trying to figure out what the fuck she was talking about.

When she finally looks at him again, the pain behind her eyes has shifted into something bitter, red-hot and angry, her mouth trembling with the words she wants to say.

"I leave you alone for not even a year," she starts again.

"I spend all your life trying to keep you in order, I spend my own damn money to come see you—" she cuts herself off with the sheer weight of her upset shaking her being.

"I do all that, and what does my grandson meet me with? You're hardly praying, wearing damn earrings, hanging with open queers—Christ, Gary, please don't tell me you leave the house with all that sissy shit on your face—!"

What?

What?

Gary is properly crying now, chest burning and flexing rapidly, and he's so, so scared.

"Meemaw what are you talking about? What on my face? Whaddyre yo—"

"Shut your damn mouth! No reason for you to have that goddamn pencil in your room—I know no lady left that there, oh Jesus, Gary, you can't do this to me,"

Gary's heart drops, eyes going wide in horrific recognition. She couldn't have—she didn't—

"What pencil—"

"Or is it a marker, ink go on better?" she snarks.

"I dunno what you're talking about, Meemaw, swear! I-I don't—please I don't—"

"Don't lie to me!" She's pressed her palms against her forehead, pacing back and forth in small loops, so utterly furious she hardly knows what to do with herself, or him, for that matter.

He's frozen where he stands, chest sputtering and pathetic croaks falling out of his throat as tears spill over, running down his cheeks and chin. He wants the floor to open up and swallow him whole, something to strike him where he fucking stands—Gary just wants to die right about now.

After far too long, she finally reaches out for him, no longer content with watching him cry. She guides him down to the bench next to them, taking his hands into hers.

"Listen son, I know what this is, alright?" He's looking down at their hands, watching her thumb stroke the inside of his palm.

"You got your first taste of the outside world, being an adult off on your own, finally made yourself some friends," she takes his face into her hands, bringing his tear-streaked face to be level with hers. "This isn't my Gary." She says it softly but firmly, as if it were something certain.

"This," she looks him up and down, grimacing with the movement, "Isn't who you are, right son?"

He furiously nods, finally being given an out, a way to convince her and fuck he's crying again and he's still just nodding.

She takes those wrinkled fingers and tries to wipe away his tears. "Oh, I hate seeing you like this, but I wouldn't be a good guardian or grandparent if I didn't correct you when you do wrong." All Gary can offer in response is a choked-on cry.

She coos at him, wiping his nose with tissue from her handbag, trying to make him look less pathetic, more presentable. "I just need you to be better, okay?"

"Don't let anyone tell you what you are. You ain't no deviant, no sissy, and definitely no queer. You're a child of God, sweetpea."

"Y-Yes, I'm not a fag Meemaw—" he stutters himself with his own hic. " I'm sorry, so sorry, I'm not, I promise—"

Meemaw is shushing him now, letting him rest in the crook of her neck as she rubs circles into his back. "I know, son, I know."

It's a few minutes more before he stops crying, left sniffling and wetting his grandmother's coat with spit and tears. He gets up on shaky legs before offering his hand out to Meemaw. She took it gracefully, standing and readjusting her clothes before turning to him.

"I love you, Gary," she says.

His eyes burn. "I know." She begins moving forward.

"I'm sorry." he chokes out for a final time. He doesn't get a response.

His lips quiver at the sight of her, turned away from him with her hands clasped. The walk to the bus stop is silent.

—

The walk back to campus is quieter. The wetness of his face made the breeze bite, making him colder than he already was. He made it back using the difference in concrete, not daring to raise his head, lest anyone see him. He stumbled over the stairs and struggled to push open the building door. When he finally got inside, he was immediately spotted by one of the guys.

"Aye, there he is! You trying to get out tonight? The night is still young—hey, where you going? Slow down, man!"

Gary had beelined his way to the steps, not bothering to look back at the friends calling for him. He could only hope no one saw the mess that was his face.

The slam of his room door reverberated in his ears as he fell to the floor in the gap between the two parellel beds. Gary held his head in his hands, feeling tears welling in his eyes again. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? He felt so utterly lost, and fear still sat deep within his bones.

He sat there, a headache squeezing his skull until there was a knock at the door. Gary was prepared to tell them to fuck off until he heard the voice behind it.

"Gary?" The boy raised his head to the door, staring at the knob.

"Are you okay?" Collie asked, voice trying to be kept steady.

"Can I come in? Please?" he puts his head back in his hands.

When he doesn't receive an answer, the knob turns, and Barkovitch hears the gasp that leaves the man when he sees him.

Though he can't see him, he can hear the unsure steps forward before feeling him join him on the floor.

"Gary?" Collie tentatively places his hand around him, and his hesitation hurts, though Gary knew he had no right to be.

He can feel his breath on his hands, thumb rubbing his shoulder. When Gary opens his eyes, he quickly realises he wasn't ready for how Collie looks.

His eyes had gone wide, and the hand on Gary's shoulder had tightened its grip. There's so much sorrow there, and Barkovitch doesn't know what to do with any of it.

"What's wrong?" he sounds so heartsick, and it's all his fault.

"I," Gary swallows the spit he didn't realise had been pooling in his mouth.

"She's gonna hate me Collie, I don't want her to hate me—" He harshly coughs through another sob, and Collie pulls him closer to his chest.

"I don't—I don't know what to do, and she's gonna hate me and you're gonna hate me—Fucking shit," he's getting Parker's shirt wet, and he doesn't deserve this closeness, why was he still so—

"I'm sorry I've been—I'm sorry," there's hands in his hair, and he deserves none of it, he shouldn't even want it—

"I was right, she can see it on me, and I can't, I still can't, not when she's here,"

"Okay," Collie doesn't sound mad, but he must be? "It's okay," Why isn't he mad?

Gary stops babbling, chest heaving in Collie's arms, palms going up and down his back and the weight of Parker's head on his. The hands rubbing his back mirror the ones of Meemaw from only an hour earlier, but it was warmer, so much warmer, and Gary hates that he could tell the difference—that Collie was better. Collie was so tender and sweet, and he misses him so goddamn much.

Eventually, sobs turn to sniffles, and Barkovitch has enough strength to raise his head from his chest. He's wiping his face with his stained shirt, fixing his hair behind his ears.

Collie holds his hand, brushing over each of his fingers gingerly. "Do you want me to stay tonight?"

Yes. He wanted to be held again, hear his heart lulling him to sleep, big arms wrapped around his middle.

"No." But Meemaw was here until Friday, and having another man in his bed would be too much for him to bear.

Collie pauses, trying to hide his dejection, before pulling him into a hug again, leaving a small kiss on his forehead.

"Okay," and then he gets up, trying to bring up Gary with him. When he realised the boy wouldn't budge, he gave up, walking back to the door before whispering, "Goodnight," as he left.

Fuck, man.

A few moments pass until the door opens again, and the light flicks on. There's Harkness, two loaded paper plates in hand, a cup, a can of coke and the bottle of vodka they had thrown in Hank's room.

"Hey, man," says his roommate as he steps into the room, not commenting on his face. "Figured you'd be hungry."

He carefully lowers himself across from Gary, arms shaking from trying to balance the plates in his hand and the bottle under his arm. He pushes the fuller plate towards him: 3 slices of pizza, and a frosted cupcake.

"Eat, man. And we need a review on the cupcake. I can finally tell you the flavour, it's a Victoria sponge cake. Cupcake. same thing."

"Fuck sort of fancy shit is that?" said Gary, taking a bite of the first pepperoni slice. Fuck, he was hungry.

"Pete found this old British pastry book in the library, decided to give it a shot. Doing all the conversions sucked, but anything for our buddy, right?"

"Shut up."

Richie chuckled as he took a bite of the slice he had on his plate. "It's like normal cake with like jam and cream or something inside. That's what the filling is. We did pretty okay this time, I think. They taste great, so maybe the Brits know what they're talking about!"

Gary took that as his sign to try the thing, peeling off some of the wrapper to get a proper bite. He took a full bite, frosting and all, making sure to get some of the filling. Woah. His eyes widen in pleasant surprise, and Harkness is beaming, watching him eat it.

Gary thinks the filling was supposed to be separate, but it had muddied into a more pinky sludge of jam and cream. He didn't really care though, because that sludge tasted delicious.

"Well fuck," he says as his initial review.

"I know, right? Told you we did pretty good this time!"

"From how you were talking I thought this was about to be sweet as shit, but it isn't half bad,"

Richie folded his arms proudly. "See, and I was the one who told them to do a berry jam thing, you do jam with your toast sometimes, you know, like a weirdo,"

Gary kicked his crossed legs. "Fuck off!"

Harkness laughed it off, and the two finished their food, Gary licking the oil and frosting off his fingers.

Harkness shifted from his place on the ground, reaching for the bottle. "You're forgetting something, birthday boy,"

He cracks it open and pours him a (far too heavy-handed) shot, waving it in front of Gary's face. "Come onnn,"

Gary rolls his eyes at his encouragement before grabbing the cup and throwing it back, wincing at the burn at the back of his throat.

He shook his head when it finished, laughing at Richie's cheering. "Wooo!"

"The guys were talking about getting out tonight, pregame in here, but it doesn't look like you're up for much of that, huh?" Harkness asks, gathering their trash.

Gary sighs, bracing his head against his bed before shaking his head no.

"Figured. No problem though, week's not over! I'll go tell 'em,"

Harkness unfolds his legs and gets up, dramatically stretching his back. "Alright, Barkovitch. You go shower so we can go lights out, today has been much, yeah?"

Gary gave a small smile at his roommate, taking his hand and pulling himself up before slugging his way to the bathroom. A cold shower might do him some good.

Chapter Text

The last day before that old woman goes home thankfully passes very quickly. Gary's still avoiding him, but at least he now had a semblance of why.

The last two weeks have sucked. Bad. The week before she showed up, Barkovitch was already off, having been jarringly distant in a way he hadn't been since last November. It started small, almost unnoticeable unless you were the type to be paying close attention, which Collie unfortunately was. Every time he'd tried to make a move, the boy had withdrawn, which was unlike him, but not inherently a problem. Collie didn't mind; he wasn't a fucking animal. Gary hadn't kissed him in a while, and God, he missed it, but maybe he needed space, he thought. Maybe he was having a moment, needed to process. But the chasteness turned into avoiding being too alone with him, until it became just avoiding him entirely.

That was the worst of it. When Barkovitch had first tried ignoring him, months and months ago, it felt different, aggravating if anything. Now, something inside him ached every time he saw the blonde rush past him, burned whenever he would spot him and immediately go in the other direction. And worse yet, through all of his bullshit, Gary seemed miserable. Every time Collie met his eye, he looked scared, mind going a mile a minute, nails digging into his palms, too far away for Parker to drag them away from each other.

Then, seeing him that night, with Collie begging him to say what was wrong, and Gary snapping at him. It had hurt, the reluctance towards him, the way he pulled away from what he would have leaned into only weeks earlier, how he still wasn't talking to him. Collie supposes he'd gotten too spoiled. The night was a mess, but at least he finally had concepts of who was to blame for all of this.

Meemaw.

From the moment she got here, Collie could see the life being drained out of Gar. He'd gone dull, face pale like his very soul had been taken, her ripping into his flesh and letting the bright red blood gush out, leaving him blue and weak. Collie could see the crimson browning as it dried on him, leaving Gary sticky and uncomfortable in his own skin. In her presence, the blonde almost entirely crawls back into the tight, dark shell he found him in last year. At least he can now see part of where it came from.

Meeting her wasn't pleasant. A sentence spoken to her was still far more friendliness than he wanted to offer. And the devastating state Collie had for Barkovitch in, curled up on the carpet of his dorm, did her no fucking favour.

Collie can still hear the hoarseness of his throat, the wetness of his shoulder and just how hard his chest was heaving. His cries were so broken, and his nails gripped him so tightly, like he was terrified Parker would leave the moment he let go. The sight had kept him up that night, and Gary's words weren't exactly lulling him to sleep. "I can't, I still can't, not when she's here,"

Between the mess that had been the last two weeks and Gary sending him away, Collie just felt so useless to do anything to help, confused about what he could do at all. Was Gary still that scared of loving him, or was she bringing this out of him? And if she is, what if it stuck—would Gary still want anything to do with him? That image of the blonde crying in his arms just kept replaying in his mind. He would never forgive her for hurting him that way.

He sat on that bed now, the same one Gary had braced on two nights ago. He had gone off bright and early to be with Meemaw until she finally left that afternoon. Collie had found this information after practically begging Stebbins to ask Harkness, knowing he'd be too busy to find wherever that guy goes off to. Despite his grumbling, Billy had come through, filling him in and passing along a message from Rich: "He's gonna be back by 3, and the room's gonna empty till 6:30. Do with this what you will." Stebbins also helpfully supplied that Harkness would be leaving at 2, and the door may or may not be unlocked. Message received, Richard.

So here he was, leg nervously bouncing as he waited for Barkovitch to show. It had been a few minutes since he got there, and he was starting to get in his head about everything. Would he even want to see him right now? Was he overstepping? Before he could change his mind, the doorknob turned, and there he was, hand gripping his leather bag, eyes wide at the sight of him.

"Parker?"

Collie got up, groaning as he did, one of his legs having gone stiff. "Gary?"

He slowly walked towards him, who was slipping off his shoes and throwing his bag down on his desk. When they were face-to-face, Collie ran through all the things he wanted to say, but Gary was staring at him, and doubt was permeating all those thoughts. He felt awful—he shouldn't have come, he was crossing some sort of line, and Gary would be upset. He geared up to say as much, but before he could form the words of his apology, there was a face buried in his shoulder, and arms around his middle.

He's taken aback for a moment, unsure of what to make of the sudden affection, until he hears a sniffle and he has the mind to hug back. So he holds Gary tight, tighter than he ever has, and the smell of his hair is finally in his sinuses again, the small of his waist finally against his palms.

Barkovitch had started his sad babbling again, strings of apologies falling out of him. "Sorry—I'm s-sorry I didn't want to—" Collie had to shove that head into his shoulder to get him to quiet. "It's okay, baby, I promise," He doesn't know how many more times he can take seeing his boy upset this week before he makes himself sick.

He feels the blonde wiping his tears on his shirt, then he's finally looking at him, and fuck, Barkovitch. His hair had fallen in his face, slightly covering watery eyes that were fixated on his features. His cheeks were dusted pink, and his lips were slightly swollen from his crying, looking terribly un-kissed.

"I really wanna kiss you," he confesses.

A snivelling Gary hugs him tighter, not breaking eye contact.

Collie asks again, "Can I kiss you?"

And Gary finally responds through trembling lips, "Please?"

So he does. They both wince with the force of their collision, hands scrambling to hold onto each other. His lips are soft, and when he lets him into his mouth, he can taste the sweet, cool mint, probably from the cough drops he'd always suck on. He's addictive; Collie eats him like a man starved, and Gary lets himself be ravaged. He tries to be chaste at first, keeping his hands firmly on his waist, not wandering like he wants to, but Barkovitch quickly shuts that down, less guiding and more dragging his hands to the hem of his shirt. Collie didn't need any more encouragement. He's on him in seconds, hands revelling in the bare skin under his palms, free to caress and grope as he pleases after so long. The pair keep inching further and further into the room as they lick at each other, Gary stumbling into the foot of his bed and carrying them both down onto the mattress, little care for having outside clothes on the fresh smelling sheets.

Collie latches onto his bare neck, arms bracketing Barkovitch as they hold onto his hips, bucking up into him. His fingers find Gary's belt loops, pulling him up and bringing their hips together, both letting out a pleased groan at the contact. Their legs slot together with a practised ease, and Gary ethusastically kept up pace, gasping at every nip at his throat and hard thrust of Parker's hips. Collie was no less giddy, revelling in the taste of Gary's skin, the press of his warm, pliant body against his own. The two grow more frantic as they keep up their movement, getting lost in it until Gary rips them back into reality, pawing at the shirt of the man above him.

Collie raises his head from his place in the blonde's neck, meeting his eyes.

Gary tugs his shirt again, "Off. I wanna," he turns away, blush deepening and face scrunching in embarrassment. "I wanna see you, haven't—haven't in a while,"

Collie stared at him for a moment, trying to resist the urge to smother him.

"Sorry, that was stupid—" Gary must have thought he was taking too long to answer. "No! No baby, never, you're just so distracting,"

Collie earned himself a kick in the foot as he sat up to get his layers off, watching Gary trail down his now bare arms to his boxers and his much more visible hard-on. He chuckled at Gary's shaky exhale as he gawked, hardly remembering to shuck off his jeans and loose shirt.

Gary is the one to pull him down, laying them tummy to tummy, bare skin touching for the first time in far too long, and he can hear Barkovitch sigh into his hair, fingers dancing across his back, dipping and swirling with the flex and give of muscle. The rise and fall of their torsos pressed against each other, Collie's hair tickling Gary's neck, making him squirm in his hold.

Parker began peppering kisses along his collarbone, sucking hickies around his chest, the man underneath him twitching and whining with every whispered "missed you" and "so pretty". Collie travels further down his torso, grasping the soft give of his flesh and leaving blooming bruises and wet kisses until he reaches the band of his boxers.

When he kisses the faint happy trail leading underneath the fabric, Gary's breath catches, and his hands find themselves loosely held in Collie's hair.

Collie hooked his fingers under the elastic, using the other hand to caress up and down his sides. "May I?"

Barkovitch let out the sweetest whine, throwing his head back onto a pillow. "Uh-uh," he sounded so shy, so fucking adorable, and Collie couldn't wait to have him in his mouth.

Collie doesn't suck off Gary often. It's not that he doesn't like it, or that Collie doesn't enjoy doing it, Barkovitch just happened to be a bit of a cockslut who would much prefer to be the one on his knees. So, being on the receiving end has become a bit of a treat. Even if Gary won't admit it; he certainly will. Gary writhing and keening for Collie's attention could be a sight he watched for hours, and after whatever the last few weeks were, the bashful, shaky moan that Barkovitch gave after he took him into his mouth was all he wanted to hear.

Collie swirled his tongue around his length, feeling Gary twitch and throb against his hollowed cheeks. He held down his bucking hips, digging his nails into his flesh with each bob of his head. He heard the blonde wince from above, moaning through gritted teeth and wrapping his legs around Collie's back. He always enjoyed indulging Gary's thing for pain, especially when it always had him cry out so prettily. "C-Coll—uh, Fuck—" Barkovitch kept cutting himself off, back arching off the bed, fingers tightening in Collie's hair.

More and more noise was spilling out of him, Collie dipping his tongue into the slit, smiling at the way Gary jolted and the precum that beaded on his tip. He continued licking and sucking down the blonde's cock, swallowing around him, groaning when Gary met his eyes. Barkovitch whimpered at the eye contact, looking off to the side, unable to hold his gaze.

He keeps up his ministrations until Gary's breath picks up more, and he's stuttering about how close he is—"Co-fuck I'm so clo—Mmgh!" through rapid cries. Collie comes back up, wrapping his hand around his cock as he bites at his scratched thighs, and after a few strokes, Collie feels him tense from under his hand, cum spilling into the other.

He got the rest of the spend off Gary's dick, gathering the last of it on his fingers. He moved up the mattress to lean over a panting Barkovitch, his hair tickling the blonde's bare chest. He brought his hand to his mouth, "Clean your mess, sweetheart."

He saw the moment Gary registered what was said, the brief surprise behind his already glassy eyes, before opening his trembling lips. He licked Collie's fingers dutifully as he fed them further and further, throat jerking as he fought against his gag reflex. Spit replaced the release that had coated his fingers, and Collie wiped them dry against one of their shirts that hadn't yet fallen to the floor.

He presses a kiss to Gary's cheek, another on his lips. "You okay?"

Barkovitch is splayed on the bed, stretching like a lazy kitten, and responds with a slightly delirious, dopey smile. "Yeah, t'was good," his words were a bit slurred from the post orgasm haze and that fuzzy state he always ended up in when Collie doted on him for too long.

Collie shifts and lies on Gary's chest, wrapping tan arms around pale body. "You tired?" Gary is playing with his hair again, lightly scratching his scalp. "A bit," Parker leaned into the blonde's hands, letting nails scrape against his crown, drifting to his nape. "Too tired for me to fuck you?" Gary perked back up, blinking down at him with his stupid sweet face. "Didn't say that."

"Mmm, thought you were sleepy," Parker laughed against Gary's sternum, raising his head to kiss him again. "Okay? That was then," Gary snarked, speaking against Collie's lips. "Now, I want you inside me."

Collie hoists the blonde up, rolling onto his back with Gary firmly held against his chest. "Yeah, bet you do," Gary kicked his knee into his side, burying his face into the crook of Collie's neck, "Shut the fuck up."

Collie kissed his shoulder before laying him down next to him, reaching past him to see if the lube was still where he remembered it. It was. He lay back down, propping himself on one arm while he spread Gary's legs further.

The first finger doesn't go in easy, but he knows Gary doesn't mind, sighing against his collarbone as he bucks into the intrusion. Soon enough, he's ready for two, Collie scissoring his fingers, teasing them against the spot that has Gary shallowly gasping.

Collie always tries to be patient, considers himself a bit of a gentleman, but fuck, it was so hard to be sometimes, especially with a devil in his ear whining that he's ready—"Come on, I'll be fine," that devil sucking hickeys into his chest, whispering more pleas into the worried skin. Barkovitch is blinking up so sweetly, and there's only so much a man can do when his face lights up at Parker getting off his boxers.

And finally, finally, Collie has those creamy white thighs in hand, cock pressing into his entrance and holy fuck it's been too long. He felt like a drunk forced to go cold turkey, finally getting that mellow flush in his chest back.

"Fuck, baby, I missed you," he breathed out, feeling that sickeningly tight heat around him, Gary wetly gasping from underneath him, eyes screwed shut as he gripped the sheets to ground himself.

He stays there for a second, hips flush against Barkovitch, letting him adjust. "You okay?"

Gary fluttered open his eyes, already looking far too fucked out. "Mhm…almost forgot how much it all was—" he sighs into the end of his half-sentence, shifting his hips, somehow getting Collie even closer to him. The blonde peered up at him, looking so charmingly dollish, lashes long and lips rosy, the sun peeking behind the curtains casting him in light. Flaxen locks and the eyes beneath them all glowy and radiant, like life was finally breathed into him. All that kissing wasn't for nothing, Collie supposed.

Once Gary seemed more ready, breath steadying and hips jerking impatiently, Parker let himself move, both groaning at the feeling of his dick dragging against his walls, Barkovitch keening when he slammed back in.

He kept up a good pace: quick, hard, and steady, the way Gary liked— the way he knew Gary needed. His head was thrown back against the plush pillow, drool leaving a wet patch on the ivory pillowcase. Each of Collie's thrusts was punctuated by a moan from beneath him, then in his ear when Barkovitch wrapped his arms around his neck, resting his face in his shoulder.

"Missed it, sweetheart? Feel good?" asked Collie, panting into Gary's hair as he kept fucking into him. "God, yeah—sssoo good, love it so much—" Barkovitch was clawing lines down Parker's back, groaning at the way Collie harshly gripped his legs, bruising the flesh there. Collie hoped it would leave a real mark, a sign of ownership that yes, he was here, and only he's allowed here, in between his thighs, the column of his neck, the expanse of his chest—all his.

The thought had him throbbing, groaning as he mouthed at Gary's neck, further worrying the hickies that had been left only moments ago. He pulled back, lifting the blonde's hips, drilling into him fast and deep. The rhythm of Gary's moans shifted with Collie's change of pace, and the man above could see him struggle to form words, expletives dying behind mewls and blissed-out cries. Then he met his gaze, fluttering those glassy doll eyes as debauchery fell past his lips and sweat stuck to his skin and holy shit Collie was so close—

"Fuck, pup so perfect," he cooed, chasing his orgasm and ogling the mess beneath him—God, he missed this.

Barkovitch whimpered at the pet name, "Y-Your—fuck! Your puppy mngh-!" and fucking christ that did it for him.

Collie dug his nails into Gary, burying himself to the hilt, moaning and gasping as he came harder than he had in fucking ages. Gary whines from underneath him, and when Collie's vision comes back, and he can somewhat think again, he fists Gary's cock, only getting a few strokes in before Gary is arching off the bed, spilling over his hand for the second time that afternoon.

The pair shudder out a breath as Collie pulls out, letting Gary's legs fall back on the bed, red, marked and probably sore. Parker sees Gary looking at the mess on his hand, fixated on the cum left on his fingers. "That's all you, baby," he watched the blonde follow his fingers till they met his lips, eyes going wide and breath catching as he watched Parker take them into his mouth. Collie's gaze was fierce and unrelenting, and Barkovitch whimpered like it burned. Once he was done, he dragged them back out, a line of spit connecting the digits, and he chuckled when Gary pressed his eyes shut. "What's the matter, Barkovitch?"

Gary let out a petulant whine, chest still heaving from the sex and wrapped his arms around Collie's back, bringing them together again. "Quiet." Collie smiled against his skin, their sweat mingling with one another. It was far too hot, but neither of them wanted to move.

"Aye,"

Gary had his hands in his hair again, pulling strands from beneath them, letting them settle on Collie's back, "Hm?"

Collie raised to meet his eyes, still captivated by all of him. "Really fucking missed you. That's it." A small kiss was left on his jaw before he lay back down. Gary blushed, fingers combing through long, dark hair. "Yeah," Collie felt lips press on top of his head, and arms snake around him, constricting tighter than before. "Missed you too."

"Babe," Collie calls for him, rolling them over so Barkovitch can lie next to him and settle on his shoulder. Gary hums in response, tangling their legs together.

"You up for a redo on the birthday?" Gary's face twists in confusion, cheek squished against his side. "The guys want to take you out tonight. More of an excuse to eat out and get drunk, but it's still for you," Collie swipes hair out of Gary's eyes, pushing it behind his ear to see him better.

"Mmm," Barkovitch burrows himself further into Parker's side, "Maybe. I mean, sure, I just really don't wanna get up." The last bit is muffled, him almost face-down in Collie's armpit.

Collie laughed, moving Barkovitch to his chest. "You don't have to, man, it's like 4 in the fucking afternoon. Take a nap." The other man blushed in slight embarrassment, "Oh."

Parker groaned, bracing himself to get up, only to be held down by pale arms, weakly tugging him back down. "Wher're you going?" Gary asks through a pout. "To get us clean, baby, we're gonna start sticking to each other."

Barkovitch did not let up on his attempts to get Collie back on the bed. "Let's stick then." Collie didn't feel like arguing, so he wrapped the blonde back in his arms and resigned himself to staying until he fell asleep.

—

The parking lot streetlights were shining bright, and the one that had been flickering for the last month had finally fizzled out, freeing Collie of the headache its flashes had given him. Most of the guys were here, either bracing on Ray's car or crowded around it, chatting and waiting for Richie and Gary to show.

When they eventually do, Hark is walking Gary across the parking lot, hand on his back, like he was presenting him to the group. Rich looked straight at him before giving a shit-eating grin towards a scowling Barkovitch. Or presenting to him, he selfishly thought.

The pair came closer, Richie greeting the group and Gary awkwardly waving next to him. He stood shy, but if anything, that made him look cuter. He looked fucking gorgeous, light wash jeans hugging him in all the right places (Yes, he was staring at his ass, was that not his right?), black tank top tight on his waist and revealing his plush arms. Bracelets hung on wrists, an assortment of black and silver things, fingers clutching the leather belt they had bought together a while back, grooves of the metal buckle shining under the streetlights. His neck—Jesus, he might've gone overboard—the few chains adorning his neck barely cover the darkened hickies that he almost forgot he left. He was wearing light eyeliner, slightly smudged and contrasting the natural pink of his lips, so delicately rosy it was as if he'd been biting them. Knowing him, he probably had been. His hair always seemed to fall so effortlessly pretty, in some controlled mess Collie could never understand. And he was wearing the earrings again, him spotting the black stars behind the blonde hair blowing in the wind.

Harkness pushes Barkovitch, sending him stumbling towards Collie, poor thing barely catching himself before face planting in his chest. He shot the meanest glare at Richie before adjusting himself, letting his hands settle in his front pockets.

"Hey."

Collie made a show of looking him up and down, biting back a smile at Gary's faint blush at the attention. "You look nice,"

Barkovitch fiddled with the buckle of his belt, running his nails over the adorned silver. "Uh, thanks," he shivered as a gust of wind passed, the night air still cold. He turned to the rest of the guys, waving down Ray. "Can we fucking go? It's freezing."

Ray whistles to tell the rest to get going, and everyone piled into the car. Gary, wedged between Collie and the door, made sure to complain about not getting to ride shotgun, even though it's his celebration. Despite his grumbling, the way he nuzzled into Collie's chest the moment the car got moving didn't make his anger very convincing.

"So what are we eating, Barkovitch?" called Ray, the others looking to him to know what to set their minds on.

"I don't know, man," he unhelpfully responded, brows furrowed in thought. It was sweet. "Where's that place we went, uhh, fuck—Rich you remember right? We went to see that shit movie, and we went there when we came back."

"Ahhh, shit, what was that place?" Harkness now shared that same look on his face, drumming his fingers on the car door. Pete joined the theorising, "Damn, I know exactly where you're thinking, what was it called—"

Hank perked up suddenly, "Stack Street-?"

Pete clapped, hitting the dashboard in recognition. "Stack Street!"

"Yeah, fuck! Stack Street—what a stupid fucking name,"

They all cheered Olson for saving the evening, and Ray began searching for the spot, driving wherever their vague memories took them. Hank was being the worst backseat driver, and Art was causing such a fucking scene after every sharp turn that Ray would shout, "Hank's fucking fault, stop changing your damn mind, there's only so many fucking ways I could go!" After the fourth nearly missed turn, Ray damn near threatened to crash the car. "This is a shitbox, Olson. I will kill us all,"

The car erupted in laughter, Collie included. "God Hank, think harder,"

Gary sniggered from his place on his side. "Hold up your hands if you need help, L's left." Parker's chest jerked harder, laughing at Hank reaching back to flip the rest of the backseat off, before being scolded to get back to directing.

After an obnoxious amount of back and forth, they make it, and all filter into the rustic brick joint and the smell of frying oil and beef.

They all squeeze into a booth, and soon enough, there are greasy sliders, three boxes of wings and a huge basket of fries sat in front of them. Gary also got himself a milkshake, a huge caramel one, sugary enough for Hank and Pete to insist on singing happy birthday over. It's an off-tune, clapping affair, Collie nudging Gary's shoulder as he shamefully hides in his hands.

"You guys fuckin' suck. Never coming out with you assholes again," he says, once the singing concludes, pouting and stuffing his face full of fries. "Aww, don't say that, Gary," pokes Art. "You know you love us," finishes Ray, playfully jabbing at him.

Collie loops his arm around his shoulder, pushing a grumbling Barkovitch into his chest. "Course he does, don't you?" He gives a brassy smirk as he speaks, loving to get the blonde all flustered. Gary looked away from him, groaning at the way the other boys whistled and jeered. "Fuck off, all of you," he spits out, taking a very annoyed sip of his milkshake. It gets on the corner of his mouth, which Collie instinctually wipes off, shoving the whipped cream-covered digit in his mouth before anyone could notice. He jolted as he saw Billy, staring him dead on, giving him the most icked out face he's ever seen. Before almost anyone could notice then. Fuckass all-seeing Stebbins.

The group always finds something to bicker about, Gary and Hank making an unlikely alliance to be horrified at the way Ray and Harkness, shit even Stebbins ate wings. Barkovitch is lucky Parker is a strong-willed man, because there were at least 3 jokes to be made at the way he fucking destroyed wing flats—zero reasons to have bones that clean that quickly.

Frankly, Collie doesn't know why Hank was talking, seeing as he was just taking all the drums, but that didn't stop him from getting on everyone else's ass. "How are you guys this shit at eating wings, don't you eat dick?" he sounded so genuinely baffled and the table descended into outrageously loud laughter, save Art who was more worried about the poor family of 3 who wasnt necessarily in earshot, but thats considering that anyone at the table was speaking at a reasonable decible, which they decidedly were not.

Once they finished, crumpled stack of cash left on the table, the group made their way back to the car, raiding a gas station because someone forgot to fill their tank and was taking bets on if they'd make it to the gas station or not. Thankfully, they do (barely), and they all crowd up the store aisles, looking for things to raid. Collie and Stebbins were being used as shopping carts, a case of beer in Billy's hands, and a box of ice cream sandwiches to carry back home in his. He was watching his friends move around, Art, Ray and Pete giggling at stupid off-brand cereal and Hank by the magazine rack, staring at the racy women on the covers. Richie and Gary were by the freezer, Gary hiding behind the door so the cold didn't hit his bare arms. They seemed to be very intensely debating what soda to buy. Barkovitch kept idly playing with his bracelets, jangling rhythmically as he spoke or shook his head no. Collie wonders if he knew just how much he fidgets.

"Parker!"

Collie gets broken out of his ogling by Billy lugging a bag of chips at him, landing on the box already in his hands. Billy then very loudly "Ahem!"s towards the cashier, not so subtly telling everyone to get a fucking move on. They all pile their shit in front of the apathetic teenager stuck working at that time of night, hastily fishing out their cash, Harkness being forced to do the math on how to divide everything. Collie notices that the two boys had settled on a Coke and some 'Orange Crush'. He hopes the latter is Gary's, so he can nick some.

Once on the road again, they find a parking lot to be loitering obnoxious young men in, surrounding the parked car again. Gary had finally caved, begging Collie for the jacket he had over his long sleeve, finally having had enough of the chill of the night. He shook into the cotton fabric, cupping his fingers in the sleeves and blowing into them. Parker wanted to eat him alive, but settled for stroking his hands against the cool skin of his neck while he talked.

Eventually, the night dwindled, it being just past midnight, and they all decided it was time to pack up and head home. "Enjoy your redo, Barkovitch?" asked Ray, poking his shoulder as he packed the last of the things in the trunk. Those sandwiches were for sure going to melt before they got back. Barkovitch stretched, top riding and exposing a sliver of stomach, which he promptly pulled down once the air hit him. Bummer.

"Was alright," he was playing up the dickishness as he scooted down to make room in the car. "Wow, all that for an alright? Bit disappointed," said Pete, clutching his non-existent pearls.

Gary laughed, looking down at his hands, before going all quiet, picking at his cuticles. "But, uh, thank guys. Seriously," he said, barely audible enough for the boys in the way back to hear. But he said it, and the hard pat on his back he got from Hank and the cheery honk from Ray in the front told him they heard him.

He looked up to Collie, a small smile on his face, it asking 'Did I do good?'. Waiting eyes sat on him, dashing across his face. Collie dips close to his ear, "That was sweet," a whisper only for him. Gary bashfully smiled even wider before turning to stare out the window. Neither of them commented on the fingers interlocked in the darkness of the backseat, letting the chatter of the car take over. This was theirs.

Chapter Text

It took a couple of days for Collie to get Barkovitch back. After the dust settled on their grand reunion and his birthday outing, they were both reminded that everything was still fresh, raw skin pink fresh. That Sunday, he had sat down and told Collie about the little conversation Meemaw had with him, or at least some of it. He could tell there was more than he was letting on, could see him debating whether to let some aspects slip. Collie knew not to push him; if anything, it made him more upset that it was worse than Barkovitch was letting on. He'd sat quietly and listened, not wanting to put off Gary with his anger. He was fucking boiling, so fucking heartbroken that his boy was treated that way by someone Collie knows Gary loves. Even after everything, he still finds it in him to defend her, refuses to accept that she would hurt him, and even if she did, surely she had a reason. Collie thinks he knows. He doesn't know if he'll do anything about it.

Parker decided he'd try to focus on what he could control, and a few days into the week, he took it upon himself to take Gary out on a date. It took a bit of convincing, him still deadset on sulking for another day, but Collie dragged him out with the promise of buying good coffee and as many film magazines as he wanted.

They had found themselves walking into a new record store, dark cherry-red hardwood squeaking under the sneakers of the man stocking the shelves, people on album covers staring back at them. Collie was interested, hoping that with its new shiny floors came new shiny records, better selection than the place farther in town. The two wandered the small store, Collie giving the man working a friendly nod as he passed him. He wondered if he was the only one working, or if there was someone burrowed away in the back. Given the 'Help Wanted' sign plastered on the store window, he could assume he might be running this ship solo. Oh well, not like they'd be much of a bother.

Gary was hidden away in the back, viciously searching for a record he swore he saw someone in here holding the other day (he was always known to people watch), and Collie could hear him carding through shelves, refusing to ask for help as he told him to. "Fuck yes!"

Collie startled at the exclamation, having gotten caught up reading the mini biographies under the frames of superstars. Gary poked his head out from behind the shelf. "Fuckin' told you, Parker, I knew what I saw—didn't need any help, neither. I'm just that good," he smugly waved the black and red vinyl sleeve.

"Pardon me, I guess", responded Collie, rolling his eyes as he made his way into the corner Gary had wedged himself into.

He became increasingly covered in darkness as he inched towards him, the blonde's back hitting the ladder against the backshelf as he tried to playfully keep the distance. Gary visibly swallowed, Collie watching his Adam's apple move with the action. "Dark back here," he said, taking in the cramped space, his closeness to Barkovitch making it all the more tight.

Gary averted his eyes from the man in front of him. "I ever tell you I worked in a music store?" he breathed out, looking up into the taller man's eyes.

Collie took the record from his hands, setting it down on the small bench next to them. "Nope."

"Well," one kiss to his lips. "I did—Mmgh, when I was like sixteen," a few more. His eyes kept darting to the left, listening for the employee's footsteps. Well, Collie couldn't have him distracted now, could he?

His lips are on his again, nipping at his bottom lip, an arm finding itself around his waist. "Yeah?"

Gary softly laughed, not even hiding his amusement. "Uh-huh. Was a major dick to everyone." Collie kissed down Gary's jaw, humming in acknowledgement. Barkovitch flinched away, giggling, hair tickling his neck. He returned to his mouth, pressing soft kisses against his smile. "Oh, I can imagine. Better or worse than you now?"

Gary scoffed. "Wayyy worse. Surprised they never fired my ass." his arms wrapped themselves around Parker's neck, underneath the smoothness of his hair. Collie kissed down the inside of Gary's arms, just loving enough to make Barkovitch roll his eyes. "Was just too good to fire, huh?"

Gary leaned up to leave his own kiss, wincing as they bumped their noses together. "Guess so, was a big hit with the elderly, once they got over the sissy hair," he dryly laughed at the last bit.

Collie pulled him closer, "Mmm, I like the sissy hair," he whispered into Gary's ear, biting it before getting a swift hit to the neck. 'Get the fuck off me," he said through a pout, glaring at Collie's crooked, smitten smile. "Boring," he snarked, giving his own glare back, capturing Gary's lips again. The blonde sighs into his mouth, spreading his palms against his back and arching into Collie's hold. He whimpers as Collie swirls his tongue against his, leaning further back onto the ladder, squeaking when Parker nips at his bottom lip. They both hardly give themselves time to breathe, so close they're inhaling each other's air, making themselves pleasantly dizzy. Collie gave Barkovitch a dopey smile, finding his flushed panting absurdly sweet.

"Have I said I missed you yet?"

Gary petunlately groaned. "Jesus, Parker, only a million fuckin' times," and that gap was closed again.

They were more frantic now, gripping at each other, Collie touching the bare skin underneath his shirt and the other hand in the back pocket of his jeans, grabbing his ass, Gary moaning into his mouth. Barkovitch was tugging him closer, combing his fingers through the other man's hair, and fuck all they could taste was each other—

The two abruptly pull away at the sound of something—a plastic plant?— crashing to the ground. Oops.

"Everything alright?" called the man at the front, voice laced with annoyance.

Gary was beet red, still stunned from the bang of the little cactus. Collie gave an apologetic smile. "All good!" They both scurried out of the corner after that.

Gary was terribly embarrassed the rest of the afternoon and made Collie do the talking at the register, unable to face the poor guy working the till. Parker had to reassure him ten times over that he won't even remember their faces by tomorrow, but thankfully, some food and a stack of magazines in his hands were enough to lift his spirits.

—

It's been 2 days since their date, and it's the first time Gary has been in Collie's bed in 2 weeks. He was passed out on his side, sheets half on, not covering much outside of his feet. They had been telling each other stories from their childhood, bullshit they got up to in high school, and Gary had just naturally drifted off on his third story of his sisters getting him into trouble. He had told him his voice was soothing once, "gets you real calm and shit", when they got high last month, so it was cute to see it actually happen.

His face was slightly smushed against a pillow, his head having lolled to the side when sleep overtook him. He had his arm wrapped around his own middle, covering the sliver of skin left by his rucked-up shirt and low-hanging sweats. His hair was all rumpled and frizzy, his lips slightly parted as he breathed softly. He was so pretty. Looked like a little angel, freshly made and new to heaven, so beautiful it had no clue what to do with itself but be. A face like that had no right to have spent so long scrunched up in angry scowls and silent cries.

Collie curled himself next to the sleeping boy, watching the fingers by his head twitch every few minutes, occasional sniffles and huffs leaving him when stray locks get in his face. Parker's hands found themselves on Gary's face, stroking the apple of his cheek, face warming at the way Barkovitch leaned into him. Sweet thing.

Collie was trying to ignore it, the tugging remnants of everything he felt in the last few weeks, but god it was hard. He didn't expect to see Gary the way he was, act the way he did, not to that degree. Even now, he could see when Barkovitch trailed off the deeper he got into his stories of home, waving Collie off when asked, like he didn't want to tell him the ending. Collie was bright enough to know why. Could assume the story of him running away from home for like 10 hours didn't end pretty, why his laugh shook whenever talking about the bullshit from his church.

Seeing him around that woman recontextualised so much of what he knew of Gary, and so much of that inflicted pain had come from her, and he was still so desperate for her to love him. It made Collie's head hurt. He had been keeping himself up thinking about Barkovitch since his birthday, and he tried so hard to let it be, but fuck, he loved him too much to do that. How could he let him keep hurting himself over and over without saying anything—without trying? It's not like he's oblivious; Collie knows Gary knows, that's why he doesn't talk about it.

Despite what he thinks, he's not very good at masking if you know what to look for, and it's rare for him not to be on edge when talking about his life before Maine. He'd cry to him some nights, the hard nights when guilt ate away at him and he just needed Collie to hold him. They wouldn't speak about it. Collie learned very quickly that he'd just shut down and curl in on himself if he tried. He thought it was getting better, and in some aspects it was, but the more Parker thought, the more he wondered if it was just stewing, hidden underneath awkward chuckles and chewed on lips, with Meemaw's visit causing it to finally boil over. And that overflowing shame burned; he sure acted like it did, and Collie tried his best to soothe it, but there's only so much he could do to treat the singed skin if Barkovitch wouldn't get out of the fucking fire.

He was so maddeningly frustrating sometimes, Collie just wanted to fucking shake him, beg him to want better for himself, scream at whatever kept him small and scared and rip that knot of guilt and shame twisted inside of him and free himself of the shackles he's let drag behind him all the way from the fucking south.

He moved that hand into the empty one that rested on the pillow, limply holding it as he kept watching the blonde's chest rise and fall. He caressed the faint marks and scratches on his palm, few still scabbed over from the angry red things they were. Gary softly sneezed again, hair tickling his nose, until Collie finally brushes it back. He needs to talk to him.

—

A day passes before he gets the opportunity to have Barkovitch alone. He sat on the floor of his dorm room, staring at the hastily made bed across from him, dog eared booked stacked on the nightstand. He had debated asking Richie for any sort of advice, but he concluded it would just get in his head more.

Gary was showering, the rush of water hitting the shower tile muffled by the shut door. He heard him yawn, the towel against his back, him bumping into the sink—probably his hip—and the yelp that followed, the zip of his hoodie, all before the doorknob turned.

Gary comes out, still flushed from the heat of the shower, looking confused about Collie's place on the floor.

"Fuck're you doing?"

"Can we talk?" Collie saw the way Gary tensed.

The blonde shuffled next to him, slowly bringing himself downwards, like sitting would solidify whatever he feared was going to happen. "Um, Sure."

Okay. "I'm not mad at you, okay, it's not that, I just," Collie bit his lip, turning away from the man next to him, staring at his lap. "We didn't really talk about the whole thing, you know…"

Barkovitch balled up his fists, and Collie could see the instinct to flee rapidly forming.

He put his hand on Gary's anxiously bouncing thigh, trying to level his thoughts. "I'm not asking you to tell me anything right now, I just—I just need to talk to you." He pushed his hair out of his face, resting his hands on his shoulders.

"Listen, man. I know you love that woman, real fucking bad, and I'm not saying you're wrong for it, that's not how it works, I know that, she's your grandmother and shit, I just," He turns away, squeezing his eyes shut as he tries to gather his thoughts.

"I couldn't fucking bare seeing you like that man, fuck—you looked scared and so sad all the time and you weren't even talking to me and I tried asking Harkness every damn day but i just got nothing, there was nothing, then your birthday happened and you've never cried like that—not infront of me, not about that—I didnt know what to do Gary,"

Gary had gone all wide-eyed, clearly not expecting his outburst. "I'm rambling. Sorry. I just, fuck, Gary, I don't want to see you like that again," he paused.

"Is that what's going to happen every time you see her?" his tone was pleading, his brows furrowed together, distressed.

Gary tried to fight back, "N-No—"

"Gonna come back wrong?"

"Collie it's not—"

"How many times until you just don't come back?"

"Thats not gonna fucking happen, Parker—"

Collie moves to face Gary dead on, leaning closer to his face, palms digging into the old carpet floor, and hair falling back to his face. "Fine. Then how many times will I have to build up your fucking tolerance of me, huh? I'll do it, I'll always do it once you want me to, but fuck Gary, do you think it feels good? Think I like seeing you look me dead in the eyes and still choose to run? To have you flinch away from me like I'm some fucking disease I'm infecting you with? I don't want to have to do that again—"

"Then fucking don't!" Gary spits out, fighting tears and leaning away from him. "You say all this shit, fucking fine, whatever, leave me the fuck alone then! Why do you keep bothering—"

"Cuz I fucking love you, man!" The artificial glare that had kept Gary's tears from spilling widened, and Collie found him quiet again, eyes wet and darting.

"I do all this because I love you, Gary and I don't like seeing you hurting, I don't, and I feel so fucking helpless to do anything."

Silence.

"It'd be different if you just didn't like me, alright—which you do, right?"

"God, Collie course, course I do," his voice sounded so small, tapering off at the end.

Parker squeezed his hand in response. "I don't know how to navigate this, knowing you could go home this summer and come back too scared to be with me anymore. Thats—it's not fair to me, Gary."

He still couldn't hold his gaze. "I told you, I don't want to keep this up if it's hurting you, man."

Tears were running down Gary's cheeks. He wasn't sure when they got there. "Are," the blonde's voice trembled. "Are you breaking up with me?"

Christ— "Fuck Barkovitch, no, I'm asking—God no," He put his hands on Gary's shoulders, trying to ground him, stop his mind from running farther than it needed to.

"I'm not forcing your hand, alright? But I just want a little reassurance—I don't want it to just stay like this, her and all those people looming over you. I—fuck, I just don't want you to feel like that again."

Gary stayed silent, nodding, trying to blink away the rest of his tears.

Collie's face softened at the sight. "Cmere,"

He scooped him up in his arms, letting his head rest on his shoulders. His body jerked in his hold, damp spot forming on the shoulder of his shirt.

Words finally left the man in his arms, wobbly and slightly hoarse. "I'm sorry," Poor thing.

"I don't know what to—I'm sorry—"

"Shh. I don't need an answer now, I just…I just need you to think on it for me, alright?"

There was then more furious nodding, a tiny yelp when Barkovitch accidentally knocked his forehead on his collarbone. Collie cooed at him, rubbing his thumb over where he hurt, before tipping up his jaw, so they could be face to face.

"Promise me you'll think about it. That you'll keep trying,"

Gary blinks up at him, leaning into his chest, a shakily exhaling. "Okay."

"Okay?"

"Mhm, swear," he burrowed further into his chest. Collie let him, letting his own head rest on the mess of fair, frizzy hair. "You're not mad at me?" his eyes were glassy and a bit red from how fucking hard he wiped away his tears. He's always so rough with himself.

Collie petted him, lightly scratching at his nape as he spoke. "No baby," he kissed his forehead. "Just worried."

Before he got too comfortable, Collie (with much protest) lifted Barkovitch from his place in his lap to lay them both down on the creaky mattress. After Barkovitch got of fill of grovelling, he settled back on Collie's chest, letting their breathing sync as they wordlessly decided to enjoy the quiet of the sunset with a few pillows under them; the floor kinda itched anyway.