Work Text:
Body odour, meeting your friend’s parents, choking on your first date, all embarrassingly awkward teen shit. Canon events or whatever it’s called.
But Pico would rather a chainsaw fuck him twister style than be running into his ex, whose with his now girlfriend, mind you, right outside a seven eleven.
Shit.
Looking back on it now he should’ve just taken the day off. And by “day off” he means nothing but him, a cool lemonade, and his n64. There are days like this. Where things grind to a soul draining halt. Where things take an unsuspecting left turn and even attempting to carry on your day as normal rewards you with a slap to the face. Bird poop, file corruption, a knife to the shins. Pico usually takes these days off. A luxury he abuses now that he’s out of school.
As he once’s over his baggy joggers, loose green hoodie and Nene’s “pink-tastic” crocs (true regrets) he considers if he can spin a bar outta this in his next song.
“Yo! Pico!”
Boyfriend feverishly waves at Pico and his original plan to pretend he didn’t see him is thrown out the window. Boyfriend excuses himself, squeezing past an old couple with a sheepish smile and his girlfriend in tow. He leans towards her, his gentle yet playful smile passing a few words in his suave way that Pico can’t catch. She giggles. Probably to something so inconceivable. To something so— Keith-like. He swallows the nerves that threatens to spill over, eating him up right from his gut. His balled fist clamming in his pocket.
“Dude, it’s been awhile!” Boyfriend’s charm has not wavered in the slightest, If not even brighter. Where the light used to shine from below Pico’s chin, it now hovers an inch or three above him. His eyes shut tight, grin in full display, blinding but missing a metallic glimmer where his braces used to be.
“What have you been up to? Man we really needa catch up. Where ya headed? Got some time to chat?” It’s always been like this with him. Pico would go a couple days without seeing him. Unannounced but expected, which Keith never seemed to mind, but even half a day without a word spoken to each other would tally up to at least the three titular questions. “How’d you sleep?” “Did you have breakfast?” “Are you gonna skip with me?”
Pico often chastised Boyfriend for his penchant for dismissing himself from class whenever he felt like it. But after that day, he quietly dropped his nagging.
“Nothin much really. Same as usual without the school part. Making music for a living now. Me, Nene, and Darnell are still tight.” the plastic bag filled with his groceries twists between his fingers. He darts a risky glance at his girlfriend. Her vibrant burgundy hair cupping her round face. She seems to be more interested in boyfriend than the conversation they’re having, printing off each expression and stapling it into memory.
He catches her gaze to which he blinks away naturally, switching back to boyfriend. He attempts to blink away his chest pang too.
“Aw sweet. That’s sick. Hope they’re doin well.” Boyfriend smiles.
“They barely get by without me.” Pico shrugs jokingly. His flat tone and sly smirk is proven to remain a hit with boyfriend because he snorts, nodding his head towards the ground. A breathy broken laugh skips out of him, the one Pico aimed to squeeze out of him whenever he could almost half a decade ago. Pico hated how he still aimed for it after all this time spent apart.
As if sucking any small possible enjoyment Pico could gather from this unwanted reunion, Boyfriend pops an “ah!” before gesturing towards his girlfriend who had been kindly quiet so far. “I don’t think you two have met yet. This is—“
Girlfriend sticks her hand out excitedly, exuding an energy Pico was only familiar with through Boyfriend. Sun rays and “a universal magnet for danger” is how Boyfriend used to put it. Though Pico personally believes Boyfriend is really just an adrenaline junkie and chases it rather than attracts it. That would make them perfect for each other. Funny.
He makes sure to rub his sweaty palm in his pocket before shaking hers but before he even has it fully out stretched,
she takes his left hand in both of hers, jangling his arm up and down. One whip away from ripping his arm clean off. “Boyfriend has told me a lot about you!”
“He has?” He throws a suspicious glance towards Boyfriend. ‘ How much? ’ burns in the back of his mind. From the stories Nene has shared with him about her exes, ( entirely against his will), this sentence and that face paired together has never been a good thing.
“I have to thank you.”
“Thank? …me? For what?” Pico retracts his hand cautiously as soon as Girlfriend lets it go. Putting it back in its pocket, comfortably where it belongs. “I don’t think I’ve done anything.” He awkwardly laughs.
“Boyfriend told me how you looked out for him a lot when you were growing up. Things were pretty rough back then.” She glances at Boyfriend, they share a knowing look. “I cant imagine it being any easier for you either.” Her hyperness tuned down and her expression was soft and sympathetic. Her eyes were still. Observing. He’s sure she means well, but Pico can’t help but feel like he’s naked under a microscope. Her smile doesn’t reach her eyes quite right, and her dull eyes border on stone cold. The colour lost in deep pitch black. Her gratitude doesn’t feel disingenuous to him, and her kindness is dripping with authenticity, but he can’t help ignore the itch creeping up the back of his neck.
His hand twitches, searching— no, craving, for the touch of smooth weighty steel. His nails pinching the inside of his fist, paleing. Faltering.
Pico takes a small step back. His head begins to spin lightly but he keeps it screwed straight. A rock swells in his throat. Phantom booms, bangs and cracks circle past his head. He coughs into his arm, forcing the cloud strikes from six years ago to condense to a light fog.
He shuts his eyes, but for nothing longer than a deep blink, shaking his head minutely. He misses the concern that spreads across Boyfriend’s face.
He hadn’t met her personally, but he’s heard the rumours. Most specifically her family and their near tyrannical reign over the music industry. I mean shit, it’s always been a hell hole. But the Dearest family are a different kind of web of hell you don’t want to find yourself entangled with.
From rising artists disappearing the day their highly anticipated album releases, to signing record deals with Mr. Dearest and falling off the deep end. Hard drugs to ‘Non Disclosed Death’ or ‘Declared Suicide’ Pipeline is a three time occurrence within the family’s label, but theres an endless list of “freak accidents” to add to the pile too. Some say they sink their teeth into the most promising young artists, whispering gold in their ears and sucking them hard dry.
Pico was never really the type to buy into gossip, but denying the commonly known fact that “thrice isn’t just a coincidence.” would be a stupid mistake for someone like him working in the field. The music industry is undeniably filled with a copious amounts of fucked up crime, that much is true. A crude reflection of life, honestly.
At this thought, Pico whips his head to Boyfriend.
So, what the fuck is Keith doing dating King Dracula’s Daughter?
Whirring a one-eighty away from the young couple, Pico shrugs his way towards his apartment. Throwing a curt wave behind him. Not his circus, not his monkeys.
“Nah It’s nothin really. Nice meeting you two.”
Hearing the scuttling of Boyfriend’s shoes and stuttering at Pico’s sudden departure, Pico decides to hasten the pace if he even wants a shot at getting out of there. Now.
“W- wait! You’re leaving already? Can’t we hang out for a bit? Hang and… shit I dunno. Chill?”
“Busy.”
Boyfriend snorts. “Yeah, okay.”
Pico can practically feel the sass and roll of Boyfriend’s eyes lazing over his back. “What? Some of us have jobs.”
“Yeah yeah, and some of us don’t wear pink crocs to work.” Boyfriend gestures to Pico’s dawned foot protectors but senses a jab towards his sense of style somewhere in the back of Boyfriend’s mind.
Pico feels heat rush to his ears. “I’ve got work later.” He bites, spinning to face him. His agitation feeds Boyfriend’s ego, stifiling back a laugh. “At 7pm? You? Yeah right. Anyways stop joshin me I know you got no minimum bum ass job.” He saunters up to Pico in long strides with his freakish new long legs. “I still listen to your music.” Keith hums, looking him up and down. Pico finds a new found self consciousness. His scowl deepens nonetheless.
“You good with a fan catchin you in that?”
“The beanie and sun glasses does wonders, believe it or not.”
“I figure… not. I recognised you just fine.”
“Well confuckjnggratulations dude. Here’s your prize.” Pico lifts his hand holding the grocery bag revealing his fist, and begins cranking with his left. Boyfriend pushes them down.
“Whatever.”
Pico takes this abrupt end to their conversation as a chance to break away, turning his back on boyfriend. When a couple seconds pass and Boyfriend doesn’t follow him, he assumes he’s finally given up.
Ignoring the slight twinge in his chest, Pico continues walking. Dropping his groceries back to his side.
Philly isn’t that bad at this time of year. He’s not a festive person, but the buzz within every group he passes, the flickering street lights that add a unique charm to the much brighter and beautiful Christmas lights draping over stores and stalls, and the way every exhale leaves a mist trail is a vibe only a good fix can reward him with. He passes a small “sorry” when his shoulder catches anothers but quickly takes it back when he locks eyes with the person.
“Dude…” Pico sighs, but he ignores the relief that leaves with it. “I’m serious. I’m not messing around tonight. I’m going home.”
Boyfriend finds comfortable pace next to him. “Then I’ll go home with you.” Pico takes a moment to look around him. Notably not a strand of burgandy hair in sight. “Annnnd your girlfriend? You’re a pretty shitty boyfriend if you left her back there.”
“Nah. I told her I’ll be hanging with you tonight. She was cool with it.”
Pico paused mid stride. “Turn right back around right now, I’m deadass.”
Boyfriend shoots him an innocently puzzled look. “Honest! She was gonna ditch me soon anyway. Girls night.” He swings his arm over Pico’s shoulder. “So we’re having boys night.”
Pico nudges Boyfriend’s arm off him. “I didn’t consent to this.”
“You didn’t say no?”
“You do know what consent is right?” Pico deadpans.
“ Obviously I’m just trying to irk you, c’mon.” Boyfriend moves him forward, nudging his side playfully.
“Not the best strategy to convince me not to ditch you too.” Pico finds his mask slipping. A crack big enough for a smile to fit.
“Yeah. Good luck with that.” Boyfriend’s smile is small, eyes closed and lacking its usual charm. This is when Pico notices the dips under Keith’s eyes. Lines he cant differentiate between tiredness or smile lines. Guilt slinks through Pico.
“So, any pitstops?” Boyfriend scans the area. Pico can just barely catch his nostrils flaring, picking up the scent of the nearest food truck.
The red head kicks a rock. “I’ve got food at home.”
“Sweet. I’m broke.”
“I know.”
The rest of the way was silent but comfortable, accompanied by Philly’s racket and buster. It’s on this journey that Pico gets the time to truly process the changes to the taller of the two. Besides his freakish growth spurt and untracked teeth, he’s developed a new habit of whistling to nothing in particular. Random notes with seemingly no interconnection. Humming and bobbing his head to background music only he can hear.
They don’t go longer than ten minutes without Boyfriend dapping up people Pico has never met. Philly’s basketball court regulars, convenience store worker taking out the trash, middle aged man on a skateboard dressed like a 1960’s druggie, and a fuck load more. When Pico asks Boyfriend, he shortly says “Some are school friends.” before trailing off and never elaborating. Going down a wildly different tangent not even the smidge bit relevant to his question. While Boyfriend info dumps on cheese, Pico’s mind sticks pinned, curious of Boyfriend’s school life after moving from Philly.
He cant explain it, but there’s this feeling, short and fleeting, that you get before unlocking the door for someone who’s never been to your home before. No one talks about it. No memes, no random side comments in vlogs or anything, so it must just be a ‘him’ thing. Time slows as you fiddle with the key hole like a bottom bitch and you’re left wondering; “What are they expecting?” “I look fucking stupid right now, why won’t it fit? (that’s what she said.)” “Is my house ready for visitors? Crap I forgot to fold the laundry.” And as the door unlocks the anxiousness sweeps away with it. This time isn’t any different.
The cool air to his home welcomes him warmly, almost to tell him “You’ve done so much. Relax, you’ve earned it.” And shit he truly has, because what the hell is Boyfriend even doing here? Placing the plastic bag of groceries on the countertop, Pico waves towards the rest of his flat. “Make yourself at home.”
Kicking off his shoes, Boyfriend crashes on the couch with very little grace. “Mhm.”
He groans. “My legs are so fucking sore.”
“How’d you even afford this place anyway?” Boyfriend rolls onto his back, creating images out of the popcorn ceiling.
“Darnell’s parents and I pay rent, Nene pays a few bills here and there, tch or whenever she feels like it.” Boyfriend has already made his way towards Darnell’s room, peeking the door open. A fairly standard bedroom, albeit lacking clutter unlike the living room. The bedroom’s wall colour is obscured by hundreds of posters that seems to be a mix of both Pico and Darnell’s music taste. A little bit of pop, a lot of rap, a bit of metal head sprinkled here and there. A healthy bit of everything like true music lovers. He’s pretty sure he spies a country singer or two even.
Across from the bed there’s a mixing table, and above that a poster of a burning house and what appears to be a sinkhole in the middle of a large town. Its civilian’s burned like charcoal falling into its hellfire. Boyfriend closes the bedroom door with a satisfied nod.
“There’s only two rooms though?”
Pico twists the cylinder cap they use to store linguine pasta closed. “I sleep on the couch bed when Darnell is here.” Pico juts his chin towards his and Darnell’s bedroom. “I get the bed when he’s back at his parents.” Boyfriend joins him at the opposite side of the counter top, sprawling his limbs over and dragging the grocery bag towards himself.
“Why don’t you share the bed?” Boyfriend wiggles his eyebrows while passing Pico the hotdogs. The older rolls his eyes, wedging it between salami and a defrosting pound (rock) of pulled pork on the second shelf. “Apparently I’m not great company. Bad sleeping habits. I sleeptalk, and sleepkick. Sleeppunch. I pack a mean punch.”
“Oh yeah?” The taller snickers, raising from his slouched position. “I don’t remember that.”
“Yeah I dunno when I picked that up. I randomly sit up in bed with one eye open multiple times a night and I’m impossible to wake up.”
“Not gonna lie that is a bit creepy. Can’t imagine Darnell’s first night.” Boyfriend ends his sentence with a “LOL”
“Ask him and he will go on about it for an hour. When I used to stay at his back in Highschool, He had a super important interview for college in the morning. I think he low-key still holds a grudge over it.”
“What? Did he fail?”
“Nah, ‘barely’ he said, but he slept through half his test later. Tanked his overall score in chemistry. Top of his class nerd. He claims the rest of his day was a curse sent by Nemesis the Greek god or whatever. Now he has some weird hyperstition that it’s linked to sleeping next to me.”
“Dang, that sucks.” Boyfriend pauses. At the bottom of the grocery bag, is a mini tub of over the counter capsules. Discreetly turning it over, the label reads ‘quetiapine’.
“Not really, I prefer having my own bed anyways.”
Boyfriend pushes the tub back to the very bottom. “I’m pretty sure you actually liked having a bed partner.” Pico directs Boyfriend to the drawer containing the display bowl for fruits. He begins placing granny apples. “You were super cuddly and insanely difficult to unlatch.”
“Maybe a lot has changed since then,” Pico redirects his attention to refilling the coffee pot. “,Slender-man.”
“Should I be offended? My height is a hit with the ladies I’ll have you know...” Boyfriend shimmys past Pico with the fruit bowl. “Shrimp.”
“Fuck you.”
After packing groceries away, Pico brings what’s left to the bathroom. When he returns he calls out to boyfriend over his shoulder, swinging the fridge open. “Leftover Pizza or Nene’s half eaten Lasagna?”
Boyfriend then peaked over the couch. “I thought you had food at home?”
“Uh… yeah? And I said, ‘Pizza or Lasagna?’ Clean your ears.”
Boyfriend pathetically flops back on the couch. “I thought you mean’t like you were gonna cook food. Like a home cooked meal.”
“Yeah, no. That was the original plan but I couldn’t be bothered to make another stop across town. Blame yourself, our conversations drained whatever was left of my energy today.” Pico half heartedly throws the pizza into the microwave. “Pray your girlfriend leaves some leftovers.”
“Ughhh, no she’s staying at Carol’s. Whitty will eat everything.” He drawls out ‘everything’ for emphasis. There’s nothing more despairing to Boyfriend than being deprived on slow home cooked meals. Which means he must always be in despair, considering he can’t cook fuck all.
“Tough.” The microwaves beeps.
Boyfriend huffs and groans some more, tossing onto his left side to watch the TV. “Whys your TV so small?”
Pico shrugs “Meh, barely use it to watch anything so why bother.” He places the plate of leftover pizza slices on the slightly off balanced coffee table and motions Boyfriend to scoot over, plopping down next to him and stretching his legs over the coffee table. It leans a little. Boyfriend props his elbow on the arm rest, leaning his head into his palm. “It’s also a nice retro feel for the n64.”
“Still.” Boyfriend hums. “Would be nice.” His words sound slow and muffled due to both tiredness and his cheek being squished. “That’s probably the first thing I’d do with a lotta money.”
Pico laughs. Actually laughs. Boyfriend’s eyebrow raises with his head. “What’s got you giggling. I don’t recall telling you my latest knock knock joke.” Despite the sarcasm, Boyfriend can’t help when the corner of his mouth quirks upwards. He takes the rare and quickly fleeting sound and pockets it.
Pico’s laugh dies down, but his shoulders still jitter faintly. “A TV? Dude are you for real? What about a house so at least then you could put your 1.2mm width TV in it.” Pico shakes his head. “God you have not changed. I hope for the both of you that it isn’t you who’ll do your taxes.”
“Ha ha ha. Okay big shot, what did you buy first for your ‘new’ home?”
Pico goes quiet and Boyfriend yawns. When ten seconds pass and Boyfriend fights and just barely wins dozing off, he quirks his head towards Pico. He looks contemplative.
Pico concedes. “Yeah, whatever.” He switches channels.
Boyfriend grins, but it’s sloppy. “Ha. Hypo-shit. Hypocrite. I bet you got something just as stupid.”
Pico flicks through some more channels, eventually stopping at a bake-off. Boyfriend’s eyes widen as the preppy hosts announce this round’s theming.
“You watch the great-british bake off? Duuude.”
“Shut up, are you nine? What, are you gonna tell me I can’t wear pink either?” Pico turns his head. “Oh wait that’s right. You already did.”
“Firstly, no I didn’t. And second, No dude— I mean yes- no I mean obviously you can but no that’s not what I was saying.” Boyfriend sluggishly fixes his posture on the couch, lifting his right leg onto it, diagonally facing Pico and the TV. “,,,I’m just saying it’s not what I expected.”
Silence hangs and Pico chews at his curiosity. “What do you mean by that?” He takes a slice of the quickly hardening pizza and dips it in complimentary garlic sauce.
“Well like,,,” Boyfriend takes a moment to gather his thoughts. The woman on TV demonstrates her ideas to make a cake based on her first date with her husband 12 years ago, mixed with their favourite ice cream flavours.
“You were bright eyed and… stuff— not in a SpongeBob type of way— Always spoke what you thought, believed in, spoke for those who couldn’t. Pretty popular with everyone. Like everybody had a problem with everybody in that fucking school.” They both chuckled.
Pico sucks his teeth. “Oh yeahhhh. Remember Cass and Nene on picture day?”
“I really didn’t think she was serious. I still cant believe it, where were the teachers?”
“Hell if I know. Probably a smoke break? They were shitting bricks trying to explain to Nene and Cass’s parents why their kids went to school with a full head of hair and came back bald.” Pico chews on the crust, his favorite part, nostalgic for Nene’s bright red face, a ticking time bomb, as she slammed the cafeteria doors open threatening anyone and everyone with kitchen knives. Alucard pissed himself as Nene shook him like a rag doll, blackmailing him if he didn’t tell her where Cass had skiddled off to.
Boyfriend cackles, wiping a tear. He calms down shortly after, feigning seriousness. “I could’ve done something.”
“Balls. You’d be looking back at your 7th grade yearbook and wishing you hadn’t done jack. Why? because you would’ve been bald too. This is the good end. Trust.”
Boyfriend cackles once again, shaking his head. “You right. You right.”
“Anyways— what was I saying?” Boyfriend drums the arm rest with his fingers. “Oh yeah. Right. You kinda went from this all approachable guy to pretty reserved. It was hard getting much out of you if you weren’t already acquainted. And even then…” Boyfriend trails off.
Pico watches as the excited woman whips her batter into shape. His clutch on the remote tightens.
Low hanging silence envelops them whole. To Pico it wraps and squeezes him full, choking him directly from his lungs.
A few minutes pass and Boyfriend has seemingly dropped the conversation just before it had even started.
‘ Something. Anything. Say anything damnit. ’ Pico wracks his brain, his pride, his anxieties, to loosen their grip on him.
“Can I just… say… something?”
Pico’s head spins as he turns to face his past and he swears he sees double. “Sure.”
“You don’t gotta answer. That’s totally fine.” The younger finds a loose thread, picking, pulling and wrapping it around his pinkie.
A strangled cough finds its way out before his sentence. “What made you wanna break things off?” He stammers. “I never got a straight answer.”
Pico’s ears ring. “Well,,,” a quip at the tip of his tongue.
Boyfriend looks at him. “No jokes.” His eyes glaze aimlessly around the room, decidedly focusing on the bend by the corner of the rug, pushed by shuffling between couch and feet. “We can just drop it.”
“No I…“ Pico shuts his voice down before his mouth even begins to close. He watches as his old friend’s leg bounces faintly.
“You know I’m bad at this.”
“We’ve got all the time in the world.”
The contestants cheer as their opponent is awarded first place for her ice cream ‘date’ cake. The TV’s light blinking liveliness into the dimmed room.
The crowd’s filled with loved ones roar with pride, overlapping and overlapping and overlapping till context disconnects. They’re no different from screams.
“Nothing made sense. And— and I don’t mean us I mean…“ Pico exasperatedly raises his arms up, laying them on his head. His hand digs into his hair. “Me.”
Pico’s frustration grows, his eyebrows knitting closely together. He raises from the couch, accidentally knocking the coffee table’s balance to its other side. Boyfriend prevents it from thudding back with his leg.
“And I don’t mean that; ‘it’s not you it’s me!’ sappy bullshit. I really really believed we could do the long distance, Keith.” His voice wavers and he hesitates. He’d been rushing his sentences, like he had minutes, seconds before his lungs collapsed from within. His chest burned. Ached.
“Everything, in here “ he points to his head. “— is so, so screwed up, Keith.”
“Pico, you know I would’ve stuck by you no matter what. No matter what you needed. You know that. I told you that. As partners, friends—“
“That’s not why I broke things off, boyfriend.”
He sucks in a breath. ”I knew you’d be right by my side no matter what and I didn’t want you getting hurt by me.”
“You wouldn’t do that.”
“I didn’t know that anymore.” Pico lifted his head from his hands … “ Fuck Keith,, I was pulling guns out in the middle of class.” Pico drops onto the couch. “When you moved schools I was in and out of the mental hospital because I was ‘planning safety precautions for future alien invasions’ in the back of our school playgrounds. No one knew what to do with me because it actually happened. It was ludicrous and all real at the same time. It only heightened and justified my hallucinations. The first day I was admitted I was convinced they breached the school and aimed at our new subs’s head.”
“Sometimes I think, If I could go back… if I just skipped. Took the day off with you then… maybe…” Pico tears away from Boyfriend’s eyes.
“They hang plaques. ‘Philly’s Middle School Hero.’” Pico scoffs. “Stupid title. but”
“The death toll would’ve been higher, wouldn’t it’ve?” Pico stitches together a smirk. Picking at his cuticles.
“I think, no matter how you spin it, my cards were unfair from the get go.” Pico lets a solemn laugh go. “It could’ve been worse.”
Pico bends forward on the couch, interlocking his fingers, palms exposed. “Back then nothing felt,,, present. I wasn’t there. I was constantly on auto pilot, and the AI was whack and prone to malfunctioning constantly.” He somehow gains the confidence or strength to read whatever expression Boyfriend has for him. Sympathy, pity, pain, anger. Whatever it could be.
“I’m sorry I couldn’t tell you this. I’m sorry I couldn’t ‘ve been better.”
Boyfriend shakes his head defiantly. “It hurt, it really did. I thought we were going so well, yknow? despite how much you went MIA. I missed you so much on those days that sometimes I’d get mad at you even though I knew you were going through so much. I just wanted you to talk to me. I wondered if I was enough. I wanted to be enough.” Boyfriend leans straighter, pushing closer on the couch, knees brushing. “When we broke up, that confirmed it to me. I wasn’t.”
Pico remembered how the rain mocked him that day. His hoodie was ill equipped to handle the downpour. He barely made attempts to avoid puddles, the hems of his jeans dripping, dip dyed in rain water.
Splashes rapidly approach him. Their hand clasping his shoulder and whirring him around.
Boyfriend’s tear strained face tries to read Pico’s. It hasn’t had a lush of life in months. His long side swept bangs thinning and sticking to his forehead. Boyfriend’s words rang like unclear lyrics with poor audio mixing drowning it out.
Boyfriend’s hand slinks down Pico’s arm, gently securing his hand in his own.
Pico shakes his head. Yesterday’s rain dissipating. “Nah. Don’t think like that. You were more than enough. I just had a lot going on. I’m sorry we couldn’t have had this conversation earlier.”
“Life happens dude.” Boyfriend nudges his side.
“You really like pushing me around. You think cuz now you’ve got a head on me you can start manhandling me too?” Pico sticks an elbow into Boyfriend’s side and he yelps, cupping it and buckling over. Pico’s eyes widen. “Oh shit I’m so sorry- Are you okay? I didn’t mean for that to hurt…”
“Fuck.” Boyfriend rocks next to him. “Don’t sweat it. Christ, Remind me to never make an enemy out of you.”
Pico fakes what seems to be a sneer. “Just don’t invite yourself over next time. I need prep time.”
Boyfriend sniggers. “Yeah you do.”
“You’re disgusting.”
Rustling picks up from the front door and after a bit of jank twisting on the door knob, it flies open. Pico rolls his eyes and sighs, deflating into the couch. “I was really looking forward to the bed tonight.”
Boyfriend twists his head towards his new sources of entertainment, propping his elbow over the couch. Darnell flicks on the overhead light to the apartment, Nene poking her head from behind him. “Oh looky here! Did you finally take my advice to sex your feelings away?”
Darnell snaps his head to Nene and back at Pico comically. “Like hell he would. Not on OUR bed. We promised.”
”Jesus, FUCK no.” Pico slaps a hand over his eyes, groaning. “I didn’t.”
”Well just because he promised doesn’t mean he won’t?” And Darnell is already power walking towards their bedroom. “What’s stopping him from lying?” Nene continues, stirring the overcooked pot.
“You’re not gonna find anything there!” Pico yells over Nene, springing into action from his spot next to Boyfriend. Nene follows right behind, slamming the door closed.
”Because he already cleaned it all up!” Boyfriend delightfully yells after the murderous trio from his ‘row F’ theatre seat. He’d be munching on popcorn if he had any.
Bickering only escalating, the door yanks open banging the wall, revealing Pico with a comfortingly familiar set of furrowed brows. His eyes meanly slit. “You. Out. Now.”
“Going! Thanks for having me over!” Boyfriend hops over the couch, the safer route (away from Pico’s reach) , and hastily shoves his shoes on, nearly tripping over himself in the process. “Thanks for the food!” The door slams shut, rattling loosely hanging items in the apartment.
Beneath his floor, a baby whales, shortly leading with a justifiably angry lady hammering their floorboards with a broom. She kindly tells them to shut the fuck up, but Pico barely hears it over his hysteric roommate flipping over furniture and a pathological liar he unfortunately calls lifelong friends.