Chapter Text
Ralph closed and locked the store door for the evening. Despite everything going on recently, they were in relatively stable condition, at least for the foreseeable future. They had arrived with pence and fear, but now thrived in the small walled store in a slowly recovering Freeside.
He sighed as he unbuttoned the neck of his overshirt; it had kinda dug into his neck all day. He had gained a couple of pounds and needed to find something more comfortable. He walked through the half-empty shelves, sporadically stocked with some empty spots from what customers had purchased that day, and opened the door, locking it behind him before walking up the stairs.
He heard the sink running in their bathroom and the sound he had become familiar with: Mick combing his hair after shaving off his shadow.
“I think I need to see Sergio again. Ever since that man arrived with the Kings, man, he’s been the only one to keep my hair in style.”
Ralph chuckled as he approached the bathroom, standing in the doorway.
“Hey, I did what I could. Rotface taught me what he could.”
Mick twisted around, a grin on his face.
“Oh yeah? What’s an oldie like him know about hair fashion? He doesn’t even have hair—”
“Anymore.”
“Anymore. That guy hasn’t had any in at least fifty years.”
“Yeah, so what? Do you want me to ask every person that walks into the store, ‘Hey, Freeside stranger, I know we just met, but my co-founder needs some help with his flamboyant hairstyle that needs cutting. You wouldn’t happen to know the almost non-practical skill of cutting hair well, would you?’”
“Hey man, you never know.”
“Oh, fuck off.”
Ralph, the entire time, was using his hands to communicate. That was a quirk Mick always noticed when he really got into it for the bit, even going so far as to put on his “I’m speaking to the customer” voice as he reenacted a hypothetical conversation with Mick, causing them both to giggle softly, especially at Mick’s dry reaction.
“Hey, I’ll tell you what, why don’t you come with me next time I see Sergio? I know you don’t like people touching your hair, but y’know, I think he’d be willing to give it a bit of style if I asked, even if you like to keep it long.”
Ralph paused as he listened, stepping into the kitchen. As nice as it was for Mick to offer, he didn’t know if he would be comfortable with anyone but him even touching it. Mick was the only real exception, like that time Ralph thought he had head lice and needed it picked out, though most times it was only for practical reasons.
“Maybe, but probably not.”
“Hey, I get it, man, no worries. Sergio is a cool guy and all. I don’t think he’d have a problem bringing you into his cave.”
Mick chuckled, but there was that ping in his stomach again. He didn’t really know if it was because he was hungry — hence why he was in the kitchen — or if it was jealousy, but he rolled it off for now.
“I think I need you to make another buy order with Cassidy Caravan next time they stop by...”
Mick was confused, finally stepping out of the bathroom now that he was done, turning off the light behind him.
“For what in particular?”
“Some clothes in extra-extra-large sizes. I think I’m putting on some weight.”
He said it with some shame. Mick had a soft grin on his face as he waltzed into the kitchen, looking through the fridge at the meat, which was from some farm out west that was apparently trying to bring back a pre-war animal called a “pig.” Its meat was good, albeit very fatty. Otherwise, they had leftovers.
Mick felt like spoiling them after a long day, so he closed the fridge door and opened the freezer, pulling out the plate with frozen, uncooked brahmin steak cuts.
“Well, unfortunate for you then. Look at what I got recently from the shipment last week.”
“What— oh, oh damn, how did I not see it in there?”
“I dunno, but how do you feel about making this tonight?”
“Sure, but what about—”
Ralph began to say, but Mick interrupted unintentionally after resting the steak on the counter.
“Oh yes, the clothes. Don’t worry.”
He said as he patted Ralph’s back.
“Can always count on me.” Ralph smiled, a lazy one as he grabbed a cast-iron that was hanging up, placing it down as he grabbed some butter from the fridge, despite everything they do that they rightfully get hate for, those brahman barons definitely make dairy products available throughout the wasteland, and that was something he could be thankful for. He threw some into the pan and prepared for cooking for the evening. He wasn’t exactly the best, but y’know what they say, never trust a skinny cook, and compared to Mick, he was a godsend.
Meanwhile, Mick grabbed the radio nearby, turning it on to Mojave radio. He liked Mr. New Vegas quite a bit, but he just wasn’t feeling it that evening, and Ralph wouldn’t mind that much either, even if, to use Ralph's words, he could listen to him like the sounds of the night. He smiled at that memory; he had many of those small memories with Ralph that, for some reason, pinged in his mind at the smallest and oddest situations. He was selling ammunition to this one guy that looked like Ralph this one time, while he was upstairs sick, and he almost called him Ralph a couple of times. A funny memory in hindsight, but definitely not in the moment.
Ralph stumbled by and right downstairs as the steak seared, which confused Mick. He walked to his half of the bed, hand gripping the butt of his lever-action shotgun as he leaned forward, prepared for any confrontation. Maybe Ralph had heard something downstairs? But he didn’t hear confrontation, that's when he heard the rushing up the stairs, he was ready to whip around and run down if there was an intruder in the store. Luckily, Ralph just scurried by after shutting and locking both doors, running back to the steak, with something concealed from Mick’s view. He got curious, letting go of his shotgun and walking to the kitchen.
“What you got there, Ralph?”
He asked, in an accusatory voice, like he caught a kid stealing cookies from the cookie jar. Ralph looked over, the biggest shit-eating grin on his face as he turned around, exposing a luxury bottle of wine, a couple shots empty as he poured a tiny bit on the steak.
“Ralph, that shit is from the Ultra-Luxe?”
“Yeah! Some fuckin’ guy who, might I add, was clearly down on his luck, sold it to me for a hundred caps, said he lost it on the Strip and needed some cash to make it back to California, that he managed to smuggle it out in a drunken stupor.”
“Lordy lordy, if you bought it for us to drink, why the hell are you putting it on the steak?”
“It’s some kind of cooking trick I saw in one of those cookbooks, supposed to make the steak taste really good… apparently.”
Mick looked at Ralph with the most amused look.
“Welp, if you ruin the steak, that’s on you.”
“Yeah, and if the steak tastes fucking amazing, you only got me to praise.”
Mick chuckled as he grabbed two wine glasses from the cabinet, setting them up on the small dining table they had set up, same with the plates and silverware. He then went into their bedroom, taking off his olive green overshirt and putting it in the hamper they had set up, noticing how packed it was.
“Did you manage to fix the Follower’s washing machine and drying machine?”
“What?”
Ralph yelled out, unable to hear Mick, and he waltzed over.
“I said, did you help the Followers fix their Washing and Dryer Machines?”
Ralph looked over for a moment. He seemed to be ruffled in some way, as Mick noticed the goose bumps across his arms.
“U-Uhm, no, but you can run the storefront tomorrow, and I’ll ask.”
Mick is more than a bit confused by this reaction, but Ralph has done and said weirder stuff; this isn’t exactly too outta character for him.
“Ahh, okay, yeah, sure, no problem.”
He said with a stifled giggle, walking back to the dining room, sitting down at the dining room table, marginally more relaxed in his tank top than he would in his ‘store attire’. He leaned back in the crappy wooden chair, creaking under his light weight, looking out the lightly fogged windows to Freeside and New Vegas, sighing.
“Y’know, I dunno if I’ve ever said it really, but I feel like I’m at home here, more than I ever was in New Reno.”
Ralph looked over, no response, but he just blinked, letting Mick continue as he almost finished the steak and some potatoes that he had roasted up in the meantime.
“I never really left the compound once I found work with the Gun Runners; it was the only place I felt like was safe after I left the Boneyard. I suppose I feel free. I feel like we have a real community here-”
“A really fucked up one?”
“Well, yeah, of course, goes without saying, Ralph.”
Mick chuckled, Ralph only smiled as he finished searing the steak, dicing it in half, bringing the cast iron to the table, making Mick’s plate first before walking to his and doing much the same, bringing it back to the stovetop before sitting down.
“But that's everywhere, I suppose, it’s just less fucked up here.”
Mick said as he looked down at his plate, grabbing the knife and cutting a piece of the steak out, bringing it to his lips, giving it a good whiff before eating it, chewing thoroughly before swallowing. It was kinda sweet, very bloody, just the way he liked it, kinda herbal taste, it was the best thing he’s eaten since those fancy restaurants in New Reno on the rare occasion he left.
“Mnph, simply delectable, you’ve outclassed yourself, Ralph.”
He said as he smacked his lips, looking up with his eyes closed, as if he was staring up to the heavens itself, Ralph was more than smiling a bit, cheeks a soft, rosy color.
“It’s not that big of a deal, the wine and whatever 200-year-old parsley will do.”
He was mid-sentence, doubting himself as Mick shoveled another bite down his throat, throwing his head up once more, exhaling in ecstasy. If Ralph didn’t know any better, he’d think Mick was having an orgasm in front of him.
“Ralph, from now on, I’m gonna have to ask for this, and a size-up of clothes for me too, gonna make sure we eat stuff like this good, even if it goes into the budget.”
Much as Ralph wasn’t amused by the idea of them expending the budget for such frivolous nonsense to him, he was more than happy to see Mick as happy as he was with the cooking; he got a strange flutter in his chest, one he had for a long while up to this point… then he remembered the wine!
“O-Oh, Mick!”
He said as he rushed to get up, Mick flinched, thinking he had done something wrong. That was still, Ralph grabbed the bottle of wine, chuckling.
“I forgot to pour us some wine, I’m sorry.”
He said with a laugh, Mick going from almost scared to just about completely calm, Ralph started with his glass, pouring only a tiny bit. He then waltzed to Mick, who raised his glass.
“Just, lemme know when to stop.”
He said, an eyebrow raised, here treating Mick like some monarch… didn’t sound too bad, actually. He poured what was probably 9 ounces of wine before Mick demanded an end to the flow.
“Stop.”
Ralph ceased almost immediately, walking to the counter and popping the cork back into its place, before coming back, finally beginning to dig into all of the yummy food.
“And thank you, for everything, Ralph, you’ve made life bearable for so long.”
Ralph was more than a bit embarrassed, and flattered by Mick’s remarks as they both devoured the food and drank wine; it was like eating at the Ultra-Luxe, except only now they weren’t trying to live out some rich fantasy about the prewar; they lived in the now, enjoying each other’s company so much, perhaps a bit too much given that Ralph had another small glass of wine, and both drank until they were just a bit inebriated. They joked and laughed for the next hour, slowly eating their potatoes and steak.
Ralph looked at the clock eventually, 10:49 PM. It seemed they stayed up a bit longer than usual, but Ralph wasn’t exceptionally tired; he wanted more time with Mick.
“Welp, I’m done with my plate, basically cleaned it, are you done, Ralph?”
Mick asked as he stacked his silverware onto his completely clean plate, stacking it into the sink. He looked down, mostly the same, only he didn’t lick it clean.
“I suppose so, what's gonna do the dishes?”
“Well, at least I could do it for you, after you made a tasty dinner.”
Mick said as he approached, but as he reached down for Ralph’s plate, Ralph grabbed his hand. It wasn’t rough, though; it was gentle, Mick’s smaller hand fitting well into the palm of Ralph’s hand. Admittedly, neither was sober at the moment, so he didn’t pull away; he just stood there while Ralph held his hand.
Ralph was gentle, at first using his thumb to trace over Mick’s, feeling the top of his fingers, before Ralph’s other hand snaked up, not cupping around and feeling the top of Mick’s hand. He felt its bumps, its long-since-healed scratches, and the tiny sensory hairs on the carpuses of his hand, moving up to the wrist, feeling the joints that jutted out.
Mick silently and slowly put the plate he was holding back onto the table, sitting in the 3rd chair they kept at roughly their side of the table for when they had a guest over. They were close enough, their legs almost touching, Mick didn’t really notice, though, as Ralph analyzed his skin, climbing up more to feel Ralph’s fingers softly going up and down Mick’s forearm, grazing the arm hairs, making Mick shiver a bit.
Mick's face was as red as a tomato; he’s never been touched or really analyzed in this sort of way before, maybe by doctors, but never like this. It didn’t feel like he was being checked for something; it just seemed to be a pure observation and feel. Ralph, on the other hand, seemed focused; his cheeks were only softly flushed, his grasp was so gentle, Mick could pull away anytime he wanted, but he didn’t want to. Ralph stopped for a moment, letting go with trembling hands, almost like he was holding his breath. Mick looked up to see Ralph completely red, like he was sun scorched. He pulled away, gulping softly, as if he was almost out of words, neither of them really had that, or coherent thoughts.
“I-I’m sorry…”
Ralph mumbled out, sweating bullets as he stuffed his hands into his lap, slouched over in shame.
“Y-You’re okay…”
Mick didn’t exactly know what to say. This was awkward for him, too. All he really knew how to do was reciprocate. He pulled his chair closer, hand now placed at Ralph's shoulder, and he let out a startled noise, like he was a scared little animal. Mick dug his fingers gently into Ralph’s shoulder, feeling the tense muscles up there, muscles that hadn’t been touched in a meaningful, tension-reducing way for a long time. Ralph groaned as Mick did, thinking it was a good noise. He softly squeezed and kept molding the flesh in his fingers for a short time.
Ralph stopped him with a hand up. Without a word between them, he completely unbuttoned his overshirt, exposing the stained White-T he wore underneath, hugging his plush body. Mick had seen his body many times, the same, the other way around, even naked. But it felt strangely different; it was more than a strange familiarity thing this time, it felt vulnerable, affectionate even. He almost refused to put his hand back, though, trembling softly as his eyes devoured Ralph alive…
“C-Can I… touch?”
Mick asked almost breathlessly, like there was a weight and intensity on his chest that restricted his breathing. Ralph only got up, hovering over Mick. Mick was almost scared. Did he do something wrong? He thought he ruined the atmosphere; that what was happening was wrong, and to be fair, to some extent, he felt that way still. Ralph, though, simply held out his hand, grabbing Mick’s. He got up, his mind a slurry of many thoughts, some more depraved than others, and he didn’t expect as Ralph slowly guided them to the bed, their bed.
Ralph was so conflicted, he wanted this more than anything in the world, and to some extent had for a while. Though at the same time, he didn’t feel worthy, there were many better options, but there was one that screamed out more than others. The loudest of all…
“Michael…”
Ralph called out breathlessly, as Mick was sitting on the bed, Ralph straddling him. Holding onto his shoulders, they stared at each other's faces, far closer than they ever had. Mick is holding onto Ralph’s hips to support him upright, feeling their soft squishiness, but he dared not grope.
“I-Is this okay?”
Ralph asked, having just a moment of clarity, which was before Mick just silently moved in, placing his face into Ralph's neck, just huffing his scent, inhaling it all in as if it was oxygen and he was suffocating, shaking softly as he did so, hands tracing up and down Ralph’s sides starting from his hips up to under his armpits as they traced over those chunky curves.
Ralph could only let his shaky breaths, letting out what could only be described as soft whimpers, as Mick touched his body. But it wasn’t like Ralph was left with nothing to do but be a grope toy; his smile had grown wicked, exhilarated beyond comprehension as his eyes fluttered, feeling Mick’s shoulders and upper neck, hands running and ruining Mick’s fresh comb job.
He then got adventurous, hands going down Mick’s back, sliding forward a bit, torsos rubbing up against each other as he leaned in and put his hands down Mick’s back, even inside of his tank top, feeling the usually cloth-protected skin.
Mick was now pressed up against Ralph; he could feel Ralph’s heftiness on his lap and torso, but he didn’t care, not a little bit, in fact, he wanted to do nothing but rip off Ralph’s clothes right now and feel him. But Mick could barely contain himself; it was like two barely tame animals on breeding season, then he did something he normally wouldn’t… he reached up for Ralph’s hair, wrapped around his neck as he nuzzled Ralph’s chest, insatiable now, needing to smell every part of him. He softly toyed with his hair, curling it in his fingers, lovingly stroking his neck. To Mick's surprise, he didn’t resist or stop as he did; he took that as a green light, stroking his hair. He never knew why Mick was so averse to letting people touch him or his hair specifically; he rarely even got a chance to on accident, never even on purpose, but it was so silky and soft, and that wasn’t even without good shampoo or conditioner they had scavenged from ruins.
That's when both of them realized something; Mick’s top half almost fell completely backwards, though he propped himself up with his forearms on the mattress. Ralph almost completely fell backwards after shooting away, barely saved by falling forward, almost completely on top of Mick. They were both panting violently as they were coming to their senses. Looking down and realizing the strongest and hardest bits of their bodies rubbing up against each other, their bulges, hard as rocks, barely confined by their slacks and jeans respectively. Mick looked horrified, and Ralph looked bemused.
“F-Fuck, I’m sorry, Ralph, I-”
Ralph leaned in, pressing a finger against Mick’s lips, lust-drunk eyes.
“Sh… it’s okay Mick… I-I want this, if you do…”
Mick didn’t know how to respond or what to say; his face turned red. He gulped as he nodded; his mouth felt so dry, his throat too; it felt like his heart was in his throat.
“Y-Yes… I do.”
Ralph didn’t respond, only getting off of Mick’s lap, standing up as he unbuckled his belt, throwing it off before removing his pants. They had been over this song and dance so many times, and yet again, it felt so different by comparison, as if they were crossing a line they would never be able to again, and Mick was okay with that in a weird fucked up piece of his mind. His breath got even drier as he watched Ralph strip tease for him. The final thing he took off was his shirt, leaving him in his chunky, almost completely nude body, the last thing on being his clean undies, though stained with sweat from their close body heat-producing activities.
“I want you…”
Ralph said, it was almost a choked sob, almost like he was begging, his entire body shaking as he stood before Mick, his chunky body so beautiful compared to before, the way his wide, hefty body looked in the light, it was almost enchanting. Mick has slept with some ladies, but even the most beautiful ones were nothing compared to this. Despite Ralph’s stretch marks and what others would call an obese body, there was nothing but more to tenderly caress.
Ralph walked close to the bed, sitting and lying down on his back against the headrest of the wall, opening his legs and curved thighs, exposing his bulge towards Mick, trembling, also as red as a beet.
“T-Touch me… please Mick…”
He pleaded, hands resting crossed on his chest, as if he didn’t know what to do with them. Mick just sat, wordless, mouth agape, and watering with every centimeter of Ralph’s skin he got to see. He finally took off his shoes before crawling across the bed, now sitting between Ralph’s legs, as Ralph wrapped his legs around his hips, pulling him even closer. His shaky hands came in, starting at Ralph's chest as he moved his arms for Mick’s touch, tenderly stroking, brushing the hairs as his fingers trailed down his chest, down the hairs from his chest down to his stomach.
“Y-You’re so soft…”
“No…~”
Ralph said, sounding like a whisper and a whimper all at once, covering his eyes, as if it’d make the embarrassment stop, legs wrapping around Mick even more. Chuckling softly, Mick’s hands finally land on Ralph’s tummy, lovingly stroking it, fingers trailing up and down his stretch marks.
“Yes, you are, so soft and squishy, but that’s okay… I… I like it…”
Mick said with a chuckle, as he lovingly stroked for a while. All Ralph could do was whimper and moan as he was molded like dough, biting his bottom lip as he continued to hide his view from Mick’s face, that was, until he felt Mick’s gentle grip grab them from.
“Ralph…”
“Mnnnn…”
“Look at me…”
Mick was so close that Ralph could barely feel his warm breath against his hands. He let out a trembled sigh as he moved his hands, staring right into Mick’s deep blue eyes, those damn eyes.
“Hi…”
Mick said with a smile that could convince anyone to do anything in the world, but Mick could feel his face getting violently warm.
“H-Hi.”
He weakly muttered, hands climbing onto Mick’s shoulders, but his arms felt like wet noodles. It was more than obvious up to this point, but Ralph was giving himself to Mick; he never had this with anyone else. Up till now, as much as Mick was his best friend in the whole wide world (though he’d never admit it), he never felt like he could completely put 100% faith in the hands of Mick and believe they’d make it out the other side completely unharmed, that was for some reason, up till now, when it finally clicked.
“I… I need you, Michael…”
“I know… I… there's nothing in the world I want more… than you…”
“Ralphie…”
“Michael…”
Then it came like a soaring freight train; their lips pressed together. Ralph moaned into Mick’s mouth, feeling his arms wrap around his torso, locking them together in this moment of passion, barely able to resist as Mick took control of his mouth, the taste of the wine lingering more than anything else from that night, but that didn’t matter to either of them as they traded saliva, they wanted more of each other, locked and latched onto each other like bonded super glue. They wanted nothing more than each other at the moment.
Mick growled and groaned into Ralph’s mouth as their tongues wrapped around each other, attempting to conquer the most space in each other’s mouths as aggressively as possible. The moment they took a breath was when Mick took off his shirt to expose more of his skinny, less hairy body, and his pants with the belt too, leaving him almost bare, with little exception in what could only be described as a jock strap.
Ralph broke the kiss finally, both panting like they never had before, yet so close together, stealing what little oxygen was between their faces, his eyes welled with tears.
“R-Ralph… are you okay?”
Mick asked, placing a hand on Ralph’s face, much to his revulsion as Ralph moved his head away, almost sobbing uncontrollably, much to Mick’s heartbreak and dismay.
“Did I-I hurt you? Oh God, I’m sorry-”
He began to say, almost throwing himself off of Ralph, despite him being the one to initiate, he didn’t wanna make Ralph uncomfortable by any means.
“No… I… I’m sorry…”
He choked out, lying in front of Mick, compressed into a ball in a horrible attempt at a fetal position.
“For what?”
Mick asked, there was a soft chuckle in there, but it wasn’t intentional, a nervous tick he had for a long time was to laugh in stressful scenarios, especially one where your best friend of 4ish years and co-owner of your store suddenly demands your affection.
“I-I dunno, I’m sorry.”
“Ralph… it’s okay-”
“N-No it’s not…”
He whimpered out, sulking. Mick got close again, only to his side.
“Ralph…”
Mick softly called out. He didn’t know what to do, really. But there was one thing that helped Mick all the time; he never forgot it, especially after that night in the Vault City desert, a night he didn’t like to remember very often, but one memory stuck out.
Ralph suddenly felt Mick's hands wrap around him, pulling him closer. He was scared for a moment before feeling his head and face against Mick’s chest, Mick’s arms wrapping around his torso, locking him into the gentlest, warmest hug he’s ever felt. While it calmed his immediate nerves, the emotions only worsened, wrapping his arms around Mick, holding on desperately, as if he were holding on for dear life.
“I’m sorry…”
Ralph chanted under his breath, tears rolling down his face onto Mick’s torso, forming a tiny puddle, the soft thumping of Mick’s chest and his breathing only aided in the calming cradle that Mick held him in.
“Ralphie… you’re okay, y-you’re… safe.”
Mick let out with a tremble in his voice; it wasn’t just nice for Ralph to hear those words, to some extent, Mick needed to hear them from himself. Of course, nowhere would ever be completely safe, not in a world like this, unless you lived in the most gated community in the world, like those NCR barons. But with Ralph with him, anywhere could’ve been home; he was truthful when he said he wanted nothing more than Ralph, but he didn’t truly understand until now. They escaped death together. Ralph wasn’t the target of the Van Graffs that fateful night; he was only a contract that was hired to break into the bunker.
There was no shame in his leaving, even before Kai and Mick wanted him to. Ralph saved him two more times, once in the bunker and that fateful night, even if it meant poor Kai passed away in the defense of them as they fled, even if that’s what he wanted. Even when he could’ve easily left after ruining what little Ralph had established in Vault City, he chose to stick around Mick, followed him across just about halfway across Nevada to New Vegas, and even with all of that, he still chose to follow.
Mick owed Ralph nothing but the world to him, and despite that, here Ralph was, sobbing into Mick’s chest, as if he owed anything to him. He couldn’t say this all, he never could… but he could try.
“Ralphie… look at me.”
He said, ever so gently placing his hand on the side of Ralph’s face, to no resistance this time. Slowly anchoring his face to look at Micks, he smiled, softly dragging his thumb against Ralph's cheekbones, moving his hair outta his beautiful hazel eyes. He inhales deeply, exhaling just as so, he couldn’t say it yet, but he felt it in his trembling heart.
“I… want you too…”
That was an understatement, but he was never a wordsmith, despite his words that would put a silver-tongued snake oil salesman to shame with his guns.
Ralph’s eyes glistened with life, a smile growing on his face as he leaned into Mick’s stroking hand. He had grown up with just about nothing and a mother who only cared enough to remember his name. When she died, he was alone for many years in the scrapyard, the only friends being ever robots he fixed to work for a couple of weeks, or rarely a couple of months at a time. Or even rarer, traders that came by and bought the garbage that people had sold to him for caps in the single digits. It was only when he got older, and someone offered to buy the scrapyard, that he really talked to people, none of whom liked him for being antisocial.
Even if it was just a job, it was the only time he felt wanted, as he belonged somewhere, if for even a moment, before the Van Graffs came. He felt obligated to help Mick; he wanted to stick around for the only person he felt never pressured to be anyone but his unadulterated self. Even coming to New Vegas, forming a weird coalition family with all of those locally in Freeside, friends like the King, Francine Garret, and even Rotface, despite the rocky start, he felt nothing but an undying loyalty to Mick.
He sought nothing but his approval and ultimately attention; he never realized he wanted to be the only one Mick saw as a romantic partner, especially after that night in the Atomic Wrangler. Seeing Mick walking off with some hussy who didn’t know a thing about him filled him with an unimaginable anger that he couldn’t roll off, a feeling not too dissimilar to when they had first met in that bar oh so long ago. There was a faint thought, ‘what if you didn’t get kicked out of that casino that night?’, he almost immediately smothered it; that wasn’t a life he wanted or needed to consider.
He crawled up Mick’s chest, lying his head right beside Mick’s. He was right next to his ear, wrapping his arms around Mick’s neck.
“I’m not letting go…”
“That’s okay, Ralph… I know…”
“I can’t live without you, Mick… I…”
He began to mutter, but couldn’t make himself finish the sentence as the words just fell out, and he had no more. Mick seemed to understand, though, despite not looking at each other. They sat quietly for a while, attempting to just process everything that had just happened, with each other. Time passed like sweeping dirt; needless to say, it felt endless and like it never passed, every second feeling like an eternity in each other’s grasp, and rubbed up against each other.
Eventually, Ralph was the one to stop, rising from Mick, who had fallen asleep, sleeping so deeply. Ralph felt just a little selfish, grabbing the sheets and pulling them over both of them, before lying back on top of Mick. Sighing contentedly as he shifted down to Mick’s chest, using it like a pillow. He listened to his thumping heart and soft breathing; it sounded like the night.