You've Got This, McCoy

Christmas Spirit Weighs a Fuckton

"I'll go, but my mom says I can't get ice cream because it'll give me gas," Abby said with a flat face.

I narrowed my eyes at the table after looking at her slice of cheese pizza on her tray. "Okay, sure. Sure, Abby."

Linus rolled his eyes. "Ya gasbag."

Abby threw her paper napkin at him, full of that fuckin' disgusting pizza grease that somehow didn't seem to add any more onto Linus's already greased up skin.

It landed next to A.W. as he batted it, and before I knew it I was spitting out the damn thing, hitting him in the shoulder and calling him a 'fuckwad'.

My friends' laughter died out around me as they looked at a figure behind me. The back of my neck was stinging– Panic hit me like it shouldn't have, and as I looked around I swear

I almost hit him too: Mr. Greg.

"Mr. McCoy, seeing as this is a mixed cafeteria, I'm warning you: watch your mouth."

I rubbed at my burning neck. For some reason, I wanted to hit him even more now with his hipster glasses right in my face– I could take him, too. We were the same short height at 5'7. I replied instead, "Sorry, Mr. Lewitt." I'd leave the fighting to A.W.. Sitting back on the green bench, I leaned my face into my hand, glaring at A.W. still goofing off to my right. "I could have ratted you out, you know."

He threw on what little charm he had, the big dork, and slid closer to me, straddling the gap between out perpendicular benches (hah. Geometry.) slipping an arm around my shoulder, landing a quick discreet kiss to my ear, like he was whispering something. "You wouldn't do that to me, Pumpkin, would you?"

Thank God I was getting used to this. "Yes." The table was crowing at my blank expression as A.W. pulled back.

Hannah twirled her pasta with too much class to be sitting with the likes of us, saying, "Better treat that boyfriend better, A.W."

The both of us froze– no, not froze... It was a warm kind of frozen, a pleasant shock that had made a small smile come to my face and a tingle start up in my stomach. I mean, it was true: we were boyfriends. But it had never been... We hadn't really called ourselves that.

A.W. had this stupid half smile on his face, and Declan groaned, "You just made them even more hideously lovey-dovey, look!"

"What? No! Stoppit!" I tried, slamming my fists on the table.

A.W. earned a disgusted sigh from our friends as he slipped his hand around mine and brought it back down to his knee under the table. "Easy does it, Milo."

I snapped to him, "Easy–" I just had to let it out on a sigh. I noticed everyone was still looking. "... QUIT THAT!"

Lunchtime chaos resumed without us in the spotlight.

Though my hand was still on A.W.'s knee. And his hand was holding mine.

Nevertheless, it took me by surprise when he said quietly to me, almost like he was being forced to– by himself– "Sorry, Muffin," and squeezed my hand a little tighter for the moment.

This guy...

I could count on my two hands the number of times I'd heard that one word come out of his mouth– And count on one the number of times he'd meant it. Looking back on it, I think he got how panicked I was. It was a leftover remnant of what we'd been through together, heightened reactions and all that.

If I could have kissed him without pulling attention our way again, I would have. But I do have to say... I was tempted.

I bought him an extra bag of hot cheetos before lunch ended, and we shared them in Physics after, taking turns showing each other videos while Ms. Tomball was behind her desk.