FATE [BxB]

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It's morning. Or evening. Or night. There's one thing Juleo Cuevas is sure of: his ass is freezing and he needs to get himself a warm cup of anything.

He stumbles out of his rusty car, teeth chattering as a cold breeze moves through his threadbare clothes. A bright yellow gas station sign glows against the darkening sky.

His hands are shaking, almost melting into the imaginary warmth. God, he is just a few freezing steps away from the store.

On his second last step before he can cross the threshold of the dingy store, Juleo's back connects with the ground.

He lets out a cry at the cold seeping into his body and Ow, his bones hurt!

A pale hand reaches out and Juleo takes it indignantly, glaring at the stranger.

Electricity courses through him, wanting to let go but not let go at the same time. His heart's being pulled forward and he swears he feels all the blood rush to the hand connecting them. He isn't going mad... is he?

Strings of apology flutters into his ears but Juleo can't focus on the soft voice. The hand he had been offered was warm. And he wants nothing more than to attach himself to it. In fear of looking like a creep, he hastily lets the warmth go.

"I'm so sorry– I should have– Are you okay?"

There is a barely audible accent in between his words, something most people wouldn't have noticed but Juleo did because he's built different.

He waves the concerns away, dusting his jeans, cracking a smile. "It's nothing."

The boy, who couldn't be much older than him, stares at the wayward locks of hair that fly in front of Juleo's face.

"I'm really–"

"It's okay," Juleo strains his voice to mimic the boy's, smiling just a little when he gets a snicker out of him.

"Alright, I'm just gonna continue doing what I was doing before you decided to break my tailbone." The tan boy grins, not letting the awkward silence that settles between them linger too long.

The boy blushes, nodding and making vague hand gestures before dipping his head. "Yeah, um, see you around?"

"Yeah."

Juleo feels a tug in his heart when he sees the faint pink lips stretch. And damn him if he doesn't miss the warmth in his hands.

"You know him?" The blond asks, back turned to Juleo, as he fumbles with the drawers. The tips of his hair are a fading blue. A rash decision, he had said when his friends laughed at the disaster of a dye job.

A steaming half empty (or half full, depending how you look at it of course) cup of coffee is placed in front of Juleo.

"Keen eye, Roggy,"

"You were romancing right in front of the CCTV, for your info." He rolls his blue eyes, slamming the drawers shut, holding a neon green lighter between his thumb and index finger.

"We don't know each other. And we were not romancing." Juleo mumbles, cigarette between his lips. He leans forward, elbows on the counter. If breaking bones was considered romancing then he'd have had a lot of affairs.

"Well, wouldn't expect a man who can't even ask his crush out to know about romance."

"Leo, you're gonna get burned if you don't shut up."

"I'd like to see you try," Juleo's eyes holds a victorious glint, his voice daring. The smug kind, where you know the person can't do it, but you're egging them on just to see if they'll crack.

Roger rolls his eyes again, reluctantly lighting the cigarette. "Dad's gonna kill me if he sees me lighting shit. Leo–"

"Hush. I'm leaving, like, right now. And I will never, swear on my life, ever throw this cigarette near a twenty mile radius of this station. Won't let the ashes fall either."

"I'll fucking light it outside the gas station like always, you asshole." He hisses, fingers twisting and turning in his blue frosted-tip hair.

"Wouldn't be a hassle if you just gave me the lighter, Roggy." Juleo pouts, cupping his hands beneath the cigarette end before ashes fall. "But noooo, wittle Juleo is too iwwispwonnsibwle." He sharpens his honey eyes, bittersweet memories swirling in his mind.

"It's because you are." Roger glares, clearly not budging on the subject. Juleo hates that he has a point. "I hate your baby voice. Stop doing that."

"Awww, does wittle Roggy not wike Weo?"

"Stop it."

"But Weo winks Roggy wikes wit–"

"Stop it! Leo–"

And Juleo is out, a shit-eating grin on his face, catching the woolen cardigan aimed at his head – how rude – without difficulty, drink in hand. At least Roger had stopped fidgeting in his disgusted anger.

Maybe Juleo is stupid for wishing the cup he holds were hands instead.