A/N: Chapter 20 oh my god I'm freakin out.
Keep in mind that I've never written smut before, so when the time comes, I'm going to try my best.
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"Josh?"
"Yeah?"
"Why do you like me?"
It was almost two in the morning, and I could feel him prop himself up on his elbow, his figure slightly illuminated in the moonlight coming from the window. I could almost feel his eyes on me in the dark, and his hair was ragged, even though I knew he hadn't gone to sleep. "Do you have a day or two? Because that's about how long it's going to take for me to finish explaining everything." He said gently, voice raspy and almost silent in the dark. Quiet and low and cautious, because his brothers were home, and so was his mom now.
"You're sweet," I breathed, shaking my head to myself to attempt to clear my thoughts as I shuffled around, trying not to touch him.
"I'm just being honest with you." He said gently, his hand reaching to find mine. "Now come cuddle with me."
"You want me to cuddle with you." I stated, shock coating my voice. It wasn't something I could hide, though, and so I just swallowed thickly, burying my face in the covers even further. My body was warm and tense and soft with his only a few inches away.
"Yes."
Without waiting for me to respond to him, his hands reached out to grab lightly at my waist, and he pulled me towards him in one silent, fluid movement. It felt strange, to be with him like this. With only a handful of layers separating our skin. My shirt, my pants, and his pants, and that was it. He asked me, before we went to sleep, or whatever this is, if it was alright if he slept with nothing covering the expanse of his torso, and I just nodded, and now I'm paying the agonizing price. His hand on my waist and my back against his bare skin.
It was very taunting. Having him here and not being allowed to have him fully. Or maybe I was, and I wasn't using it to my advantage. But, I'm not sure of anything as of right now, besides the fact that I sound like a lunatic thinking about his chest so intently. So I tried to force myself to stop, even though it didn't work that well. I could almost still feel the rain water pouring down on me, along with the feelings I had, that were spinning completely and utterly out of my control.
"You could move closer, you know," he muttered, and I could feel his lips by my ear. It sent a thrill down my spine, and I tried to ignore the small shiver that passed through my body. "I don't bite," he continued. "Well, sometimes, but that's occasional."
"You're an animal," I replied, and he laughed lightly, the sound musical and gentle.
"You wish," he breathed, reaching to press a kiss to the small space under my jaw.
Rolling my eyes, I leaned subconsciously into his warm, strong hold, and tried to be much calmer and steadier than I really was. Because I was honestly freaking out. His lips were cold and beautiful, and I huffed gently, shaking him off of me. "Stop it."
"Make me," he hummed, vibrations traveling through my collar bone with a sense of electricity. That's what he was, honestly. He was pure energy moving through and past me in wave after wave after wave, and he wasn't letting me breathe.
It's like drowning with no water, and I didn't know what to do about it any more than I knew what to do about it yesterday.
"I would if I could," I lied, or maybe I wasn't lying. "Probably." If I had it my way, I'd let him touch me like this forever.
"So," he said gently, and I could feel his lips grazing my cheek, "you going to kiss me? I can spell it out if you'd like."
Not needing anything else, I turned around to face him, and didn't even let myself look at him before I pressed my lips to his. If I had looked at him, I would have lost all the nerve I've managed to gather. But I wanted to eliminate the space between us. I wanted to push against it until he disappeared.
He gave a small, surprised noise, gripping onto the back of my neck gently, and kissed me back. I couldn't even believe this was happening and I tried to remember how to kiss again, but it became increasingly difficult to even breathe. So when he pulled back, eyes alert and bright in the dark, I assumed I had done something wrong. On instinct, I went to apologize, but he just brought his face back to mine. More firm. More certain.
I didn't know how much farther this was going to go, considering the circumstances, but I didn't want to stop kissing him, and so I didn't. His hands were urgent and gentle and soft against my neck, and eventually my body was straddling his, and my hands were on his shoulders and he was warm and I was content and if it didn't go any further than that, no one needed to know but us.
~~~
For a moment, after I woke up, I totally panicked. I didn't know where I was or who had their arm slung across me like a cord keeping me on the ground, and I moved my head up lazily, eyes bleary and mind slow. Of course, my anxiety was silent and I kept to myself, but it all dissapated as soon as I saw his face. He looked cute asleep. Lips slightly parted and he looked a thousand times older and a thousand times younger, and before I could stop myself, I brushed the pad of my thumb against the space between his eyebrows. There was a crease there that sleep didn't get rid of.
He stirred under my touch, and I stirred under his, his skin heated and smooth. I shouldn't have been staring at him the way I was, but I couldn't stop. His facial expressions were quite fascinating, and I bit my lip at the sight of his flushed chest, kissing his collarbone as gently as possible.
"You're awake," he muttered into a pillow, having rolled to face it. "Don't look at me," he cried dramatically, taking my hand. "I'm hiteous."
"Shut up."
"No, seriously. I look like a garbage bag." He sighed, sitting up to look at me. His hair was just as messed up as it was last night, and my heart beat sporadically at the sight of it. And then the memories came running back at me like they did every morning after, and I couldn't stop smiling. Every time I tried to shove it down, it came right back. "What're you all happy about?" He feigned crankiness, making his frown as deep as possible. It just made the both of us laugh, and his thumb moved up to my cheekbone, making absentminded strokes against my face. I felt so creepy leaning into his touch, but I did anyway.
"You." I replied honestly, shrugging.
"Oh my god," he laughed, tipping his head back slightly. "I'll give you that, Ty. You're smooth."
"Like butter," I said gently, and he shook his head.
"Say that again and I'm kicking you out of my house."
"Are you?"
He nodded, "most definitely. Now move your leg off of me. I've got to pee."
So we spent the next twenty minutes washing up lazily, moving around each other in a slow and playful manner, until we made our way down to the kitchen and into the watchful eyes of his family. They all sat in the kitchen, his mom reading her magazine at the stove and his brothers throwing things at each other.
They all quieted and stilled when they saw us come down the steps hand in hand, with Josh in front of me. I wasn't as scared of his mom's reaction as much as I was for his brothers', simply because they both seemed to be the protective type.
"Want to tell us something?" His mom teased with a small smile, taking her glasses off of her gentle face, eyebrows raised. I knew Josh was out to his mom, and that made me feel a bit better.
"Uh, nope." Josh laughed, motioning for me to sit down at the table, next to Oskar. His eyes were stuck on my face, along with Jordan's, and I tried not to look too threatening or rude. Not that I had to try very hard.
"Good morning," I said politely, trying to make them more comfortable around me, even though I was the one with the nerves. When was the last time I actually told someone good morning?
Oskar nodded, and moved his eyes back to his mom, who was talking to Josh with an excited look in her eyes. Her words were quiet and swift, and Josh was blushing, and then so was I, because I knew they were talking about me.
"Josh is my brother," Oskar said suddenly, clearing his throat. "And I care about him. A lot."
"I care about him, too." Jordan cut in, but went back to his cereal.
"Don't hurt him," he said, and then, I realized, that Oskar scared me. "Because then I have to hurt you. And that's no fun. Do you understand what I'm saying?"
I nodded. Everyone was much too involved in their own things to hear us, and though I was still nervous, I appreciated it. It was nice to know that his family was concerned about him.
"You know what would make me happy, Mom?" Josh asked suddenly, coming over to stand next to where I was sitting. "The use of your credit card."
"And why would you need that?"
"Because shopping is necessary and important?" he smiled. "We're only gonna spend, like, fifty bucks. Maybe."
"Is that all you've got?"
"So, you're telling me Josh can use your credit card but I have to have a damn job?" Jordan complained, slamming his phone down on the table with faux disbelief.
"I never said that," she said gently, and I wondered how she survived with three sons. "And watch your mouth. Or you're sleeping outside."
"Outside?" He argued. "I'm outraged. This is injustice."
"Jordan, please stop talking." It was very obvious that Josh and Jordan had a hate/love thing.
"To answer your question," she turned the page. "Yes, you can use my card."
~~~
I should've known.
"Any particular reason as to why we're going inside of the mall?" I asked him, our hands moving back and forth in short, smooth motions as we walked towards the entrance. Honestly, we hadn't discussed the entire what would happen if someone from school saw us in public? thing, but the entire school knows he's gay already, and I had little to nothing to lose if the news spread amongst our peers. Besides, I mentioned it twice this morning, and he just kept giving me that small shrug and laughing gently, kissing my temple without even attempting to answer.
Which was fine with me, because it made me feel a little better knowing he wasn't completely ashamed to be seen with me in a slightly different way.
"I know you always need a few sweatshirts at all times," he started, and my eyebrows raised in surprise. "And because one was brutally ruined yesterday," his eyes turned bitter and dark, but he smiled at me, giving my hand a gentle squeeze. "I figured we would go and get you a knew one."
"What, no. I don't even have any money, Josh."
"Do I look concerned?" He asked, moving to open the door for me in an exaggerated fashion, making me giggle. He came and took my fingers again, after he came through the door, fumbling with them as he lead me through the mall. I'd never actually been in here before, and I wondered where exactly we were going. "I asked for my mom's car for a reason."
"Ugh, fine. But I'm paying for everything else," I argued. "Whenever I have my wallet with me, because I never do."
"I'm sure you do sometimes. Not that you'll need it today."
"We're buying a cheap one, though. Do you hear me? Cheap."
It didn't take long for him to completely disregard that, and so we went in various stores, just for fun of it, and tried on things we would never actually wear. I felt more comfortable in his clothes, (which were the clothes he gave me this morning, consisting of a baggy t-shirt and skinny jeans that I had to roll up) than anything else, and he said it was cute, though I am not.
Despite my pleas regarding it to be non-expensive, I got to my house with a bag full of a twenty dollar article of clothing, and a huge smile on my face that I couldn't get rid of it I tried.
~~
And everything was nice. It was. Josh and I talked on the phone as I made new spotify playlists, and I was tired, and he was tired, and as soon as we hung up, my mom shouted up the stairs.
I was quiet and careful coming down the stairs, and it didn't help that I smelled food. The first thing that ran through my head was: when was the last time she actually cooked? And I knew that if she had cooked, she had something to go with it.
"Hey, honey? Come and sit," my mom said gently, setting two plates of food on opposite sides of each other on the small table we had in the dining room, her smile concerned and almost plastic. My mom hadn't even bothered to speak to me, in the way she should, for two weeks, and last I checked, she was in her slump. So I scoffed lightly, but moved down the last step, and to the table. She noticed I was still standing behind my seat, and moved her eyes up to me. "Sit," she commanded again quietly, and I rolled my eyes, but listened.
She handed me a fork, and that was the first time I realized she made spaghetti. Which I hated, and she knew that. It was her favorite. My jaw clenched, and I set down the utensil, next to the plate of food I didn't want.
"What's this about?" My voice sounded certain and strong and calm. It didn't belong to me.
She smiled again, "I just wanted to talk. Seems like we haven't had a conversation in a long time."
I had so many things to say to her. So many things. But I just nodded, leaning forward onto my arms, the sleeves moving against the mahogany. I narrowed my eyes in a thoughtful manner and nodded again, trying to understand her reason for lying.
"You're right. We haven't talked in forever," I said quietly. "Because you really enjoy picking and choosing when to be upset with anything and everything. Just a day ago, you wouldn't even look at me, you know?" I laughed falsely. "And now you want to have a conversation with me? Please, mom, just spit it out."
She set her fork down with a clatter, and then that cold, damaged look was back on her face, and I let out one of the most strangled syllables I've ever uttered in my life, full of disbelief and anger. "You need to stop pretending he was just your husband and not also my father." I said gently, tilting my head to the side. "I don't think you understand how idiotic it makes you look. I mean honestly, Mom-"
"Look, Tyler. That's not what I wanted to talk to you about."
"You know, what's sad is the fact that you can't even sit with me unless you want to talk about something specific, or complain. You could always just ask me to eat dinner with you and ask me about my day or something, but you don't, and that's the issue. Why do you treat me like I don't existence half of the time?" I rambled, shaking my head. I wanted to fling this pasta into the wall. And maybe I should have. "I only live when you realize the fridge is empty or that someone cleaned up the mess you left on our floor, because you can't forget about dad for ten minutes. My god, he's gone. He is never coming back, and I'm seventeen and I've comprehended that better than you." I said, volume escalating much quicker than I anticipated. "And if you didn't want to talk about Dad, then what could you possibly want to talk about?"
"Are you gay?" She asked me quickly, blurting it out as if the taste of the three words literally set her on fire.
Okay, now, that one, I wasn't prepared to answer.
On impulse, my anxiety kicked in, and I started thinking about ways to respond to this. And then I realized that I didn't need to be nervous about it, and took a silent, quick breath. It wasn't going to change.
It took me a few more seconds, that felt like hours, to realize that there was no better way to answer this than the truth. Not that she deserved the truth, but I deserved to be able to tell it. And maybe I didn't say it verbally, but it was going to be enough.
My eyes were steady and deep and silent as I stared at her, and she took my absence of words for exactly what I was trying to say.
"Oh god. I can't keep a husband and I can't raise a kid," She breathed to herself, and I don't know if she meant for me to hear that or not. Regardless, bitter anger ran through my body, and I wanted to do much more than hurl pasta. I wanted to smash everything.
And sometimes, I get so furious that I don't know what to do with myself, and I try and sit there for as long as I can with nothing but myself, because I'm unstable and aggravated and hurt. I'm hurt. And I didn't think I could be even more wounded by this woman, but she was sitting in front of me, dragging her hand down her face in a way that reflected sheer disappointment and stress, and I finally gathered the strength to simply roll my eyes at her, through the pang of fury in my chest.
"Is there an issue?" I asked quietly, cautious. "Because I really don't see one."
"So, I'm assuming you and Josh have something going on?" She continued, face going red. "Right?"
"You've never even met Josh," I said carefully. "And what does it matter if we do?"
She fumbled over her words, eyes wide and angry, and I waited. I mean, it never felt good to be judged and criticized on something I couldn't help, not that I would even want to be able to help it, seeing as it's literally who I am, but I couldn't let her see much emotion come from me. Not now, and not in front of her.
"I just don't want to see it happen."
"See what happen? You're not even making any sense."
She cleared her throat, moving her eyes up to mine. They were dark and empty, and I wasn't surprised. "It's just...not what's supposed to happen." She said, shaking her head. Rings of hair fell from the loose ponytail she wore. "You know what? I have to go upstairs."
"Are you serious?" I asked, standing up before she could. "Is this how you're going to act. Really? You're my mom, for gods sake."
"Don't you dare put his name in your mouth after what just came out of it."
"Oh. We're onto religion now? Perfect." I laughed, spreading my arms out at my sides, while spinning in a slow and exaggerated circle. "Well, this is me. I am your son who likes boys. I'm sorry you think it's such a shameful thing, or whatever." I continued. "And I don't ever recall any religious tendencies before this."
"Tyler," she said, trying to take my hand in hers. I yanked it away before her fingers could touch me, and shook my head. Her facial expression didn't change. "I'm just gonna need some time."
"Take as long as you need," I replied, trying to make sure she heard every word. "But I'm telling you, that whenever you come back down and want to have another 'conversation', you're not going to hear anything different. Because it's not going to change."
I didn't even let her respond before I was at the front door, my phone in my pocket and my eyes blurring with angry tears. Or were they tears of pain and sadness and denial? Who knows, at this point.
And I didn't even put shoes on over my socks before I was out the door.
***
A/N: This is some long shit.
The relationship Tyler has with his mom is my dad and I, by the way.
He won't forget to feed me, but he'll forget to raise me, and I hate that.
Anyway,,,,
I hope this chapters was decent and stuff c: I'll edit it later, my loves xx