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Baby self-absorbed,
It's a guilt trip to know me.
"Am I an asshole?"
The question comes out of the blue, entirely unprompted.
They haven't even been talking about anything - the room's been silent for half an hour, Pete working through some algebra questions and Gary deep in thought.
He's got his head hanging off the bed, upside down like a bat, and he's transfixed on the lava lamp across the room which is really just... doing what it is that lava lamps do.
He's had trouble sleeping lately, so he popped a couple of Ambien a little while ago and they're just starting to kick in. Pete's sure he probably doesn't even have the intention of sleeping anytime soon. He just wants to switch off for a while.
He's probably not even fully aware of Pete's presence. He's asked him a question, sure, but he's dead still and one glance at his glazed over eyes and vacant expression tells Pete that the guy's completely out of it.
He'd feel rude ignoring him though, so he gives him the courtesy of answering the question. It's a hell of a lot easier to answer than polynomial division.
"Yep."
It's quiet for a moment.
Gary responds with a soft "Huh."
Pete might feel bad for being so blunt, but it's Gary. It's a rare opportunity to say what he really feels without some kind of smartass retort, or risking starting an argument, and he probably won't even remember any of this anyway.
He's a completely different person when he's high, but when he's sober it's like nothing ever happened and he's back to the same old Gary; the proud, unfeeling, megalomaniac asshole.
His follow-up question comes with the same inquisition you hear in kids when they're barraging a trusted adult with a hundred questions about the world around them, so that they might begin to understand it themselves. They assume that anyone who knows more than they do must be infinitely wise - that they know all the answers, and that everything they say is fact.
"Do I ever make you feel bad?"
There was this one time when he convinced (or rather, forced) Pete to sneak out late at night with him so that they could break into the pool and share a joint.
At some point they ended up shotgunning off each other, which Pete supposes was just because they thought it would be funny, or something.
Well one thing lead to another, and he found himself all of a sudden being kissed by Gary fucking Smith. He was stoned out of his mind, his face was numb and he felt like there was cotton in his mouth, but in that moment he was more lucid than he'd ever been.
He felt everything. Every point where their lips touched; where Gary's thumbs rubbed circles into the nape of his neck. He could barely process what was happening, but he felt it all. It was electric. It became seared into his mind as the most vivid memory he owned. He'd forever remember how surprisingly soft his best friends lips were - how much of a determined kisser he was, yet so gentle.
How even after realising the weight of what was happening, he went back in for more. How what should've lasted one stupid impulsive moment felt like it lasted a lifetime.
Even if he'd wanted to forget, even if he permitted himself to he wouldn't be able to. Every time he catches the scent of chlorine or weed he's reminded of it.
But Gary didn't seem to remember. The next day, nothing changed. He was back to being pushy, to making out like he didn't care about Pete or he was embarassed by him. Back to the stupid jokes; Pete was a 'homo' again without even a hint of irony. He honestly didn't know what he expected, but it was as if it never even happened.
"...Yeah, sometimes." He responds.
It's not like that was the only time he'd ever gotten a taste of Gary's affection though. Similar things had happened since. This was Gary's safety valve. If he could get high he could get vulnerable and he could stay sane. If he did remember he'd never have to talk about it; if Pete ever confronted him he could just say it was the drugs that had him acting that way. It was foolproof - never would the two sides of him have to face each other.
Pete never confronts him though, it would only shatter the illusion of control. He'd never risk losing sight of this - the real Gary.
This is a new one though.
He can barely believe his ears when he hears the sound of sniffing. He looks over to the bed where Gary still hasn't moved, still staring into space - but there's a single tear taking gravity's course down his face.
Pete's uncomfortable. He asks himself why he's even still here. Sure, it's only 8pm, but what's he doing here in Gary's room while the guy's out of his mind?
He supposes it's a little bit to do with the fact that he prefers being with this Gary than the suit he dons to face the world.
But it's mostly to do with the fact that he knows that if Gary's resorting to these pills, he's having a hard time. If it was really about just getting some sleep he would've kicked Pete out before he took them, but he didn't. Maybe he wanted to have this conversation.
Maybe he just doesn't want to be alone right now.
Pete sighs and sets his homework down. It's not getting done now.
He climbs over his apparently paralyzed friend and sits on the bed with his back up against the wall. He watches Gary for a moment.
His eyes are still watering, but there's little of the shaking or shallow breath you'd expect from someone in tears. It's almost as if his body's switched off too much to resist, and is just letting it happen.
That must be the case, since even in this state he's sure that Gary would be using all his willpower to stop himself crying if he could.
Pete pulls at him until he sits up, and beckons him closer. He ends up lying again but this time with his head in Pete's lap, curled up like an injured animal. Pete strokes his hair to calm him (and partly just because he wants to) entirely unfazed by the strangeness of the situation.
If this were sober Gary, he'd bite his hand off for even daring - but this is the raw, real Gary, so he relaxes into the touch. His hair's surprisingly soft, for someone who's usually the polar opposite.
"I'm sorry." Gary speaks up after a little while. He sounds so weak and so... small. There's genuine regret there.
Pete doesn't ask what he's talking about.
"I know." He whispers.
"Pete?" Gary turns his head, reaching out slowly to grab the wrist connected to the hand Pete's currently using to rub circles in his forehead.
"Hm?" Pete pulls his hand away, surprised when Gary then takes it in his own.
"Why haven't you given up on me already?"
This one's harder than algebra.
"...What do you mean?"
"I'm a bad person, Pete. I treat you like shit. Why do you still care?"
He's still drowsy, for sure. His words still only come out as a drawling whisper, but it's the most sober, lucid shit Pete's heard him say in a while.
Pete thinks about it for a minute. He's almost at a loss for words for this one, but he can't not say something.
There's a lot of things he likes about Gary. He's smart, and he seems to know a little something about everything. He's funny, and he's not afraid to speak his mind - no apologies, no regrets - he says the things Pete wishes he could. He's confident, and maybe a little bit handsome too. And when he's not going out of his way to humiliate you, he's actually a lot of fun to be around.
...But none of those things are worth the shit he puts Pete through.
"I guess...I mean, if I'm being honest.. sometimes I'm not sure why."
He admits. He can't help but feel a little bit mean, for a second.
"But - there's that like, part of me that holds onto the thought that you care about me too. Like, we're all we've got... we care about each other."
"You're not a bad person Gar'." He sighs.
"And I guess-"
He hesitates for a moment, then leans over to place a soft kiss on Gary's cheek.
"-we love each other."
Gary stares at him for a second, mouth slightly open as if he wants to say something, but instead cranes his neck to kiss him, brief and chaste, on the lips.
Like it's his way of saying "We really do."
He turns his head away and curls up again.
"Thanks for loving me." He adds, as if Pete had any choice but to love the boy who pushed people away simply because his heart was too big for his head to handle.
The two of them enjoy the comfort of each other's presence for a while, but Pete has a question of his own.
"I don't suppose you'll remember any of this tomorrow?"
Translation: I don't suppose you'll admit to remembering any of this tomorrow?
But Gary's breathing is steady and calm, and there's no response. He's fast asleep.
Pete takes that as a no.
He sighs, and shifts so that he's laid down himself, arms wrapped around the taller boy, letting himself drift asleep to the rhythm of Gary's rising and falling chest.
If he's lucky, he'll wake up in the same warm place he fell asleep and not on the hard wood floor.
He just wouldn't bet on it.