Treavor jolts upward just enough to flash a grin at Alice - hey, hey hey hey, this is the song you gave me! - then nestles back down with a little laugh-sigh.
How the fuck is this such a perfect day. How the fuck is Alice such a perfect guy? And how does he ease the day, ease Treavor, where was this guy all his life, and where was Treavor all of his?
(Well. Maybe better this guy didn’t get car crash Treavor or failing out of college Treavor or tried to set his apartment on fire Treavor, but also this guy didn’t get not-fuck-up-mess Treavor? This guy endured Some Shit from Treavor and still he’s here, and fuck, could Treavor be any luckier?, and he’ll make up all those days of being a dick, thinking Alice was something and someone Alice definitely wasn’t.
Treavor should’ve been watching closer.
Treavor’d had a lot of reason not to watch closer or try to give a shit.
Most importantly, Treavor’s lucky as hell Alice didn’t give up on him, or leave him lonely at that dock. That Alice looked at Treavor after everything he’d done and didn’t say ‘hey fuck off buddy I’ve got shit to do,’ which would’ve been perfectly fair. That Alice looked past a whole, whole lot of shit to find a Treavor who’d buried himself, who’d been resigned to staying buried, oh, forever.
Alice is. A goddamn miracle.)
And Alice is taking another hit, and Treavor smiles a little, nuzzles a little, because fuck yeah Alice, keep that chill going. And Alice is offering?
Hey. Well, hey. Treavor’s not about to say no.
Shit, and look at the way Alice is watching him. Languorous and approving. Shivering and warming Treavor all at once.
He doesn’t smoke much. Smoked more in California. The shit was easy to get hold of, prevalent among the people he rotated among hanging out with and the parties he pretty regularly showed up to, invited or otherwise. (Treavor did a lot more in California. Because shit was there and because why not and because he was around a lot of people a lot more and down to try whatever, even after that bad fuckin trip after those bad fuckin mushrooms, because why let one shit experience soil the escape, right?) These days it’s too much work to get hold of, and outside of Sheldon (and Sheldon’s aunt’s boytoy? who seems to be rolling in the shit), he doesn’t know a lot of people willing to share. (And anyway, Treavor’s got his one true fuck-this-shit companion, and it comes in easy-to-locate bottles and it gets him by all right.)
It’s not the weed that entices him here. Like, yeah, he’s down for it, why the fuck not especially since his companion-in-a-bottle’s not gonna be accessible while he’s here
What matters more is the sharing. That Alice is once again beckoning without pressure, an ’if you’d like to’ that invites Treavor to curl into another closer space with Alice, and of course Treavor’s gonna say yes. Of course he’s gonna take that joint (between thumb and index finger, because that’s for weed and forefinger-index is for cigarettes thank you very much), going to take an inhale of his own, let the smoke settle in his mouth, let it drift off away from Alice as he returns the joint.
He thinks maybe it’s pretty good shit. He doesn’t really know or have a taste for differentiating, but Alice seems like a guy who’d stick to the best, probably did his research and vetted his candidates with care. Yeah, Treavor can picture that. Grins a little with the thought, grins a little as he nuzzles against this very warm guy, his (?) (is that okay to think, to say?) very warm guy, who lets him feel so free and so at home.
…Fuck, that’s true, isn’t it? At home, like. Treavor’s never had much of a home. He’s got compulsory family, compulsory ‘you belong here,’ he’s never not had somewhere to live, but this is.
This is different. This feels like belonging, like fitting somewhere right, the way he feels right pressed against Alice this way, the way Alice finds the perfect way to hold him, makes the world stop spinning and halts every gear, because there’s nowhere else to be and nothing more worth doing.
What a perfect fucking day.
What a perfect fucking guy. And Treavor’s life not so bad right now, is it? Treavor’s life is pretty fucking great, and he nudges his head against Alice's jaw, sighs, and smiles, and smiles. ]
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Treavor jolts upward just enough to flash a grin at Alice - hey, hey hey hey, this is the song you gave me! - then nestles back down with a little laugh-sigh.
How the fuck is this such a perfect day. How the fuck is Alice such a perfect guy? And how does he ease the day, ease Treavor, where was this guy all his life, and where was Treavor all of his?
(Well. Maybe better this guy didn’t get car crash Treavor or failing out of college Treavor or tried to set his apartment on fire Treavor, but also this guy didn’t get not-fuck-up-mess Treavor? This guy endured Some Shit from Treavor and still he’s here, and fuck, could Treavor be any luckier?, and he’ll make up all those days of being a dick, thinking Alice was something and someone Alice definitely wasn’t.
Treavor should’ve been watching closer.
Treavor’d had a lot of reason not to watch closer or try to give a shit.
Most importantly, Treavor’s lucky as hell Alice didn’t give up on him, or leave him lonely at that dock. That Alice looked at Treavor after everything he’d done and didn’t say ‘hey fuck off buddy I’ve got shit to do,’ which would’ve been perfectly fair. That Alice looked past a whole, whole lot of shit to find a Treavor who’d buried himself, who’d been resigned to staying buried, oh, forever.
Alice is. A goddamn miracle.)
And Alice is taking another hit, and Treavor smiles a little, nuzzles a little, because fuck yeah Alice, keep that chill going. And Alice is offering?
Hey. Well, hey. Treavor’s not about to say no.
Shit, and look at the way Alice is watching him. Languorous and approving. Shivering and warming Treavor all at once.
He doesn’t smoke much. Smoked more in California. The shit was easy to get hold of, prevalent among the people he rotated among hanging out with and the parties he pretty regularly showed up to, invited or otherwise. (Treavor did a lot more in California. Because shit was there and because why not and because he was around a lot of people a lot more and down to try whatever, even after that bad fuckin trip after those bad fuckin mushrooms, because why let one shit experience soil the escape, right?) These days it’s too much work to get hold of, and outside of Sheldon (and Sheldon’s aunt’s boytoy? who seems to be rolling in the shit), he doesn’t know a lot of people willing to share. (And anyway, Treavor’s got his one true fuck-this-shit companion, and it comes in easy-to-locate bottles and it gets him by all right.)
It’s not the weed that entices him here. Like, yeah, he’s down for it, why the fuck not especially since his companion-in-a-bottle’s not gonna be accessible while he’s here
What matters more is the sharing. That Alice is once again beckoning without pressure, an ’if you’d like to’ that invites Treavor to curl into another closer space with Alice, and of course Treavor’s gonna say yes. Of course he’s gonna take that joint (between thumb and index finger, because that’s for weed and forefinger-index is for cigarettes thank you very much), going to take an inhale of his own, let the smoke settle in his mouth, let it drift off away from Alice as he returns the joint.
He thinks maybe it’s pretty good shit. He doesn’t really know or have a taste for differentiating, but Alice seems like a guy who’d stick to the best, probably did his research and vetted his candidates with care. Yeah, Treavor can picture that. Grins a little with the thought, grins a little as he nuzzles against this very warm guy, his (?) (is that okay to think, to say?) very warm guy, who lets him feel so free and so at home.
…Fuck, that’s true, isn’t it? At home, like. Treavor’s never had much of a home. He’s got compulsory family, compulsory ‘you belong here,’ he’s never not had somewhere to live, but this is.
This is different. This feels like belonging, like fitting somewhere right, the way he feels right pressed against Alice this way, the way Alice finds the perfect way to hold him, makes the world stop spinning and halts every gear, because there’s nowhere else to be and nothing more worth doing.
What a perfect fucking day.
What a perfect fucking guy. And Treavor’s life not so bad right now, is it? Treavor’s life is pretty fucking great, and he nudges his head against Alice's jaw, sighs, and smiles, and smiles. ]