#that's what happens after a lifetime of getting punched for running yo mouth I guess

[kscribbs]

'My dearest friend, if you don't mind, I'd like to join you by your side...'

Alt version of Lusally -- completely different (much more faithful/Tim Burton-y) style, and ofc Jack as... well, Jack. The latter being an homage to @lmelodie's Halloween post from several years back!

[mahistrado-blog]

i will tell you about selfish people ; g, 1.7k ; mikael/adam

mmmmmhmmmmmm. ao3 luvin~

mikael has always been selfish in a quiet kind of way. he’s so mild mannered and loving that no one notices until it’s too late and they’re right in the middle of it. it comes out in ugly spurts when he gets into one of his moods; these long, unattractively overdrawn spells of subtle dissent that lapse into deeply satisfying sulks. the satisfying part is when people ask him what’s wrong too delicately, or try to make jokes, or try to distract him at all from the fact that he feels bad for no good reason at all, and he can snap at them and let a little bit of the ugliness out.

even was particularly good at handling the moods, steering completely clear once he noticed the dissenting start in and appearing almost instantly when the sulk reached the peak with a shit movie that even probably loved and that also absolutely demanded to be mocked. he always brought a sweet, hot drink that he didn’t ever offer to mikael, just set it near and slouched into place next to him on the couch with a computer propped up on his knees.

the rotten parts of him would drain out as he critiqued every bit of the film, from the cinematography to the speed of the roll of the credits, slowly reaching out to sip on the drink even offered in his passive way, and leaning over in his excitement to point out the unnecessary abrupt scene cut or something and stays pressed solidly into even’s side, warm smile back in place.

even’s gone now, to nissen, to be gay, or whatever. mikael thinks that mostly he’s gone to be a coward, but he doesn’t say that to anyone, especially after sonja tells him about his mental illness quietly in the dark outside on the stoop of his building, months and months after even had gone. but he still thinks it.

it’s been almost a year now, and he’s over the whole thing until he sees even again and gets punched, he guesses. his pride makes him reluctant to call it a punch, the kid behind it having clearly spent a lifetime running his mouth and hiding behind people bigger than him who he’d tricked into protecting him. he sees a little bit of himself in that kid, and the thought makes him mad and stays.

 the week following passes with an unrelenting twist in his stomach. he knows the boys have been taking it in rotation, trying to draw him out of his funk without getting burned too much themselves. it was elias first, then yousef. mutta, most recently, sucked the least, dragging him out to the soccer field and kicking balls at him until he had no choice but to lob them back at him.

he shouldn’t like the way it feels to reject them when they care enough to try and cheer him up. but he likes seeing that they love him enough to keep trying. that’s the selfish part.

* 

adam has always gotten lost in a loud sort of way. it’s like, when he shouts a joke over top of the din and makes everyone crack up laughing: no one remembers who said the joke later, it just gets passed around until they all own it. it’s because the best parts of him come out when everyone is most excited, and you know, he likes that about himself. the boys all say he’s that thing that makes the whole thing go – the catalyzing factor of their particular brand of dumbassery, and he’s proud of that.

but it’s been different since even left. the whole thing was complete shit, obviously, and the worst of it was the fucking weird way that they all tiptoed around each other for a while, stopped piling together on the couch, arms length between each of the boys filling the bakkoush living room with space they never needed or asked for.

anyway, adam thought it was mad dumb, since they all knew mikael wasn’t pissed that even had tried to kiss him. so one day he thought fuck it, and dropped down onto the couch practically in mikael’s lap, put his hand into the soft hair at the base of mikael’s neck, pressed his nose into his temple affectionately. 

and yeah, it could be argued that he hadn’t stopped since then. no homo, but that urge to yell his way into the conversation all but dissolved now that he knew he could lean over and murmur his jokes to mikael, and the little laugh, just the tuck of his chin, was just as satisfying as getting attention from the rest of the squad.

yeah so, they saved him for last in the fix mikael parade and he had to admit, he felt up to the challenge.

 *

“yo yo yo,” adam says, pushing into his room and flopping onto the bed without waiting for acknowledgement from mikael. mikael doesn’t respond, just continues scrolling through his facebook newsfeed. he’s deep into the sulk, the kind that won’t lift for anything.

 adam scoots up until he can sit up against the headboard and closer until his hip presses against mikael’s shoulder where he’s laying. he stares over mikael’s shoulder as he scrolls and scrolls, eyes glazed over and vacant as he takes it in. 

 “it’s all just so stupid,” mikael says, and he knows it’s a hypocritical thing to say as he rounds out his third day of pouting over nothing.

 “it’s meaningless, all of it. like do you think,” he gestures loosely with one hand, tilting his chin up vaguely towards adam. “astrid really gives a fuck about the victims of the attack in london.” 

“oh abso-fucking-lutely, my friend,” adam says lightly, pushing mikael’s hair back out of his face. “what’s that poetry she’s posting there? black eyed peas? she’s just wondering where the love is.”

“whatever,” mikael says, but he turns his face into the touch a little. adam touches him in a gentle way that his actual personality never is, and he’s noticed without trying to that it’s gentle in a way that he doesn’t give to anyone else at all. it’s the selfish part of him that likes that, likes how he can tell that adam likes him better than other people.

 “speaking of black eyed peas,” adam says. “what’s phunking with your heart?”

his american accent is ridiculous, and it makes mikael want to shove adam out of his room, out of his house, out of his life because he’s so embarrassingly fucking fond of it all. the sulk doesn’t want him to smile, but it battles its way onto his face anyway for just a moment while his head is still turned into adam’s palm.

 “elias and yousef gave me a pep talk that lasted an hour long,” he says flatly, lying back against his pillow. “and you’re telling me you’re bringing don’t phunk with my heart?”

 adam shrugs, shit-eating grin on his face as he slides down to be level, turning on his side so his front is pressed along the line of mikael’s body. “i claim efficacy, not finesse.” 

the words are so outside of adam’s usual vocabulary that mikael can’t help but snort, shutting his laptop and turning onto his side to face him. it only barely edges on cruelty. their faces are close now, and he wonders if he was holding out the sulk on purpose, to get to this moment. he hopes not.

*

adam breathes out slowly, grin fading from his face. it doesn’t seem like the time. is now the time? not the time to be smiling, but like, the time that they’re going to talk about the other thing? is there another thing? the world always makes less sense from here, so close to the fine line of mikael’s nose, the soft plane of his face.

he’s been trying not to think about it, the way that the whole thing thing between them had changed without his permission. he remembered a time, vividly, where he could look at mikael and not want his approval. and once he got that, he could remember a time when he didn’t want more than that.

but he doesn’t remember the connecting parts, the parts between no homo and mad homo that stretched between then and now. because that’s what it is, for him at least. he doesn’t know if he knew for sure until right fucking now. but now that he’s here, how could he not? could anyone look at someone like mikael and not? honestly.

he blinks, carefully, like the movement might startle both of them out of the soft equilibrium holding them here. he doesn’t think he’s ever been so careful in his life.

*

“is it because even?” adam asks. “or whatever the fucking twerp’s name was – ivan? isak.”

 his mind draws a blank for a moment, backtracking to when they were actually having a conversation and not – doing whatever was happening before.

“no,” he says, honestly. but, “well. i don’t know. kind of.” the words are coming out but they feel redundant in comparison to the soft hand that adam puts to his waist. it doesn’t matter. it’s over, obviously, the twisting in his stomach taking on a new character.

*

adam threads their fingers together, wriggles the other hand he has tucked underneath his head out a little until he can press the pads of his fingertips against the hard curve of mikael’s temple. mikael thinks that it didn’t feel like this at all when even touched him, thinks fully for the first time that doesn’t mean he doesn’t like other guys.

*

“did you know that they’re dating?” mikael says, and the way he says it makes his eyes soft and the question heavy.

adam watches the sweet way that mikael’s mouth holds language, intentional syllables and white teeth, and says, “it’s chill.”

 “it’s chill,” mikael echoes, but it’s a challenge, maybe. his eyebrows are raised, and there’s a smile on his mouth. adam put that smile there, loves that he put that smile there.

*

when they kiss, it’s like they’d done it before, the newness of it lost to softly murmured commentary into the shell of mikael’s ear, and the tangle of their fingers, and the shared breath of this moment. 

adam’s seeking hands and mikael’s needy heart come together like waking up, the thin barrier between sleep and consciousness almost unrecognizable in early morning light.