Song: Hayloft - Mother Mother (Slowed)

TW: homophobic slurs, paternal abuse, smoking, cursing

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Thud. Thud. Thud.

Shit, they were fucking again.

James stared at the ceiling, gaze tracing over the yellowed paint as he tried to ignore the creaking from the room beside them. He could feel the disgust creeping up his body as he was forced to listen.

This was James third home of the week, and unfortunately, the owners hadn't been very good hosts. With a groan, James pulled the scratchy throw pillow over his head, trying his best to drown out a sound. He couldn't exactly tell them what to do in their own home; he wanted to be respectful. It didn't make it anymore fun, though.

He stuck his arm out of his makeshift soundproof, finding his barely-functional headphones and blasting whatever song his playlist decided on. It didn't work well. This was hell, but at least the music made it bearable. Shoving his phone in his pocket, James stood from the couch, stepping out onto the balcony.

Boston may have been a hellhole to most non-natives, but to James, it was an escape. The smoke in the sky was a breath of fresh air, the never ending traffic gave him time to think, if he felt like it, and the lights gave him something to stare out at. Even staring across the cityscape now, James felt a peace he hadn't felt in years. He drew a half smoked cigarette from his back pocket, balancing it between his fingers as he hunted for a lighter. Shit.

''... You need a light?" A voice rung from the corner as if on cue, somehow heard through his headphones. He pulled them from his ears, turning to spot his current landlords roommate. The man was tall, even taller than James, though he couldn't make an exact guess. Maybe 6'4. His black buzzcut was slightly grown out, his skin a deep tan. In the dark, the strangers brown eyes appeared jet black. He'd remembered the name Frances, though that didn't mean much. James was shit at remembering names. However, the sudden sight of the lighter in the others hands made it hard to care. Wordlessly, James nodded, stepping closer to the mystery man. A guardian angel.

"How do you deal with their shit?" James chuckled as he used his free hand to block the wind, cigarette now placed between his lips. Thanks to the cold weather, they were now chapped along with his hands. Just his luck. Noting Frances' confusion, James continued, "the uh... their libido."

Frances nodded, seeming to understand, a chuckle falling from his lips. "Truly? I'm not here very often, so... I don't hear much of it." His voice carried a faint Jersey accent, something that James felt familiar with. Looking over the stranger, James moved to stand closer beside him. His head hit the bricks behind him softly as he took in a drag, eyes closing as the smoke invaded his lungs. He knew it would kill him eventually, but that didn't matter. In fact, it seemed like a pro at this point.

"Lucky..." The two of them shared a short laugh, James offering the cigarette to the other. Frances must have been special, that was a rare gesture from him.

"Oh, uh.. I don't smoke." Frances turned the offer down, causing James to point out the quite obvious pack of Marlboro blacks in his pocket. "... I like the smell." Hmm, quirky. That made James smile a bit. Cute.

"Good thing you're out here with me then." He sent the other a playful wink, before the two of them fell into a silence while the city rambled on below them. Despite the fact that they were near strangers, the silence wasn't awkward. Rather comfortable, actually.

James took the peaceful moment to shut his eyes, letting his thoughts take over. Even with his eyes shut, the streetlights continued to blind him. It had been two months since he left home, and even though it was fucking great to be out of that hellhole, he couldn't help but feel guilty for leaving his brother behind. Though, in his defense, August hadn't exactly tried to help him when his father found his polaroids. In fact, James believed that the younger of the two had ratted him out. His jaw clenched at the thought.

Stupidstupidstupid- The nicotine wasn't doing its job. James felt anxiety creep up on him as he thought back to his past mistakes. He hid them in his fucking sock drawer, what kind of idiot thinks that's a good hiding place?

The echoes of his dads screams still rung in his ears from time to time, the silence from his mother somehow ringing louder. The anger in his fathers eyes, the fire behind his words. James could have sworn he saw smoke coming from the mans ears at one point. Who could blame him, in his own words, "he didn't raise a fag".

The silence quickly grew uncomfortable as his face grew more and more unpleasant. When James finally opened his eyes, he found Frances staring over at him with furrowed brows. Concern, thats what that was. He was fed used to that. Had his growing panic attack been that obvious?

"... you good, man?" Frances spoke, a weak smile hanging off his lips. Shit, James guessed it was.

After a long sigh, James' nod turned into a head shake rather quickly. "I... I don't know. It's been two fucking months, and I... I'm still so hung up on what happened." Not that Frances knew, but it felt but to get it off his chest. "I feel like a baby, like I'm milking my own anxiety to make myself feel sorry for... myself." With that, James finished off the cigarette in one long drag, watching as the butt fell to the concrete below him. Frances' eyes followed.

With pursed lips, Frances nodded, moving his gaze back to James. "I get it." James scoffed, head shaking. "No! No, I... I do. Maybe not completely, but... you're not the only one here with daddy issues." How did he- "I know 'em when I see 'em." It was as if Frances could predict James' question before it even left his lips- although James did tend to read like a book, he liked how Frances spoke to him. Like he wasn't crazy.

"All I'm saying is... you're not alone. Even if you feel like you are." Those words felt nice to hear, no matter how many times James had heard them. Coming from Frances, they seemed... different.

"Thanks, I guess." James chuckled softly, gaze drawn to his feet. He could feel his cheeks burning up the longer he stared at the other, and he thanked the gods for the darkness. Maybe it wouldn't be as noticeable.

He was wrong, of course, but Frances found it adorable. Biting at his lip, the taller male turned to open the door. "You wanna come back to my room for a drink? I know what that couch has been through, I don't think I can let you lay on it in good conscience."

Thank god. James nodded, maybe a bit too enthusiastically. "Uh, yeah, sure." He laughed as he stomped out the cigarette on the balcony floor, looking back up to Frances. They caught eyes for a moment, and for a split second, James felt understood. As edgy and emo as that sounded, James had always been the black sheep. It was nice to have somebody on his side.

The two slowly made their way back to the small bedroom, trying their best to not laugh at the noises arising from behind the other (now locked) door. They made it into the bedroom at last, James falling into the bed as Frances tossed him a beer. Gratefully, James cracked it open. He hadn't had a drink in too long.

The two talked for hours, their laughter drowning out the horrid moans coming from the other room. Eventually, the noises stopped.

"Oh my god..." Frances gasped, now a bit buzzed after the drinks he'd gone through. "we're free!" He stood from the bed, pulling James with him as he jokingly cheered. James joined the laughter, definitely more inebriated than the older male. Fucking lightweight.

Soon enough, the laughter stopped. The two of them were left in the center of the room, merely a foot apart as they stared at each other. They were both busy catching their breath, smiles leftover from the laughter from moments before. James' blush was much more noticeable in the artificial light of the bedroom, only this time, Frances was doing the same. James' eyes fell to the others lips- noticeably smoother than his own- and suddenly his brain stopped working. Completely blank.

The clock ticked in the corner of Frances' room, though James barely noticed. He couldn't tell if it was the alcohol clouding his mind or Frances- perhaps it was both.

Tick. Tick. Tick.

Frances smirked, raising an eyebrow. "... am I gonna have to do it?" His words seemed quieter now, just barely over a whisper. Even though it was soft, his voice still made James jump out of his trance, his eyes moving to find Frances staring directly into them. Shit.

"... No." A shaky whisper fell from James' lips, before his thin hands found the collar of Frances coat, pulling him infinitely closer as their lips collided in a fiery kiss. There was part of his brain that was afraid of his father barging in, catching them.

But he didn't. And he could never do that again.

James was finally free, and fuck, freedom felt good.