Near Perfect, Part 2
Unfortunately Liz made him forty-five minutes later than he would've been without her. Michael hurried to school to make up for lost time. He didn't care so much about class, but he didn't want to miss Adrian and first block was almost over.
He parted ways with his sister in the main hall and bee-lined for the cafeteria. As soon as Adrian's tall frame came into view, relief flooded Michael's exhausted body. He hadn't realized how tense he was until it was gone. The younger teen wandered over to where his friend sat and dropped his head onto his chest. Adrian winced, but quickly hid it.
"What's the matter Chicago?" Michael rubbed his face against the punk's pectoral muscle. He could feel the tears returning.
"My parents fought all last night and I couldn't sleep... I..." He managed to croak out. He knew he looked like an idiot, he was also aware he was probably making Adrian uncomfortable, but it didn't matter at the moment. Rather than push him away, like Michael expected, he stroked the younger boy’s hair.
"It's okay kid. I understand how you feel. My parents fight a lot to," he told him softly. Michael pulled himself together, giving him a weak smile. "There now, better? I think what I want to show you will cheer you up," Adrian said and got to his feet.
He took the boys arm to lead him. Michael lengthened his stride to keep up with him. For the first time that morning, he noticed the orange and black decorations that had gone up around the school. "I didn't realize it was close to Halloween. October has really flown by."
"It flew cause you were moving," Adrian said and went out the back door with Michael in tow. The city boy watched the receding school over his shoulder and asked, "Adrian isn't second block starting soon? Shouldn't we'd stay in the school?" The punk sighed.
"Technically, yes, but what have you honestly learned in second block? It’s English after all, and we speak that language," he answered, continuing to lead him. Once Michael turned back to around, he realized why the older boy thought that it was worth it.
"It's a theater," he breathed.
The building was extremely rundown, but it was obvious that it had been part of the school at one point. Vines covered the walls and parts of the marquee that still had half of the letters that had once spelled-out ‘Grease.’ Adrian beamed; pleased he'd done something right.
"Want to go inside?" Michael jumped at the opportunity and trotted towards the building. The punk explained a little as they worked their way through one of the broken windows, "This was the school's property, but they decided that it wasn't bringing in enough of money, so they shut it down. Nothing has happened in his place for about 20 years, except the usual break-ins."
The first thing Michael did was get up on the stage. He closed his eyes and spread his arms, enjoying the feeling he got in the theater. The only reality that broke through to him was Adrian voice, "You just an actor, Chicago, or did you do other stuff as well?" Michael didn't leave the alternate world of his mind to respond, "I acted, I sang, I danced. You name it, I did it. That’s excluding technical stuff like working the lights and whatnot."
The layer of dust that was on everything didn't bother Michael; he could see it when it was new. "This place must have been beautiful," he whispered into the musty air.
Bright particles danced in the shafts of sunlight filtering through the grimy windows. Adrian's movement across the floor disturbed them into a fantastic frenzy.
“You sure that wood’s not going to crumble under your feet? It's done a lot of rotting in 20 years," he asked with concern, mentioning, "I'd really rather you sit on a safer surface."
Michael opened his eyes, they were green. He flopped onto the edge of the stage, which was high enough to his to keep him taller than Adrian. "They make these things really sturdy, I wouldn't worry about it."
"I can't help it." The older teen a hopped up beside him, cringing when it creaked. Despite the magic of the theater, Adrian couldn't help but think of life beyond it. “You do know that you aren’t scheduled to work tonight, don't you?" Michael nodded, so Adrian continued, "I'll still take you home after school, I have enough time. Oh and one more thing, I meant to give you this days ago."
He grabbed Michael's hand and wrote 10 digits on his palm. "That's my cell phone number, if you every need me. I'm not home often enough to bother with a home line," he said and capped his pen. The city boy snatched the writing utensil before he put it away. He wrote his own set of digits on Adrian's lower arm.
"This is my home number because I never have my cell phone with me," Michael returned.
The teens wasted most of second block in the theater. The younger boy displayed his talent to his only audience member, who gave him more appreciation than some full houses he'd performed for. Only when their stomachs began growling did they return to real-life.
The lunchroom was packed by the time Michael and Adrian re-entered the school. They managed to locate an empty table near the back. Halfway through lunch, they were unexpectedly interrupted. The intruder was almost 6 inches taller than Adrian and dressed in the same kind of attire. He sneered at Michael as he turned a chair backwards to join them. The younger teen furrowed his brow. He didn't recognize him from around school. Adrian was surprised, but for a different reason. "John, you're out of jail early. I thought he said he was going to hold you for a month this time," the punk said.
Michael sat back. This was the boy that hit Adrian with a beer bottle. He knew now who started the fight. John radiated animosity; his eyes reflected the things he'd done. Michael shivered at what he saw in them. John bared his teeth in what was meant to be grin and spoke harshly, "He decided to be lenient and let me go. Where were you all morning, Adrian? You weren't in shop class."
Michael was shocked; he didn't understand what Adrian saw in this delinquent. The punk however was perfectly at home in his presence. "I took Chicago here out to the theater," he explained.
John picked Michael apart with those violent eyes. His stare struck the boy with a deep cold fear, like an iron lance to his heart. Michael swallowed the lump in his throat and stammered, "I'm going to head to class and give you some time to catch up. I have a test to study for anyway."
Two sets of eyes watched him go. One set he adored, blue and gorgeous. The other frightened him beyond all reasoning.
"What's with the loser? You can't be seriously hanging out with him," John commented snidely. Adrian sighed. The trouble-maker never like anyone else he spent time with.
"Listen, I think he’s cool. I mean, he's a pretty big pansy but he's funny. I like him, John."
"Like Alex?"
"Yeah."
The senior’s attitude deflated a bit and he spun his switchblade on the table top. He’s going to destroy your image, Adrian. No one’s going to respect you if you have him in tow," he said, judging the punk's response.
For a moment, Adrian's expression didn't change. When it did, it melted into a soft smile. "I don't care. I really like him," he told him, adding, "besides, it's my image not yours. Why should you be so concerned?"
"Because, one, you're associated with me it so it makes me look bad. Two, you're my friend, so I won’t just stand by and watch you do this. Three..."
Adrian cut him off sharply, "Johnny, it's none of your concern! Michael is it going to make you look bad! If you're so worried about reputations, then have your own without me." Irritated, he pushed away from the table, but John grabbed his arm. His fingers dug into his skin deep enough to bruise.
"Adrian, wait. Chill out. I'm just shitting with you. If you really like him that much, who am I to stop you?" His grip relaxed and Adrian eased back into his seat.
"Besides pansy boy, what else is new?"
In the afternoon, Michael burst from the school. The day had been too long for his liking. Past lunch, life had been crawling by. A scan of the area revealed that Adrian wasn't out yet. Leaning against the flagpole however, was his delinquent friend. Michael tried to give him a wide berth, flinching when he addressed him.
"He calls you Chicago right?"
He reluctantly turned and replied, "Yeah. It's where I moved from."
John nodded. He wasn't as intimidating as he'd been earlier, but it seemed like he was trying too hard. "Adrian asked me to take you home. He had to be at work earlier than he thought."
Not sure whether to believe him or not, Michael kept walking. "Thanks for telling me, but I can walk home. I don't want inconvenience you," the younger boy covered. John wouldn't let Michael brush him off that easily.
"I insist. I feel bad about the way I treated you it lunch. Let's start off on a new foot. My name's John, but most people call me Johnny." To punctuate his statement, he stuck out his hand. Michael took it and John shook a little harder than he would've liked. He stepped back, speaking in a milder tone, "Now that were officially introduced, can I give you ride home?"
Against his better judgment, Michael agreed. His second impression of the senior was much better than his first. Perhaps he'd been mistaken. The two loaded into a Jeep that had an open top. Feeling progressively more comfortable, Michael gave John directions and tossed his bag in the back. The ride was relatively pleasant. The muggy October air was much more bearable at a quick pace and Adrian's friend was much more agreeable. As they neared Michael's house, John got a bit more serious.
"You know, I really didn't mean to scare the shit out of you earlier. I'm a bit protective over Adrian. He fell in love once, it completely changed him. I've just never trusted people around him since."
Michael pressed his lips together. It was technically Adrian's business on who he decided to trust, but he had to give John credit for trying to be good friend. "What happened?" he asked.
The delinquent turned onto a side road right before Allen Grove and stopped, putting the car in park. "Well, his sweetheart ran off without saying goodbye. Broke Adrian's heart when he found out. If someone can abandon you that quickly, without a second thought, then there’s something wrong. Adrian really can't find the right people to be around."
"I know you're just trying to be good friend, but you can't make all his decisions for him."
"I can make a lot of them. When someone gets in the way, I take care of it." John reached for the glove compartment, as he continued, "you, Chicago, you're in the way."
Michael froze when he saw what he'd fished out. The handgun was a small model, but the younger teen didn't know enough to name the make. John pointed the weapon at his head. "Open your mouth," he ordered. Too frightened to do anything else, Michael did as he was told. The delinquent inserted the cold metal barrel between his teeth.
Those eyes were back, his violent eyes. The younger teen trembled; a freezing sweat ran down his back. He'd only felt like this once before his life, but then it had been a knife that slid across his jaw while foreign hands searched his pockets. There was one thing that was the same, the smile on his attackers face. Both had that same horrid smile. You saw that kinda smile right for you died.
"Don't you dare get in the way. If you come near Adrian again, I'll kill you," John threatened.
Suddenly, the gun was gone and it Michael was out of the car, stumbling home. He got inside as swiftly as possible and slumped against the door. Tremors still tore at his body, but he was safe. From the depths of the house came his mother's voice, "Michael is that you? I want to talk to you sweetie." It drew closer as it continued, until his mother appeared before him. Whatever she had to say was immediately pushed from her mind when she saw the state of her son. He'd slid down against the door and was curled into a fetal ball. His skin was pale.
"Honey, are you all right?" She asked softly, but didn't get any response. In fact, Michael didn't even register that she was there. She knelt down by his side. “Michael? Sweetie?" It wasn't until she touched his shoulder that he jolted to attention. Despite the fact that he was looking right at her, he wasn't seeing her. His green eyes were terror stricken and his breath came out in ragged gasps. He tried to get away from her, but she held his shoulders tight.
"Michael! Michael stop! It's Mom!" she yelled, trying desperately to bring her baby out of his waking dream. At last, his gaze focused on her. She clasped him to her with immense relief. "It's all right, baby, mommy’s here," came her gentle cooing. Michael held her like she was the last thing binding him into reality. When his shaking stopped, she held him back at arm's-length. "What happened Michael? You had some kind of panic attack!"
He had to reach for words before they would come, "I... I'm all right. I just..." He couldn't tell her, she'd never let him be alone again. She wouldn't be able to handle something like that. Not after his incident in the alley. He couldn't worry her like that. "It's nothing; I think I just had some kind of relapse. I thought about that night and panicked, I don't know why," Michael told her, trying to calm himself as well as her.
Still concerned, she pushed his bangs off his sweaty forehead. "Are you sure you’re all right? You seem awfully worked up."
"Yeah. I think I just need to lie down."
She wasn't convinced, but she helped him upstairs to his room. Michael curled up under his covers to hide from the horrors that wouldn't leave the corners of his mind. Liz shouted at him through the door, "A guy named Adrian called for you. He said he wanted you to call him back."
Adrian, if he could just hear his voice... Michael snatched up the phone on his desk and dialed the number on his palm. He desperately hoped that he hadn't started his shift, if so; he wouldn't have his phone with him. By the fourth ring, Michael was ready to give up, but the voice he so desired to hear sang across the line.
"Hello?"
The frightened teen clutched the phone tighter, as though he would lose the call if he didn't. "Adrian? It's me," he whimpered into the speaker.
"Chicago? Where were you? I thought I was taking home, but you never showed up."
"John told me that you had to go in early. He said you'd forgotten to tell me."
The punk's concern came through the phone up loud and clear. "That's a lie, what did he do? You didn't go anywhere with him, did you?! Did he hurt you?"
Michael's thread of control snapped and the story came out in a blathering torrent, "He threatened to kill me Adrian! I didn't... And I didn't... He put a gun in my mouth and threatened kill me. He said he wanted me to keep away from you... And... And I won't, and I can't..."
He could get no further, tucking himself into a ball to hide from his encroaching day terrors. Silence crackled over the line like a bad omen. Michael cradled the phone closer. "Adrian?" He whispered the name.
"Stay inside your house, Chicago. Don't go anywhere unless it's with your family. It's going to be okay. I'm certain he won't bother you again today, but just in case. I'll take care of this, and come see you as soon as I can," he told him. The younger boy nodded, though no one could see him.
Hours passed. Michael stayed holed up in his room, ignoring anyone who came to the door. He wanted nothing more than to just hide from the world that had wounded him. Sleep came in snatches, but never lasted long, always ending with some grinning face in a dark corner and Michael bleeding on the floor. From these dreams, he awoke with a pounding heart.
Past ten o'clock, he gave up on sleeping. Instead, he dug around in the stacks of plays until he found the script he was interested in. It was one of his favorites, Phantom of the Opera. It worked well on his nerves. The story consumed him quickly and everything else retreated into the back of his mind. When someone rapped softly on his window, however, he jumped a mile.
Michael whipped around. Adrian grinned at him through the window pane. The punk was balanced in the tree beside the house, leaning on the frame precariously. Michael slid open the window. "What are you doing here? Why are you in the tree? How did you get in the tree? What..."
Adrian put his finger against his lips to stop the bombardment of questions. "Were going out Chicago, get your shoes."
Michael nodded and picked up his sneakers, following him down the tree and across the lawn. Adrian was carrying a backpack, but Michael had never seen him with one before. He didn't ask while they were attempting to sneak out.
Through whispers, Adrian suggested that they rolled the bike away from the house before starting it. It worked perfectly, not a single light when on in house. They got on and sped away, Michael holding tight to Adrian's waist. He had no idea where the punk intended on taking him, but he was certainly willing to find out. The night air was cool against their skin.
When Adrian did pull over, it wasn't an area that the younger teen would have expected. "Adrian, what is there to do here?" He asked as he surveyed the area. They were behind a small strip mall that was closed for the night. A single, flickering floodlight brightened the area.
Adrian killed the engine and turned to him. He was torn between mentioning what had happened earlier in the day and just trying to keep Michael from thinking about it. He chose the latter, giving him a grin that spelled mischief. Michael watched him pull open the backpack, which contained several cans of spray-paint.
"You said you liked graffiti, I thought I'd show you how I do mine," he commented smoothly. Shocked, the younger boy allowed himself to be dragged to the far wall.
"Were going to spray-paint the wall? Can’t we get in trouble for that?!" His sputtered while Adrian shook the first can.
The punk rolled his gorgeous blue eyes and pulled off the cap, sighing at him, "Yes, Chicago, we can. That's part of the fun. Just relax, would you?" He quickly filled out the basic form of his signature, adding on, layer by layer. Michael watched in awe as a turned into one of the creations he'd always admired.
"That's so awesome! It roxors my boxors!" He exclaimed.
Adrian put the finishing touches on his work and gave Michael a sideways look. "What's that supposed to mean? Rocksors?"
"It's like ‘I love it’, or ‘I think that's cool!’ It's leet."
"Leet?"
Realizing Adrian didn't have a clue of what he was talking about, Michael picked up the white spray paint. He explained and put a few examples on the wall subconsciously, "Leet is a hacker language. They use numbers to replace some letters, and they also use symbols. It's really geek language." Almost immediately, he realized what he was doing. "Oh God, I've defaced public property!"
He tried to drop the can, but Adrian grabbed his hand. "You started it, you should finish it," he murmured in his ear. Michael felt his face flush as the punk slid an arm around his waist and guided his hand. Adrian's body was pressed close enough to his own that Michael's could feel the definition of muscle through the cloth between them. Every instruction he gave was whispered enticingly into his ear. The city boy heard none of it. He was certain that Adrian didn't mean to work up his emotions, but raging teenage hormones were at their peak.
Michael closed his eyes and tilted back his head, savoring the warmth of Adrian's body. When the graffiti was finished, Adrian got the glazed teen back to his motorcycle. "I want to take you one more place," he told him.
The ride was relatively short, but wasn't long enough to quench Michael's want to hold him. Adrian parked next to a hand painted sign that read ‘The Pumpkin Patch’. Behind the sign, and a low picket fence, was a field that had been set up for the Halloween pumpkin sales. The orange vegetables littered the area in stacks, on bales of hay, and in wagons. The range of sizes was huge. From some with a diameter of five inches to those that were three feet across.
The boys stepped over the white fence and found an unoccupied bale of hay to use as a seat. Once settled, Adrian rubbed his toe in the dirt like it embarrassed seven-year-old. "Chicago, what do you think of me?" he ventured.
Michael pondered the question a moment. He couldn't mention half the things that first entered his head, so he picked those that were best. Saying, "I think you are really great guy. I'll admit, at first, I thought you were just one of those people that pushed others around. As I got to know you, I found that I loved spending time with you."
Adrian got quiet, like he was considering the response. His answer surprised and confused Michael, "You won't think as well of me in a moment."
"Huh?"
He never got the chance to say more. Adrian kissed him.
It had to be a mistake; he had to be fooling with him, shooting for embarrassment. It had to be a joke, but Michael fell for it. He fell for it hard. Fiery butterflies danced in his belly, burning everything they came in contact with. He felt like he was smoldering.
Michael wrapped his arms around Adrian’s neck, sliding against his better built body. The slight movement of his lips was the only thing in the world. The younger boy was waiting for the rejection, waiting for the punch line, waiting for Adrian to decide that the joke was over and laugh. ‘You actually fell for it,’ but he didn't. In fact, the punk shifted his weight and they both tumbled backwards into the hay.
Their actions grew more excited, their kisses more feverish. Adrian's exploring hands ventured across the younger boy’s stomach and chest, leaving Michael feeling giddy, but wanting more.
They rolled, disrupting pumpkins, and the older boy ended up holding himself over Michael. Their searching tongues met and the city boy let out a soft moan. Adrian broke away, panting; the deep pools of his eyes were ablaze with hunger. "You can tell me no Chicago," he whispered, afraid the boy really would. Michael could feel him trembling from the effort of holding back. He was being serious.
The younger boy moved his mouth across Adrian's throat and trailed his fingers up under his shirt, mentioning between kisses, "I don't want to tell you no." He wrung a small gasp from the punk by nipping exposed skin right above his collarbone. Adrian visibly let go of his hold on himself, continuing his passionate escapade.
They lost themselves. Hands traveled and small outbursts of pleasure filled their ears and minds. As Adrian kissed up his stomach, something clicked in Michael's head.
"You loved Alex. He was the one that took off, wasn't he?"
The punk sat up sharply. "What?"
The one word made Michael regret he'd said anything. Adrian gave him an uncomfortably long stare and climbed to his feet, brushing his fingers through his hair to rid it of hay. "You sure know how to kill mood Chicago," he commented dryly.
The younger boy panicked, scrambling up as Adrian headed for the bike. "No! I didn't mean to upset you. I'd just heard this Alex mentioned so often and I just made the connection to what John told me in the Jeep. Adrian, please don't be mad at me!" He exclaimed as he ran after him. He grabbed onto him and buried his face in the muscular chest he'd cried on before. What he said after that was muffled, "I'm sorry, that was really stupid of me to bring up."
Adrian couldn't help but calm down; stroking the boy’s dyed red hair. "It's all right Chicago. I just don't know what think about you finding out," he said and sat down with Michael on the edge of the ‘white pumpkin’ wagon. He pulled boy up onto his lap, kissing his for head.
"Yeah, I loved him. He was a senior when I was a freshman and I fell head over heels for him. He really started it by professing his feelings first and I quickly found that I had the same, but I guess his weren't serious. He was just gone one day. He hadn't even graduated yet, he just left. I fell apart," he explained softly.
Without a second thought, Michael nuzzled him under the chin. "Do you love me like you loved him?"
"Yes."
"Good, because I'm crazy about you," the young teen stated proudly, bringing a smile back to Adrian's face.
The punk playfully suckled his ear lobe and breathed enticingly, "Let's go somewhere else." Michael nodded, unable to speak.
On the motorcycle, he didn't just hold on to Adrian’s waist, he explored every inch of it with his hands. He knew he'd found sensitive spots when the punk sped up, increasingly eager to get where they were going.