dramaprincess (dramaprincess) wrote in madisonvalley, @ 2024-01-16 21:10:00 |
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Entry tags: | !closed, !narrative, justin taylor (dramaprincess), mickey milkovich (fckd4life) |
Who: Justin & Mickey
What: Aftermath of the BW Plot
Where: Their apartment
When: The night following the end of the plot
Status: Closed, Narrative
Rating: Medium, for language as always when Mickey is involved
"Joey, Ross or Chandler." Justin was laying flat on the couch, hair half in his face wearing sweats and a t-shirt, a beer resting on his chest.
"Ain't playing this game with you," Mickey's tone was long suffering as he took a drag off his joint and put his empty bottle on the coffee table, the twink had shown up less than a month ago and was already an annoying pain in his ass. He twisted from where he was sitting on the floor, back against the couch and snagged the beer trading it for the smoke.
"Come on, I'm bored." The blonde whined taking a hit, he wasn't drunk or stoned enough to get away with whining, but he figured Mickey wouldn't call him on it if he didn't push it too much.
"So get a job," Mickey didn't roll his eyes, of course he didn't. He did flip his roommate off over his shoulder as he unpaused his video game; the Xbox and a handful of games had conveniently fallen off a pallet at work, so sad, inventory getting misplaced like that. "Get a fucking hobby other than your quest to blow half the native population of Madison."
Justin turned on his side to watch the Mickey play, some first person shooter thing that he was incredibly good at in a way that should worry Justin but didn't, and took another drag off the joint before reaching around to pop it between Mickey's lips and take back his beer.
"Should we maybe talk about it?" He means some of the things they'd both said while stuck in a bad rendition of Father Knows Jack Shit complete with a laugh track to minimize the trauma. Obviously.
"Jesus Christ Dr. Phil," he paused his game again and tossed the controller aside getting up to go find another beer, muttering to himself as he rummaged in their refrigerator. "Your dad's an asshole. Mines a worthless piece of shit. They both got issues with the fact that we suck cock. How much discussion do we need to have?"
He handed a second beer to Justin and pushed his feet out of the way so he could settle into the empty space on the couch and kick his feet up on the coffee table as he took a long drink. Justin twisted, sprawling awkwardly for a moment before shifting so he was leaning against the arm rest and tucked his feet against Mickey's thigh. It was a testament to how comfortable they'd gotten that Mickey didn't shove him away.
"Yours tried to kill you." He was honestly horrified, getting kicked out and disowned seemed tame in comparison. Mickey shrugged like it hardly mattered.
"More'n once. And will probably try again if he ever gets out of prison." But back home Mickey was in prison too so, for now he was fairly safe. Depending on your definition of safe. He took a last hit and offered the end of the joint to Justin. "Worse for you though."
"Yeah, right." Justin scoffed and took a drink from his beer, and a last inhale before putting the butt in an ashtray on the coffee table.
"Mine never pretended not to be a piece of shit. Pawned Christmas gifts. Handed us off to Family Services when it was convenient not to have kids. Stole our Halloween candy. I knew who he was before he pistol whipped me. Yours..." He'd been a good dad. He'd been someone Justin had loved and was sorry to lose. That much had been obvious when he'd told the story, laugh track not withstanding.
"Yeah," he yawned, his sleep had been terrible all week, and idly massaged his right hand where it was stiff. Or maybe that was all psychosomatic, who knew.
"You haven't been sleeping much." Different than when Ian was manic, but no way was he getting enough sleep between the late nights and nightmares. It was as close to offering to talk about it as he was likely to get.
"You care?" Mickey bit his lip, half shrugged. Maybe. A little. Not that he was going to admit that.
"You're fuckin' loud."
"They'll go away, stopped having them more than once in a while before I came here. Just a lot of changes." He'd had a couple when he was with Ethan, an ordeal the other man hadn't been very good at dealing with. They'd gotten more frequent here, his anxiety manifesting itself. He should probably go to the clinic, see about getting his meds and find a neurologist but he'd been putting it off. He didn't want to talk about it, so he changed the subject. "Want to tell me who Ian is?"
He reached over and tapped Mickey's chest where the tattoo was under his shirt, the 'I' peeking out of the neck, with his bottle. Mickey didn't say anything for a long moment, then sort of shook his head, more at himself than at Justin.
"Fuck Joey, marry Chandler and kill Ross. No one wants to fuck Ross."
"Yeah," that answered that. He eyed his roommate, the dark hair falling over his forehead and the pale skin, he could almost still be in grey scale if not for those bright blue eyes. Not for the first time Justin itched to draw him. Already thinking about those sepia photo with pops of color as an inspiration. He sighed. "I looked at the college, to see what sort of art program they have. Might manage one class a semester with my gimp hand but its something."
"College boy, huh? Gonna be too good to slum it with me cake eater." His tone was light, but a little of his very real anxiety bled through, he might like Justin. A little. When he wasn't being a pain in the ass. Justin kicked Mickey in the thigh lightly and the other man grunted.
"You could do it too. You hate Walmart."
"Right. I'll just roll up at the high school and register as a fuckin' freshman." It wasn't something Mickey thought about much, but graduating from high school hadn't ever been something he thought was possible. Hell it hadn't been possible back home.
"They have to have some sort of adult equivalency here, people come from all over the place, education can't possibly be universal."
"Yeah, whatever. Why we talkin' about this shit?" Mickey pushed to his feet, uncomfortable with the topic. "I'm gonna make a booty call before I got work."
Justin watched him finish his beer, then go to pull on his boots by the door. He'd pushed too hard and he knew it, but pushing was sort of his MO. He thought about saying more but decided he didn't want to piss Mickey off.
"Have fun with your mystery man."
"Not mine. Not a mystery. Not a man." He didn't know what Desire was exactly, but he knew that much. He pulled on his coat, grabbed his backpack and flipped the blonde off before he disappeared through the door. Eventually Justin forced himself to get up, he considered going out but was fighting back another yawn so he went to bed. Maybe he could get a few hours before he had a nightmare.