come over?

It couldn’t have been any later than two, maybe three, in the morning. His phone beside him vibrates on the mattress, almost painfully loud next to his ear. He starts with a jolt, adrenaline spiking through his heart, and fumbles blindly for the cause of his late-night heart attack. The ginger rubs his eyes with his free hand in hopes of his sight adjusting to the blinding screen, and immediately wishes he’d screened the call instead upon reading the name at the top. Parker. Always late at night.

He sighs. He was already up anyway… Holding his phone up to his ear as he falls back into the pillows, he mumbles a most likely incoherent, “What.”

”Don’t sound too excited,” Parker’s drunken laugh sounds through the speaker. “Come over?” Phrased like a question, but Sparks knew better.

”It’s 2am,” Sparks says flatly.

”So?”

”…So, hell no? I thought you had football practice in the morning.”

Something slams on Parker’s end of the phone, muffled cursing audible, then Parker’s recognizable huff of tense frustration. “I quit. Come on, I miss you,” he purrs, voice like silk. Sparks hates how easily he can switch to that. “I know you want to come over.”

Sparks drags his hand down his face, staring up at the ceiling as he weighs his options. On one hand, he gets out of the house — however late at night it is, getting out of his headspace was good. On the other hand, staying in bed and…  “Fine.”

There’s a pause before Parker responds, sounding surprised and, predictably, a little pleased with himself. “Really?” 

“You just- Yes, really. Don’t black out by the time I get there or I’m blocking you.”

”You couldn’t get rid of me, even if you tried,” Parker coos before promptly hanging up, laugh ringing in Sparks’ ears. Sparks rolls his eyes, though, embarrassingly enough, he knows Parker is right.

———————————————

While Sparks didn’t mind sneaking in through the back window to Parker's room every once in a while, being called over every time the jock got too drunk to handle himself was starting to wear down on him. He had to have other things to do with himself… 

Sparks taps on the glass, gripped onto the lattice to keep himself balanced. No answer. I swear to god, if he fell asleep- Sparks’ thoughts are interrupted by the creaking of the window frame — the poor thing must be disintegrating by now — and Parker grabbing his arm to yank him out of the cold. His hazel eyes are bright, staring down at Sparks, the stench of alcohol on his breath. Sparks stares back. He’s taller than Parker, but the way each of them held themselves always made Parker look bigger, taller, stronger than Sparks. His hand is tense on Sparks’ arm, fingers digging into his skin. Sparks’ fingertips beginning to prickle with numbness knocks him out of the trance the two were in, breaking eye contact to try to pry Parker’s hand off of him. Parker’s eyebrows furrow, his grip tightening on Sparks’ arm, and Sparks rolls his eyes. There’s no winning against him.

The taller finally breaks the silence between the two, voice barely above a whisper. “Home alone?” he asks. He didn’t see any cars besides Parker’s in the driveway when he’d skirted around to the back of the house, but it didn’t hurt to check. He didn’t necessarily want to be burst in on, especially by someone related to Parker. Parker nods wordlessly in return, expression hardening, then leans in to kiss him. 

Sparks claps his free hand over Parker’s mouth and pushes him back, to which Parker huffs in annoyance, hazel hard as stone. “You’re incredibly drunk right now,” Sparks chastises, teasing half-smile pulling at his lips. Parker rolls his eyes and prepares to shove Sparks off of him, but Sparks quickly continues before he can retort. “I’m not going to do this when you’re wasted and I’m not. But, I’ll stay. Deal?” Parker narrows his eyes, but, thankfully, slowly nods, and Sparks relaxes.

The ginger glances around the messy bedroom and makes note of the new hole in the wall by his door, and at least one newly empty six-pack scattered across the room. Sparks is sure these correlated with one another, but he wasn’t about to press for more information. He looks back up at Parker, who hadn’t taken his eyes off of him yet, then simply sheds his jacket on his floor — which knocked Parker’s hand off of him, finally — and walks over to Parker’s bed. Parker stumbles after him and falls into the covers, arm thrown over his eyes. Sparks stifles a laugh. “You called me over just to pass out on me?”

Parker fumbles over his words, flushed face finally visible from the street lamps outside. “I called you over because I missed you, Gabe,” he grunts, lifting his arm enough to glare at the ginger. “Didn’t think I’d be interrogated.” There was also the pressing issue of loneliness creeping through his ribcage, threatening to suffocate him, but Parker doesn’t think that was worth mentioning. 

Sparks tilts his head, genuinely taken aback. He missed me? He isn’t sure why Parker insists on using his given name either. Potentially asking him to repeat himself proves to be fruitless though, because Parker yanks Sparks back by the hood and pins him into the mattress. Sparks lands in his pillows with a choked grunt, kept down by Parker’s grip on his throat as Parker rolls over him, other fist pressing into the covers next to Sparks’ head. Green meets hazel, silence falling over the room, breathing mixing between them.

”Jason,” Sparks prompts in a whisper. Parker isn’t putting much pressure on his throat yet, but the threat is there. He’s done it before, he’s tried worse, and he can very well do it again. Parker’s jaw visibly sets, teeth grit, then finally moves his hand. At least he can understand me, Sparks thinks, relieved the brunette isn’t so drunk he wouldn’t listen. Parker’s calloused fingertips trail lightly against Sparks’ cheek for a brief, tantalizing moment, before entangling in the hair at the nape of his neck instead. His dim eyes dart around Sparks’ face, looking almost like he’s counting every marking Sparks has scattered across his skin or searching for something. Sparks isn’t sure what.

”I wish you- just,” Parker starts, then stops. His fists are tense with still pent-up frustration, knuckles white and bunched into the sheets. “I wish you were dead. I wouldn’t have to do this if you were. I want to break your stupid fucking neck.”

Sparks blinks in surprise. He’s used to Parker’s violence, more often than not directed at him — Parker isn’t exactly the safest person to be around, he knows this; he signed up for this after agreeing to let the boy who tried to kill him several times in the school parking lot finally kiss him — but outright saying it? He chalks it up to the alcohol in his system, but that doesn’t give him an idea of how to respond. “I’m- sorry?”

”Yeah. Be sorry,” Parker unhelpfully mutters. His arms finally give out on him and he lands on Sparks’ chest, who winces in pain, then cautiously brings his arms around Parker’s back. Parker hums a soft noise and leans into his touch, burying his face into Sparks’ chest; softest noise Sparks has heard from him yet. Sparks can’t help but smile a little. Idiot.

”How much did you drink?” Sparks changes the topic, hoping to drive Parker away from the idea of killing him in his sleep.

”Who says I’m drunk?” The stare Sparks gives him in return changes his mind and he hides his face again, closing his eyes. “I dunno. Doesn’t matter.” Sparks disagrees, but swallows his tongue.

Parker is silent for a while longer, breath deepening as he lays on top of — or, traps — Sparks. “I wish I didn’t hate you,” he says, speech slurred together. “I hate hating everything.” Sparks cards his fingers through Parker’s hair. He isn’t sure what to say, and they both know it. Parker swallows the pit threatening to creep up his throat. “Everything sucks.” Sparks huffs an agreement.

”I thought you liked football,” Sparks comments in an attempt to be at least a little optimistic, and Parker’s shoulders tense beneath his hands. Didn’t like that.

“Fuckin’ stupid,” the brunette scoffs, avoiding looking at Sparks. “I already told you, I quit. Didn’t need that shit taking up my time anymore. Got more important things to handle, like dealing with you and all your… everything.”

Sparks’ brows furrow, confusion clear. “You… called me over. Do you want me to go—?”

”Don’t.”

There’s a brief pause, each holding their breath, waiting for the other to continue. Maybe Parker would never let him go again; maybe Gabe would leave anyway.

Until Gabe mutters an, “okay,” and pushes Parker to the side. He grunts in indignation, arm outstretched to grab Gabe, opening his mouth to pick a fight, but the insults die on the tip of his tongue when Gabe instead simply lifts the disorganized blankets. The ginger looks back at Parker, amusement dancing in his eyes — he sets Parker off intentionally sometimes, as dangerous as it may be — and wordlessly invites Parker to join him. He looks lost, hazel flicking between Gabe’s viridescent gaze and the space in the sheets, and slowly he scoots in to fit himself against Gabe, unsure when anyone else had done this for him, if ever. Gabe drops the blanket around his shoulders and brings his arms around him, closes his eyes, breath warm against the dip of Parker's neck. Parker hesitates, but concedes eventually, closing his eyes and wrapping his arms around Gabe, face hidden in his chest once more. 

“I’m sorry that you hate me,” Gabriel says, voice rumbling against Jason’s ear, “and that you quit the team. I know you liked that for a while, at least.” Jason grunts noncommittally. Gabe almost continues with the intent to ask if he was okay, but swallows his voice.

Instead, Gabe murmurs a much softer, “I hope something makes you happy again.”

Jason doesn’t answer, doesn’t think he can even if he wanted to. Was he ever happy? Gabe’s heartbeat mixes with his thoughts, swirling together with alcohol, muffling the dull ache. A faint whisper of an idea trickles through his mind, the idea that maybe he could- and it’s quickly stomped down before it could live its lifespan. Jason doesn’t need anything like that, much less from the smaller, weaker man besides him. He could manage on his own. 

He doesn’t realize he’s trembling until Gabe finally tilts his chin up to look at him, the most concern Jason had ever seen one person hold for him visible in his knotted eyebrows and the slight frown pulling at the corners of his lips. He looks like he again wants to ask that damned question, lips parted as if he’d caught himself just before the words left his mouth. Jason rolls his eyes and pushes Gabe’s hand away, sinking back into his arms. He just wants to sleep. They’re both tired, exhausted from their respective days and now from this, whatever this was. Jason’s half-asleep by now, dozing in his drunken state, soothed by Gabe’s fingers twisting rhythmically in his hair. He needs a haircut. 

It’s not incredibly often that Jason lets Gabe stay overnight, much less for anything less than the hookups he seems to expect nowadays… but it’s nice when he does. He’s warm, familiar, and, at exceptionally rare times, soft. Gabriel’s thoughts drift as he succumbs. Maybe he could get used to this.