Page 19 of Loverboy

I leaned over the railing to look at the not-so-scenic view of a parking lot. It wasn’t a luxurious apartment. Truthfully, it was in a shitty neighbourhood. The upside was the entertainment: couples screaming at each other, the occasional car break-in, and even the odd streaker. Sometimes, if my parties got wild enough, the streaker was one of my own drunk friends out on a dare.

My mind drifted again, swallowed by a low, bee-like buzzing. I looked down through the fog creeping into my vision, the only indication I was still holding the mug being the warmth seeping into my hands.

“I’ll grab the single mattress from Mom’s place before work.” Jasper’s voice registered as close, cutting through my haze. “That way I’ll have something to sleep on when I get back late tonight.”

I nodded absently. “Sounds good.”

His hand settled on my shoulder, anchoring me to the concrete beneath my feet and reminding me that I was standing, not drifting away. In his other hand, he held another freshly brewed coffee.

I’d spaced out again.

“Why don’t you come help me?” he suggested. “Mom probably wants to see that you’re alive.”

“No, no. Too much crying and hugging.” I shuddered at the thought of another post-attempt reunion.

“I shouldn’t have phrased it as a question.” His grip on my shoulder tightened. “Quit flirting with the railing and get inside. You’re coming whether you like it or not.”

He was worried I might do something stupid while he was gone, and that knowledge made my heart swell. Jasper wasn’t affectionate in obvious ways, so I learned to read it through sarcasm and rough edges. All the playful bullying and sharp words were like a secret language, and only I knew what they meant.

I like having you around.

His face was tight with genuine concern, and I wanted to be reckless to feel more of that care disguised as cruelty. The rush it gave me was unmatched, and I’d risk everything just to taste it.

“Oh, come on. From this high?” I set my mug down on the small glass table nestled between two balcony chairs and leaned farther over the railing, staring at the grass three floors below. The blood rushed to my head. “I’d only break a few bones.”

“Quit acting like a child.” Jasper yanked me back by my shirt, hard enough that his coffee splashed onto his hand. He didn’t react to the pain—only me.

“I’m not a child,” I grumbled, trying to pull free. “And actually, I’m older than you.”

“Then act like it,” he growled, dragging me inside. The balcony door slammed behind us, glass rattling.

“What’s your problem? I joke about offing myself all the time.” I tugged at my shirt, nearly losing my footing as he let go.

“Except you did do something this time, and I almost lost you.” Jasper’s chest rose and fell with controlled breaths. “So listen to me for once and come with me.”

“You’re being dramatic,” I said, unable to resist pushing his buttons. “Have a sense of humour.”

“I’m being dramatic?” He tightened his grip on the mug still in his hand. “Says the one who just tried to kill himself over some whore.”

The jab should have been offensive, but it wasn’t. All I heard was that she wasn’t good enough for me, and he thought I deserved better.

I grinned and shrugged.

“That’s what I thought,” he groused.

From the outside, I knew it looked fucked up. But if you bothered to read between the lines, it was obvious what this was.

Love.

We just had a fucked-up way of showing it.

9

Milo

MY LEG BOUNCED uncontrollably, and the music playing did little to ease my nerves. I scrolled through my phone obsessively, opening and closing apps, browsing socials without actually digesting anything. The second wave of nausea since the morning nearly had me vomiting again alongside the vibrations in the car, bile inching up the back of my throat but never quite making it out, still tasting vaguely like acetaminophen. At this point, I was starting to wonder if the taste was purely psychological, and how long it planned to haunt me.

“Can’t I wait outside?” I tried to reason, locking my phone and nervously playing with the chain dangling from my industrial piercing, ready to crawl out of my skin.