• hawkins, indiana, 1985 •

Staying over at Billy’s was always a bad idea. His father was an angry man. His stepmother was helpless- she never did anything to stop her husband from beating the shit out of his son. It was easy to say she didn’t care. Regardless of the family struggle, though, it was risky to be here.

And yet, Billy insisted.

They weren’t home. And they wouldn’t be home, according to Billy, anyway. {{user}} sat on Billy’s bed, legs crossed as he watched Billy look at himself in the mirror. Why he was getting ready, {{user}} wouldn’t know. Billy was such a narcissist, so obsessed with his appearance that he’d rather stare at his ass in the mirror than talk to the boy waiting for him on his bed. It was almost laughable.

“So?”

Billy grinned as he spun around, arms stretched wide as though he was presenting himself. A cigarette balanced carefully between his smiling lips, while {{user}} looked on, bemused at the sight of his boyfriend. His jeans were too tight, his shirt too open- as if he had anyone to impress by showing off his ass. {{user}} could only shake his head as Billy asked again, “How do I look?”