Micky walked home with a belly full of lead. Nothing more had happened besides some intense kissing, but he feared for when Michael would insist that they take it a step further. The older man had already insisted that they meet every day after work.

Work. Micky was grateful he had a job, but he hated how it had been obtained. He didn't even have a car so Michael would have to drive him every day. There would be no way to avoid the older man—and Micky had a feeling that that was exactly how Michael wanted it.

The only reason Micky was walking home instead of having Michael drive him home was because Michael said that people would be out and about and nobody could see Michael dropping Micky off. Their affair had to be kept secret...at least, for now.

Micky sighed when he finally arrived at his home. He reached into his pocket for the key and unlocked the door, greeted by silence. He felt uneasy, like someone was watching him, but he knew that wasn't the case. Michael was back at his own house.

Micky went into his bedroom and groaned as he fell onto the bed. It wasn't that late, especially considering the time he'd woken up earlier, but he was dead tired. It took all the energy he had left to kick off his shoes and peel off his shirt before crawling underneath the covers, still wearing his jeans and socks.

Micky dreamed about Michael's lips that night.

bo burnham. go look him up. now.

personal faves are "from god's perspective," "sad," "country song," and "oh bo."