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Harrington grabbed Eddie’s t-shirt, jean jacket, mashing them in his hands. Slammed him into the lockers.
Munson’s brows drifted up. “Stereotype,” he mouthed, so only Steve could hear.
Harrington dragged him sideways, Eddie’s elbow clipping every lock on the way to the bathroom, clanging, the sound of his imminent smack-down ringing through the hall. Steve’s friends (frenemies) were laughing in the background.
They careened into the washroom, Eddie’s momentum carrying him into the wall. “Don’t touch my face, Harrington!” he screamed, one hand cupping to the hall.
He continued, sotto voce, “Because how else will I suck your dick later?”
“Quiet,” Steve hissed, chocolate eyes widening. Eddie loved it when he was frustrated. Peering, Steve hurriedly checked the stalls, bending, searching for feet. “Clear.”
“Ow! Shit! Stop,” Eddie wailed. Motioned a ‘come-on’ gesture to Steve. “Hit me,” he whispered.
“What?”
Munson blew air through his cheeks into a raspberry. Then smacked his fist into his palm. “Ah!” moaning with fake-pain. “Stop, please!”
“Ok,” Steve said. “Don’t oversell it.”
“You’re going to have to actually punch me one of these times.”
Harrington’s expression soured. “My friends are too dumb to notice.”
“Not them. Someone’s going to catch on, we spend a looooot of time in the bathroom. Together.” He winked, “My love.”
Steve stopped working when Eddie used words like ‘love.’ Anything sweet, really. He wasn’t going to quit, but he noticed the pause, as if he had pressed the reset button on Harrington’s brain. Love-starved kid. Well, he knew what that was like.
Harrington leaned against the washroom wall, arm extended. Checking his watch, like it was an appointment. “I have two minutes. Are we talking, or?”
“Or?” He pushed out his lips. “Are you propositioning me, Harrington? A fine young man, such as yourself, a homosexual?”
Steve was kissing him, cutting off the last word. It was better it stayed in Eddie’s throat, anyway. His jaw jutting out, panting, grinning, fumbling at Steve’s belt buckle. Their foreheads pressed together as they looked down, Steve helping him with his pants. “The stall?”
“I thought you only had two minutes?”
Steve’s hands moved to either side of Eddie’s head, hands splayed against the brick. “Fuck. Ok, ok, ok, just do it.”
Eddie’s fingers pushing into his jeans, past the elastic band of his underwear. He watched Steve, liked clocking the athlete’s eyes go glassy as he tugged.
Harrington rolling his hips, not large movements, but his muscles clenching and releasing: ass and thighs and abdomen. Thrusting in waves into Eddie’s palm, urging him with his body to go faster. Steve was gasping at the ceiling. Eddie ducked forward, pecking, barely a kiss, on his crush’s neck.
The bell rung. Steve swore, eyes rolling up. Exhaled, tucking himself away. “Bleachers, after school?”
———————————————————————
Dustin was already in the hospital, fingers laced, small in one of the green vinyl chairs. “Steve,” he nodded to the chair beside him as if he was a shrink.
Squinting, Steve sat down, cautious. “Henderson, are you here for-?”
“Eddie, yeah.”
“Were you with him, when?” Steve’s brows drawing together.
Dustin looked at his older male friend. Steve had the sense he was fucked. “I wasn’t with him, Steve. I found him.” There was a pause where Harrington suspected he was supposed to fill in the gap. He didn’t. “Under the bleachers,” Dustin said, issuing sentencing.
Yeah, Steve was fucked. “I forgot,” he said. He hadn’t forgotten. How could he have forgotten Eddie? He chickened out. Scared to keep meeting, scared to get caught, scared of himself. Rubbing his sneakers on the linoleum, he continued, “Can you tell me what happened?”
“Mm, ok Steve.” Dustin patted his knuckles. “Eddie was hanging mistletoe under the bleachers.”
Shit. Did Henderson actually know? The kid continued, unhurried, as Steve’s heart dropped out of his ass. “And he ate the berries.”
“What?”
“They’re toxic for dogs.”
Steve opened his mouth, confused, more of a grimace. “Munson isn’t a, dog?”
“And werewolves.”
He raised a finger, then pressed it to his own lips, as if shushing himself. “What?” whispered.
“Wait, he didn’t tell you?” Dustin squirmed up in his chair. “You’ve been hooking up all this time, and he didn’t tell you? Eeeeesh.”
“Hold on, hold on, Henderson, you knew?”
Dustin rolled his eyes. “I knew.”
“Who else knows?”
“That’s your question? Not: how is Eddie doing?”
God, the kid was schooling him. Steve ran his hand through his hair. “Yeah, yeah, have you seen him?”
“No.”
“No? You’re sitting here, and you haven’t even seen him? Giving me shit, and you haven’t even seen him?”
“Family only.”
“Fuck,” Steve yelled at the floor. The receptionist glared.
“Gotta wait,” Dustin said, his hand back on Steve’s knuckles.
———————————————————————
Munson was surrounded by a sea of teal: hospital green blankets, viridian pillows, and a pastel gown with little flowers. It contrasted the pink welts around his mouth. An IV taped to the back of his hand. “I’m drooling a lot,” he said to Steve, smacking his lips. “It’s the berries, it’s not me.” Gestured to his face. “Not normally this handsome.”
Dustin had told him he had a seizure. “Christ,” Steve said, taking Munson’s hand.
Eddie’s eyes flicked down, “Y’sure? Someone could walk in.”
“Henderson told me you’re a werewolf.”
“Ah,” he breathed, baring teeth to reveal what could be fangs. “Only sometimes.”
“Yeah, yeah, I get that. That’s what a werewolf is. What, why, never mind. I think I get why you didn’t tell me.”
Munson rolled his wrist, as if testing Steve’s grip. “Uh-huh?”
“I haven’t been brave. And it’s not like it isn’t going to suck, but I want to. We can get beat up together.”
“Hopefully, not that.”
Steve exhaled, “No, you’re right. We’ll take them, right? In fact, why haven’t we been taking them? Why haven’t you been fighting back? You’re a-?”
“I wanted to spend time with you, lover boy.”
Steve’s brain stopped working, he didn’t know if it would ever restart.