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"We're just a hookup."
The words spilled out of his mouth and attacked my ears harsly, his hoarse voice lined with sincerity as he pulled his shirt on over his head. Of course, I was just another fuck in a small town that lacked gay people.
And, being my usual, emotional self, I was the fuck that accidentally announced that they loved their fuckbuddy. Mickey Milkovich to be exact. I didn't reply, pulling up my blue jeans with little effort and buckling up my belt.
My silence was deafening, at least, to Mickey. His gaze met mine, almost humouring me.
"What—? 'Dya think I was gonna run away with you and get married because you can take it up the ass?" He challenged, prompting me to do everything in my power to avoid looking in his eyes for another second.
"No," I pouted, "I thought . . I thought we were, like, friends, or something."
Mickey nearly laughed, only embarrassing me further.
"Friends? Shit, y/n, we're not friends," He chortled, "We fuck. That's it."
"And if I told you I wanted more than that?" I proposed involuntarily, the words just slipping out of my mouth before I could do anything to stop them.
"I'd cut your fuckin' tongue out."
Gaze cast on the ground, I forced a tight lipped smile as I reached for my shirt and slipped in on quickly to get out of there as fast as possible.
He seemed to get bored of my presence instantly, picking up a broken shard of a long gone mirror that he used during a fight with some punks last week to look through and fix his sex hair.
I didn't know what to do or say, other than leave the boy alone in his room and head back to my home. To get away.
"See ya tomorrow— Usual spot!" Mickey called after me, as I headed for the front door— contemplating if I was willing to come back for another fuck without getting too attached.
