🏆Featured on TeenFiction | Head Over Heels
To Leroy 'Lee' Hiew, home's never felt like home. He has a huge mansion, a big car, and more money than he could ever spend. And yet, the idea of home always seems to elude him.
Armed with his dog, Socks...
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"Your collar's crooked."
It's a little too early, and the sunlight's a little too bright, and the pair of honey-brown irises glaring daggers into him are a little too piercing. Lee blinks, suspended in the velveteen violet of morning, flecks of mercury and jupiter fluttering in his vision. His temples throb with a fiery vengeance, raging headache matching every pulse of his heart.
Before he can move, Jack's fingers curl around the edge of his collar, gently pulling out the starched folds. "You're so messy," Jack chastises, pressing his nails into the crumpled fabric in a sorry attempt to smooth it out. "Can't you even keep your shirt straight?"
Maybe Lee's just a masochist, but he can't help the shiver that runs up his spine as Jack's calloused digits lightly brush against his throat. There's something wildly palpable in the space between them, an illusioned fragment of skin on skin. Lee drinks in the feeling like it's liquid gold, relishing the way Jack prods irritatedly at his collar and mumbles curses under his breath.
"Nothing straight about me, sweetie," Lee teases, receiving a massive eye roll in return.
"I'm going to start bringing an iron to school and iron out your clothes while you're still wearing them," Jack threatens.
Lee laughs. "Just don't leave any tan lines."
A snort escapes Jack's lips. He gives Lee's collar one final tug, and although Lee knows it's just Jack being Jack---doing his job, as he always says---it's nice feeling special. He knows Jack doesn't like to touch people---doesn't like touching, doesn't like being touched---and the fact that he can put his hands all over Lee without flinching speaks volumes in itself. Touch, such a fragile, flighty thing, especially when it comes to Jack, somehow seems almost natural between the invisible crimson strings tied along the knuckle-lines of their pinkies.
(At least, Lee likes to think of it that way. He supposes crushes involve more wistful thinking than the regular person would prefer.)
"Dealing with you's like babysitting one of my younger siblings," Jack complains, and Lee doesn't argue---how can he, when it's true? Even though Jack's two siblings are far younger than him. Even though Lee's older---much older, older than Jack himself, in fact, even if it's only by a few months. He supposes his lack of emotional maturity fills in the gaps. After all, he'd had to grow up a little too late.
(Even though they've all already grown up, really, Lee likes to think he still has one foot over the line between childhood and legality.)
Mrs Hass, a shrivelled lady barely half Lee's size, mumbles something about turning to page sixty-nine in their textbooks, and Lee jolts. He hadn't really realised there was a lesson going on---when he's around Jack, he never really realises anything. Jack seems to sense his confusion, fixing him with a harsh glare before turning back to the front, his mouth a thin line of disappointment that practically screams, Pay attention, dipshit.
