How the fuck was he supposed to continue on like he hadn’t
read that letter? The more he thought about it the more it made sense. He was
the bad twin, it inevitable. because he was the bad kid in high school, despite
his amazing great grades, he skipped class, smoked, did weed, all the stuff
kids weren’t supposed to do. but not Michael, Michael was perfect got straight
A’s, didn;t cut class, he helped Dean get his act together when John failed to
He just felt like crying, like quitting football because
would it really matter. Yeah it made him happy, but it also made him happy to
see his twin brothers grin when they won, won the game and played well, slap
him on the shoulder and say good job, brother, and later on celebratory sex.
He was about to lose all that in a couple of months. For
what so Michael can have a bigger pay check, so he doesn’t have to be tied down
to a deadbeat who on more occasions than one was suspended for things, got
arrested. yeah he was the bad twin, and Michael was shoving off his dead
Dean perked up and saw the stupid grin on his brothers face,
acting as if nothing was wrong, he didn’t give a shit, didn’t know that Michael
was holding Dean together. He was well aware he looked like a kicked puppy, but
it didn’t matter soon Michael would be gone and nothing would matter, his life
“Hey…” He smiles then it fades, his stomach dropped and he
wasn’t hungry, and he was on the verge of tears and he couldn’t lose it not in
front of Michael, it would give him that much incentive to leave right now.
“M'not hungry,” he mutters and picks up the shampoo he to
from Michaels bag and putters into the bathroom, slamming the door and locking
it behind him.
Well—that was unusual. And weird. Dean had been begging for
him to just go out and get some damn food already because he, as he sat and
watched the highlights of somebody else’s game on the edge of the bed, was
starving. So after some playful banter and teasing, Michael had gone out to do
And now he wasn’t hungry? Now he needed to take a shower, go
What the fuck?
But it wasn’t like Michael could do anything about it. He
took a seat at the end of the bed Dean had just vacated, pried open his bag of
Chick-Fil-A, and dug in.
As he chewed on his chicken burger and fries, he racked his
brain. What was there that could have possibly pissed him off? Another girl?
No, but they’d talked about that—Michael wasn’t going to come out as gay any
time soon, maybe not ever. And he certainly wasn’t going to tell anyone he
liked sucking his own brother off. So what? The letter from the Chargers was
locked away, safe in a briefcase with his manager back in Lawrence, so it
What the fucking hell, Dean?