(no subject)
Characters: Varon (aussie_biker) and The Rats!
Rating: PG-13 for language and Bad Thoughts?
Summary : Well. Who else do you ask for advice but the rats?
Ok. I want you all to remember that you all love me, and I love you, and your lives would be empty without me. Read on.
Varon was more used to leaving the hospital to return to his own room, dropping onto his own bed amidst a sea of motorcycle posters, interjected with girls on motorcycles and girls on their own. He’d had to limit the number of girls (and their state of undress) because of his mother, but he still had some allowances. Home was also his mother’s cooking and his Xbox.
Home was not a shitty Chemistry lab, cluttered with the junk of five guys. Home did not have four geeks raising their heads at his entrance, dropping them back down to snigger. Home did not make Varon wish, even for a fleeting second, that he was back in the hospital.
But here he was, in the shitty Chem. Lab, clutching the rucksack of stuff Yoshida had rounded up for him, glaring death at the four sniggering heads. He placed the rucksack on the floor - he wanted to throw it, but he didn’t want to hear the sickening crack of his laptop breaking -and unzipped it, pulling out the copy of Bikes Yoshida had left him with. He still wanted the Daytona. He was getting used to wanting it already. Want, present tense. Wanted, past tense. Yami had wanted him, and didn’t anymore, and that was exactly what Varon wanted. Wants.
He’d have liked to sit and pretend no one else existed in the lab, but even with headphones on he couldn’t quite ignore the prodding to the back of his head. Snapped, punched one of them, retreated to the storage closet, grabbing the light cord and illuminating the shelves of school-safe chemicals.
The rats shot out from wherever they’d been in the centre of the floor, ducking to hide under the lower shelves and crates. That’s what he needed those lousy gits in there to do - run out of his way before he hurt them. Badly.
The hospital’s wireless had died on the Saturday, so he hadn’t been able to post and tell Squiggly what time to meet him at. He needed to vent now. It’d ease the pain his pride had suffered losing to Marik if he could beat Squiggly into the dirt. Even Yami thought he could. Thought he could “destroy” Squiggly, and it was always nice to have a vote of confidence from -
Not best friend again. Not yet, maybe, if there would ever come a time when they were best friends again. Maybe they weren’t even friends again. They were something, but Varon didn’t know what it was. Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything in the slightest bit romantic.
He sighed, dropping down on an upturned crate. His head hurt. He’d have very much liked to curl up in his own bed in Australia, bury himself away under duvets and let his mom wake him up hours later with a big mug of overly sweet tea. Could’ve gone out on his motorcycle, but his head hurt too much. Couldn’t be doing with going to the garage in case Yoshida was there - Sunday off or no Sunday off, the old bastard practically lived there - to ask if Varon had worked himself out of his ‘state of ignorance’.
No state of ignorance. Varon knew if he liked Yami in that way, not Yoshida. And Varon knew he didn’t. Maybe thought things he wouldn’t have, but he’d been in hospital for too long.
He watched the rats creep out from the shelves, shiny eyes glancing up at him, judging whether or not he was a threat. He’d just sit still and let them judge it for themselves. He wasn’t, after all, one of the Big Bad humans who so reverently tried to remove the rats from their home. He wondered if they realised he was the one leaving store-bought rat food out for them and store-bought human food. He obviously had a soft spot for little animals. Those squirrels Amelda was always threatening, the rats. Yami.
They had managed to scatter the bowl of rat food out over the floor. Probably strategic, since it made it easier for the seven or so rats to get at the food. He wondered if perhaps they’d suffer from living with so many chemicals, then wondered how the Hell the teachers hadn’t done anything about them.
Then wondered about what Yoshida said.
Did rats form homosexual likes? How could you tell a guy rat from a girl rat without having a close inspection? Note: a close inspection he would not be carrying out.
What if they thought a guy rat was a girl rat - hormonal mix up? - and decided he wanted the girl-that-wasn’t-really-a-girl? Like. Varon thought Yami made a hot chick, but Yami was still a guy underneath the miniskirt ow, badthoughtsbadthoughts, but Varon didn’t like guys and Varon didn’t like guy Yami that way.
He certainly hadn’t developed a sort of twitch at every and any mention of Strings. Hadn’t started thinking about how it would’ve gone, by the fountain, had he liked Yami back. Hadn’t thought about kissing fucking Yami, either, because that was ridiculous and he didn’t want to.
“…it’d be different, right?” he frowned, looking down at the rats, who all froze from the sudden noise. They even looked up at him, shiny eyes watching, “I mean, kissing a guy. I can’t remember the guy I kissed when I was younger. Too drunk, y’know? But it’d be different from kissing a girl, right?”
The rats dropped down onto four paws again, going back to their scuttling. Varon blinked, “Or maybe it wouldn’t be. Ok, ok. You can not deny that it’d be different fucking a guy.”
The rats scrambled to one side, stopping to look back up at him. Varon sighed, propping his chin up on his hand and planting his elbow on his knee. “If I were gay, I’d have to suck another guy off.”
Drop, scramble and eat. Varon frowned. Bloody rats. He’d put money on them all being homosexual, and that would explain why there was only seven of them.
“You realise that I am not gay or bisexual, right?”
The rats stopped again, and he’d swear on his death bed that they gave him the rat equivalent of raised eyebrows. Swear down deadthey did. This would be easier if he had the powers of Dr.Dolittle and could get whatever sarcastic, “Oh, aren’t you?” they were trying to communicate in words.
“It’s pointless liking him now. He’s with that bloody crack addict.” Varon muttered, watching them skitter around a bit, “…I don’t honestly like Yami, in that way, do I?”
Stop, stand up, drop down, stand up. Excellent. Rats were nodding to him. Fucking brilliant. He was discussing his possible like for Yami with a literal rat pack.
…didhereally? Maybe his gut was twisting, and maybe he … maybe he - he might just, maybe, possibly, tiny little chance, miniscule chance. Of course it was perfectly possible, but that didn’t make it true, and, hey! He didn’t, really, just, maybe a tiny bit. Teeny bit. Still a few months of teenagedom in which to go through another teeny tiny little phase. It’d be gone in a couple of weeks. It was just because of the ego petting, really, how someone like Yami would like Varon and that gave him a sense of importance because it was Yami and since when did Yami like people and -
“Oh, fuck it. I like him. Are you fucking happy now?”
The rats gave the most self-satisfied smirk and went back to their normal routine. Varon groaned and buried his face in both hands. Maybe even more than like, if his stomach was twisting this badly.
He jumped and the rats scattered as a loud knock came on the door, “Oi, rat boy. Are you quite ready to come out of the closet yet?”
Murder. Fucking murder was on hand, and Varon was going to deliver it. Just as soon as he could shake off the overwhelming urge to just curl up into a little ball and wish the world away.
Rating: PG-13 for language and Bad Thoughts?
Summary : Well. Who else do you ask for advice but the rats?
Ok. I want you all to remember that you all love me, and I love you, and your lives would be empty without me. Read on.
Varon was more used to leaving the hospital to return to his own room, dropping onto his own bed amidst a sea of motorcycle posters, interjected with girls on motorcycles and girls on their own. He’d had to limit the number of girls (and their state of undress) because of his mother, but he still had some allowances. Home was also his mother’s cooking and his Xbox.
Home was not a shitty Chemistry lab, cluttered with the junk of five guys. Home did not have four geeks raising their heads at his entrance, dropping them back down to snigger. Home did not make Varon wish, even for a fleeting second, that he was back in the hospital.
But here he was, in the shitty Chem. Lab, clutching the rucksack of stuff Yoshida had rounded up for him, glaring death at the four sniggering heads. He placed the rucksack on the floor - he wanted to throw it, but he didn’t want to hear the sickening crack of his laptop breaking -and unzipped it, pulling out the copy of Bikes Yoshida had left him with. He still wanted the Daytona. He was getting used to wanting it already. Want, present tense. Wanted, past tense. Yami had wanted him, and didn’t anymore, and that was exactly what Varon wanted. Wants.
He’d have liked to sit and pretend no one else existed in the lab, but even with headphones on he couldn’t quite ignore the prodding to the back of his head. Snapped, punched one of them, retreated to the storage closet, grabbing the light cord and illuminating the shelves of school-safe chemicals.
The rats shot out from wherever they’d been in the centre of the floor, ducking to hide under the lower shelves and crates. That’s what he needed those lousy gits in there to do - run out of his way before he hurt them. Badly.
The hospital’s wireless had died on the Saturday, so he hadn’t been able to post and tell Squiggly what time to meet him at. He needed to vent now. It’d ease the pain his pride had suffered losing to Marik if he could beat Squiggly into the dirt. Even Yami thought he could. Thought he could “destroy” Squiggly, and it was always nice to have a vote of confidence from -
Not best friend again. Not yet, maybe, if there would ever come a time when they were best friends again. Maybe they weren’t even friends again. They were something, but Varon didn’t know what it was. Whatever it was, it wasn’t anything in the slightest bit romantic.
He sighed, dropping down on an upturned crate. His head hurt. He’d have very much liked to curl up in his own bed in Australia, bury himself away under duvets and let his mom wake him up hours later with a big mug of overly sweet tea. Could’ve gone out on his motorcycle, but his head hurt too much. Couldn’t be doing with going to the garage in case Yoshida was there - Sunday off or no Sunday off, the old bastard practically lived there - to ask if Varon had worked himself out of his ‘state of ignorance’.
No state of ignorance. Varon knew if he liked Yami in that way, not Yoshida. And Varon knew he didn’t. Maybe thought things he wouldn’t have, but he’d been in hospital for too long.
He watched the rats creep out from the shelves, shiny eyes glancing up at him, judging whether or not he was a threat. He’d just sit still and let them judge it for themselves. He wasn’t, after all, one of the Big Bad humans who so reverently tried to remove the rats from their home. He wondered if they realised he was the one leaving store-bought rat food out for them and store-bought human food. He obviously had a soft spot for little animals. Those squirrels Amelda was always threatening, the rats. Yami.
They had managed to scatter the bowl of rat food out over the floor. Probably strategic, since it made it easier for the seven or so rats to get at the food. He wondered if perhaps they’d suffer from living with so many chemicals, then wondered how the Hell the teachers hadn’t done anything about them.
Then wondered about what Yoshida said.
Did rats form homosexual likes? How could you tell a guy rat from a girl rat without having a close inspection? Note: a close inspection he would not be carrying out.
What if they thought a guy rat was a girl rat - hormonal mix up? - and decided he wanted the girl-that-wasn’t-really-a-girl? Like. Varon thought Yami made a hot chick, but Yami was still a guy underneath the miniskirt ow, badthoughtsbadthoughts, but Varon didn’t like guys and Varon didn’t like guy Yami that way.
He certainly hadn’t developed a sort of twitch at every and any mention of Strings. Hadn’t started thinking about how it would’ve gone, by the fountain, had he liked Yami back. Hadn’t thought about kissing fucking Yami, either, because that was ridiculous and he didn’t want to.
“…it’d be different, right?” he frowned, looking down at the rats, who all froze from the sudden noise. They even looked up at him, shiny eyes watching, “I mean, kissing a guy. I can’t remember the guy I kissed when I was younger. Too drunk, y’know? But it’d be different from kissing a girl, right?”
The rats dropped down onto four paws again, going back to their scuttling. Varon blinked, “Or maybe it wouldn’t be. Ok, ok. You can not deny that it’d be different fucking a guy.”
The rats scrambled to one side, stopping to look back up at him. Varon sighed, propping his chin up on his hand and planting his elbow on his knee. “If I were gay, I’d have to suck another guy off.”
Drop, scramble and eat. Varon frowned. Bloody rats. He’d put money on them all being homosexual, and that would explain why there was only seven of them.
“You realise that I am not gay or bisexual, right?”
The rats stopped again, and he’d swear on his death bed that they gave him the rat equivalent of raised eyebrows. Swear down deadthey did. This would be easier if he had the powers of Dr.Dolittle and could get whatever sarcastic, “Oh, aren’t you?” they were trying to communicate in words.
“It’s pointless liking him now. He’s with that bloody crack addict.” Varon muttered, watching them skitter around a bit, “…I don’t honestly like Yami, in that way, do I?”
Stop, stand up, drop down, stand up. Excellent. Rats were nodding to him. Fucking brilliant. He was discussing his possible like for Yami with a literal rat pack.
…didhereally? Maybe his gut was twisting, and maybe he … maybe he - he might just, maybe, possibly, tiny little chance, miniscule chance. Of course it was perfectly possible, but that didn’t make it true, and, hey! He didn’t, really, just, maybe a tiny bit. Teeny bit. Still a few months of teenagedom in which to go through another teeny tiny little phase. It’d be gone in a couple of weeks. It was just because of the ego petting, really, how someone like Yami would like Varon and that gave him a sense of importance because it was Yami and since when did Yami like people and -
“Oh, fuck it. I like him. Are you fucking happy now?”
The rats gave the most self-satisfied smirk and went back to their normal routine. Varon groaned and buried his face in both hands. Maybe even more than like, if his stomach was twisting this badly.
He jumped and the rats scattered as a loud knock came on the door, “Oi, rat boy. Are you quite ready to come out of the closet yet?”
Murder. Fucking murder was on hand, and Varon was going to deliver it. Just as soon as he could shake off the overwhelming urge to just curl up into a little ball and wish the world away.