HOMEPLOT: For Michael and Ben
Hunter woke up in his own bed. HIS OWN FUCKING BED. In Pittsburgh. In his home. Without any fucking sand or palm trees or or bizarre shit.
He dressed quickly and knocked at Ben and Michael's door, then when there was no answer, he thundered down the stairs to check the kitchen. "Ben? M.....Michael?" The last word came out hesitantly, because what if Michael wasn't here? Or what if he was here and still in love with that English asshole?
But what if he wasn't? What if Hunter was really and truly fucking HOME, with his dads and his sorta-sister off in Canada and his friends and the MALL...
He dressed quickly and knocked at Ben and Michael's door, then when there was no answer, he thundered down the stairs to check the kitchen. "Ben? M.....Michael?" The last word came out hesitantly, because what if Michael wasn't here? Or what if he was here and still in love with that English asshole?
But what if he wasn't? What if Hunter was really and truly fucking HOME, with his dads and his sorta-sister off in Canada and his friends and the MALL...