Ahh, hypocrisy and contradicting one's self. How beautiful. This is chapter such bullshit and I've noticed that this is as close to forming a plot as I'll ever get. How sad. Also, I'm derping in the Homestuck fandom so if you see an...oh I dunno….a BroCoy fic don't trip, son.

Next chapter is more about Mo and his whateverness. This is what happened the next morning. Shit will get explained in clumps.

"This is jus' a one-time thing, 'kay?"

Staring at the kitchen tiles, while never actually seeing them, Glitch realized a couple things. Well, more than a couple really. He understood certain feelings and situations now that he knew he wasn't ready for or should be experiencing—emotions he didn't think would break him. So, standing in front of his idol, the one he currently loathed for a multitude of reasons, he decided to make his regret known one way or another.

A pair of sore arms and a heart hung heavily as Mo pressed a spoon he placed in the freezer over the dark bruises his too-rough love bites had resulted in. Sure, they felt fucking amazing to the teen at the time, this fact made apparent by his insistent wriggling, but now they hurt and Glitch forced himself to suppress a whimper when recalling the events of last night. Chilled metal shocked his skin and his fists clenched into frustrated little blocks at his sides because he was trying so damn hard not to clench Mo's wife beater for comfort. Young pride wouldn't allow it, however, so he refused to touch the tagger, especially when Mo was currently sporting that specific look on his face.

Neither pairs of eyes met since last night, not even when Mo practically fucking materialized behind him when he was brushing his teeth this morning to rid himself of that sour taste Mo had to him the previous night. The downrocker instantly averted his gaze to anywhere but sets of red-rimmed eyes while his fingers worked the spoon over his skin. Once it had warmed, Glitch's skin blazed whenever he was near the other (despite whatever negative opinions he had of him presently), he allowed it to clank noisily in the bathroom sink while dragging a protesting youth into the kitchen to set to work again.

The Korean was well aware of his short stature, having been teased about it most of his prepubescent life, but now Mo's height seemed to increase tenfold. Mo was looming over him like afar-cast shadow; even now he was extremely tall with his crooked stance and hung over state. Bags hung low under his eyes and his chest was less toned from when they had first met, maybe even from before their first encounter. The ex-prankster, having ceased his practical jokes since the death of a certain blond, had been wasting away and Glitch wondered how he never took notice.

His view of his idol changed drastically, even more so than it had last night, when Mo woke in terror while clutching to his small frame desperately. It was so obvious before last night—why hadn't he seen it if he felt he truly loved Mo and that this wasn't some awkward crush he'd grow out of by the time his voice stopped cracking?

Now the locker understood that little bit of extra attention Mo seemed to have been receiving lately. They were watching him, probably keeping an eye on them both, and now that he thought about it; maybe they'd come to the conclusion that he'd eventually hurt Glitch too. Angel and Emilia were other members of DC that were close to MacCoy, so did they see the 'MacCoy' in him that the darker breaker did?

With a newly throbbing headache, the raven-haired youth grew increasingly pissed off at Mo, maybe even this MacCoy chump that he had to play seconds to last night. Yes, he suggested that they did, whatever a person would call it last night—he wasn't entirely sure. But honestly, he expected Mo to live true to the title Glitch bestowed upon him in his mind. Mo's breath was caressing his lips and he was so close he could taste him without them touching so who could blame the kid for hastily jumping at an amazing opportunity he thought he only had a single shot at without thinking?

None of this was fair.

Maybe he expected too much from this.

Glitch half-expected Mo, the man he idolized and deemed perfect, to never stray from the path of chivalry. Perhaps calling Glitch by his name was too much to expect and Glitch was being plain selfish, but he quickly shook those thoughts away. The prodigy still expected Mo to whisper something sweet-sounding into his ear, despite lost loves, that had absolutely nothing to do with 'sunflower locks' or 'freckled cheeks' before his mouth and hands ravaged his body. Most of all he expected Mo to tell him that he doesn't need MacCoy, memories of him, or a replacement; and instead he'd want Glitch for all he was worth.

So now, fuck Mo if he was feeling low or lost or whatever it was because Glitch was tired of catching his lovesickness and running for his damn water bottle too enthusiastically.

Yea.

Fuck Mo, because ever since Glitch shushed his nightmares from him with a flurry of embarrassing-to-do chaste kisses, the downrocker had treated him like a used tissue he flung from the side of his bed. All this staring at him with a horrid hollow indifference when he thought Glitch's eyes were trained somewhere else made his head hurt. He couldn't read the most open part about him anymore—his eyes.

So, yes, his fists stayed by his sides and he sulked until Mo cleared his throat and spoke softly—it wasn't a gentle tone, but one hoarse and low from bawling. Despite this, his voice betrayed his outward stoic appearance and the young prodigy felt his heart tighten.

He often jumped to conclusions so maybe…

"I thought it was okay with ya cuz, well…"

Mo sensed Glitch's standoff aura, which puzzled him to no end. This whole situation was fragile and Mo mentally kicked himself in the ass for allowing his mistakes, the ones he tried to stray from in the first place, to cause him to fall from his partner's graces. The scouter was at a loss for words, he couldn't remember the last time that had been, and felt the need to explain his actions.

It would probably be best if they swept this under the hypothetical rug and forgot about it.

Words tumbled from his mouth at a slow and deliberate pace, "Yesterday was the anniversary of his death. I always say I can handle it on my own but I can't." Mo's speech continued to slowly form in his mind, nearly done thinking up the next part of his 'owed' explanation.

Glitch interrupted him with an abrupt, "Obviously."

Amber orbs blinked in hurt, it was one of those, 'Ouch, that actually kinda hurt' statements that pop up from nowhere and Glitch still wasn't looking at him. The next few words were more of an undercover apology that Mo didn't think he should have to say in the first place, "Ya can stay home if ya want."

On any other day the teen would have been happier than a pig in shit if Mo said he could stay home alone with him, missing boring ass school being an added bonus, but right now it was the last thing he wanted. "Why? Ya can't hide 'em all?" he asked bitterly, referencing to the hickeys littering the visible parts of his upper body.
"No", came his blunt reply, "I jus' don't wanna have people askin' questions."

Glitch didn't bother noting the guilt steeped into the words he spoke. "I don't wanna be here."

"I need ya here, Glitch."

That right there was what sucked him in again—the way Mo emphasized the only vowel in his name and allowed it to roll off his tongue in such a way that made his already weak knees nearly give out. Memories of last night crippled his mind and he recalled the intoxicating smile Mo flashed at him—the one that felt as though he was smiling through him and looking at someone else but was charming and made him feel oh-so-good. Glitch could've backed out, Mo wouldn't have forced him, but he didn't want to.

His body remembered the bittersweet kisses Mo smothered him with as he shoved a chilling hand down Glitch's pajama bottoms—jerking the prodigy off smoothly and in all the right ways that made the Korean orgasm in seconds while he chanted, "Scream fer me, ''Coy."

He suddenly hated his own name and the way Mo said it—as if it meant something when the only name he knew last night was MacCoy. Calloused hands running through his mussed hair snapped him from his daze. Brushing Mo's hands away, suddenly realizing that he was entirely too young for a relationship of this caliber, he allowed his words to ring clear throughout their small apartment.

"What'cha need is help."

Both parties chose to lock eyes then, now that it was too late to solve their problems, and Glitch nearly changed his mind. Overbearing emotions still coursed through his veins however and he simply shook his head 'no' before turning around to leave Mo with his stupid spoon warming in his sweaty palms.

After a quick shuffle through his mountain of dirty laundry he found a sweater that didn't smell too bad and slipped on his baggy jeans from God knows how many weeks ago. He didn't look directly at Mo when he left; simply saw his figure leaning against the doorframe of the kitchen with that infuriatingly cool pose consisting of crossed arms and a capped head dipped low through his peripherals. It was odd how long of a process falling in love with Mo had been and how quickly he fell out of it with him.

When the door clicked closed behind the boy, Mo let out a dry sob that could've been mistaken for a shaky breath.