graffiti
Written for August Fic Challenge 2023, Prompt: Water Tower. Set 12/13 years before the series for fairly obvious reasons. Comments and kudos would be awesome. Enjoy!
"You dare me?"
"Yeah, Michael. I dare you."
Michael stares up at the water tower with more than a little trepidation. It's surely more than a hundred feet up and he does not relish the idea of landing himself in the ICU (or worse) because he did something phenomenally stupid during Spring Break. He's fairly sure that if the fall failed to kill him, his mother would finish the job. And that seems like a subpar way to spend the last few weeks of his senior year. On the other hand, there is graffiti scattered everywhere around the name of the little beach town where it's scrawled across the front of the tower in a big, friendly font, so clearly it is doable…
"I don't know…" he wavers.
"C'mon," Joey prods, nudging him forward. They're both just a little bit drunk on a few too many shitty beers from the beach party they've only just left. They'd been casually meandering back in the general direction of their hotel before Joey derailed them here and posed this dumb challenge. "No backing out now. I dared you."
Michael scoffs, unimpressed at this line of reasoning. "What? Are you twelve?"
"Don't be silly, I would've double dog dared you if I were twelve."
Michael rolls his eyes and ignores Joey's sharp smile.
Sometimes it seems like Joey lives to press Michael's buttons, to find every way imaginable to get him into all sorts of trouble. Years of silly, haphazard plans that got them both in hot water at their respective homes and at school. Hell, going on this trip in the first place had been entirely Joey's idea, his big plan to ditch out of school early to come out here for break, despite the trouble they'd surely be in upon their return. And yet somehow Michael has no interest in leaving Joey's childish ways behind. If anything, he craves them more and more even if he does not like to dwell on the reasons why.
With a final, resolute huff, Michael relents and steps forward. "Fine."
Joey grins at him, utterly delighted.
He needs Joey to boost him up to the ladder and from there he makes a frantic climb. The metal is cold beneath his white-knuckled grip and as he ascends, he can see the lingering bonfires scattered across the beach in the distance, the (no) vacancy signs of the nearby hotels and motels, and far off there is the flashing neon from the carnival at the end of the boardwalk, lights fading as it winds down for the night.
He climbs and climbs and climbs and his arms and legs are practically screaming by the time he clambers his way on to the shallow ledge at the top, desperate for whatever semblance of stability he can get there. He stands on shaky, jelly legs and peers down over the rail at the little speck that is Joey so far below.
Even from all the way up here, he can hear Joey's excited shout.
Michael revels in it.
He spots a can of spray paint, no doubt discarded during some previous act of vandalism, and grabs it up, spurred on by the heady mix of adrenaline and alcohol. He makes his move before he can talk himself out of this burst of recklessness.
Amidst the other graffiti (random squiggles and doodles, numerous 'so and so was here's, a handful of hearts, smiley faces, and the like), he adds a small, hidden tag of his own in a frankly blinding shade of neon orange. He sprays in four letters, knowing full well that no one else will ever know what it means.
MT + JH
He climbs down the ladder as quickly as he can manage, doesn't dare look down to gauge his progress, only focused on each rung he passes. After what seems like an eternity, he finally runs out of them, and he glances down to find Joey waiting there for him. The other boy steadies him when he makes the drop back to solid ground and Joey promptly sweeps him up in a proud hug.
Michael revels in that, too.
They're so close. He can smell the bonfire smoke on Joey's skin, the alcohol on his breath. They're so close, and Joey's hands linger at his sides. Not for the first time, Michael wonders if Joey is hiding the same thing he is, is just as terrified as he is to bring it up. But they're so close and Joey's eyes keep darting down to Michael's lips and he would swear that Joey's about to kiss him.
But no.
"I totally thought you'd chicken out," Joey tells him, breaking away from him to look up at the towering ladder once again. "I can't believe you did it."
"Same here," he agrees.
And, when Joey questions the incriminating orange stains on his fingers, he makes up some lame answer. But, he wonders what would happen if Joey did know what he'd really added to the collection, for a second he even considers actually doing, still coasting on the high from his daringly illegal stunt and that overwhelming proximity.
Instead, he leans into the arm Joey slings around his shoulder and drunkenly follows him as they meander back toward the hotel, back toward the bed they're sharing in this busy, overbooked beach town where they'll probably drink some more. He already knows he'll wake up tomorrow morning with an awful hangover, but with Joey curled up beside him in their tiny, little room, their arms and legs all tangled together because that's just how Joey sleeps, and they'll grumble their way out of bed and out to get breakfast together on the boardwalk.
And he'll tell, he promises himself. Before this trip is over, he'll tell Joey the truth.
He means it, too.
Right up until Marcy Bradford walks up and introduces herself and asks to sit with them at the crowded restaurant the next morning. Something changes then, for all of them, and suddenly secret water tower graffiti doesn't matter anymore. Hidden feelings don't matter anymore.
None of it matters anymore.