"I love you Mickey"

Part 2

Mickey's pov:

I woke up feeling extremely dizzy; my head was spinning, and everything was blurry. I groaned, calling for my brother, who walked in and slammed the door open. "Hangover, right?" That was all he said before returning with a water bottle and aspirin. I took them and lay back down, trying to recall last night. Clearly, I got too drunk, but I couldn't remember getting home. As I sat up, I noticed a watch and a leather wallet on the bedside table. I picked up the wallet and checked inside, scoffing at its emptiness, except for a small photo of a boy. What a daddy's boy! Leaving an empty wallet in the car, knowing his daddy would foot the bill? What a spoiled kid.

Oh shit! I forgot I had to collect my money from Carlos, a baker I met months ago. He moved in early this year, and he was a nice, quiet guy. I knew he wouldn't snitch on me, no matter what, because every time he saw me, he would pee his pants. It wasn't my money, but we had a deal; he had to pay me a hundred every month. Plus, the bread there was superb, and he'd let me take some, knowing I would punch him if he didn't.

I put on whatever I found on the floor and my jeans and went out to Carlos's workplace, the bakery. I walked through the back door seeing Carlos busy with whatever he was doing. he quickly pulled out cash from his back pocket handing it to me, he was trembling. I love how I made him feel. I walked around scanning through the fresh breads and doughnuts. Carlos handed me a box and I put in the breads I liked. As I was busy picking my lunch, a voice came in, a familiar voice. I looked behind and I saw the boy. "you..?" he breathed out.

Klas's pov:

"you..?" I asked. That was him! the guy I jerked off to last night. I tried not to reveal my excitement upon seeing him. He appeared quite unkempt, likely not having showered for weeks, with greasy hair. "What are you doing here? Are you stealing?" I asked, but suddenly, he bolted out with a box full of bread. This time, I wouldn't let him escape so easily; I needed his number, at least. I ran after him, yelling for him to stop. He threw the box at me, expecting to slow me down, but he tripped over his own foot, falling with a loud groan. I approached him, attempting to help him up, but he refused. "fuck off, son of a bitch!" he frowned. "I'll tell my dad you stole from his car and our breads, Mister!" I threatened. He stood up, limping toward me, his face inches away from mine. His lips parted, eyeing my lips once again. It all happened too quickly, and that was it - he punched me right in the stomach as I groaned. Oh dear, that hurt a lot. He wasn't finished; he punched me again, this time on my left cheek, causing me to fall.

My lips felt cracked, blood oozing from my mouth. "Gonna tell him, kid?" he asked. I wiped the blood with my back hand, shaking my head. He nodded, grabbing my arm and easily pulling me to my feet. "I can give you new breads and maybe a drink too." I looked at him, hoping he would agree because I needed his number so badly. He simply nodded, stepping back a bit. "With one condition, I need your number." I bit my lip nervously, fearing he would flip out; I didn't need more beating. He took the pen from my pocket, pulling my hand roughly and jotting down his number. I smiled, feeling satisfied.

He looked at me, raising a brow. "Get me lots of breads, I prefer chocolate, no mint or anything like that," he said. I sighed; this man was demanding, and I despised that my body reacted before I could even complain. I gathered a bunch of breads and doughnuts, taking a cold coke from the fridge before making my way to him. He took everything, smirking. "Call me," he winked and walked away. Oh dear, that guy was attractive, and I couldn't believe I just got his number.

That night...

I paced around my room, contemplating whether to call him or not. Stupid me, I forgot to ask for his name, but at least I got his number. I tapped the call button, and it rang! I waited for a whole 5 minutes before he picked up. It was silent before I said hello, and he replied with a casual "sup." That was it? "It's me; I got your number earlier, remember?" I could hear him chuckle, and there was movement before he spoke, "Yeah, kid, what's your name again?" "Klas Miller."

"I'm Mickey, short for Mickailo but you can call me baby"

I blushed deeply, though I understood he was just teasing. He had been clear about being straight the night we met, but a tiny hope lingered that perhaps he could be bisexual. I couldn't decipher this feeling, but Mickey brought me joy. I longed to know him better, to be friends or perhaps something more. The name Mickailo resonated beautifully with me; I adored how it gracefully rolled off my tongue. Mickailo, Mickailo, Mickailo-I cherished it more than anything.

Mickey's pov:

A serene hush enveloped us after I spoke. This boy had to be gay; I sensed it in the way he looked at me and the cadence of his speech. To break the silence, I coughed softly, hoping for him to say something. "So, coffee?" he finally uttered. "Like a date or something?" I questioned. "Yeah, a date," he replied, his excitement palpable in his voice. "I don't do da-". "Please say yes; I promise it'll be a delightful one," he begged, prompting a sigh from me. This boy seemed somewhat desperate and undeniably gay. Well, free food; how could I resist? Maybe I could ask him for some cash - he wouldn't refuse, would he? I'm clever, I know. Reluctantly, I agreed to the date, and he promised to pick me up promptly at 7.

I'm preparing for a date and wondering what to wear. What defines 'nice' attire anyway? I walked over my brother's room, confident that he possessed a collection of more sophisticated clothing. I stared at him as he was busy railing a brunette. Fuck, she was loud.

I selected garments I believed would enhance my appearance and brought them to my room. Opting for a sleek black tank top and shorts, I decided they sufficed. Skipping a shower, I improvised by moistening my palms with my spit to groom my unruly hair. As I headed to grab a couple of condoms just in case, my phone interrupted - it was 7:36, and the guy had been patiently waiting for 35 minutes. Managing such situations wasn't my forte, so I gazed out of my window to find him leaning against his Jeep Wrangler, wearing a slightly disgruntled expression. I strolled towards his car, emitting a casual whistle, and exchanged a playful wink before gracefully settling into the driver's seat.

the black tank top and shorts: