Every time Leviathan speaks to you about anything, he immediately wishes he hadn’t. Nothing you do indicates that you think what he said was stupid. You react in a perfectly normal way. But somehow, he knows deep down that you’re just being nice to him.
Levi curls up in his tub at night and thinks of everything he’s ever said to you, over and over and over again. He remembers your reactions, but discards them in favor of what he assumes is the truth. One where you think about how odd he is, how you wish he would stop trying to talk to you. He thinks about how he can’t take it back. It’s too late and the damage is done.
Even when you reach out to him, when you start the conversation, when you ask him to go with you somewhere, when you show up to his room wanting to play video games, he still doesn’t believe that you actually like him. And every time you leave again, he’s obsessing over everything he did, everything he said.
And then one day, he isn’t. He’s not sure when it happened. Instead of the usual anxiety, he finds that he’s happy. That he’s grateful for the time he got to spend with you. He doesn’t question the things you said or did, doesn’t assume that underneath your smile you were wondering why you put up with him.
Levi knows that you like him. It’s in the way you never give up on him, the way you always seek him out. The times you’re vulnerable with him and tell him about your own feelings, needing comfort from him. The way you trust him with your thoughts, your truths.
It makes Levi realize that he can trust you, too. That he can hush those anxious thoughts telling him that he’s unworthy. Because now he sees his own worth when he looks into your eyes.
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somethin' 'bout a horse and a man and a cadillac
i present more of the silly little road trip au i have in my brain. corey and michael are (still) on the lam and corey is living out his silly little cowboy fantasies. big thanks goes to @slutforstabbings for putting the cowboy thoughts in my brain. no WARNINGS this time, besides a little bit of shoplifting.
Corey spots the security camera in the thrift store as soon as he walks in. The red light flashes conspicuously from where it is mounted in the corner, pointing towards the shop floor. It looks old, a lot older than the ones they use in Walmart or Target; the picture should be pretty bad, if they ever even watch the footage back.
Menswear is towards the back of the store, past the household goods. There are a few other people shopping, mostly in the women's section at the other side of the floor. Corey wanders through the homeware aisles on the way, looking with distain at the rows and rows of knickknacks. His finger runs over the edge of the shelf as he passes by.
He needs to get in and out quickly really, Michael is waiting outside with the engine running. But there's something about the return to civilisation that makes him linger longer than he should every time he stops in a gas station or dollar store, like being a spectator to the real world. Only, for the first time in his life, he likes being on the outside looking back in. Plus the air conditioning makes him shiver in the best way compared to the constant sweat he has while they drive.
Over the past few months, Corey's clothes have certainly taken a beating. He'd gotten used to swapping things out, when and where he can find them, but he preferred stopping at thrifts. Stains and tatters will soon make his current jeans to conspicuous to keep wearing, giving him an excuse to ask Michael to stop in the next town they got too.
Corey looks through the long rack of jeans, pressed up against the back wall. He needs something sturdy, durable, but comfortable enough to wear pretty much all the time for a good long while.
He finds a pair of real Levi's that he thinks will do, glances back at the flashing red eye of the camera, and steps a few paces along the clothes rail. Corey is pretty sure he's out of the field of view as he folds the jeans up, tucking them under his jacket and keeping them in place against his side with his arm. He's still not exactly a professional, far from it, but he's found his method.
When he turns to leave, that's when he spots it. He know he needs to go, but instead he stops at the end of the next aisle and picks it off the stand it's sat on. A brown felt stetson, with a thin, woven leather band.
Corey's eyes light up, a half-grin creeping over his face. Keeping the jeans tucked beneath his arm, he puts the hat on his head, peeking at himself in the mirror above the shelf. He tilts his head, this way then that, and the half-grin spreads out across his face.
He leaves the hat on and keeps walking. There's still no one close by, either busy shopping elsewhere or occupied at the register. Corey takes a deep breath, looks straight ahead as he reaches the store entrance.
The heat hits him as he steps out into the midday sun, prickling the back of his neck where his cord jacket rubs at his nape. He makes a beeline for the truck, sees Michael sitting just as he left him in the driver's seat.
Seeing Corey, Michael leans across the bench seat to open the passenger door. Corey breaks into a trot, looking back to double-check that no one has noticed him yet.
"Go, go, go," Corey breathes, sinking down in the passenger seat, hat slipping low on his head. His hair is just about growing back out since he cut it off, and the weight of the hat flattens his curls against his forehead before he pushes it back up.
Michael puts the truck into drive and crosses the parking lot, pulling smoothly back into the traffic heading out of town. Corey pulls at the waistband of his old jeans, tossing them into the back seat once he untangles them from his legs, and pulls the new pair on. They fit well on the waist, snug but not tight.
Once they're back on the highway, the sun seems to blaze even hotter, radiating off of the bleached tarmac. Corey's starting to feel the dust in the air, feels the difference from one state to the next. He props his feet up on the dash, his hat shading his eyes from the mirage ahead, and turns the volume of the radio -- tuned to the local rock station -- back up enough to hear it over the rumble of the truck.
They're headed west.
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