Chapter Text
Steven Morrissey walked ten blocks of freezing cold hell every morning so that he may make money that barely got him by. He worked in a record store his father had owned before his death, to support he and his mother.
Though every morning was miserable, one morning in late November was spectacularly miserable.
Already nursing a bloody awful cold, Steven tripped on uneven pavement and busted his lip. Bleeding profusely, he wiped the blood with the sleeve of his brand new jacket, and decided he was too close to the store to go back.
Letting his friend, and co-worker, Craig in, he started to say hello, when his lip started bleeding again.
'Why, how lovely.' He thought. 'I wonder what else could possibly go wrong today.'
The normal customers came in today, buying new releases from their overplayed favorite bands.
As Steven tried to persuade Craig to put The Ramones on the speakers, four teenagers burst in.
One was very short and had his arm slung over a brown haired girl's shoulder. He wore a leather jacket, and tight fitted jeans. Everything tied in well with his quiffed hair, sunglasses, and the cigarette that he had between his teeth.
There was something oddly beautiful about him that Steven couldn't place. He swallowed his shock, and spoke.
"You can't have that cigarette in here!" he said, holding out an ash tray. "Please put it out."
Another boy with dark hair, large ears, and a similar outfit to the other boys came forward, grabbing Steven's shirt with both hands.
"Listen man, Johnny can do whatever he wants."
The boy, who must've been Johnny suddenly took an awkward stance, as he apologetically stepped toward Steven with the cigarette and put it out.
"Look, no worries!" He said with a smile. "Okay?"
Steven nodded, and let the boys look around the store. After about ten minutes, Johnny picked out a record he liked and stepped toward the counter. As he took off his sunglasses, Steven got a better look at his eyes. They were a golden brown color that made his heart skip.
As it happened, the boy had chosen a New York Dolls album.
"I love the Dolls!" Steven said, excitedly.
The boy with the big ears was standing across the room, but perked his head up.
"Quiet!" Johnny hissed. "They can't know I like the Dolls!"
"Well, why not?" Steven whispered.
"They don't like that shit."
Steven scoffed. "Assholes."
It was the girl who perked her head up this time. She marched over to Steven, heels clacking on the ground, and promptly slapped him in the face.
Johnny jumped back, startled. Steven rubbed his face.
"Don't talk that way about Johnny!" She demanded.
"Angie!" Johnny put his hand on her shoulder. "It's fine!"
Not another word was said, until the other boys bought their records. The blonde boy, who hadn't said much of a word was rung up quietly. There was something wrong with him that Steven couldn't figure out.
Next, was the big eared boy. He scoffed at every move Steven made and when he finally got his change, he leaned over the counter and spat one word at him.
"Faggot."
Steven flinched as he heard it. He hadn't been called that in a year, since he'd been in school himself.
Craig had been watching the whole thing in awe, leaning back on his chair.
"That girl slapped you!" He said with a laugh.
"Oh really?" Steven retorted. "I hadn't noticed!"
As the day went on, the normal customers kept coming in. But, Steven couldn't stop thinking about Johnny. The boy had been so shocking to him. His heart had started beating faster than normal when he walked in, and he tried to deny it, but his pants tightened as well.
'No.' He thought. 'I must have surely gotten over this delusion by now.'
But, he knew that his years of trying to learn who he was, in school, were not for nothing.
Steven sorted the records alphabetically, and a brown record sleeve reminded him of the boy's eyes. The moment he'd looked into them, he felt that his soul had been sucked out. Perhaps it was the harsh fluorescent lighting of the shop, but Johnny's eyes had looked not just brown, but golden.
Steven was jarred from his thoughts as red droplets started appearing on the record sleeve. He touched his hands to his lips, and felt them bleeding again. It was then that he realized he'd been smiling so widely, his gash had burst yet again. Why was he smiling at the memory of a boy he'd just met, for only fifteen minutes?