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Joel looked like shit. He KNEW he looked like shit.
After getting his shit so thoroughly rocked, he had tried to clean himself up in the club bathroom. Even the dimmed, blue lighting couldn’t hide the bruises that littered his face. At least the blood had started clotting.
“Mostly,” Joel amended, after itching his nose and eyeing the blood that covered his hand when he pulled back. He wiped the blood on his pants.
The cold wind tickled his bare arms. It had long turned from a pleasant sensation to an annoyance. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was at the bus stop. His wallet had his MetroCard in it, and that was long gone. But it wasn’t like he could contact anyone. In the scuffle, his phone had dropped onto the floor. It could have been alright if his attacker hadn’t stepped on it - crushing it even more. Not wanting his fingers to have the same outcome as his phone, he left his phone alone until he had been taken away.
Jimmy’s been seeing that techy guy. Maybe he’d do Joel a solid. He didn’t really want to pay for a new phone.
Finally, the bus was in the distance. Hesitantly, Joel waved it down. The hand not waving it down was in his pocket, fingers crossed. He didn’t want any trouble, just wanted to go home.
The bus slowed to a stop. Joel held his breath as the doors slowly opened. He steps inside, walking past the bus driver to find a seat.
Either the bus driver was too tired to care or was being a good Samaritan. He really hoped it was the first. He can’t deal with pity.
Joel’s head touched the bus window as the bus started moving forward. With the adrenaline finally fading, the rattling of the bus window was a welcome relief to his sore body. He looked down to where he was absentmindedly tapping his fingers against his thumb. Nothing seemed broken. It was hard to tell with the dark night outside, but he was pretty sure some bruises were forming there as well. A quick pressure test quickly confirmed his theories.
The bus stopped a few times. Every person passing him doing their best not to look at him. Normally he would retort. Eye people up and down and intimidate.
But he was struggling to fight off a yawn, let alone a person.
Eventually, it was his stop and thanked the bus driver. Bad Boys always thank the bus driver. Especially after they don’t hound them for payment.
Thankfully, the apartment complex wasn’t too far away from the bus stop, and Joel didn’t have to walk forever, and thankfully his keys were still on him. God bless the lesbians and their carabiners.
Unhooking the keys from the carabiner proved difficult. His fingers not quite cooperating with him. He swore under his breath. He wasn’t quite sure what the time was, but it was late enough that most of the apartment complex should be asleep. Sure, all of his neighbours had been nice so far, especially their next-door neighbour, Lizzie, but he didn’t want to push his luck.
Eventually, though, he was successful and managed to unlock his door. The Bad Boys Bi Flag greeted him, with the Bad Boy Boots underneath. Joel’s boots were thankfully pretty old and were easy to peel off. Joel then padded past the Bad Boys' Nest over to their kitchen to find the Tylenol. It was still quite dark; Joel hadn’t been bothered to turn on the light. But if he squinted, he could still make out the frog with a cowboy hat on his socks. It had been a while since he wore these socks. They seemed to be in a constant state of “mysteriously missing”. Maybe he should go back to that store and buy some more. Make them an official part of being a Bad Boy. That’d be fun. Joel snorted, as he got himself a glass of water.
Downing the Tylenol, he walked back to the nest. The two avians were quite particular about their nest, and Joel’s placement in it. Apparently, he has to be in the middle of the nest, and it’s a huge crime to be near the edge.
But they were still out at some Avian Support Club, and they could always move him. He was not walking an extra couple of steps just to go to his own singular bed when the nest worked just fine.
He faceplanted into the nest, wiggling around until his head found a pillow.
“It’s Bedtime, Boys,” he mutters to the empty room.
--
He wakes up to feathers in his mouth – an unfortunate daily occurrence. It was still dark out. Whoever was last home forgot to close the curtains.
Which was him?
He sits upright, noticing how clingy, avian claws are attached to him in a vice grip. So, the other bad boys came back. They cared, apparently. How cringe. Couldn’t be him.
A glass of water and another set of Tylenol was placed right outside the nest, on the coffee table that had been pushed to the wall ages ago in order to make room for the nest.
He’s pulled from his thoughts by how bad his head hurts. He hisses, holding his head with his hand like that would dull the throbbing. Not only did his legs ache like they did when forming bruises, but they were yelling at him for sleeping in jeans. Joel is only able to move one leg before a sleepy voice sounds out.
“If you move, I’ll maim you,” sounded like Grian.
“Oh yeah? Are you even awake enough to do that?”
“Mhm,” Grian mumbled, “you’re small enough to punt,”
“I’m literally taller than you,”
“Mhm,”
“I hate you,” Joel says.
“No, you don’t,”
Joel pauses, deliberating what he wants to say next “I might if I don’t change out of my bloomin’ jeans,”
Which almost feels like a confession. That he would kill and die for his bad boys. He’s certain they’ve figured it out by now, he’d be more shocked if they hadn’t, but actually saying it out loud was daunting.
Grian squints, “Well I suppose that is acceptable. But you have a minute,”
“Mate, it’s going to take me a minute to actually stand up,”
“One, two-”
Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck-