wake up // lil xan

the man.

Being slammed against the concrete wasn't a typical thing to happen to me on a Tuesday, but my typical has started to change. Trace was standing over me and his face was red from anger and embarrassment. His fiery red hair fit his personality because he was always popping off with his mouth and was easy to rile. I stared into his blue eyes as he gritted his teeth at me, and I held myself back from swinging at him. If anything came out of this I'm not getting in trouble for his dumb ass. I think he knew that. He sneered in my face and tightened his grip around my wrists.

Thinking of how I got here is kind of funny, considering Trace was the one who sought me out. I was walking down my street and getting ready to meet up with Gus when I heard a truck's engine rumble. When I turned around there was Trace's large, white truck right behind me, and he didn't look happy. His knuckles were white with the firm grip he kept on his steering wheel. I trained my eyes on his and he jerked his chin towards the woods.

I nodded and strolled my way into the woods. His footsteps were heard behind me just a few minutes later and thank god I was off some bars for this. Uneasiness leaked it's way into my stomach, but it never became more than just that. He stared at me for a moment and then opened his mouth. Then he closed it. Then he opened.

Closed.
Opened.
Closed.
Opened.

He looked like a fish out of water and I chuckled at him. When he heard me his eyes ignited with fury as he lunged forward. I gulped a breath as he grabbed my shirt collar and I gripped his wrists, tightly.

"Trace," I said with an even tone.

"Diego," he spat.

"What's up with it?" I joked.

He shoved me away from him, "What's going on with you and Gus?"

I furrowed my brow, "Huh?"

"What the fuck is going on with y'all? You fuckin'?" he pressed.

"No! What the fuck, bro?" I hollered.

"You know what," he began with anger.

"No, we aren't. I'm straight and he's bi. We're just good friends who like to chill," I explained.

Trace's face became redder than his hair and he flickered his eyes away from me. He kept clenching and unclenching his fists as he pouted.

Then he looked up at me again, "Diego." His voice sounded so terribly small and he looked pitiful.

"Trace, I know," I whispered. His blue eyes had tears rimming them.

"I love him," he cried.

That's what started it all. Those three words Gus hadn't gotten to hear and thrown at me instead. I scoffed at Trace. Gus had cried in front of me only once and he was drunk after fucking Trace and the red headed boy pushed him away, like always. Trace had put Gus through complete and utter hell; he had convinced him he had no love for him. For some reason Gus believed it, and I did, too. Even now when he was standing in front of me, and he was trying to act as if he wasn't the man who scarred Gus. Before I could think about it properly my hands were shoving him to the ground and I barked out a humorless laugh.

"Seriously, dude? You love him?" I yelled.

"If you loved Gus you wouldn't keep him at arms length. You wouldn't lead him on. You wouldn't get his hopes up and crush them. If you fucking loved Gus you wouldn't make him fucking cry, asking himself if he really even deserves love. Okay? Listen, you fuck, get over yourself. Why are you letting your own insecurities completely fucking wreck something so good for you? Love isn't fucking easy and there's not a playbook, but I do know one goddamn thing about it. Love is love. So, think about that, huh?" I shoved him even harder into the ground, "Let that eat your ass up at night like it has for Gus. Don't fucking talk to him unless you're ready to grow up."