Chapter Text
"Come on, T, how long can you take to shave?", asked Michael, irritably, on the other side of the bathroom door. He had a towel hanging on his right arm and with the other he was holding a change of clothes. He wanted to take a shower and Trevor couldn't find a better time to decide he wanted to give his almost-not-long beard a few touch-ups. Trevor never grew his beard and if he did, it was only for a few days before shaving it off completely.
Michael suspected he just wanted to irritate him.
Trevor came out with his arrogant 'I don't give a shit' smile and then turned it into one of innocence that seemed to want to appease Michael's irritation.
"All yours, my lord", Trevor declared, stretching his arm toward the bathroom and giving an exaggerated bow.
Michael shook his head, entered the bathroom and locked up before Trevor could say anything else to him.
"And I got the hairy bits off this time, Mickey!", boasted Trevor, as if he'd pulled off some great feat.
Out of sheer inertia, Michael looked at the sink and sure enough, there was no trace of facial hair (or whatever it was that Trevor had left there on past occasions). It took more than fifteen warnings and ten conversations about how unhygienic it was for him to leave such debris in the sink and many arguments on Michael's part to get his current partner to stop doing it, but they ended up coming to something resembling an agreement. At least Trevor was no longer leaving the bathroom dirty, although that wasn't synonymous with him taking less time to do whatever it was.
Michael understood some of Trevor's habits from all the years he lived alone and did what he wanted in his trailer, but Michael was clear that, as long as they lived in his house, they would follow 'basic rules of living together'; more than two words didn't fit in the same sentence where Trevor's name was also present, and Michael even laughed first when he finished processing what he said himself. Later, he clarified that not because Tracey, Jimmy and Amanda no longer lived there, the two of them would turn the house upside down.
For the first few days (if not weeks), Trevor would get angry every time Michael would berate him for continuing to do the same thing and the two would end up arguing. After that, it turned to gestures of irritation: rolling his eyes, throwing his head back, snorting loudly, letting out annoyed grunts, and sometimes he would do it all together. And, eventually, Trevor ended up abiding by a rule as simple as keeping the corners he could most easily soil clean.
Sure, the teasing about Michael's pet peeves couldn't be missed, but if Trevor would let his habits slide a little, Michael didn't care.
Michael lifted his head to the mirror and came across a message written on the steam-fogged mirror.
Happy bathing. If you can and you have your cell phone, send me a picture that will motivate me to go in with you, cupcake ;)
Michael smiled almost against his will. Some things wouldn't change. He read the last word and his mind began to work without him even realizing it. Wiping the mirror with his hand, Michael stumbled upon an image he didn't usually pay that much attention to. He didn't look in the mirror that much, since most of his time was spent lying outside in the sunshine, sitting around watching television or going out at night when he didn't want anyone's company and ended up in an expensive bar drinking and eating; basically the same thing he did in the first two activities, but at night. The times he did, he never paid that much attention to the reflection. Amanda never made a comment about his physique nor his children; before they started getting along better, the insults went elsewhere. Not even with the divorce and the kids moving out to make their lives ended as badly as they did the next few years after moving to Los Santos. In fact, the goodbyes were totally peaceful, nothing to do with their daily lives.
The millionaire shifted his hand from the towel and touched his side, feeling a little softer than he had months before. His alcohol consumption had decreased considerably, to the point that he drank when he went out with Trevor or at the end of the week and twice a week he went for a run or a walk to avoid the sedentary lifestyle that could attack him now that his crime days were over, but his eating habits remained the same.
Once under the stream of hot water, Michael took some time to think. As he washed and ran his hands over his body, he felt that every part that may have previously had 'extra fat' had increased in volume. He placed special emphasis on his abdomen, his sides, his hips and his back. If he thought about how the touch felt and compared it to how it felt when he touched Trevor in the middle of the night during sex, Michael would say the difference was noticeable. Trevor wasn't overly muscular by any stretch of the imagination, but he was what the magazines might call 'well-groomed'. Michael, on the other hand, was sure he would fit into the 'A few extra pounds' section.
God, I hate his fucking superficiality.
What a hypocrite, he said to himself after a second. You're the same or worse. You wanted the image of the perfect family and to look like the fucking king of the world. Now they're minding their own business and you don't quite fit in with what you wanted.
He washed his face and felt his face just as puffy. He squeezed his cheeks and when his fingers sank in, Michael rested his hands on the shower wall, leaning his weight on them.
How could a single word lead him to think so much and feel so miserable about his weight?
You know it wasn't a single word, he told himself.
Yes, he knew. The comments about his appearance had started since he was a kid. Michael had experience with those.
He finished showering, wrapped the towel around his waist and stood in front of the mirror again.
He wasn't yet fifty and there were things he could change. Or would it be too late for him?
Loud knocks on the door made him jump. From the rhythm and sound, Michael knew Trevor was pounding with both hands, taking turns left and right.
"Mikey", he whined on the other side, as if in a tantrum. "Get out of there and come to bed".
"What, you can't sleep without me?", scoffed Michael, quickly pulling on a short-sleeved shirt in case Trevor decided to come in. He cursed himself under his breath as he realized it was tight.
"Mikeeeey!", repeated Trevor, banging the door harder.
"All right, all right! I'm coming", Michael shouted, hoping to keep the other from breaking down the door. He pulled on boxers and black sweatpants. He tucked them in and opened the door.
"Yes, say?", exclaimed Michael sarcastically, leaning against the frame.
"I was bored lying down", Trevor said, remorselessly. "Annoying you is more fun."
"Yeah, it's not something that hasn't been clear to me the last few years", Michael spat, walking past his partner.
"Admit it, if I didn't, you'd be bored", Trevor boasted.
Michael stood on his side of the bed. He looked over his shoulder at Trevor and said haughtily:
"I never affirmed or denied it."
Those words were enough for Trevor to tackle him. Michael could barely roll over when he ended up lying on the bed, with Trevor on top of him, imprisoning him in his arms and kissing every part of his face he could reach.
"That's enough for me", Trevor declared, then kissed Michael's cheeks sonorously.
"Let go of me!", protested Michael with a chuckle, trying to wiggle out of Trevor's grip.
"In a minute".
"Don't you want to paint your lips and mark my face?".
Trevor lifted his head and put on his 'thinking about it seriously' expression.
"That's not a bad idea...".
"Don't even think about it!".
Michael managed to free his arms and pushed Trevor to the side. The latter rolled exaggeratedly across the mattress until he fell off the bed.
"Are you okay?", asked Michael, making no pretense of getting up to check.
"Better than ever, baby!", exclaimed Trevor, stretching one arm upward as he formed a circle by linking his thumb and forefinger together.
A while later, they lay down and Trevor soon began to snore. Michael didn't mind the noise; on the contrary, when he couldn't sleep because of the memories, the silence made him feel watched, watched, to the point that Michael considered sleeping with a gun under his pillow, just for precaution and his own peace of mind. However, Trevor was snoring loudly and those sounds helped Michael remember where he was and that they were no longer in danger.
Trevor was lying face down, facing the window, but his right arm was stretched across Michael's chest. The black-haired man was lying on his back, his hands clasped over his abdomen and his gaze fixed on the ceiling.
He couldn't stop thinking about how he looked in the mirror and the nicknames Trevor and others always gave him to refer to his weight. Since he was a child he had the famous extra kilos, but he never made a problem of it, not even when his schoolmates teased him for no reason or when his parents insisted that no one would want to be friends with such a... big boy. The only thing that gave those two a positive point is that they were trying to be subtle. It's a shame that the times they tried were few. With a physically abusive father, the days when he said something nice about his son kept running through Michael's head, and he wondered if his father had really said that or if he had dreamed it.
When he met Trevor, he demonstrated his trust and friendship by using nicknames that referred to anything: his weight, his height, his taste for fast food and beer, by seeing him smoke. Anyway, the list was long.
A few years ago, before they formalized their relationship, Trevor was still dismissive or scathing when he said one of his cruel and mean comments that ended with a nickname. If it wasn't a pet name, it was an insult or a hurtfully witty nickname.
Michael was not free from having been hurtful, he was aware. After all, he used to insist on calling Trevor 'psychopath', 'maniac', 'lunatic' and any synonym that could be used to describe a person with anger and self-control issues.
Once they put aside their differences, accepted what they felt for each other and formalized their relationship, months of therapy followed, in which Michael had to drag Trevor and force him not to threaten the therapist in question.
Michael was candid in his individual sessions about how much Trevor changed for the better. Among these changes, the use of nicknames predominated. Michael went from hearing Trevor call him 'Fatty', 'Pork Chop', and, Trevor's favorite, 'Sugartits', to nicknames that made him blush like a teenager in his first relationship: 'Cupcake', said without malice nor meanness, 'Sugar' without further ado, and, the new one, 'Sweet Roll'.
Maybe they stopped having notes full of cruel mockery and his relationship with Trevor and his family had improved infinitely, but Michael wondered to what extent he deserved to keep it that way.
Look at you, you can't even control your impulses, he heard in his head. You continue with the same thing, before it was because you were depressed, now because you are bored. Do you always find an excuse to justify yourself? You can't even stay in shape.
Michael closed his eyes, wanting to get rid of that annoying voice.
Michael never talked about it with Trevor, but the last few weeks he had been dealing with the self-hatred he had come back to haunt him one night when he was returning home from a walk. He was wearing headphones and listening to a random song that didn't have the beat he needed to exercise, but that he loved. With the volume relatively high, Michael did not realize that two boys were trying to pass him because he was walking very slowly as he wanted to change songs.
One of them, after getting tired, walked past him with a grunt. Michael paused the music with a start and before he could nonchalantly apologize for not having seen them, the taller one said:
“If the guy is going to take up half the sidewalk, he might as well at least pay attention”.
His friend, laughing sarcastically, blurted out:
“Did you see his waist? A piece of furniture has better curves and leaves you more space”.
They were stupid comments made by idiotic brats, Michael knew it wasn't worth dwelling on or believing that he should do anything about it. He hadn't talked about it with the therapist, since he thought it was stupid, and he didn't talk about it with Trevor either for those two stupid people's own safety.
He was an adult, for God's sake. He shouldn't be stressed by comments coming out of the mouths of those who knew nothing about him, right?
The voice in his head told him that he should start doing something for himself and stop complaining and making excuses.
Michael didn't know if he was right or not.