The sky is pastel pink and blue- those stupid, unnecessarily gendered colors. Like the onesies assholes stick on babies depending on what parts they’re born with.
Trevor fucking hates it.
Right now he doesn’t want to think about the sunrise or babies or this last damned job which will probably land one or more of the crew in the slammer if not in the ground. No, Trevor wants a strong drink and strong pills and to sleep for a thousand years… Not to think about how those damn clouds remind him that this clusterfuck of a job they’re about to pull is probably gonna be the last one him and Mikey do together because fucking Mikey’s gone off and impregnated himself a stripper.
And shit, Trevor’s no misogynist- he doesn’t give a shit what she does for a living, but she’s all wrong for him and every time that Michael Townley goes on about his newfound happiness Trevor feels more and more like he’s been replaced.
His tired eyes slide to the man in question- watching the way he leans against a fence, dragging on a cigarette like he’s Cary fucking Grant, looking out all pensive over the frost-encrusted fields shining blue, no, pink in the early dawn light.
And Trevor’s heart pounds in his chest because he’s realizing he’s never loved Michael more than he does right now- with utterly piss-poor timing, just as he’s about to lose him.
“Hm? You ok, T?”
“Dunno… Are you? You’ve been fuckin’ antsy about this job for a week.”
“… It’s nothin’ Trevor. Just nerves. Hell, for all we know it could be exciting. Not bad for the last one we pull together, right?”
It’s all too much- too hard, and Trevor’s hands fist inside their ridiculous mittens for a moment before he’s striding over to Michael, his footsteps crunching in the snow. Michael startles for a second, hand instinctively over his side arm in response to Trevor’s assertive approach, but then Trevor’s up in his space, arm draped loosely around Michael’s shoulders to pull him in- close enough that he can press his lips to Michael’s forehead.
This is so, so hard…
“Been a great couple of years, huh Mikey?” he grates out, drawing back and trying to ignore the surprise in his friend’s eyes- all the while convincing himself that the pink of Michael’s cheeks is just from the glow of the changing sky
“It’s, uh, been over a decade, T…” He says uncertainly and Trevor shrugs
They’re quiet for a while- standing close enough together that the winter chill seems to dissipate with the warmth between them. It’s difficult for Trevor to keep his breath even when he feels like lashing out, like screaming, like doing anything, everything to make Michael stay
Fuck, Mikey, will you please just stay?
“I want… I want you to have my share of this score- use it to take care of the brat”
“What? T, no! I can’t-”
“Eh, fuck you Townley- you know you can and you know you should. Y’think raising a fuckin’ baby is gonna be cheap?”
“Trevor, man, that’s real generous”
“What can I say? I’m a generous kind of guy”
And I love you… I love you I love you I LOVE YOU
Michael smiles and he is handsome and devastating at the same time
“You’re a lot of things, T.” he tells him fondly and then he’s the one pulling Trevor in close.
Trevor wants to kiss him
He wants to tell him
But he does neither.
Instead he lets his best friend hold him, for long enough it should be awkward as the sky changes from pink to brilliant gold, shining as brightly as the pain and love in Trevor’s chest.
When Michael eventually pulls away his face is flushed a little from the length of their hug and he says “love you, man” in exactly the kind of tone Trevor doesn’t want to hear it
Somehow he manages a “you too” without breaking down.
Their footprints sink through the snow as they return to the beat-up Chevy they’ve been rolling in, hands at their sides brushing occasionally, and Trevor is suddenly sure about one thing- if they survive this job, if neither of them gets caught or killed, then he’s going to get up the guts to tell him.
They’ve just got to make it through this one last job first.
Just this one last thing.
He’ll tell him.