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Joel crashes into his home with little regard for the wall the front door slams into. He huffs, ignoring the concerned shout from his mother in the kitchen, and kicks the door shut behind him as he fully steps inside. The cold early spring air still burns under his skin, rebelling against the sudden warmth that comes with being indoors. His leather jacket has little insulation, not that he’d ever admit that — there’s no way he’s going to give into wearing a proper jacket after so stubbornly fighting with his mother over it. She’d insisted he’d freeze, and unfortunately she was right.
He sharply inhales through his stuffed nose as he walks down the stairs into the basement. His bones feel stiff, as if they’d frozen during the journey home from school. Maybe they had. He’s not a doctor or scientist or whatever.
With a few more paces, he finally enters his bedroom. The pale green walls greet him with familiarity along with the sight of his bed. The heavy weight of his backpack is quickly dropped onto the floor, homework be damned, Joel wants to sit down. He’s a bad boy, he doesn’t care about how well he treats his school-owned textbooks or nice backpack his mother bought him years ago.
As quick as he possibly can, Joel rips his leather jacket off, leaving him in a plain white tank top he throws a black hoodie over. His jeans are soon replaced with sweatpants as well.
The moment he flops down onto his bed, a small vibration makes itself known in his hoodie’s pocket. Joel groans. He knows it’s probably Jimmy or Grian texting him, and he doesn’t mind it, he just would’ve liked to bask in the afterschool stillness for a little longer. He’s planning on ignoring it until there’s another notification, and another, and it’s too many to ignore.
Begrudgingly, he fishes his phone out and holds it in front of his face in an incredibly uncomfortable position, stomach-down on his bed with his neck at an awkward angle. He turns his phone on to see the Bad Boys group chat’s activity.
Grian: joel
Grian: joel
Grian: joel
Jimmy: we ar ecoming over
Grian: to make bread
Despite his exhaustion and previous irritation at everything, he can’t find it in himself to be annoyed.
It’s worrying.
He should be pissed that they’re just inviting themselves over, but he’s not. In fact, he’s excited, his stomach bubbling with something akin to butterflies. Joel stomps out that thought before it can go any further. They’re his best friends; of course he’s excited to see them.
He ignores that the “excitement” he’s feeling is different from the excitement he felt a year or two ago. It’s something else, something that settles into his guts and buzzes about annoyingly. It manifests in a restlessness that doesn’t let him sit still and heat on his cheeks. He avoids looking at any reflective surface, afraid of what he might see staring back at him. It doesn’t really matter because they’re his friends and the three are going to hang out and have a good time.
Pulling himself up off of his bed, Joel sends a quick “ok” to the group chat and pockets his phone once more. He makes his way into the open living area that resides in the basement, past the small sofa and into the little kitchen. It’s nothing fancy, just a countertop with a few basic appliances around like a microwave oven and minifridge. It’s enough to cook something simple — or, for the Bad Boys, enough to bake something simple. Most likely bread. Joel’s not sure when the bread obsession started, but it did, and now the trio bake a loaf or two every week that they give to their families and friends.
A roll of paper towels sit next to the sink that he grabs to quickly wipe everything down. It’s probably not necessary considering the kitchen doesn’t get used aside from the baking sessions, but he does it anyway. It never hurts to be a little extra sanitary.
Before he knows it the faint ringing of the doorbell echoes into the basement, letting him know his friends have arrived.
Joel assumes his mother opens the door considering the voices he hears talking on the floor above. It’s not long until two loud pairs of footsteps come running down the stairs almost in sync, but just different enough for Joel to be able to tell who is who. Grian enters his view first, tumbling onto the floor from what Joel assumes to be a jump down at least three stairs, but knowing Grian, it was probably four or five. “First!”
Grian’s chest heaves as he pulls himself up off the floor. Jimmy quickly appears after him in a much less painful fashion, though an exaggerated frown covers his face. “You got a head start!”
Joel chuckles. Jimmy’s wearing his usual white t-shirt and jeans (Joel looks away as he slides the black leather jacket off his shoulders, revealing his toned arms) and Grian has his classic red sweater. The ends of the sleeves have begun to fray with age and wear, red thread spindling around the man’s palms.
“What an entrance,” Joel deadpans, trying his hardest to not grin.
Jimmy lights up at the greeting as if he didn’t notice Joel was there, which would be odd considering he is in Joel’s house. “Hey, babe!”
“Hi, babe. And Grian.”
He hopes the warmth on his cheeks isn’t visible in the kitchen lighting. They’ve been calling each other babe as a joke for years now, he should be used to it — and he was used to it! Before his feelings got all weird, he wouldn’t bat an eye and the pet name, but now? Now it makes his heart beat harder against his chest as if it’s trying to escape his ribcage. Grian rolls his eyes at them, as he always does, because apparently he’s not a fan of being called “babe.”
Shoving all unwelcome thoughts away, Joel watches as the two wash their hands. Somehow, he ends up getting splashed with the water, despite being on the other side of the kitchen. The damp spot it leaves on his hoodie sleeve bugs him, rubbing uncomfortably against his bare skin, but he ignores it in favor of pulling out the needed ingredients from the cabinets.
Turning on his phone, Joel pulls up the recipe they always use. They don’t really need it anymore as they’ve memorized the steps, but it never hurts to have it around to double check. Easy five-star homemade bread recipe! His eyes read the article’s title as he sets his phone back on the counter. He doesn’t do anything to make sure it stays unlocked and on because both Grian and Jimmy know his passcode, just as he knows theirs. Sugar, dry yeast, salt, vegetable oil, and flour specifically for making bread sit lined up, staring back at him. The amount of use they’ve gone through is obvious in the tears in the bags and the minimal amount of oil left. Joel makes a mental note to go buy more sometime.
The three fall into their usual routine like it’s second nature.
Joel makes sure the ingredients all go in correctly and Jimmy’s in charge of mixing them all in the bowl since he’s the strongest and they don’t have an electric mixer. Grian sits on the counter kicking his feet until it’s his turn to knead the dough.
His red sleeves roll up and he coats his hands with flour to prevent as much stickiness as possible. It takes about ten minutes to knead, which feels like a lot to Joel, but Grian’s the master-kneader so he trusts the man’s judgement. He’d probably trust Grian with anything despite his playful nature and tendency to get into trouble. That’s a scary thought, so Joel ignores it.
(He would place his heart right into the hands of Jimmy and Grian if he could. They’d keep it safe better than Joel ever would.)
After placing the dough into the designated bread bowl and covering it up with plastic wrap, Jimmy turns on the microwave oven to preheat. Joel punches the blond’s shoulder because he’s supposed to start preheating while the dough is being kneaded. Jimmy just laughs and raises his hands in surrender, gazing down at Joel with a smile as if he’d stolen the moon for him. Joel’s not sure what he did to warrant such a look, but he wants to do it again. His heart steadily thumps to the rhythm of Jimmy’s laughter.
Once the brawl finishes they turn the oven back off and place the bowl inside, closing it up in the heat. The metal box traps the warmth inside for a while after being turned off, so it’s the perfect atmosphere for rising dough.
It’s not too long until Grian takes the bowl out of the microwave oven and pulls the dough out of the bowl. He begins to knead it again while Jimmy rambles about something in the background.
Joel doesn’t really pay attention to Jimmy’s speech, but he doesn’t feel bad because he knows Jimmy’s okay with that. Instead his vision focuses on Grian’s every move. Joel doesn’t really understand why it has to be kneaded twice as the article doesn’t explain why, but he doesn’t mind, because it allows him another chance to watch Grian work. Not in a creepy way. It’s normal to watch the way his friend’s hands move and his arms flex as he kneads, right?
This time the kneading is more like repeated punching. Again, he doesn’t know why this is, but he doesn’t interfere with Grian’s work. A few more punches later Grian stuffs the dough into a bread pan, making sure there’s no empty spaces or air bubbles. He puts it back into the still-warm microwave oven as Joel sets a timer for thirty minutes on his phone.
“What now?” Jimmy asks as all three stare through the little window, watching the bread.
“We should clean up.” Joel replies, turning around to take in the state of the kitchen. It’s not too bad, they’ve gotten much better at keeping things tidy, but there’s still scattered flour and other ingredients strewn about the counter. “And then… put on a movie?”
Both Grian and Jimmy agree with this plan. They fall into a rhythm of cleaning, working alongside each other to neaten the space like they’ve done it one million times, which they probably have. There’s little background noise aside from Jimmy’s whistling and the hum of the oven but it’s music to Joel’s ears. How many loaves of bread does one have to bake until they realize their feelings? And how many more after that to accept them?
A lot, Joel’s learned. A whole lot of bread.
It’s not a sudden realization that hits him out of nowhere and makes him gasp. It’s a feeling that’s been rising to the surface for a while, waiting to be acknowledged.
It’s not long before the trio all settle together on the small couch and put on some shitty movie none of them care about. Joel somehow ends up in the middle, the other two taking the arm rests before he can even react. They chat as he sits there, observing, lost in his own mind like it’s a jungle.
Often, it does feel like a crazy, overgrown, constantly changing forest that likes to fuck with him and make him confused. Grian and Jimmy are his best friends, and have been for so long, why does he now feel not-so-platonic things towards them?
The way Jimmy looks at him, the way Grian starts to lean on him instead of the arm rest, it all feels like too much and not enough. Joel wants more, he wants to be greedy and hoard all the affection they have to give. He wants them closer, and closer, no space left between them. It’s shocking to have his feelings flip themselves upside down on him. He’s always felt possessive over his bad boys, sure, but this is different. This is intense. This is unfamiliar. This is l–
“Joel? Are you okay? You’ve been quieter than usual today.”
Grian’s voice interrupts his train of thought. “Huh?” Joel says instinctively, snapping out of his trance. “I’m fine.”
“Are you sure?” Jimmy chimes in from Joel’s other side. He glances back and forth between the two, taking in their shared looks of concern. Grian places a hand on his shoulder, making Joel turn back to him. “You can tell us anything, man.”
He’s not sure what about that sentence made something in him snap. Maybe it was the worried look on Grian’s face, or the tingling his hand was sending through Joel’s shoulder. It doesn’t really matter. Before Joel even realizes what he’s doing, his lips are against Grian’s and Jimmy gasps somewhere in the background. Grian leans back out of shock, making Joel register exactly what he’s done. He doesn’t get a chance to apologize — Grian pulls him back in an instant.
The fabric of his red sweater tickles his neck as Grian’s other hand cups his jaw. Joel doesn’t hold anything back; he’s been waiting far too long for this, so Grian doesn’t either. Kissing Grian is familiar, like he’s done it a thousand times before. The TV in the background turns to static, just a filler in his mind, buzzing with all the things swirling in his head.
This isn’t their first time kissing. They’ve done it for dares and bets and what they used to call “practice.” That all stopped as they got older, of course, they’re not children anymore. It’s not the first time, no, but it is the first time they’ve kissed with this amount of energy. Joel can feel it and he knows Grian can, too. It’s the same excitement from earlier that wouldn’t allow him to sit still maxed out to as high as it can go. It takes over his senses, rendering him deaf and blind to everything except for Grian’s lips on his.
Joel grins wildly when they finally pull away. He slowly opens his eyes to a wonderful view — Grian, eyes half-lidded and mouth still parted just a hair.
He’s not done, though. Joel turns to Jimmy, who’s staring wide-eyed with shock and a pink flush on his cheeks. He grabs the collar of Jimmy’s white shirt and pulls the man in. Jimmy doesn’t fight it, so Joel assumes he didn’t make a poor choice.
Kissing Jimmy is familiar as well, though in a softer way than Grian. His lips are chapped and the angle is awkward due to their positions and height difference but Joel wouldn’t have it any other way. This one is quicker, less aggressive for lack of a better word. Jimmy looks at him with stars in his eyes as if Joel had just bestowed the greatest gift of all upon him, and maybe he had.
“...Sorry.” Joel mutters, not meaning it.
“Do that again,” Grian replies as Jimmy nods his head. And, for once in his life, Joel does as he was told.