Pierre & Ozzy - B-Sides

***

Dearest Reader,

No sex in this story, just characters.

Installments subtitled B-Sides won't have any juicy bits.

Installments that are numbered (i.e. Pierre & Ozzy 2) are where you'll find the sex scenes.

Thanks for reading!

Passionately Yours,

MissusAnderson

***

I walk into the kitchen in my briefs and open the fridge.

I bend over and rummage through it, frowning.

Nothing.

I close the fridge and sigh and walk back to my room.

Maybe if I come back in forty minutes, something will appear.

My footsteps are padded in my socks, but they echo throughout the empty apartment.

Oz and Heather have jobs, they won't be back until later.

I haven't had to work in years, since the settlement.

I doubt I'll ever have to work again.

I could probably afford a nicer place than this, but where else would I go?

I walk back into my room and stop at the doorway.

I cross my arms over my bare chest and study my room.

It's uncomfortably familiar, the only place I can go anymore. Even the grocery store sets me off sometimes, the beeping and the noises and the voices and the middle-aged women with black hair.

I pinch my eyes shut and shake my head.

Fuck.

I walk to my closet.

I should at least go on a walk. I try to go on at least one walk a day, so I don't lose my mind.

I stayed in my room for thirteen days in a row once, and I only left after I heard someone calling my name from outside the window. We're on the fourth floor, and you can't hide on the fire escape.

I didn't realize how alone you could get, even in the city, even with a roommate.

It was when Oz was gone, of course.

I've never- That was the worst-

Even now, my mind baulks at the gap, between here and gone.

If I had any brainpower left, I would have sent him packing when he crawled back to our door.

But what did I do?

I rummage angrily through my clothes.

"Ozzy!"

Like a fucking child finding a lost puppy.

Or like a lost puppy finding his child.

Fucking embarrassing.

I cross my arms. My chest is tightening, threatening a panic attack.

Even thinking about walking out of the apartment...

I fell far, after my mom went to prison.

I didn't realize how far you could fall, if you got pushed hard enough.

The front door opens.

"I'm home," Heather calls. "Got food!"

I grab a ratty dark gray tank top and slip on some short, light gray workout shorts.

"Hey, Heather," I call back. I step into the hallway.

I can hear her rustling in the kitchen as she spreads out plastic bags full of groceries.

"You're home early," I say, walking into the kitchen. I pause at the doorway and lean against it, crossing my arms.

She busies herself putting groceries away, stuffing plastic bags into each other to save.

"Mental health day. I've been shopping, I just left early because I can't sleep in. Cute shorts," she says, absently glancing my way. "When'd you get them?"

I shrug.

"I don't even remember."

I walk across the kitchen to the table, where she has everything laid out and start helping put stuff away.

"You drink more milk than anyone I know," I say.

"You know a lot of people?"

"I have friends!"

"Minus me and Ozzy?"

"Online friends count," I counter, smiling.

She shakes her head, smiling back.

She pauses though and her smile falls.

"You've been kind of... indoors lately," she says slowly. "I know you've told me not to mom you, and I'm not. I just want to check in."

I shrug.

She's right.

But...

"It's him, isn't it?"

I sigh and shake my head.

"Heather-"

"Peep, I know you. We've lived together almost eight years, and two of those years were me babysitting you from one heartbreak to the next. You're twisting up, and it's worse because it's Oz."

My stomach turns.

"What are you saying?" I ask slowly.

Does she know?

She knows about me, but I'm pretty certain she doesn't know about Oz...

"I'm saying you follow him around the apartment like a kid at the grocery store. I'm saying you practically look lovesick. Have you thought about... I don't know, giving him some breathing room?"

I cross my arms and deadpan at her.

"He said he needs breathing room?"

I know he didn't.

Heather huffs and opens the fridge, putting the milk in the door.

"No. He seems just as happy to have your attention as you are to give it. That's what makes me worried."

Always just off the mark, Heather, impossibly close for not knowing.

Does she know?

"Maybe I'm just jealous," she says sadly.

I frown.

"What? Of Oz?"

Seems impossible.

She laughs.

"I know, I know. Still. When he came back, I just... I was surprised by how quickly you forgave him. I mean, he didn't text either of us. He just left!"

I roll my shoulders and a heaviness forms in the pit of my stomach.

"Yeah. I remember. But he's back now."

I dare you to say it, Heather. Say he'll leave again.

Nothing else makes me so angry as that idea.

She shakes her head.

"I've resigned myself to picking up your broken heart," she says with a wry laugh.

She crosses her arms and looks me in the eye.

"That's what family does, right? Look out for each other?"

I look down, embarrassed.

"I'll spend more time... outdoors," I say, curling my lip in feigned disgust. "And less time with him."

"Really?"

I frown.

"Are you really that worried about me, Hash?"

She shakes her head and frowns. She won't meet my gaze.

"No, just starting to... have feelings."

What does that mean?

She doesn't offer an explanation and we finish putting up the groceries with a conversation about the loveliness of the weather.

I walk out of the corner store, giant foam cup in hand, calling out a goodbye to Lisa.

"See ya, cutie," she calls back. I wave over my shoulder and take a sip of the diet soda. The straw squeaks as I drink.

It really is a nice day out.

I wouldn't call Lisa a friend, per se. But I know her pretty well; she's sixty, she's been married to the same man her whole life, I feel like she's christian, but she doesn't say anything to me about being gay, which I know she knows because we've talked about my old boyfriends.

I think she likes me because I remind her of her son; he died about twenty years ago, she said, in a car wreck. He was her only kid. She takes off the anniversary of his death to put flowers on his grave every year.

I think I like her because... well, it's nice to pretend that she-

She just feels maternal, is all.

Jesus, that's sad.

Well, we're sad people.

What's the big deal?

I can't believe me and Heather have lived together eight years.

I mean, I lived at her parent's house my junior and senior year of high school, right before all the shit with my mom went down.

Eight years.

Weird.

I should get her something.

She's really like my sister. I feel about her the way I think I'd feel about a real sister.

I hope she sees me as her brother.

I should get her something.

"Hey," a low man's voice leers from behind my shoulder.

My heart slams into my throat and I jump and spin.

Oz looks stricken.

"Whoa! Whoa, it's just me!"

I almost throw my drink down in anger.

"Fuck, Oz!"

A little soda spilled out over my fingers.

I wipe them on my tank top.

"You gave me a fucking heart attack," I mutter, flinging the rest of the moisture off my hand.

He looks really apologetic.

I roll my eyes.

He's weaponizing cuteness, the little shit.

He cocks a half-grin and throws his arm around my shoulder, casual, friendly, as in, just-friends. We start walking slowly.

"Where are you going?" he asks. "Home is that way."

"I have a loop," I say defensively. "I have to get out of the house sometimes."

I scowl and pick at the straw.

"Well, really, Heather makes me."

He laughs loudly.

"Mean old bitch," he teases.

"Hey!"

I'm surprised that I'm a little offended on her behalf.

I just feel like he doesn't get to say that kind of stuff anymore...

His face falls a little, but just as quickly he forces a smile.

"Sorry, sorry. Good for her."

He stares off into the distance.

He looks... pensive.

"Good for her," he says again softly.

We walk in silence for a few paces and he withdraws his arm.

I want to hold his hand, but he stuffs them into his pockets.

Not that he'd hold my hand in public anyway.

"You're off early," I say, cocking an eyebrow.

He shakes his head.

"Lunch. Heather said you'd gone on a walk. Thought I'd try to find you."

He frowns.

"She seemed..."

He purses his lips tightly and studies the sky for a moment.

"Does she seem... upset, to you? Kind of... simmering?"

I shake my head.

"Not really."

He nods slowly, like he's working something out.

"Huh."

We walk silently.

A man leans against the brick building in front of us, smoking a blunt.

He smiles jovially and nods a hello.

I can't help cracking a smile.

The streets are pretty bare. It's the middle of the day, everyone's at work. In a few hours they'll be packed.

"Whatcha thinking about?" Ozzy asks.

I shrug.

"Just enjoying the day," I say.

He nods, but he seems dissatisfied.

"What?"

He looks away.

"I just-"

He laughs, that dark laugh.

I frown.

"I can't get enough of you," he admits. "Even when I'm with you. I just want to know everything."

A confused smile tugs on my lips.

"What do you want to know?" I ask.

"I don't know. Everything. Sometimes I feel like I'm watching you watch the world, like you're sizing it all up. It's intriguing."

I laugh drily.

"It's not. I just watch."

He looks expectant.

I sigh and shrug.

"I dunno, Oz. Sometimes I'm not thinking anything. I'm just... looking."

"What are you looking at right now?" he asks, turning his gaze to the street around us.

"You," I admit sheepishly.

"What about me?"

I shrug again.

"That...it's nice. To walk with you."

He grins.

"Cool."