Project Hero

by Briar Prescott

I was sixteen years old when I realized something life changing about myself—I was the sidekick.

Mediocre city, population me.

I’m the guy who looks like the boring neighbor that lives across the hall from you and later turns out to be a cannibal with a freezer full of body parts in his spare bedroom.

I’m too average to be a psycho.

He’s the Wayne to my Garth. Wallace to my Gromit. Shrek to my Donkey. Batman to my Robin.

Mr. I’ve-Got-An-Incredibly-Firm-Ass

“You’re Andy Carter,” he says. He doesn’t ask it. He’s stating a fact. I stare at him. It’s my turn to be surprised. Law Anderson knows my name? How? Why? Since when? And, oh yeah, how?

He’s my Hail Mary.

They’re all staring at the TV like they’re a part of a cult, and the screen is broadcasting their supreme leader. North Koreans would be proud of their dedication.

If quinoa’s taste had a color, it would be the bland beige of hospital corridors.

Why does everything healthy have to taste so blah?

I have to face the facts. I’ve turned into a stalker. I can already see the restraining order in my future. Still, I’ve come this far, so it would be a shame to quit now.

Andy chokes on air this time. Huh. I didn’t know you could do that.

He lifts his head and scrunches his nose, and I’m caught unawares by how adorable it looks.

“I’m too sexy,” I deadpan. “People find it hard to resist me, which let me tell you, makes walking down the street a real challenge.”

Parents should be proud when their child sets their mind to something and works their ass off to get it,

I’m going to ignore the uncomfortable feeling that squeezes my insides at the mention of Andy fucking somebody else.

“Sure,” I say. “I’ll just eat that chicken alfredo myself then.” Andy glowers at me. “You evil bastard.” I grin as I watch him pull his sneakers on. “It’s my grandma’s recipe with extra cheese.” Andy shakes his head. “Keep talking. But just remember, people have gone to hell for less, and God is always listening.”

“I think it makes perfect sense. First of all, exercise is good for you.” He gasps. “You take that back.”

The sun looks like it’s trying to convince itself that rising is a necessary feat. As it is, only murderers, lunatics, and prostitutes are out at this time of day, and since I’m none of those, I feel like I should have stayed in bed to avoid false advertising.

“Is this the right time to mention that running, and exercise in general, is against my religion?”

“Ancient torture devices. In the Middle Ages people who were accused of being witches were made to run on those archaic machines until they collapsed of exhaustion and admitted that they were, in fact, in cahoots with the devil and were practicing witchcraft.”

Those pesky endorphins really know what they’re doing.

Law tells me that under no circumstance am I allowed to shave your head.”

You’re a good person, Andy Carter, and as far as I’m concerned, that makes you a hero in my book.”

I will never be able to shower without getting painfully hard again.

“You’re heavy,” I say. I’d love to stay just like this, me on my back and him on top of me, but I really think we should talk before I start rubbing my cock against him. I mean, it’s basic courtesy.

This right here, though? I think I could fall on my head and wake up from a coma two years later with amnesia so bad that I couldn’t remember who I was, but this kiss would surely stay with me.

My hands move all over Law’s body. Why is he wearing so many clothes? It’s like fifty-five degrees outside. I’m sure he could go shirtless. And maybe he could also ditch the pants. We haven’t seen a single person on this trail so far, so he should feel free to flaunt that fit body of his for my viewing pleasure.

Still, it’s weird, because I’m so very much the opposite of Law. He’s like the sun, bright and warm, and I’m like one of those brown dwarves, too small to be called a star and so insignificant most people don’t even know they exist.

“They want somebody who knows what they’re doing, and I don’t. The way I see it, you’ll be doing a public service. Based on the distinct lack of naked people in my life, I might not even recognize somebody else’s cock. Think about it, if you let me go into the world with the knowledge I have right now, I might go in for a blowjob and start to lick somebody’s elbow or something.”

I feel like I’m about to enter a dentist’s office, not like I’m about to have sex, which as I understand, is a favorite pastime for a lot of people.

I’ll trip over my feet and fall face first into Law’s lap, injuring his dick—among other things—after which we’ll be forced to spend an awkward night in the ER, and then Law will never want to see me again, because penis injuries are no joke.

Maybe I will actually lick Law’s elbow without realizing it’s not his dick.

Kissing should definitely be Law’s major. And minor. And his future career. He should just walk around and kiss all day long because he’s that good. But not other people. Just me.

You do look like a noodle. What was I thinking? I better go and find me a hotter hook-up. Sayonara, bitch.

My dick jumps up like it’s a prisoner being freed from its shackles.

Do not come, Andy, I lecture myself. I forbid you. This is your Super Bowl. Or whatever the hell the sex equivalent of the Super Bowl is. Do not blow it.

If I’d known a mouth on my cock would feel that good, I would have trained to become a contortionist and done it myself.

Andy points to the table with the spatula. “Sit. Let me take care of you.” I blink, suddenly overcome with emotion because I don’t think anybody has ever said something like that to me.

“Sorry,” he says with a small smile. “I couldn’t let the opportunity of seeing you half naked pass me by.”

I feel comfortable with Law. He’s seen me freak out over tutoring. He’s seen me embarrass myself. He’s seen me first thing in the morning. He’s seen me late at night. We’ve seen each other naked, for crying out loud. This guy knows me, the good and the bad, so I don’t have to try to be something I’m not.

He doesn’t make me feel like I’m a hero either, but the thing is, with Law, I don’t really care about being a hero at all. With Law, I’m just me. Just Andy. And with Law, it’s enough.

“Ah.” I feel my cheeks heat. “That’s good. That was a test, and you passed. No early signs of Alzheimer’s for you, mister.”

You’re perfect. You’ve always been perfect.

Well, shit. I’m in love with Andy Carter.

In the end, Andy wins again. But I get to spend the rest of my life with him, so really, I’m the winner here.