morning load | lorcan&padrig

It feels good to hurt. 

He's fallen head first into careerhood in an attempt to focus on anything else. Even he can see it, how desperate for an escape he feels, one day deeper into the stir craze that is living with his mother. Lorcan's tried to give in, to listen to her bitter laced words and hate his dad and brother, and he may act like it but there's a bit of it he hasn't been able to accept. She may not, but he remembers the good times, when their family was all one piece and he didn't have to pretend at all. 

Somehow, he's become some kind of expert at it, pretending. At home he pretends to be happy, and at school he pretends to be one of them: the meat heads. Making it his whole life has made things easier, simple Sweeney, all he does is train and train and train some more. That's what he thinks of during his reps - what, if any, hobbies he would care for. He's starting to think he needs an escape from his escape, the gym bros are starting to tank his vibe. 

The only issue is he cares about nothing, and is good at even less. All he is is another muscular body. Part of him thinks of dance, maybe even ballet, an art form all about the body, and he bets he could be good at it. But he looks from the weights he pushes to the boys around him, and he can't help but wonder what they'd think. Worst they could say is how gay it is, and he'd laugh it off and agree and wipe his sweaty hands on his gym shorts. 

Yeah, haha, and I'm no sissy. 

Lorcan finds himself amongst the herd as their coach ushers them for a fifteen, a break he'd push through if he could. The burn calls, but instead he sits with his earbuds in, surrounded yet completely alone in his own world. 

That is, until Paddy shows up. Late, carefree, as if it meant nothing at all. Stupid smile on his face, hair a damn mess, still in his work clothes. Lorcan tries to avoid eye contact until it's clear his brother's coming his way, popping his earbuds out just in time to overhear the boy next to him talking shit in his ear.

"Lorcan, what a surprise to see you here!"

"Watch it, the bum twin's coming!"

"Oh, shut it," he says, laughing along with a shove before his brother makes his way up the steps. Those Sweeney boys, they haven't gotten along in years now. "It's almost like I'm supposed to be here, bro," Lorcan says, flatly as he rolls his eyes from his friend to his twin. Once upon a time Padrig was both, but oh how things change. He leans on his knees, looking up to his twin in physical sense alone in his stupid mail uniform. "Got something for me or what?" Why else would they be talking in public? He avoids him every chance he can. 

"Did you pack spare gym clothes? I am without!" He says, and Lorcan can hardly stifle a patronizing laugh. Looking from his brother to his friend to his brother again, he releases a sigh - I should help him. As hilarious as it would be to watch him do dead lifts in khakis, if Lorcan won't help him, who else will? "Sure," the career says, rising from the bench and walking past his twin, bumping shoulders on the way. He leads the way to his locker, good old #33, practically ignoring him in favor of the combination lock.

18 - 24 - 18 - 6 - 24. Click! 

He always keeps his back ups stored away, just in case. "No shirts, but here," he says, stuffing his hand recklessly and shoving a pair of thigh high red shorts at his brother's chest, not noticing as he knocks something he shouldn't have out of the locker altogether. Anabolic steroids, a miniature purple pill bottle he kept so hidden even he forgot about. As casually as he can in his panic, he snatches it from the floor and stuffs it and both hands in his pockets. Shit, think Paddy noticed? 

"So we all good now?" 

 

"Depends," Paddy says, and Lorcan feels a nervous sweat roll down his back. Nerves? Nah, must just be from the work out. The burn persists in his biceps and glutes, something just as familiar as his family at this point. A pain he can't quite shake, one he continues to search out regardless. "”So, does mom have you on her drugs too or weren’t I meant to see those?” 

"Shut the fuck up," he snaps without a moment's hesitation, flicking his left hand to push Padrig by the shoulder. Don't talk about her like that -- overly protective, mommy's little boy. Someone has to care about her, even if her favorite hobby is destroying everything around her. She's a controlling woman, her finger on every aspect she cares about, and he isn't totally different. 

She has problems, but don't they all? 

His problem in the moment is his brother's prying eyes and non-discreet voice. Lorcan takes a second to scope the scene around him, making sure the chaos of the locker room swept up his brother's loud mouth. Boys pass them by and wave at Lorcan, but he just keeps his head down, returning back to Pad once again. "It's just something for my back, tell anyone about it and I'll cave your face in." 

An empty threat, they'd physically fought before but nothing serious, and their dad had always been there to break things up. Padrig should watch his step, he's in Lorcan's territory here. He turns away as he tosses the bottle from pocket to locker, slamming #33 shut and clicking the padlock back in place. There's a broodiness that follows him, like a dark cloud emitting from his skin amidst the sweat-filled room. 

"Anything else you need? Fifteen's almost over," and then it's back to acting as if he doesn't know his own reflection.