Vices

Hutch’s greatest vice.

To Hutch, it seems as if Starsky has a hundred vices. Too much junk food, a fiery temper when stoked just right, the tendency to fall in love fast and hard. Well, that last one they certainly shared. After all, they had the scars to prove it, even if they were invisible. Otherwise, they were complete opposites. While Starsky rolled with the punches, Hutch liked control. It was why his diet was so strict, his exercise habits so meticulous. Truth be told, he was a little jealous of Starsky. Starsky, who could shovel all manner of wretch into his stomach and still his body ran like a well-oiled machine, moving with power and grace, whether he was running down a perp or showing off his moves on the dance floor. Starsky, who could have his heart trampled on by all the world’s wicked ways and still shake the dust off and come back, stronger than ever. Starsky, who could shrug off any hurtful words that Hutch could sling his way. Starsky, who would just come back to him, to stand by his side, as if Hutch hadn’t just tried to snip the bonds of friendship in half. Sometimes it keeps Hutch awake at night, how, at the end of the day, his bad habits seem so destructive, while Starsky’s seem so harmless. How, at the end of the day, while Hutch seems bent on tearing things down, Starsky seems adept at building them up again.

“Son of a bitch,” Hutch says under his breath the moment he figures it out. Somewhere along the way, he’d stopped noticing vices and just started noticing his weaknesses. And somewhere along the way, his weaknesses had become piercing blue eyes, a tangle of dark curls, a lopsided grin, a voice that was as familiar to him as his own. How long had he tried to shut them out, deny himself what he craved? No, not what he craved, what he loved, what he needed like he needed air in his lungs.

And if it was wrong, did he want to be right?