Girls and Boys
"WHAT?!" He repeats, voice cracking as he throws the piece of paper up in the air. Dramatics from a usually silent man.
Lucas glances at his friend, eying his behavior. "What's your damage now? And lay back down, man. Please? You're going to tear your stitches out with all that flailing."
Elliot sighs, flopping back onto the bed. The piece of paper sways and flutters back down to meet his chest. A sigh makes it roll down to his lap. "Her email address? That's like...her personal cell number! Wh...Why? I just sat there and made faces at Alex, that sick prick."
"Hey, be nice." He's a mother hen, but of a slacking variety. "What did she look like?"
The other does not reply right away. His eyes stare at the stucco ceiling for what seems like twenty minutes before he answers. In the time left in silence, Lucas fixes more salve to spread on Elliot's ribs. "She was pretty, I guess. For a girl. You know me. I don't think of people like that."
Lucas only 'mh's at his friend, pointing at the comfortable blanket poncho. Off with it. It's tossed to the ground by the time he reaches the bed. The goop, pale green and spotted with bits of a dark colored bark, is spread onto the sickly bruises and scabbing wounds on the young man's ribs and stomach.
The touch, even if he is familiar with its plain, platonic nature, feels so odd. The awkward stir in his belly swims like a slippery fish against his organs and broken ribs. Elliot can't help the flush of pink to rise to his chin and nose. While Lucas ignores it, knowing it's best to pretend like it's not there, his friend ignores the fact the he, himself, is even in the room with another person.
One of these days, though, he's going to let someone else get close enough to do this without them being punched in the throat immediately afterward.
Lucas glances at his friend, eying his behavior. "What's your damage now? And lay back down, man. Please? You're going to tear your stitches out with all that flailing."
Elliot sighs, flopping back onto the bed. The piece of paper sways and flutters back down to meet his chest. A sigh makes it roll down to his lap. "Her email address? That's like...her personal cell number! Wh...Why? I just sat there and made faces at Alex, that sick prick."
"Hey, be nice." He's a mother hen, but of a slacking variety. "What did she look like?"
The other does not reply right away. His eyes stare at the stucco ceiling for what seems like twenty minutes before he answers. In the time left in silence, Lucas fixes more salve to spread on Elliot's ribs. "She was pretty, I guess. For a girl. You know me. I don't think of people like that."
Lucas only 'mh's at his friend, pointing at the comfortable blanket poncho. Off with it. It's tossed to the ground by the time he reaches the bed. The goop, pale green and spotted with bits of a dark colored bark, is spread onto the sickly bruises and scabbing wounds on the young man's ribs and stomach.
The touch, even if he is familiar with its plain, platonic nature, feels so odd. The awkward stir in his belly swims like a slippery fish against his organs and broken ribs. Elliot can't help the flush of pink to rise to his chin and nose. While Lucas ignores it, knowing it's best to pretend like it's not there, his friend ignores the fact the he, himself, is even in the room with another person.
One of these days, though, he's going to let someone else get close enough to do this without them being punched in the throat immediately afterward.