#onelastfool

“Don’t move.”

In indeed was Gregory. It had been some time since the two had encountered on another. The blond’s features had sharpened as he got older, his hair grown out longer and his eyes were no less sharp than his looks. There’s an intensity to him as he speaks, voice low and serious. Something was off about this and he was starting to think coming here was a bad idea. It was already suspicious that he’d been invited anyway considering he barely had any friends in this shitty little town.  Had this been a ploy to lure him out?

When the idea of confessing his long buried feelings had first come to the forefront of Kenny’s mind, he’d thought it would have been easier to hint around the topic in the form of a question. After hearing how painfully awkward he sounded, he sorefully regretted that decision.

Yeah. That was real smooth.

“Dude, we were all shitty kids.” He recovered with a light hearted grin, giving his friend’s shoulder a playful nudge. “Maybe that’s why we got along so well, or...most of us anyway.”

Kenny found himself staring at Stan, probably for a few seconds longer than he should have, suddenly distracted by his smile. He didn’t miss the way the other boy’s cheeks had flushed at his question. It was cute on Stan. But Kenny wondered if he himself looked as nervous on the outside as he felt on the inside.

“... Now he’s running around town like a chicken with its head cut off?”  Wendy couldn’t quite resist raising an eyebrow as they pretended to finish Stan’s sentence, but their tiny smile took any possible sting out of it.  They had calmed down some since elementary school--- thankfully.  Even Wendy was beginning to wonder if they were beyond help towards the end there.

It is somewhere in-between helping Stan in correcting his algebra assignments, when Kyle is leaning back his weight onto the palm of his hands and watching the frustrated young man sprawl his limbs upon his bedroom floor in a total proclamation of defeat, that he at last finds the courage to give voice to the question which has been at the tip of his tongue for the better part of that week. Perhaps it is the way that the tangerine hue of the afternoon sun dances alongside the contours of the other’s features and falls into his impossibly blue eyes; perhaps it is the few defiant, ebon locks of hair which have fallen onto Stan’s forehead and thus perfecting his crystalline image of vulnerability that steer the words onto his lips.

eyes emoji ]

continued x

  ❝——When have you ever seen me try to be one of the ‘cool kids’?❞ His words chase after the scoff that slips past the stem of the cigarette which is already cushioned between his lips. The transient brush of the mountainous air against his crimson locks of hair tosses them back from his cold kissed features as he guides the tip of the cigarette towards the fluttering flame of the proffered lighter. Once a particularly esurient inhale sends the nicotine rushing through his veins and calming his nerves, he risks a glance in the other’s direction. ❝——This isn’t a...routine. Not that you would have any place to judge either way.❞

continued x

With the cinnabar curtain of his lashes settling in a halfway crescent over the verdant green of his eyes, he appears succinctly unimpressed. The sanguine locks of his hair fall into a gentle sway alongside the motions of his head as he nods in the direction of the group of girls whose entrance into the cafeteria was being pursued by Stan’s curious gaze only moments before. He supposes that by now he should have simply accepted Wendy as a permanent source of distraction for the other young man, as irksome as such a notion has always seemed to be.