Oliver is a manga artist, but he was once an angry little boy with a sunny best friend: Ian Miller. Then, one day, they weren't friends anymore. Oliver doesn't know when was it exactly that Ian disappeared from his life, and refuses to remember why...
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I finally got out of the house.
"I'm telling you," Ethan insists, leaning against the rowing machine that Jack's using.
It's been forever since I've been to a gym— I generally just use the dumbells my uncle got me for Christmas, and I hadn't been using those lately, either. But when I called Jack to let him know I was feeling better and asked if he wanted to hang out, this is what he said he'd be doing. And that he'd been putting up with my depressed ass long enough that he got to choose where.
So here I am. I don't really mind it— I never hated working out, so long as they don't tell me what I have to do. I'm not trying to look like a gym rat, you know? I work on the things I want to work on, like my arms and back. I hate sit-ups so I don't do those, and I don't want a bigger chest. I like feeling tired and sore after, too— it's a reminder that I got good use out of the day.
"And I know about these things," Ethan continues, wiping the sweat off his forehead. All he can do is run for now since his arm's still a little fucked, which means he's free to run his mouth about what I should do about Ian when I go see him tomorrow. I should have never brought it up, but it's too late now. "He just said the friends thing because he thinks you're gonna ruin everything but—"
"Go die in a hole." Like I need a reminder.
"Would you shut the hell up and just let me finish for once?" he snaps. Jack raises his eyebrows in amusement and keeps doing his set. I'm not nearly as amused— he better have a good point.
"Fine," I concede. He does date a lot, so I guess I'll listen.
"That's what he thinks, because of how horribly you guys ended things, but you won't. Right? So all I'm saying is you have some wiggle room." I still don't see where he's going. "It's not like a crush that went 'sorry, I don't like you that way'. He just needs you to show him actual interest."
"I have," I snap back, standing up when Jack frees the machine to take his place. "You don't know."
"Maybe, but I do know that your way of showing interest is flaming garbage," Ethan points out. I just grunt as I sit down and grab the handlebar. I can't argue with that— I'm not... good at it. "But you're in luck— I'm a master at it."
"Are you listening to this?" I ask Jack, looking over my shoulder.
He just drinks his water, unphased. "I deal with it every day."
And Ethan's looking too satisfied with himself. "He loves me."
"See?" Jack murmurs after another drink, rolling his eyes when Ethan rests his good elbow on him with a stupid grin.
