Summer Haze [BL]

Chapter 6 - Fib

"August," another voice called.

This time, it was Henry.

Henry walked towards me, holding onto his cylindrical container that held his paintings. Eugene did tell me his studio was around here, but it seemed Henry was still heading there.

Henry's perplexed eyes followed the stranger before looking back at me.

"Why do you keep calling and then cutting off?"

"Sorry, I dropped my phone in the small puddle, and it broke."

"Again?" A sigh left his lips.

"Why are you so careless? Since when did you know that person, and why was he talking to you? Did you just give him your number?"

"Yes?"

"How could you just give your number so carelessly? Don't you know how dangerous that is? Don't answer or respond to his calls or messages."

"Do you know who he is?" I asked, looking back to see if that stranger and his dog were still there, but he had already walked far across the next street.

The way the stranger walked was quite charismatic. The hand with the leash around his wrist tucked into his jacket's pocket, steady and firm steps, the necessary muscles all equal in play, so I figured he must work out regularly, though not that intensely.

When I turned back, Henry's face was pale, and the words hung on the tip of his tongue, yet he prevented them from slipping out his mouth.

Henry knew who that man was, but he didn't want to tell me, and I didn't pry any further since it wasn't my business to know.

"Henry. If you have time tomorrow, is it alright if we talk?"

"I have time now."

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We sat on the benches in the small park under a large shelter. Knowing Eugene was waiting for Henry, I had to say it all quickly. Strands of his neat, slicked-back hair grew dishevelled when the wind brushed against our skins.

"You can't even look at me anymore?" I let out a short laugh as Henry scrunched his nose.

"Please don't be like this," he said.

I didn't respond, and a sunken smile played over my lips.

"Aug—" Henry started, though he instantly stopped, and I could sense his unsettledness.

"...Are you happy right now?" I asked.

Henry didn't respond immediately, and I didn't turn my head around to see what face he currently wore.

The chirps of birds flying to the branches of the trees to seek shelter occasionally interrupted the silence, but it wasn't disconcerting; instead, it was comforting.

"...Yes. Eugene is a really good person. I can't just... leave him. He has been through a lot because of me, too. It was really hard on me for those years you had left."

I knew there was nothing I could do. As long as Henry told me he was content with his life now, it was enough for me to understand how much of myself I should leave behind.

Then, it finally hit me that we would no longer speak or see each other like we did in the past. This awkwardness, guilt, and regret took the form of a nail, and the hammer punctured the nail into the depths of my bones.

"Thank you for letting me talk to you again and searching for me when I disappeared. It will be hard for me to let you go, but I'll try my best to not bother you and Eugene again. I might say something foolish if I stay any longer, so I'll take my leave."

Just as I prepared to walk off, Henry grabbed my wrist and pulled me back, standing up as well.

"Wait, August. I—" he started and stopped again, swallowing back his words.

His thick, long brows raised and immediately withdrew his arm back, and gradually, a red flush travelled across his cheeks and down his neck.

"Sorry, I... How is your recovery? From the car crash."

Car crash? Ah, right, I had forgotten I told him it was a car accident, but did he know by him asking these questions, it would only be more challenging for me to let go of these nonsensical feelings?

"I still have a few rehab sessions left, but it's alright."

He rubbed his temples, and I reached out my arm, feeling the light sprinkle encounter my bare palms, trickling down my wrist.

"Eugene is a good person, and he loves you a lot, really. Do you like him?"

Henry's lips separated, then closed, then opened again.

This process was repeated for quite a while before he spoke. "I... like him."

"That's good. I'll head back now before the rain gets heavier," I said and walked off, not taking another look back.

My footsteps might have been faster than usual, but the light autumn droplets of the sky became a heavy downpour carried by the chilly breeze.

Once a man spoke a lie and repetitively tuned in to his own lie, their senses start to paralyse into such a condition that they gradually surrendered the ability to distinguish the truths around or within them.

Soon, the man believed in his continual lie and perceived it as sincerity. As a result, they were quick to be offended when they received the truth from others because they had already moulded their thoughts and perceptions into this desensitised version of dishonesty.