her laughter sounded as relieving as soft rain on a cold day, like a warm haze that permeated the fabric of the universe for all to know.
it was almost a tragedy;
if he’d only been good enough, if only he had been better. if he’d gone to college, instead of taking minimum wage jobs to get by, if only he’d been different.
it was puzzling, why did they stay together, friends to the end, he supposed.
why?
there was stubble on his face, where her’s was flawless. scars, where her skin was smooth. fatigue and inaction, where she had ambition and success.
the clouds gathered overhead, it would be dark soon; the sunset stood authoritative, deafening; and the concrete was parched.
a soft wind rattled the windows, and the candles glowed a warmth that measured infinite fractions to her smallest of compliments.
her presence was a million suns condensed into a single soul. as beautiful as the mark that they both shared on their arms; a light blessing for her;
but a heavy curse for him.
-
He’d hated his mark, or rather that he’d gotten his late into puberty. It’d been over spring break, and he was cramming for tests, when he got his cursed mark, she’d gotten her’s weeks earlier.
He’d taken to wearing long sleeves after that, or an athletic arm sleeve if he was wearing a t-shirt or tank top.
She’d proudly worn her mark on her arm, seldom wearing long sleeves, despite the cold.
She’d often asked him about why he didn’t show his mark, he’d told her that he didn’t like the attention, and the constant questions about if he’d posted pictures of it on any of the matching sites.
Come a few years later, and his mark had scars crossing it, an attempt to rid himself of it, and he’d spent a week under watch.
His best friend had ripped him a new ear with all the worry she’d gave ‘im.
She didn’t ask to see his mark, but…
He knew that she was curious, and he said that he’d show it to her after her next birthday, it’d be her twenty-fifth, he was a half-year behind her.
He’d been crying, his eyes were red still, she was going to come over soon and he wasn’t prepared. he had dishes in the sink, and he hadn’t showered last night, his mark was hidden by the loose long sleeve he still wore from yesterday.
*knock knock knock*
He sprung from his bed in a shock of adrenaline, falling to his floor fatigued.
He dragged himself to the door, opening it to see an angelic face staring at him, she came in and eyed him with concern.
“i’m sorry, I’ve been crying all day and haven't been able to tidy up beforehand.”
“Nonsense man, what’s got you down? Is it the mark, is it embarrassing, or?”
“It…… yeah it’s….. I.
Hold on, Give me some time to go get ready, I’ll only take 5 minutes.”
“Yeah, go man, your good!” She spoke easily, a smile gracing his dim house.
He’d taken a quick shower, and gotten dressed in some proper clothes, though he hadn’t owned any short sleeves for years now.
He stepped into his living room looking more put together than he did some minutes ago.
“Hey” his voice filled the silence
“Hey” her voice was music
“there is a reason that I’ve been hiding my mark for so long, It’s selfish of me and I feel bad for doing it, but I didn’t know when I started, how long I would wait, or how long I wouldn’t say anything.”
“What do you mean?” she asked.
“I..”
He sat down next to her on the couch, his left arm splayed out.
She took hold of his arm,
“may i?”
He nodded.
slowly she rolled his sleeve up his arm, exposing the scarred mark that he’d hidden for years.
He heard a gasp.
And then when she let go of his arm, he prepared for her to yell at him for being so selfish, to berate him for taking up years of her time in endless searching, for every insult and every deserved slap.
But instead he was pulled into an embrace, strong and warm.
She was saying a million thank yous and a dozen other things, but none of them were hateful or harmful, only gladness and praise fell to his ears.
He cried tears of sorrow and joy.
“You could have told me sooner y’know?”
“..I know, im , im sorry,”
Raf held him while he wept “It’s ok, its ok, its ok…”
