Better Sorry than Safe

2.

Sem threw the front door closed behind him with a loud slam. Jesus Christ, making an ass of oneself was one thing, but tripping on the ball? Tripping on the ball. Really? And he could always count on his friends to take any bad situation, and make it worse. He just had to be pushed even deeper into the mud by Tom. The idiot had somehow managed to land right on top of him after tripping over his legs. Sem had aimed to jump to his feet immediately, to save what was left of his dignity. But because of Tom's weight on top of him, he'd ended up floundering and flopping about for a few humiliating seconds longer, before he could finally shove that deadweight off.

"Strike!" Nick had then laughed, loud enough so Jack must've heard it as well. Usually Sem thought Nick was hilarious with his quick remarks and jokes, but this time he could've twisted his freckled little neck for it. Just like the necks of all the other guys, who'd also started laughing once they saw mud dripping off his chin and realised what had happened, for that matter. Sem would've done the exact same thing had it been any of them, but still. Why couldn't it have been one of them?

Sem kicked off his dirty, wet shoes next to the coat rack. He took off his equally gross socks as well, dropping them inside the shoes. Worse yet: by the time his dear friends were done pissing themselves laughing, Jack had already walked off. He left, and totally missed Sem finally getting his game on, and managing to score twice in a row. Of course, he'd only seen him eating mud. Great.

Sem stomped up the staircase, letting his bag clunk against every step as he dragged it along behind him. There were gunfire sounds coming from Daniel's open bedroom door. His brother was sitting in his desk chair, with one hand clicking fervently on the mouse buttons, the other hand equally fervently grabbing into a bag of crisps.

His brother was in his room playing video games and eating, surprise surprise. The guy rarely went anywhere. He still lived at home, despite the fact that he'd already been in college studying... something nerdy with computers for the past two years. Sem didn't see him leaving any time soon, either. Not as long as their mom kept coddling him by making his favourite foods and serving them up to his room, doing his laundry, and buying him video games. With her momma bear 'care', Daniel was well on his way to becoming the stereotypical fifty year old neck beard loser who still lives in his parent's basement. He spent every free minute parked behind a screen, and didn't look up for anything. The house could be on fire, and he'd still ask if it could wait, because he couldn't pause his game.

Daniel unpleasantly surprised Sem today however, by actually pausing his game, and tearing his eyes away from the screen when Sem dropped his sports bag none too gently on the floor. His eyebrows furrowed, and he opened his mouth, but Sem slammed his own bedroom door shut before his brother could start his whining. He heard Daniel getting up, his bare feet pattering on the floor in the hall, and his muscles tensed. Staring intently at his closed door, Sem braced himself to yell at Daniel and shove him out of his room if he dared to get in. His brother was going to complain about leaving dirty stuff out because mom hated that, he just knew it. Typical for the little mommy's boy he was.

But Daniel passed his room, instead walking downstairs. Sem finally let himself fall backwards on his bed, and stared up at the beams on his ceiling. Sometimes Sem didn't even understand how he and Daniel could be related. Daniel was a total goody two-shoes geek. Where Sem loved being outdoors and couldn't sit still, Daniel was always glued to a computer screen or book. They didn't look anything alike either. Thank God they didn't.

Daniel had gotten their dad's pasty and rail-thin physique, while Sem had taken after mom and grandpa. Complete with a strong body, wild hair, and a temper. Especially a temper. Sem sighed and flipped on his side. He first eyed his boxing gloves on the shelf, decided against it, and then patted the floor under his bed for the tennis ball that should be laying there somewhere.