© Copyright 2012
All work is property of Leah Crichton, any duplication or reproduction of all or part of the work without explicit permission by the author is illegal.
When Sawyer returned home he found Lane in their spare room on a blue waffled yoga mat. He was in baggy grey sweats and white tank top that was saturated in sweat. He was on his forearms, his body raised entirely off of the ground, his legs forming a strange angle so his feet were planted above his head.
His eyes were closed and he inhaled and exhaled, every breath with reason. Sawyer shut the door quietly, wondering how the hell he could do that with his body. It just wasn't natural.
He went to the kitchen and opened the fridge. There was beer, more beer, and something that looked like lawn clippings called wheatgrass. He grabbed a brew and opened the cupboard: M & M's. Lane always made sure there was a fully stocked cupboard of peanut M & M's for Sawyer. That would do. He dialed Tony's, their preferred pizza place and ordered two pies before before settling on the couch, aiming the remote at the TV.
Lane emerged with a towel around his neck.
“I'm making dinner,” Sawyer said, tossing an M & M in the air and catching it with his mouth.
“Pizza?”
Sawyer nodded.
Lane sat on the couch opposite him. “It's your birthday tomorrow.”
Sawyer looked back to the TV. “Don't remind me.”
“Why?”
“'Cause,” he reasoned. “I don't want to be reminded.”
“Whatever,” Lane dismissed him. “How was today?”
Sawyer stretched his legs out far in front of him because after seeing his friends body twisted like a pretzel, his own legs hurt. Sympathy pain. He sighed. “It was fine. That Alexa chick I told you about...” Sawyer turned his head to make sure Lane was listening. “She's not so bad.”
“That's good I guess,” Lane said. “At least it'll make working there easier. Sort of.”
“Yeah,” he agreed. “As long as I can keep my distance, it's not so bad.”
Lane wiped his forehead with the towel. “Where'd she come from?”
“Who?”
“Alexa.”
Sawyer shrugged. “I don't know. Not here. She's only around for the summer because she's volunteering or something. She's going to be a shrink like her Aunt.”
“Oh,” Lane said. “So is the place okay? I mean is it worth all that hype when it opened.”
“Yeah, it's like a hotel for crazies, complete with personalized rooms and a chef.”
“Nice,” Lane said. “Bet that makes you happy.”
“It's better,” Sawyer replied. “You smell like a gym bag.”
The corner of Lane's lip curled into a smile. He lifted his arm up, baring his pit and marched over to Sawyer's couch, flopping down beside him, placing his armpit dangerously close to Sawyer's face. “What'd you say? You like the way I smell?”
He knew the game. The two of them had spent countless hours beating the snot out of each other for no other reason than kicks. Sawyer fought a smile, trying to set his beer and chocolate down and wrestle Lane's rank arm down in unison. It was way harder than it should have been. When he got it down, he swung a leg over Lane, using it to send them both off the couch and onto the floor. It resulted in a full out wrestling match.
