In Blue Sweaters (boyxboy)

Chapter 1

It takes a truck hurled at my bed to wake me up. Or so I thought. I'm usually a heavy sleeper but I don't know why my ears chose this day to be sensitive to sound, or fucking anything for that matter. All the noise infuriated the hell out of me that I had to get up and stomp the floorboard hoping the people downstairs get my message. Geez. I was actually looking forward to this month-long vacation of peaceful living in my folks' house after a hell I have went through from that shithole of an office work.

And I deserve this break.

I crashed face-first on my bed and covered my head with a pillow, trying to recoup an almost good night's sleep. I heard a knock on the door, and I growled in frustration. If only I had that motherfucker of a truck at this moment, it'll be of good use once I throw it to anyone riling me up at this time of day. My father's head hastily peeked through a small opening, holding a pile of papers covering almost half his face.

"Hey bud, could you come downstairs and help your mother? Lo is coming over and he's staying here for a while." As soon as he closed the door, I jumped from the bed and only after a minute or two mulled over what the old man just said. Lo? Oh God, there's no hope for peaceful living now. I picked up the nearest shirt on top of a chair and dragged myself out of my room. Oh crap, no pants. I went inside again, grabbed my shorts and hurriedly wore it. My father called me from the living room and I heard he was talking to someone. Sneaking up to see who it was, I almost regret it. I've never been so underwhelmed by the sight of a person as the sight of him, yet there he was, Lo, the spawn of Satan, bringer of doom. Alive, and what was it? Alive and kicking? No, not that one. Alive and I wish the fuck was not.

"Son, could you please show your best friend Lo, the bathroom."

I winced at the word 'best friend'. Parents and their god-awful ignorance to every obvious detail there is. I should've held a warning sign that says, "Read the fucking tension." I looked at Lo and still, he looked slightly the same from 3 years ago. He's maybe a couple inches taller than me? I'm 6 feet tall and he probably knows the weather more because, and I'm guessing, he's around 6'4 more or less. Doesn't really matter. He's also gained a little weight from that lanky person 3 years ago, from when I was still living here. Maybe a little more mature-looking and a little bulkier. He had those hollow cheekbones and deep-set eyes, looked like one of those models in a perfume ad or something.

"Hi Tay, cool shirt." He said with a face splitting grin. I almost scoffed, good thing I didn't. Well, it was truly a cool shirt that says "My puns are quality." but instead of the word quality, it's a picture of a koala and a cup of tea. Koalatea. Get it? Okay, whatever. At least he gets it.

I looked at him and he's rubbing his eyebrows again. I almost forgot that I never really liked how he constantly rubs them as if to catch everyone's attention. He'd just arrived 15 mins here and every time he lifts his man-hands as if to touch those ever-questioning hairy worms above his eyes, all attention are on him. He just naturally exuded confidence, and I hate narcissistic people.

Yet I smiled sarcastically. Like the good son I was.

"Sure, come with me 'best friend' Lo." Said that with a twinge of sarcasm. Good job, self. That's how you talk to people so you won't ever have to talk to them again. And to show that we'll never be in good terms. I thought I've emphasized that every time we meet and introduce ourselves to each other in every party slash work function Dad had had. Forced introduced actually. You see, he's a son of one of my father's golf buddies. Or was it company partner? Or both? Do I care? Not a bit. Hotel? Trivago.

The travel to the bathroom was great until someone thought it was okay to break the silence, "So, Tay, how are you? It's been a long time since we had a chat." Oh, wait, did my face ask for someone to break the ice? And since when did we ever chat?

I might have said the last question out loud because he answered, "Yeah? Your dad's work function?"

"My dad's work function, 3 years ago. Also, a chat, Lo my 'friend', is when two people are having a conversation. Con-verse. What did we ever say to each other that day? Hellos and goodbyes only, the latter mostly. And I like to keep it that way." I looked at him with incredulity. Get a hint man.

"See, kiddo—"

"Kiddo? So now I'm a kiddo? I'm 22 and you're what? Just 3 or 4 years older than me? Yeah, sir, can I call you 'sir'? Or do you prefer 'old man'? " I smiled at him with eyes wide open, hoping he'd catch the slightest annoyance in my voice. Is sarcasm scarce in their area? I'm giving up when he's not giving up on this.

"I see what you're doing here but hear me out, I don't really need us to be Batman and Robin or Bonnie and Clyde or anything but I just want us to get along. I mean I'll be here for a month, maybe two, you'll see this handsome face every day. But if that's what you want, suit yourself, man." And he closed the door. See, narcissistic. Handsome face my ass.

And that's probably why hatred is just swarming my guts right now, much more than it ever did. I don't entirely hate him, but something in him just makes me want to slit his throat and offer him to Satan. Yeah, hate is an understatement. I mean why did he choose now to stay over when I'm staying over? And to top it all off, he's staying in my childhood bedroom which is adjacent to the current room I have. I only use it to as a storage room, and now I have to move some of my things because my too-hospitable parents decided to let a son of one of their friends stay because his dad is somewhere out there... I don't really know the reason but certainly somewhere out there not taking care of his son, am I right or am I right?

And worse, we have to share the same closet. It's a walk-in closet and now I have to divide it into two and clear some stuff out for his things. God, if breaking up with someone is bad, arranging your closet might just be as bad. Perhaps worse. It's not like I don't want to be organized, I really want things to be in a systematic order but let's be real here, there was a time when that goddamned closet was organized. Clean, dust-free and you probably know where everything was from the smallest mothball to the oversized shirts you have. Only when everything starts to become messy that you'll just lose every bit of motivation to redo everything and start all over again.

Much like every romance there is but at least in relationships, you could always move on and find a new one. You only have one closet, so that'd be impossible to move on and find a new one. And I know I'm just making excuses so I couldn't clean that damn closet. I'll clean it tomorrow. I'll probably leave it the way it is now so he could see it and maybe disgusted and go out and find another place to stay? I mean, what are the chances? Yeah, that excuse will do. Yeah, you wish.

See, my mind is really talkative except when I actually talk to people, it hides and switches to silent mode.

It had been an hour and Lo (such a bland name for such a bland guy, how befitting) is already on the move, even asking help to carry his bags upstairs. The audacity of this guy. I led him to his room and set his bags near his bed. He stripped his shirt off causing me to see that he is pretty toned. He must have been working out these past years. I looked at my body and I suddenly felt a little conscious. I maintain my body well, but that's about as much as I could probably say. I can say I'm fit, I work out from time to time, but I don't have those rippling pectorals and chiseled abs he has. Show-off. He flopped face-first on the bed and I left him there to unpack. Before I got out of his room, he called me.

"Hey, Tay—"

"Don't use hey then Tay, it sounds like a nursery rhyme." I said, which is true because "Hey Tay" is really ridiculous to hear. It sounds like something Mary Poppins would say. He rubbed his eyebrows again and it took a lot not to roll my eyes at him.

"Hello, Lo could be worse but hey, who am I to judge? Anyway, I was going to say thank you for offering your room. Appreciate it a lot." He said with sincerity and flashed me a small smile. If I wasn't mad at him, I would have said 'You're welcome' but I couldn't let myself be easily swayed by people just because of a little change in their personality. I learned that the hard way.

I just shrugged and said, "Don't thank me. Thank my parents." and went out of his room feeling a little guilty, but relieved at the same time.