Boys Will Be Boys (v.2)

chapter fifteen - sleep

chapter fifteen — sleep

"I'M GONNA GO TAKE CARE OF THESE," Michael stood up, taking Ezekial's now-empty tub of baby food with him. I didn't like the color of it — it was unnaturally orange — it reminded me of Arrigo-Henry-Bitchface's summer tan when he came back from Italy last year. Bitchface was lucky he could tan naturally, but he always went the extra mile with a spray before school started. I hated it.

I used to daydream about slamming his head into the locker and painting the wall orange with his face — thoughts Dr. Gomez said weren't healthy. Marco shared my sentiments though, and sometimes we'd throw balls of paper at the back of Arrigo's head to see if they'd stick or bounce away smudged tangerine.

Ezekial slapped my thigh happily and I smiled at him. I looked over my shoulder quickly, frowning when Lukas didn't meet my gaze, his eyes focused somewhere over my shoulder and glassy. Ezekiel squealed randomly and I smiled, patting him. I'd just cleaned all the orange shit off his face, and I needed to get it off of me before I upchucked. Michael's smile flit into my head, and my lips quirked into a frown semi-automatically.

"Imma just wash my hands"

Lukas didn't respond and I frowned, heading to the kitchen. I could hear the tap running, and rounded the corner interestedly.

Michael was deep in thought, hands half in the sink, his sweater was way too big. He'd tried rolling his sleeves up, the material sagging down into the sink before he could even wash his hands. I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms and leaning against the kitchen island behind him.

"Huh?" He turned halfway, an embarrassed smile on his face. His hair drooped across his face, the ugly color of dead hay.

"Oh, hey, Kieran. Sorry, didn't see you there. I'm trying not to get my sleev—"

"—I'm not sure what you think this is, but we're not friends"

Michael's smile dropped, guarded confusion replacing his easy smile. My voice sounded flat and tinny, like a penny press. My mouth tasted like metal and I realized I'd bitten my lip too far. Michael's eyebrows drew together, his eyes never leaving my face as he dried his hands.

"I-I don't--"

"Listen," I cut him off, finally finding my stride.

"I don't know how you and Lukas ever became friends, but you need to stop using him for your stupid social-climbing shit, okay?"

"Using him?" Michael echoed, his eyes had hardened now and I was briefly taken aback at how quickly he could compose himself. His green eyes darkened, blank and apathetic before looking at me expectantly.

"You know what I mean," My mouth was twisted into an ugly scowl, my own eyes narrowed and drilling holes into the blank canvas of Michael's face. I hated how calm he was. Maybe that was why Lukas hung out with him. They were both calm, collected. Mature.

Something I could never be.

"I've seen you in the halls before school ended. You don't have any friends. You're just the weird drama club gay kid everyone knows but nobody wants to know" A sick satisfaction slithered down my back as the words left my mouth, weeks of confusion and turmoil unleashing themselves on the short boy in front of me. All of my weird feelings made sense now. The way I didn't like Michael the moment I saw him. His weird relationship with Lukas. The way I tried to see him in a different light each time.

It wasn't hate.

It was pity.

Michael looked at me impassively, completely closed off now. His arms were crossed tightly across his chest, lips pressed into a thin line. I found my eyes fall to his feet naturally, searching out the bright rainbow band around his Converse. Instead, I was met with the sight of plain white Adidas. I frowned, discomfort spawning in the back of my neck as I frantically searched his clothes for a glimpse of his rainbow.