Dear Starboy

No.1

"Yea, a fuckboy moved next doors."

Thomas Evans— in grade 12.

'Sucks for you, dude. I guess you gotta get used to noises from his room.'

A voice from a line, he was calling his friend.

"You remember when I said I broke my nail last week? Shit, I was standing on the porch dazed when I saw him pulling up."

'Yea?'

"And this guy was wearing a fucking PINK sweater, getting out of his car and I saw him closely,"

Thomas laughed, opening his front door.

"Hey dad," He paused to quickly greet his father.

"—He was pretty tall, like around 6'3? Guy probably works out."

'Dude, you're not gay or anything, right?'

The line asked as Thomas frowned.

"Fuck off. I'm gonna go start doing my history assignment, it's due tomorrow."

—and so, he ended the call.

The boy next doors, a very vivid and strong memory. He was quite handsome, with remarkable hair. Spiking upwards like two horns, sweet honey-brown.

All Thomas could remember him doing was his highly-smug laughter, a small 'Hmm' as he curled his lips up into an arrogant grin.

A deep, rasp voice.

Thomas remebered himself just standing there on his porch with his bloody index fingernail, holding a can of ginger ale whilst making a very blown-off face.

What an asshole, was his first thought.

Next doors, he could see the window. Wide opened, few cardboard boxes inside with a surfing board prepped up at the side, alongside a small Canon camera.

Seemed like his dad's room or something.

And for a second, Thomas felt his heart almost leap out of his body.

The boy, walked in, then started tapping on the cardboard boxes.

Ah— he wasn't living with his family. He could head someone shouting downstairs, in another european language Thomas didn't quite understand.

"Ah?" He yelled, scratching his voice, seemingly asking the man downstairs to repeat himself.

And so, after a few angry footsteps, a man opened his door and quickly tapped at a bottom cardboard box.

"You fucking circus clown, you have your eyes for decoration?"

The boy then laughed, slapping the other boy's shoulder.

"—Sorry. I didn't realize it said 2, your handwriting's shit."

Then the boy seemed to get angrier, as he didn't surprisingly leave and sit on the mattress on the corner of his room.