guess which book is back !!
••••
I'm sitting in the dorm room, the blinds open as the last of the sunlight is slipping away.
The clock reads 6:56, and my sketchbook sits open on my lap. I've been staring at it for what feels like hours. Or maybe it was hours. But my mind is blank of any and all ideas.
And then a booming "Hello!"
I spin after barely preventing myself from jumping to find Basil, stack of books in his arms that stretches all the way up to his chin.
"I'm reading all weekend. Don't distract me."
He looks dead serious so I bite my lip to stifle a laugh, but a snort still escapes.
I don't think I would have pegged him as the reading type but here we are. Although I don't think you can read that many books in two days but I guess we'll see.
We have just barely survived our first week, neither of us prepared to dive right in. Neither of us were prepared to be pretentious because it's tiring.
More tiring then you'd expect.
But I'm guessing the other boys grew up in country clubs and end-of-the-culdesac houses with suburban moms.
They grew up being pretentious. We did not.
"Shut up, I'm trying to draw!" I snap in response, tapping my pencil against the paper with such frustration I'm sure it'll snap.
"Ooh, is the good boy talking back?" He taunts.
I want to throw my pencil at him.
Somehow, after only a week, we've bonded. It was probably the stressful situations we had endured together.
Which probably sounds stupid but writing essays can be very overwhelming.
"Shut up!" I say again. But both of us smile.
••••
He's up at six, bumping around the room. That's what wakes me up.
There's barely any natural light yet, a small lamp illuminating his half of the room. I blink, eyes attempting to adjust but I'm still half asleep.
I sit up, grumbling.
And that's when his eyes lock onto mine, panic clearly sweeping through him.
"Can I help you?" I ask.
Is he up this early all the time? I don't know because I'm not. Clearly.
I'm very obviously not a morning person.
"No, no— I'm fine. Go back to sleep." He has pulled a blanket up over his chest.
"What are you hiding?" I point.
He glances down, and I can hear him swallow from all the way across the room. "I-it's nothing." He's defensive.
"What are you hiding? What are you hiding? What are you hiding?" When in doubt, annoy the other person until they give in. Apparently I'm quite the expert at that.
Half of the reason is also because I'm tired and half delirious at this moment in time.
"Shut the fuck up, fine!" He exclaims.
The blanket drops revealing— holy fuck, my breath hitches in my throat and I forget how to function. Again.
Because there— on his otherwise perfect torso— are two pale scars.
I would know those scars in death.
"Your trans." I say. And then laughter is tumbling out of my lips. Not everybody gets that laughter from me, but it makes an appearance now. And I'm not even sure why.
I truly do sound like a madman. But I find myself unable to stop.
"Why are you laughing?" He snaps.
"Sorry. Me too." I run to cover my tracks. The mood in the room shifts. "I'm trans too."
His mouth forms a small 'o' and his eyes widen.
"I don't have the surgery though. I mean, not yet at least. I have a binder. Except I'm not wearing it right now because, well, you're not supposed to do that when you sleep." I shut up all on my own. I had been rambling.
And then I pull my blanket up over my exposed chest. It's not actually exposed but it feels like it now.
"I didn't know how you'd react if I told you."
It's ironic because there we were, sitting on the same boat all this time but not even knowing it.
"Why are you still holding the blanket like that?" Somewhere in all this silence, he has decided to hide away his chest again.
"I don't know. Shut up. I'm nervous!"
And for some reason I'm laughing. Again.
••••
friendly psa from your author: this story is not a romance !! these two characters are aroace. aromantic asexual. maybe there will be a qpr in the future 👀,,, but no romance. i would like to make my intentions clear for any of you who didn't know that. thank you. <3
