No More Stripes (Beastars)

The Taste of Your Finger

Quick recap:

Bill and Jack went jogging and showered together, bonding and becoming better bros. They planned to do their weekly crocheting the day after getting the test result. They passed. Bill got excited, slipped up and said he wanted to kiss Jack, bi panic, then ran.

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Jab.

Jab.

Bill's fist connected with the punching bag again. Blow by blow, he continued striking it with intense speed and frustration. The sound of his punches mixed in with everything else in the busy gym.

It was great, really. He needed this. One thing he could focus on and nothing else. Nothing to remind him of this morning.

This morning...

He grimaced as he recalled the event.

Godamnit, he thought, I'm such a dumbass.

The words, his want to kiss him, came out without him realizing it. Staring at that mouth, he just wanted to lean in and—

Bill struck at the bag again.

He whispered it, so the only one that could hear would be Jack.

But he didn't... right?

He landed one last punch with gritted teeth.

Why was he feeling like this? He wasn't some teenage girl overthinking about their crush. These funny feelings that kept brewing within him, that kept flaring up everytime he was with Jack—he wished they'd stop.

"Everything's stupid..."

He sighed. Shoulders slumped, he sat down on a bench, wiping his sweat with the towel on his shoulder.

Despite his best efforts, his attempts to blow off steam with an impromptu gym visit failed, only keeping his confusing feelings at bay for a few hours at best. It was already late into the afternoon.

Bill glanced around. What else could he do right now? Maybe some pull-ups, then he could—

His phone vibrated in his shorts' pocket.

He pulled it out and saw the notification; it was a message from Jack. All of his energy leaked out of his body.

Jack: You okay?

Bill groaned. Of course he checked up on him. He was happy that Jack cared, but talking to him was the last thing he wanted right now.

He started typing his reply. 'I'm fine,' it said. He stared at it for a moment.

Good enough?

Good enough.

Not good enough.

He deleted it. Backspaced all the way till the beginning. His brows furrowed, he tried again, putting more thoughts into it.

Still wasn't good enough.

The process repeated. Type, delete, type, delete—he felt stuck in an infinite loop. Should it be short and simple? Should he put in an apology?

Half an hour passed.

Bill put back his phone in silent mode. He wasn't ready to face Jack, not one bit. He had no way to explain the words he would have typed.