Out of Touch

8

He's been speaking to a girl. If one thing can settle the uncertainty in his head, it's this.

She's nice enough, dark hair, petite, short... Mediocre personality but a pretty face that makes up for it. Her eyes are brown. She wears fake eyelashes and lots of makeup. She's a year younger than him.

Even as he messages her, he forgets her name. Maybe he's chasing the high. The sex. Something to make him think nothing, whilst feeling so good.

Women have boobs. James doesn't have boobs.

"Will, please get off your phone for a darn second! Damn! Tryna have a conversation here."

James' half-heartedly irritated voice slices through Will's trance, cutting his thoughts out of his head and causing him to slam his phone down as if it's burned him. James' expression is chiselled with badly-concealed upset, as he looks away. Will feels guilty instantly.

He can still make out James' cedar-sighted gaze, his orbs of evening dust yet still stirred by an ablaze sun. Tinges of sage melted into a pot of autumn. His eyes a rich tapestry of honey and earth, even through the botched lighting of his half-closed blinds. His curly hair is messy, fresh from waking up, chestnut locks resting against his forehead. His eyelashes are long, framing his curious eyes. Naturally clear skin, his beard neat- a memorable face. A face you could daydream about.

Will shakes his head, "Sorry mate, just speaking to someone."

Why does he feel guilty?

"Oh... Who?" James asks. It's an innocent enough question, but the way he's avoiding eye contact is enough for Will to know that he's pretending not to be bothered. Will checks his phone briefly. The woman is begging for his attention with a string of emojis with suggestive connotations. It excites him, slightly.

"Just someone." Will brushes him off.

James frowns briefly before plastering a smile on his face, "Who's got you so secretive, eh?"

A feeble attempt at pretending not to care. Will grapples with the possibility of James knowing about his newfound dating option, but for some reason he thinks it wouldn't be a good idea. They're sitting on the sofa, Will has his feet up, resting his back against the left armrest. James sits by his feet, the sun trickling through the blinds and casting halo-like rays around his head. There's forgotten Chinese takeaway on the table. James is apparently trying to eat well. It doesn't seem to be going as planned.

"Just a girl." Will shrugs. James' head snaps to stare at him. His body language is immediately stiff. Will puts his feet on the ground.

"A girl? How?" He speaks, monotone. Will grimaces.

"I met her online. She's nice." Will insists, standing up and heading into the kitchen. He turns the kettle on.

"Oh. How long have you been speaking for?"

The sound of bubbles violently cascading over one another fills the room. The incessant glugging and grumbling of the water causes Will to shout.

"A few weeks, lad."

"Why didn't you tell me?" James booms back. Will huffs in disbelief. The audacity.

"Do I need to tell you everything?" He snaps. He isn't particularly irritated, more just shocked. James has never been so demanding and interesting in something so futile before. The whooshing and splashing of the water roars into the space.

James splutters, scrunching his face in discomfort as he glares at Will through the open-planned living room/kitchen diner, "Well no, but I would have liked to know." He shouts.