False Start (Boyxboy)

24: GROUNDED

Life was falling back into its insignificant patterns, not that I really minded anymore.  I'd had enough excitement to last me for weeks.

My parents had grounded me--ironic, considering I was already crippled--and my cell phone was missing in action, perhaps at the bottom of my duffel bag back at Daze End. All of that was okay with me too, though, for the time being. Such solid excuses to be lazy.

The first few days home blurred together, leg propped up in bed, plastered with pain pills.  Between long bouts of sleep I binged on movies and video games, eating enough junk food to give Coach heart palpitations, had he seen.  At some point Keiji stopped by, worried that I wasn't answering his texts, but Mom and Dad held firm to their punishment, politely sending him away.  They did, however, relay to me a stack of comics that he wanted me to borrow.  Oh, and more candy.

It was next Sunday, I think, when Mom poked her head into my room to ask, "Kazu-kun, are you awake?"

I was in the middle of one of Keiji's comics, "No. 6", and the two main characters had just kissed each other.  The kicker was that they were both boys.  Nothing on the outside of the book had hinted that there would be a gay theme. The hair of my arms stood on end as I floundered to act casual.

"Yeah," I replied, too high-pitched.

Mom opened my door all the way then.  "You have a visitor."

Before I had time to react, someone side-stepped around her, and she sealed shut the door, leaving us alone together in my messy room.

I'm not sure who I was expecting, but his presence certainly surprised me.

"Hiro?"

He looked different without a uniform of some sort on.  His red bangs were pushed up under a backwards hat, giving me a clear view of both of his eyes for the first time.  They were so open, framed by a strong set of brows.  An oversized v-neck sweater exposed his collarbones, the prominence of their outline really revealing the fact that he was an athlete, even more so than the tank tops we wore at meets did. Standing there, he looked less like a boy and more like a guy, broad and bold. My usual gaze was probably tainted with intimidation.

"Hey, man," he said back, softly, setting down the bag he'd been carrying. "How've you been holding up?"

He seemed to be having trouble looking me in the eyes, instead studying the contents of my room. As he trailed from the race numbers pinned on my wall to the figurines scattered atop my shelf, I shifted in bed, embarrassed by all the obstacles on my floor. At my desk he lingered to admire the old pictures of Keiji and me tacked against the cork board, bleached by the sun. Kei's lip was enmeshed with stitches in most of them. It's funny how used you get to your own things and messes, but as soon as someone else is around, you realize how much they unveil about yourself. How very you your room is.

"I've been good," I answered, stashing the comic book under my comforter while his attention was diverted. "Sort of surprised to see you, though. I'm grounded."

He popped his knuckles one by one. The bruise was still there.

"Oh, yeah, I brought your stuff that you left at camp. It was just sitting in the art room at school, but I figured you'd want it."

"Really?" That perked me up a bit. "Thanks, Hiro. I wonder if my phone is in there."

"Probably."

Once his hands could crack no more, he lifted his hat to smooth back his hair, re-situating it on his head. So much fidgeting. We didn't know each other that well, but it was easy to tell that something was bothering him.