spilled ink

trente-quatre

it was late october of last year,
and we were painting the set for the school's fall play
it was a saturday afternoon,
and we were one of the few people that decided to come in and help
partly because i didn't have anything else better to do but i also hoped that he would be there
i was wearing an old t-shirt with a pair of faded sweatpants and fuzzy socks,
with my beat up converse
he was wearing something similar except i remember that he wore captain america sweats and we were talking about how we hated the popular people in our grade
"you know, last year at my old school, i was getting bullied really bad." i suddenly spoke
i don't know what made me say it
maybe it was because we were the only people on the stage,
or it was the fact that i felt like i could trust him with anything
"people would throw tennis balls, markers, and staples at me. to be honest, i didn't know half of their names." i admitted
i felt his gaze on me for a while, and i looked up and noticed that the paint from his brush was dripping on the stage
i noticed the way his blue eyes suddenly looked like fire and how his jaw became rigid
i was curious as to why he abruptly stopped painting until he spoke
"i honestly can't find a reason why someone would bully you." he simply said,
his face serious
although what he said wasn't much, it made me feel better about myself and i genuinely smiled