The Little Things [Book 1]

Chapter Four: Backheel

Checking on your phone with your earplugs in, was some sort of universally known signal, meaning, of course, that you didn't want to be disturbed. Apparently, Thomas had missed the memo, as he sat down right opposite of Mark with a huge smile on his face, not paying any attention to the fact that Mark was on his phone.

"Hey, I'm Thomas," he said with a melodic tone, and Mark was forced to look up at him.

"Hey," he replied emptily, still not taking out his earplugs. Maybe he'll get it eventually.

"How do you like our school so far?" Thomas asked and took a gulp from his bottle of water. Mark gave him a quick glance with a confused expression, and then finally he took his earplugs out.

"It's my second day. I haven't seen much of it just yet," Mark said. From across the cafeteria table, Thomas nodded in understanding.

"Perhaps joining a club would help. You might think it's late but, since you just transferred, they'll probably let you join. It is definitely worth a try," Thomas went on.

"I meant what I said yesterday. I didn't come here to make friends. Nor to join school clubs. I just want to graduate high school and move on with my life," Mark told him. He watched as Thomas ran his tongue over his braces and then took a bite off of his sandwich.

"It may suck, with puberty and whatnot, but you'll only go to high school once. You should enjoy it while it lasts," Thomas said after he swallowed. At that, Mark raised sarcastically an eyebrow.

"Puberty is kind of the least of my worries. My experience with high school has sucked so far and no little club or handful of fake friends will make it any better," Mark snapped back, folding his arms before his chest and sitting back on his chair.

"Maybe. But by joining clubs you meet new people, and while those friendships might not last forever, you can find people who have had similar experiences and you could help each other".

"I doubt anyone in this school has gone through what I have," Mark replied and ran the tip of his tongue over the cut on his lower lip. Thomas's expression softened as he noticed the motion and he bit the inside of his cheek.

Fuck it.

"You'd be surprised," Thomas whispered, barely loud enough for Mark to hear him. The latter one leaned forward and steadied himself on the table with his elbows. With a move of his eyebrows he urged Thomas to go on talking. "Some people are really good at hiding things," Thomas added.

"Alright. So what clubs are you a part of?"

"Well, I'm a member of the Student Body Council as well as the Captain of the soccer team," Thomas said, pride flowing out alongside his words. "Do you do any sports?"

Mark snorted and shook his head negatively. "I exercise just the bare minimum that is required to keep my body like this".

"What do you mean?" Thomas asked with a frown.

"Do you have any idea how high maintenance most guys are? Abs, biceps, quads, back muscles, ass, and all that without counting the grooming you are practically required to do," Mark babbled, partially hoping the flow of the conversation would freak Thomas away. He didn't actually believe what he was saying. Yes, sure, taking care of oneself was pretty important, on a basic hygiene level; but all that superficial bullshit, he despised. Truth was, he didn't really care on whether a guy was athletic or fit or whatever. As long as he took care of himself, Mark was down for it.

"Grooming?"

"You know, stubble burns from making out, frightening unibrow and honestly, nobody likes to choke on pubes". Thomas immediately went completely red, but he didn't seem like he was about to stand up and leave. Mark had to hide his disappointment at that. Thomas's eyes wandered to Mark's bag, which rested on top of the table, and he couldn't help but notice the camera that lied inside.

"You like photography?" he changed the subject. Mark just nodded and drank some water. "You could join the yearbook committee. It may be kind of late for them, but you can learn many great things such as photoshopping, page layout. And you can add pictures to your portfolio!" Thomas said, excitedly.

"I don't know, I'm not really a team player," Mark muttered.

"Yeah, but isn't it worth a try?"

***

"This is ridiculous," Mark muttered out loud as he focused his lens on the field. "This is stupid," he went on as he took the first picture. Williamson #1. "What a waste of time". Another picture. Truman #3. "Why couldn't I just forget about it and go..."

Heissmann #9

He didn't take that picture. Instead, he just kept on watching the boy through his viewfinder. Some people are really good at hiding things. What a closet case. Mark couldn't help but wonder if Thomas had discovered that about himself. He didn't freak the fuck out when I talked about grooming, Mark thought. Maybe his family wasn't supportive. Or maybe they were but he was still scared. Coming out, as liberating as it was, fucking sucked.

Pulling back, Mark placed a new cigarette between his lips and thought back to his own coming out. It had happened two years ago, during winter vacation. The whole family had traveled north to their old cabin. He let out a small laugh as he remembered how his grandparents had reacted. His parents hadn't taken it badly, for the most part. They had said they didn't care as long as he didn't try to change himself to fit into some stupid stereotype. Lucky for them, the thought hadn't even crossed his mind.

After Mark took a drag from the cigarette between his lips, he went on with taking photos. Three teammates later, his viewfinder stopped once again on Thomas. So fucking vanilla. Thomas Heissmann looked rather ordinary. Short brown hair, amber eyes and the right bone structure to excite someone for just over five seconds.

Mark's finger pressed the button seconds after he hit the ball, just as his smile got bigger as he realized he had scored. His smile was nice. The kind of nice you feel in a summer afternoon as you watch the sunset. His smile felt like a summer sunset.

As if he had heard the camera click, Thomas's eyes focused on Mark and for just a couple of seconds, that smile had turned towards Mark. Mark didn't even realize when he took a picture of it, the urge to capture it being too powerful to resist. There was a soft ringing in his ears and he opened the display and looked at the last photograph he had taken. His smile felt like a summer sunset and his eyes captured its light.

What the fuck? Mark stopped himself for analyzing what he had just thought of, and went on with taking the pictures of the five last main players. After that, without a second glance he left the field. What the fuck, Mark?