From The Other Side

21. august

TWENTY ONE
august

Wednesday, April 2nd

August went home shortly after Isaiah had fallen asleep.

                   Picked up by Morgan, it was a quiet ride, save for the soft indie music coming from her radio. He pushed his ring up and down his finger, twisted it this way and that, eyes unfocused on the scenery passing by. Isaiah was on his mind, as he had been for a while now. He never seemed to leave; he always trumped the flashbacks of the Bad Days.

                   He sat his elbow on the ledge protruding from the door, and rested his chin in his palm to hide his smile, letting his hair fall into his face. Isaiah was a deep sleeper, he'd noticed while he was there. He also clung to August like a little koala bear, with his leg thrown over his hips and arm draped over his chest, fingertips ghosting his side. His sleeping habits weren't what August expected, but he didn't mind. God no, he found it adorable.

                  August remembered admiring his sleeping face (fuck, it was cute), and he kept it ingrained into his mind for the Bad Days and the Good, because he didn't quite know when he'd be able to lay beside him like that again. It could be tomorrow, could be in a month, maybe never again (August didn't like to think about that option).

                   "Shit," August whispered. He facepalmed, rubbed at his face with a groan.

                    Morgan raised an eyebrow. "What's up? You were just smiling like an idiot."

                     "I thought I hid that," August mumbled, frowning. Morgan snorted. He ignored that and continued on: "Shit, Mo. I really like Isaiah, and it's freaking me the fuck out."

                       Morgan gave him a sympathetic look. "You do know not every guy is like—"

                       "I know," August interrupted, shaking his head, not wanting to hear that name. "I know. That's not what I'm scared of. Isaiah doesn't have a mean bone in his body."

                         "Then what is it?" she asked softly, looking at him once they hit a red light. August tilted his head back and squeezed his eyes shut, trying to make out the stars behind his eyelids.

                         He exhaled sharply. "I don't want him finding out about how it happened," he admitted, opening his eyes again to look down at his prosthesis. Just looking at it made his chest squeeze painfully.

                         "He's going to have to know sooner or later," she told him honestly. "He can help you."

                          "But it won't help him," August responded, hating the way his voice wavered and cracked. "If anything, it's just going to make him so much more terrified to be who he is. He hasn't said it out loud, but I can see how painful it is to like me the way he does."

Morgan went quiet, and August could tell she didn't know what to say, so he left the conversation there to pick back up some other time. The rest of the ride was filled with low music and short words, but it wasn't uncomfortable. Wasn't awkward either. Morgan knew when August didn't feel like talking, and he knew the same for her.