markson | wandering to you

1.1

"dinner? i was thinking about dinner, ha. what about a believable comeback?!" jackson tells himself, dejected, roaming around his flat with only his underwear on. his phone's ringtone, which he's pretty sure he turned off, surprises him and he almost drops the glass of water he's holding. colorfully swearing, jackson rushes over to where his buzzing phone is attached to its charger. the caller id reads teaspiller.

"ugh, bambam again. who allowed this nasty thing to contact me-" jackson exclaims once he picks up, also desperately trying to conceal a smirk. trying for no reason, since he can't actually see his face.
they're five seconds into the call, and bambam screeching into his ear is already so tiring to withstand that jackson is forced to put him on speaker and walk away from the device. 

"i call you despite the fact that i'm full of homework to do... and this is your reaction?!"

"come on, i'm the one who does your homework! now, what do you need?" while he speaks, jackson is throwing on his fresh, clean pajama shirt and pants he just grabbed from the drying rack.  his sleepwear's donut print is spruced up with a coat of pink glitter.

"what does your bestie need? to know about your day, bitch!" bambam declares, worked up, and jackson lets out a loud snort.

"last week you were rolling in the mud, now you're snorting... you're gonna get a high grade on your pig test! amazing!"

bambam is laying on the carpet in his own bedroom, and won't admit that he's feeling lonely. his best friend skillfully ignores him for the whole day, has the audacity to run off while they're taking a wholesome, nice stroll around the school festival stalls, in order to do what? bambam had to walk home on his own. not that he needs jackson to walk him, he's not a dog. that does nothing to quell his anger, though. he didn't receive a single call from jackson telling him he was busy with something else. he was at the very least expecting a sorry about today, bambam, let's hang out now!

"my day's been uneventful. call someone else." is all jackson's got to say. bambam deflates at the stony reply. he holds the phone closer to his ear, trying to think of an excuse not to hang up soon.

truthfully, bambam has a small amount of numbers saved. he's too rude on the surface, and most of his classmates aren't interested in starting a conversation with him. he watches tutorials on how to appear friendlier; like most tutorials on the internet, they're hardly helpful. the one who's been by his side from when he was a toddler is jackson, and bambam can't seem to get along well with anyone else. he's not good at playing the friend game, but it's so easy to relax around jackson, since he's jackson. while he's stuck thinking about this, a full minute of silence goes by.

"bambam? i'm sorry. i'm not trying to dismiss you. i mean, some things did happen, and i don't want to talk about it. i'm so tired." jackson rants, pacing near the table. a few more beats of silence follow before bambam's defeated statement.

"yeah, yeah. i'm tired too. i'm going to sleep." and he's hanging up.
it takes a while for sleep to come to them.

it's thursday morning. jackson wang is inside his friend's house earlier than usual. only one of bambam's feet is out of the shower when he hears jackson shout: "the clothes you buy are so awful, like- who taught you how to dress yourself?"

"whatever article of clothing you're referring to, i wear it better than you do!" bambam screams back at him, throwing a towel around his waist and finally leaving the confines of his bathroom. jackson is quick in making a mess of bambam's wardrobe, 'cause he wakes up on some mornings and - just like that - decides he's worthy of picking out an outfit for his friend. it's clear his fashion sense is inadequate and insubstantial. the evidence is, he's holding up a neon green tee and some baggy wine red trousers. who would wear that and how could they.