p.s. written in blue ink | sal fisher

the one where you make friends whether you want to or not

You weren't proud of yourself. Being able to fall asleep on public transportation was all kinds of wrong with the uncomfortable seats, lack of safety belts, and just allowing yourself to be so vulnerable. In high school, no less. These kids had impish minds, and you wouldn't put it past them to draw shit on you while you were conked out.

Generally speaking, it was very out of left field for you considering you'd only meant to lose yourself to the rhythm of one of your favorite band groups to date. And maybe you had been trying to avoid talking to Sal and the other guy. Having been more than friendly starting out, it didn't seem like a bad idea. You were supposed to keep your distance from the get-go, anyway, but Sally Face showing up out of the blue sent you spiraling off that determined course.

God, how long had it been since you'd seen him walking to class? Heard all the whispered rumors of just what was underneath that prosthetic? Two years, maybe three. Your inner clock had gone to shit after... Well, just after. That's all you ever wanted to say about that.

You weren't surprised he didn't recognize you at the bus stop. You'd been telling the truth about you two not having many classes together. No one paid attention in gym and even if he had, you had been an entirely different person back then. The group of friends you'd kept around you, the clothes, the attitude. Looking back you were too worried about the public standard and how people looked at you. Judged you.

That's why you knew Sal—or Sally Face as it were. You had been fixated on how easily he rolled with the punches, how he had turned the childish slander into a famous nickname. You couldn't have cared less what was beneath the mask. You just wanted what he had on the inside. Wanted to not care as much about the petty views and middle school assholes. So, you'd looked up to him from afar, mesmerized by the "kill 'em with kindness" frame of mind. Associating with him would have signed your death warrant, yet your brother had been able to do it so easily. The same couldn't be said for you.

When Sally Face stopped showing up to school it had crushed you, proving that even the strongest cracked at some point or another, and if they did, how could you possibly hope to last?

It was different now. You knew how it felt to not care, disregarding how you represented yourself. Your strength came from an entirely different standpoint, though, and you didn't try to be as sweet or as kind as that blue-haired boy. Where he complimented people, you insulted them. Where he helped people, you lashed out at the slightest offer. You were worse than the jerks who had bullied him.

You couldn't blame him for leaving that shit school. Of course, there was always a chance you could've been wrong about the reason behind it. His dad could've gotten a new job or something, hell if you knew. Not like it mattered now. You had to focus on avoiding everyone, including him. Especially him. Unlike the rest of these blank-faced strangers, he was the only one who might know. He was the only one who could ask that one fatal question and test just how strong of a front you could put up. If you'd face the truth or go running.

Your thoughts on that possible issue? You'd put on one hell of a show for that crowd drowning in black, standing out like a busted pen on empty paper. You could do it one more time if he grew to be too curious. You could hide behind your own mask for protection, too.

"So you like disco?"

The world was hazy around the edges when you opened your eyes again, having just been pulled from sleep by none other than the benevolent Sally Face. He had been gentle about waking you up. Nudges slow and strictly shoulder-based. It was sweet. You didn't let the sentiment linger.

"Huh?" you murmured, foggy.

"I could hear your music. ABBA, right?"

"You listen to ABBA?"