Tinted Scars

4. Heartbeat Parkour

“Let us step into the night and pursue that flighty, temptress adventure.”– J.K. Rowling.

•••

Eri swabbed at the dusty sole of his slippers, with the rag clothe moistened with water until all its edges were sleek clean and moisturized. It was the evening of Friday and he was getting set to go to the party organized by the student union in a homecoming capacity to welcome students back to the new session and jostle their merriment spirits, that were dampened by the long holiday and lockdown. He indeed had no business going to the party, as the prospect wasn’t something that would thrill him on a normal day, but he had a mission to undertake.

And he couldn’t back down.

Bilal’s bunk creaked, as he rolled over on his bed—straightening up to place his back on the wall, and peering down at Eri with an inquisitive look, from across the room. His roommate was in nothing but his boxer briefs and a camouflage singlet.

“If I didn’t trust that you’re not someone with a dark side, despite all the black colors you’re always wearing, I’d be terrified to my bones now, seeing you cleaning those slippers of yours and getting ready to go outside, because all that would pop into my head is the probability of you being a cultist, going for a secret night meeting, ya know.”

Eri tittered, placing his slippers on the tiled floor—before rising to his feet from his desk and striding over to his wardrobe, where he retrieved his hair cream and comb from. “You really shouldn’t be scared. Just because I’m a cultist, doesn’t mean I’d ‘cause you harm or invite you to join our meeting. If I don’t see you as a threat, or someone with big balls to be able to brace our activities, all I’d do is look out for you and make sure nobody pulls shit with you. So you should be happy actually.”

“For implying that my balls aren’t big enough? Yeah, sure.” Bilal hugged his knees to himself. “But looking out for me or not, you’d still end up getting me into trouble. After an hectic day, I could come complain to you that a lecturer was a bit annoying to me, and next thing I know his wife and children’s throats are sliced in their sleep. I don’t want blood on my hands.”

Eri dipped a finger into the moisturizing cream and slathered the ointment on his head before grooming it properly all over, with his bare hands kneading his hair. “No need to get your pants in a twist. I’m not going for any cultist meeting. Just the homecoming party at the park, organized by the student association.”

“Wait, what?” Bilal jerked his head up abruptly, shocked, but to his dismay—bumped it into the low ceiling. “Fuck,” He held his head, which Eri was sure was throbbing with pain and fell back to the bed, panting. When he came back up, there were visible veins lining his forehead. “I better have heard you right, because I couldn’t have hit my head on that ceiling for nothing.”

Eri smiled, taking his comb and running it through the thick curls of his hair to smoothen them. “Sorry, Man. But yeah, I said what I said. I’m going to the homecoming party.”

Bilal’s lower jar fell. “That goes against everything I know about you. And that’s saying something, factoring in the fact that we’ve been together in this room for just a week, with limited interaction and I know the only parties you attend, are probably search parties dispatched to look for lost loved ones.”

Eri shook his head and walked back to his seat. “While you may have a point, I’m going for this one.”

“It’s because of a girl, isn’t it?” Bilal’s face broke into a smile, and he didn’t need a confirmation to know his assumption was true. “That’s nice. Who is she?”