Yup, so I haven't updated anything in ages. I'm reallllllly sorry ;_; Here's a one shot to try and make up for it a little. Enjoy :)
Maybe More Than Friends?
The furious knocking on my front door made me jump out of my seat. My parents and younger sister were all out at one of my sister’s dance recitals or something, and I seriously considered not opening the door. What if it was a serial killer, trying to barge his way in and murder an innocent young boy!? Okay… so maybe not so innocent, but I was still all in favour of not being chopped to bits by an axe murderer.
The knocking continued, now accompanied by the doorhandle being jiggled. I silently thanked my little sister for being OCD about locking the door. She never left the house without locking and unlocking it three times, both from inside the house, and then again with her key once she was out the door. The banging and jiggling became more and more violent and I began to creep slowly away from the door when, “Harry! Harry let me in! C’mon man, I know you’re there! Harry? Harrison!” my best friend whined through the door, audibly upset.
“Angelo?” I frowned, jumping off the couch and rushing to the door, ripping it open. The second it was open wide enough, Angelo flung himself forwards and we tumbled backwards, him landing on top of me with his arms and head tucked around my neck. I began to laugh when I felt my neck becoming wet, which caught me off guard. Was Angelo…?
“Are you crying?” I asked, astounded.
In the 8 years I’d known him and the 7 we’d been best friends, I’d only ever seen Angelo cry once, when an uncle of his died. Even then, it had been just a few tears, covered up by an empty laugh and a lame excuse. Crying was something Angelo just didn’t do. Whether it was just pointless masculine pride or some weird kind of inner strength, I still wasn’t sure, but if Angelo was crying, then something was most definitely wrong.
“Hey, Angelo? What's wrong?” I worried, awkwardly wrapping my arms around his chest and holding him tightly in an attempt to comfort him. Angelo sniffed and rubbed his nose against my throat, wiggling his head closer to my neck, his shaggy black hair ruffled against my cheek and neck as he moved. Goosebumps prickled along the skin on my arms; I was ticklish and Angelo knew that. In fact, he constantly took advantage of it, though that didn’t seem to be the case this time.
“She left,” he muttered into my neck, the warm air from his mouth making me shiver.
“Huh? Who left?”
“Molly,” Angelo sobbed, his grip tightening and a sob tumbling from his mouth.
Molly was Angelo’s long term girlfriend; well, ex-girlfriend now apparently. They’d been dating almost three years, and I was sure that they’d end up getting married one day, pop out a few mini Molly/Angelo combo children and live happily ever after, with me as the best man, god father and the unrelated uncle that showed up out of the blue all the time. I didn’t understand why she would leave him so suddenly.
“What?! Why?” I asked, trying to push Angelo off me so I could sit up. He clung to my neck for a momently longer than necessary, then reluctantly rearranged himself so I was sitting against the wall with him slumped at my side, leaning heavily against me and dropping his head onto my shoulder.
“She’s moving back to Montréal and said she couldn’t do a long distance thing, so she left me,” he moaned into my shoulder. It all made sense now… well, mostly. Molly had originally been from Montréal in Canada and had moved here to Manchester in England with her mum in the first year of high school. She had always said she was planning on going back, but since her and Angelo had gotten together, I thought she’d changed her mind. Guess not.
“Aw shit Angelo, I’m sorry man,” I tried my best to comfort him, completely at a loss for what to say as my best friend cried into my shoulder.
I’d never seen him so miserable, and yet I didn’t know what to do to help him. This wasn’t one of those easy situations where I could just slap Angelo on the back, say ‘you’ll be fine’ and then jokingly call him a little bitch for crying; this was so much more difficult and complicated.
I sat in silence for a while, letting Angelo cry himself dry into my arm. After about half an hour, all the tears were gone and there was nothing but the ticking of the clock and the occasional sound of Angelo sniffling. For the first time since I’d know him, I felt awkward around him. He’d just cried his heart out and all I could offer him was silence? Surely I could do more than that?
Maybe I could pinch some of Dad’s beer from the back fridge; maybe the alcohol would help him settle down?
Then again, Angelo had a ridiculously high alcohol tolerance. He wouldn’t even be tipsy by the time dad’s beer supply ran dry. And then I would be in deep shit with dad and probably get my arse grounded from now until I was 30.