the boy in room 5 ; style

10: Kyle brovloski

• It's weird being back here. I was getting used to the hospital smell and the strange beds. I was getting used to the disgusting food and the sound of sickness in the halls. My room is too quiet. It's strange. I'm not allowed out of bed for a while, except to go to the toilet. I'm staring at my ceiling, glow in the dark stars dotted over it. My room hasn't been changed since I was a little kid, I'm not in here enough to bother.

Maybe now I should change it.

Next to my head, against my pillow, lays my phone. My hands cross over my chest. I don't know exactly what I'm waiting for, but I'm waiting for something. My hands fidget with my t-shirt, pressing my fingers into the bones in my chest, into my sticking out ribs through the cloth of my shirt. Buzz, buzz. My head shoots around and i twist onto my side, scooping my phone up, feeding a shiver running up and down my spine. Stan. It was Stan calling me. A smile plastered onto my lips as i pressed answer and brought the phone to my ear.

"Hey, dude!" He spoke loud. I sighed, content.

"Hey, man."

"Mind if I come over?" I felt a spark shoot through my heart, and my skin warmed, my eyes lighting up like they're beaming with the light of the sun.

"Yeah dude, of course." I replied. He spoke, asking my address, and I gave it. There was a yelp from the other end of the phone.

"Kyle, dude, you're like... right next door to me."

"Holy shit?" I said, louder than originally intended. The line beeped and within the next minute I heard the front door creek open, followed by my parents speaking downstairs. I hear a scramble up the stairs and my bedroom door swings open, and there he is. The boy with the most beautiful blue eyes I've ever seen, standing in my bedroom doorway, face beaming with excitement.

"We're neighbours!" He spoke with optimism and joy laced into the words that fell from his tongue. Stan rushed to my bed and flung himself down next to me, throwing his arm around my shoulder. He was grinning.

"We can see each other everyday, dude." I was overjoyed. He nodded, still beaming. He removed his hand from around me and grabbed my face. I couldn't stop grinning, the way he held his hands at my jaw and on my cheeks made my heart pulse, shuddering in an unrecognisable pattern against my ribs.

Before Stan my smiles were *eccedentesiast, but now they lay upon my lips bright and realer than the stars that blink in the midnight sky.

(a/n) *used to describe a fake smile

His hands moved slowly, his thumb running up my jawline. I couldn't focus on anything but the way his skin felt on my skin. My stomach twisted and turned and my chest tightened. All the air in my lungs stayed in there. His hand separated from me, and I let out the breath I hadn't noticed I'd held. We sat in the most warm, awkward, yet comfortable silence, and my eyes locked onto his lips. They weren't chapped anymore, now they were more red, he'd began taking care of them. Began taking care of himself in a whole. His hair didn't glisten with grease no more, it was shiny and gained more volume. His skin looked nicer too and some of his acne had cleared up. Of course, not all of it, we're teenagers, but now his skin looked more 'normal teenager' rather than bad hygiene. He smelt nicer too. That's creepy. I like the way he smells, whatever cologne he wears is safe to me. That's creepy.

"When are you allowed to go out?" He broke the quiet, my vision jolted from his lips to his eyes. 
"Next week." 
"Cool, dude, want to hangout with me and my friends, maybe?" He leans back onto my pillow. 
"Yeah, are your friends nice?"
"Butters is, Kenny's pretty nice, and you know Cartman already."
"Satan's grandson."

His laugh was lovely, sweet like honey. 

I listen to his talk about his friends, talking about how fun Kenny was to smoke with, and how good he was with his little sister. He told me about Butters, about how his parents were always grounding him for every little thing. He really loved his friends, he did. I couldn't help but feel jealous; will I ever get a friend-group like that? I wonder how he talks about me to them, if he even does talk about me at all. 

I hadn't even noticed I'd laid back down now, laid with my head next to his. We we're on our backs, heads tilted to look at each other. "So you, me, Butters and Kenny all going to my house next weekend?" He asked.

"Yeah, dude." He clicked his tongue, cringing at himself, the looked back to the ceiling.

"I've got those stars." He states, raising his hand and pointing his finger out. "Its a sign."
"Sign? Of what?" I'm still looking at him, his eyes are locked on the ceiling, his hands on his stomach.
"That we were meant to meet. Same stars."

That's stupid. We were meant to meet because we have the same glow in the dark stars on our ceilings? It's so fucking dumb, dude. That doesn't mean anything, except we have the same stars. I guess we're also neighbours, and have the same interests, and our personality's are practically matching. Same person, different fonts. We've rubbed the few things we had that were unalike off onto each other. Huh, maybe we were meant to meet. That sounds so stupid.

He starts to laugh. His same honey laugh, his eyes squeezed shut, the creases of his tightly shut eyes bringing happiness to his face. It made me feel dizzy. I've never had a real friend before, not like this. It's warm, happy. Friendship isn't what i excepted. Its fuzzier and sappier and more comfortable. In movies and shows i watch, friendship between boys never seems so... loving? I guess. The boys ever stare at each others lips and notice they're smoother than months prior, or or see them as if angels have held them on their own two feet. 

Everything Stan does is right. He's never once annoyed me, or tired me out. He recharges me. When I feel on the edge, like im ready to give up he gives me a reason to open my eyes.

I guess you could say I love the man, the best friend I could've ever asked to walk into my hospital room that day. I, as a dying man, have never felt so alive in all my 16 years of surviving. He makes me warm when my skin is ice cold. 

"Dude?" 

"Yeah, sorry. Maybe we were." He only hums in response and all sound in my room was reduced to nothing, reduced to silence. Silence is usually uncomfortable, but this was nice. Who gives a fuck if its weird, I like being with him. Even if he does make me feel confused.

(1178 words)