Lessons in Landing || a MxM LGBTQ+ Coming-of-Age ||

3. just because

WARNINGS

|| Underage Drug Usage (marijuana) ||  Depiction of Self-Harm (nondescriptive)  || 

"I need 200 dollars. Now!"

I squint my eyes, hoping my look of disbelief will be swiftly conveyed to Kian - though, I knew, I must have looked mostly wiped out. That's cuz I was. Today's practice, the guys' yapping, the talk with Coach Truck, my own shit, and adding to all that a healthy dose of AP Lit homework, proved enough to make my brains unpeel themselves outta my limp mortal coil at this very moment.

A dull pressure began building up behind my eyes and forehead, like a heavy wintercoat wearing down your posture pressing onto your shoulders and smothering. Fatigue charred the seams of my vision, only pronged further after a hot steamy shower. All I wanted was rest. Let my body heal. Let my mind drift to nowhereland, so that all this annoying fuzziness, all the anxious thrumming in my chest and finger pads would be halted temporarily.

However

If anything, I quite admire Kian's ruthlessness. He sauntered inside my bedroom just as I came out of the shower and perched himself, legs crossed, on my bed, all of his skinny 4'10" frame of a nugget trying to conjure something akin to seriousness - but which did nothing coming from an 8th grader, that happened to be my littlest sibling. He was sitting in anticipation, demand made clear with zero context - his bottom lip chewed-through, frizzy mess of a hair that resembled a birdnest cascading over big shiny eyes. Fingers and toes wiggling (cuticles and nails gnawed at as well) telling me his patience was worn thin.

I sighed audibly.

"What for?"

"Books."

"What books?"

"From Mrs. Chee's bookstore.

That's the bookstore Kian made his personal haven of sorts and safe space since we moved here. Eliza Chee owned it - a cheery science fiction hardcore fan I only met twice or thrice whenever giving Kian a drive there or accompanying Celeste. I barely understood a thing Kian and her discussed over, but it was one of the only instances I have seen him at ease and smiling. Smiling like a child should - which he still was, and always will be in my eyes.

"They are having a charity sale and give away tons of donated books for 2 or 3 dollars!"

I don't even have to do the math.

"You don't need almost 100 more books."

I have seen his bedroom. Floor to ceiling shelves completely filled up, stacks upon stacks lining the walls. Hell, half his bed was always occupied by books he slept in the middle of!

But that was not an answer Kian could even conceive of. Because right now he looked at me as if I have just committed at least a dozen hate crimes.

"So, you are anti-charity is what you are telling me."

I roll my eyes. Classic Kian. I love his creativity - especially when it comes to comebacks, but dang it is frustrating to be on the end of it.

So I try to swerve the convo myself as well.

"200 bucks is a lot of money. The hell, you think I can just give you that much?"

Kian pouts. Cute, if his gaze wasn't a sharpened spear looking for the softest spot to plunge into.

"You have got plenty of money. You have sponsors, don't you?"

I reign in the urge to roll my eyes again and to say something like 'the hell you think I am? Sponsored by Sugar Momma Inc.???' or 'yar ass thinks I got Michael Jordan himself handing me money or what???'.