Open [boyxboy] ✓

forty-two:: when you hold your future in your hands.

He was everything to me. I thought of the cute way he talked, animated, thought of his bright eyes and huge smile. Almost all at once, my breathing slowed. Peeling my eyes open as if it were a difficulty, I stared with distaste at the curves of my body and I was able to rip my gaze away. Staring at the floor, I caught my feet shuffling in Paul's galaxy print socks and I smiled. Grabbing my towel and turning the shower on, I pushed myself to get ready for the day when all I wanted to do was go to sleep. It was a cycle and I found myself refusing to look at my reflection in the chrome shower handles, refusing to look down at my body, skin burning at how hard I scrubbed.

This was just an off day, I was gonna get through it, he doesn't like me laying around all day.

: : :

I was in the middle of studying after school- well, really, trying not to study by procrastinating- when my dad had called me. Thankful for the interruption, I placed my book back down on the couch and made my way to the garage where sound was coming from. My dad hadn't done anything leisurely in a while so when I'd caught him with a soccer ball in between his feet and his Saturday clothes on, in the middle of the week... I couldn't help but be confused. My day wasn't the best I'd had, pretty iffy if we were being honest, I felt better than that morning but there was still something in me that prevented a smile.

My dad was the same when he'd came home from work, throwing his briefcase down with a sigh as heading into his room in silence.

Obviously he was supposed to be at work but when I'd brought it up, he mentioned something about taking the day off since he hadn't had much to do that morning. Not believing that but not wanting to pry since it felt as if we still weren't on that level, I nodded.

We hadn't really talked in a while, hadn't spent time together that was light-hearted and I realized that maybe this was what he was trying to do. Maybe he was channeling when we used to play soccer together, before he'd signed me up at the local rec center after realizing that he was absolutely shit at soccer. Maybe he wanted to put down the frustration and just kick the ball around.

He proved me right when my old yellowing and patchy soccer ball came barreling towards my feet. I wasn't planning on going anywhere, wasn't even planning to leave the house really, so I was still dressed in my pajama pants and plain t-shirt with mismatch socks and Nike slides. My dad didn't care though as he motioned towards the ball.

Narrowing my eyes, I took it between my feet and bit the inside of my cheek, we hadn't even had goals set up much less actual outside clothes on and I couldn't help but laugh at that. Sending the ball back to him, I shook my head when he clumsily kicked it towards the garage door by accident so it wouldn't end up in the street. My dad was never really good at sports, hence why we didn't really play together, but I didn't mind. Running to catch the ball before it ended up underneath the car, I pointed out the markings for the goals.

And then we were running up and down the yard, playing one on one, as if I were seven again. I looked a mess, hair greasy, face flushed, and my lungs burned from both laughing and running at the same time but that didn't matter when we were playing especially with how the joy was reciprocated. He was smiling for the first time in a while, green eyes bright and corners scrunched when he'd tell a joke before laughing at himself.

"Let it go, ball hog." He'd demanded once our feet were locked in a position and I'd taken the opportunity to use a play that he hadn't seen since he was never at any of the games anymore. Ignoring that slight pang, I forced a chuckle.