Call Me Back Again

CHAPTER 2

"Yes, Won-Won," Paul winked, grabbing his rucksack, and spreading his arms in that universal 'give-me-your-opinion' gesture. "What do you reckon? Do I look alright? Maybe I should change int-..."

"You look fine, you always do," Mike interrupted, failing to hide the way he rolled his eyes. Paul cast down his eyes at the genuine compliment. He'd always had a love-hate relationship with his appearance which had gotten him out of trouble on more than one occasion but had also been the source of a lot of pain. He had never gotten over the bullying - not really. Seemingly unaware, or simply ignoring the momentary lapse in Paul's confidence, Mike prattled on, undisturbed. "You could show up in a burlap sack, or naked, and you'd still look fine. Don't do that, by the way. The naked thing, I mean."

Grateful for the open invitation to defuse the atmosphere, Paul chuckled, hoisting his tatty old bag onto his shoulder. "Why not? Might start a new trend, you know?"

"That's exactly what I'm scared might happen," Mike grinned. He let his eyes wander over Paul's outfit and hummed a bit as if he was trying to put his finger on something. After a few seconds, he suddenly reached up to pull a strand of hair out from the quiff Paul had spent so much time perfecting, ignoring the startled protest. "There. Now it's perfect. Well, go on, then. My pizza should be here any moment and I'm not sharing it with you."

The whole interaction, even though it was lightened by Mike's joke, almost felt parental to Paul. He thought it was a bit funny considering their age difference and Paul being the oldest, but it felt right nonetheless. In a way, Mike had been ahead of his years for a long time, though saying that aloud never failed to annoy the 21-year-old art student, who was quite happy to take full advantage of his status of younger brother, especially when it meant not having to be responsible for anything.

With a curt nod, which looked a lot more resolved than he felt, Paul turned and headed towards the door, catching his reflection in the little mirror over the key shelf. Mike was right: the vintage hairstyle he'd been hoping to emulate looked much better now that a bit of hair was peeking out and casually resting on his forehead. Of course, he was now giving off more of a 'John Travolta in Grease'-vibe than the 'Elvis in Jailhouse Rock'-vibe he'd been going for and which his outfit was loosely based on as well, but somehow it worked. He could only hope his date would agree. In order to find that out, he'd have to get going, so he straightened his back and went.

The air outside the confines of his flat was oppressive, stifling. Paul hadn't even reached the bus stop on the corner yet, and he was already missing the mobile air con Mike had managed to get on offer at Wickes' a few weeks earlier. The thing made a lot of noise, especially given the fairly limited area it cooled, and the insane amount of electricity it required, but it felt like manna from heaven now that Paul felt just how muggy it was.

He was so busy being aware of the heat, in fact, that it nearly made him forget to stop by the elaborate rose garden, a few houses down from his building. Glancing around to keep from getting caught, Paul quickly picked one of the big blooms nearest the street. It was very pretty, he thought: a deep shade of yellow with dark orange, almost red edged petals. He subconsciously brought it to his nose as he quickly walked away, inhaling the strong scent deeply. With any luck, it'd be enough to be forgiven for his tardiness. And if not, he could always stick it in the buttonhole of his jacket... Deciding he wanted to do that anyway, he swiftly sprinted back to steal another, slightly smaller one for himself.

Always the type to sweat easily and profusely, Paul could already feel a sheen forming on his face, and was that a drop trickling down his back? He reckoned an electric storm would break out before long, or so it felt anyway. Then again, he mused, scanning the sky for signs of impending release, there wasn't a cloud in sight. He absentmindedly plopped into the first empty seat the bus had to offer and rummaged through his rucksack for the packet of paper handkerchiefs he kept in there, dabbing the back of his neck against better judgement. It was a wasted effort anyway. He'd spend half the night sweating like an otter, and all the Kleenex in the world couldn't stop that. All he could hope now was for his deodorant to save him from further embarrassment. Minutes later, Paul raised his arm to wipe his face, using the diversion to take a quick whiff of his armpits. So far, so good...