truce // scomiche

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T R U C E
By isllandsofviolence

Late nights of truth or dare, candid polaroid's, and paint jobs; dark skies, secret kisses, and bitten lips; sharp words, cigarette smoke, and text messages.

Let's start with truth or dare.

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T R U T H   O R   D A R E

"I dare you... to eat a spoonful of mayo," Scott said after a moment of indecision, his tired voice raspy and quiet in my dimly lit bedroom.

He was barely visible, but the fairy lights strung over my bed lit up his face enough to see the tired grin on his face.

"That is truly the worst thing I think I've ever heard."

"C'mon, don't be a baby," he said with a soft giggle.

I rolled my eyes but we ran to get it, careful not to wake my parents. Scott quietly followed me downstairs.

After searching my kitchen I whispered, "I literally don't think we have any mayo."

"Do you guys not eat sandwiches?"

"Honey, you know I can't have gluten," I rummaged in the fridge and finally pulled out a jar of vegan mayo from the back and got a spoon. We ran upstairs, making sure to shut off all of the lights and tiptoe as softly as we could in our socked feet; Scott wasn't actually supposed to be sleeping over. After it became fairly obvious that both of us were gay, our parents decided that sleepovers might be inappropriate. But like in every romantic comedy, we were neighbors and both of were excellent and silently opening windows and back doors. I even had a tree near my window for easy second-story access.

As I nearly gagged on the condiment, I could hear Scott laughing at me. I spit it out in my garbage can, falling back on my bed, the flavor lingering in my mouth, "Be quiet!"

"Sorry!" He said through his stifled laugh.

"I didn't deserve that. Okay, truth or dare," I said, praying he would say the latter because of the secret jar of vegemite I knew I actually had in my fridge.

"Truth."

I sighed, disappointed, trying to think of something I wanted to know, "Who do you like?"

He immediately said, "Whom. The correct word would be 'whom'. I'm pretty sure."

I rolled my eyes, "I'm pretty sure that's wrong. Stop stalling!"

"It's 'whomever' and I'm really feeling positive about that."

"No, whomever is never actually right."

"Sometimes it's right."

"It's a made-up word used to trick students." I didn't actually know if whomever was ever correct, but my firm belief that it wasn't was reflected pretty clearly in my english grades.

"I think maybe it's just the formal version of the word," Scott said, seeming to be really putting a lot of thought into it. Obviously stalling.

He finally pulled up his phone and googled it, his fingers drumming against the arm of his chair. "It's 'whom' when it's the object of a sentence, and 'who' when it's the subject."

"Scotty, just answer the question." I said impatiently.

He was quiet, but eventually said, "Nobody."