Gloom Boys

17| creampuffs

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Peter was sitting all alone on the stands after practice, waiting diligently for Arjun to emerge from the locker rooms so they could go home together, sipping on his juice box and kicking his feet.

He hadn't changed his shirt yet and it was sticking uncomfortably to his body. Peter checked the time on his phone, it was almost eight thirty, it would be better to change at home.

As Peter sucked contently in the straw he gazed up at the sky, contemplating the events of the day: it had started with him drowning in sadness and guilt -for reasons nonexistent- and that had catapulted him into another gruesome bout of stress eating. Consumed with the need to consume and drown his worries by doing so, but the consumption only led to more stress; the stress of him gaining weight, and just like that he had started a vicious, malign cycle.

But the cycle had come to an abrupt halt when Peter showed up for practice. He lost himself in the game, his focus entirely on what was in front of him. The first game of the tournament was only a week away and since Peter was finally part of the official roster he had to maintain the schools stellar reputation and prove to his teammates that he was good, great even, at playing the sport he loved.

After practice Arjun had given out boxed juice and paper wrapped parcels of warm, store-bought Vada -just another reason why the team loved him; free food- and Peter had graciously accepted it, tucking away the savoury treats in his bag so he could share some with his sisters. But he hung onto the juice box, he definitely wasn't sharing that.

While their other teammates scoffed down their food and lumbered home howling with laughter, Arjun sat down next to Peter and began to monologue softly, stuttering from time to time when Peter 'hmmed' in acknowledgement and he fidgeted whenever their shoulders accidentally brushed.

Arjun wove a tale of sorrow, a tale of how his mother used to always make the most delicious food before his tournaments. How he missed her so very dearly, so much that sometimes it made his heart ache.

Arjun had started tearing up at the end and that made Peter's heart ache; he hated seeing others in pain. So although the reason for Arjun spilling his guts to him was vague and obscure, Peter wrapped Arjun up in his arms and whispered condolences in his ear, running his hand down his back and petting it soothingly.

Arjun shook slight in his arms, his tears wetting the drier parts of Peter's sweat soaked shirt, and made no move to withdraw himself from Peter's embrace, content with relishing in his warmth as he cried his eyes out.

If truth be told Peter felt slight awkward, out of place, like he had ensconced himself in murky darkness and someone had suddenly shoved him under a spotlight. He had been told countless times not to cry in front of his teammates, otherwise he'd be labeled as weak, but now Arjun, star player of  their team, had dumped something so indisputably personal on him and was sobbing into his shoulder. Peter found the situation so bizarre and he didn't quite know how to react, of course his first instincts were to provide Arjun with any type of comfort, but he didn't really know how to react beyond that; what was he supposed to do? What was he supposed to say? How was he supposed to comfort someone?

All his life Peter and been told to suck it up and deal with his problems himself, and honestly Peter found it easier just not to care, not to show emotions; it meant he could avoid annoying questions and fake sympathy and come up with solutions himself, solutions that would best fit him.

To Peter hiding certain emotions was easy, it was what was expected of boys, so he was flummoxed when Arjun bared his emotions and tears so easily to someone he barely knew. Peter couldn't help but think he was borderline stupid.

After he a few more moments of muffled sobbing and sincere but awkward back patting Arjun withdrew from Peter's shoulder, his face an ugly mess of snot and tears, and he shakily asked Peter if they could walk home together —seeing as Arjun lived on the same street as Peter's bus stop,— and Peter had agreed, actuated to do so by Arjun's misty gaze and tousled hair, he looked so heartbreakingly sad it impossible not to say yes.

So there Peter sat, waiting for Arjun to get all fluffed up and ready to
tread the death march home to his barren, motherless house, and for Peter  to slither back to the scrutiny of his dad.

The sky had bled into an deep navy by the time Arjun slipped out of the changing room. He was wearing a jacket that resembled a fuzzy lemon and ripped up purple jeans, a saccharine smile etched on his pillowy lips. He was practically secreting joy.

"C'mon Pete let's go!" Arjun chirped tugging on Peter's wrist, his voice dripping with sweetness and flowers and other glittery shit.

Peter almost chocked on his straw; Arjun never, never, spoke like that to anyone.

Tossing his empty juice box into the bushes Peter mustered up a smile and threw his bag over his shoulder, chuckling weakly when Arjun giggled again while batting his eyes like a Disney moron, and followed him out onto the pavement.

Cars stormed through the relatively empty road, flinging specks of rainwater and diluted piss at them each time they drove by too fast. Arjun didn't seem to notice and walked especially close to Peter, so close that were bumping shoulders.

As Arjun rambled on in his weirdly high-pitched voice about how stellar the sky looked tonight Peter noticed —annoyance nipping at him— that he looked a hell of a lot happier than he was when he was crying about his runway mom, ruining Peter's practice shirt with his snot stains. It was like he had completely forgotten what had transpired on the court, it was like he had put on a mask and completely forgotten about everything, the only reason Peter could believe his tears were tangible was because the way Arjun looked so happy, too happy . It was fake.

Peter bit his lip as he gazed distantly at Arjun's bubbly face, not absorbing a word on the avid conversation he was having with Peter's unresponsive self, a pang of gloom flickering in his chest.

Maybe that was his coping mechanism; break down and build yourself back up in sticky plastic blocks and wait for everything to set, praying no one would notice how fake you were. But Peter noticed —not that it wasn't obvious— he definitely noticed.

"Pete...Peter?"

Arjun's gentle, concern ladled voice shook Peter out of his trance. He blinked dumbly at Arjun's perplexed face before he snagged back his sense.

"Yeah, what's up?" Peter asked warmly, shoving his hands into his jacket pockets and rocking back and fourth on the balls of his feet.

Arjun smiled at him again and for some reason Peter's breath hitched. His smile held absolute endearment, nothing but sincerity and nothing like all the plastic smiles he had given all night, this one was definitely genuine. And it was fucking beautiful.

"We're at you stop" Arjun gestured to the pristine new bus shelter squatting on the side on the road and Peter felt his heart sink; he kinda wanted to stay with Arjun a little longer. Just a little.

"Oh yeah...right"

They stood like that for a few more moments, Peter bouncing around on his feet and Arjun watching him, almost lovingly. A car whizzed by and sloshed up old rain water onto them but they didn't move, too lost in each other to move.

Not a minute later Peter's bus pulled and his heart took a plummet into his gut; he really wanted to stay with Arjun more, he badly wanted to.

As he reluctantly clambered on the bus Arjun called out to him, clear and sharp and stunningly real. The single utterance made Peter's whole body freeze up with shock.

"I like you"

And just like that the doors closed behind him and Peter's bus pulled away from the stop and drove off into the night.