Staring Contest (Short Story)

(1)

Staring Contest (1)

It was always a staring contest between him and I.

I'd find myself staring at him, admiring the way he spoke and smiled. His generous grin was as bright and as genuine as his eyes whenever he conversed with others. His cheeks were always tinted with a cute shade of pink, and when he blushed, the colour would deepen and reach the soft skin of his freckled neck. When he laughed or blushed or crinkled his nose with amusement, I'd find myself involuntarily mirroring him.

Sometimes, he would catch my heavy gaze. I would be stuck, unable to look away, captivated. He'd simply stare, and eventually his eyes would flicker away lazily, a soft smile hinting at his lips.

When he had met my eyes far too many times, I realized I was embarassing myself, so I forced myself to stop looking at him. I struggled; it was almost torturous whenever he laughed or talked in class.

So rather than staring at the boy, I soon decided to start talking to him. I would greet him in the hallways and even find the courage to compliment his shoes or shirt. He'd always respond brightly and one day his colour splashed all over me when he started to sit beside me in our shared classes.

And although I would feel breathless and nervous and shaky, I enjoyed his presence. I loved that sometimes our elbows touched. I loved his smell. I loved to listen to muffled melodies that would seep from his earphones. And I loved it even more when he offered one earphone, so I could listen to his music, too.

I only stuttered three times and nearly cried twice when I asked him for his number and, without hesitation, he gave it to me. We started texting everyday, eventually sharing our thoughts and opinions and secrets willingly. We became best friends quickly and when we hung out, we'd nap or watched movies or played video games.

My nervousness had slowly leaked out of my system and I'd even have the courage to hang onto his arm or sling mine around his shoulder. And once, so late at night that the familiar silence took over the cracks and creases of the world, I had enough courage to kiss him.

We were on my deck, sitting on an old bench that wavered under our weight whenever we shuffled slightly. It felt completely natural to just sit there, beside him, with the silence wrapped tightly around us like our blankets. I glanced at him and watched as he stared past the deck, relaxed and content. He was staring deeply into the night's darkness, lazily searching for something, anything. He looked beautiful.

He had the blanket wrapped around his smaller frame so tightly and I could see the tips of fingers poking out as he clutched the thick material. The blanket rubbed against his chin and my eyes had trailed to his lips.

I had to look away because an overwhelming urge had washed over me, my hands curling into fists, brows creased. I think the urge would've eventually passed if he hadn't looked over at me and asked what was wrong.

"Nothing," I breathed. I steadied my voice. "Nothing's wrong."

He continued to watch me, concerned. I turned my head towards him and stared back, stuck in the depth of our shared gaze. A staring contest of sorts.

"We can talk about it, if you want," he said gently.

I kept my attention on his eyes, resisting the desire to look at his lips. He was biting at his lower lip thoughtfully now.

I kissed him before I knew what was happening. I couldn't pull away, I couldn't help myself and it was because he was kissing back, soft lips molding against mine with a power that turned the night's silence into a buzzing orchestra of white noise.

I nearly fell limp, but I managed to push my blanket away, cold air making its way down my shirt. My goose-bumped arms wrapped around his torso. He wrapped his own arms around my neck. And we became two desperate boys, wanting more of each other, even though we were closer than we'd ever thought.

This felt right, this felt right, this felt -

I was the one to push away roughly, realizing that this was wrong. It didn't feel wrong and I didn't want it to be, but it just was. It was disgusting, it was bad. That's what my friends say, that's what the world says -- it's disgusting. It's wrong.

My lips were still tingling. I knew his were, too, because his slender fingers reached up to touch them.

At first, I mistook his expression for confusion; then, his lips turned into a thin line of understanding.

I blinked a few times and I realized that I was breathing heavily. My heart was thudding against my chest painfully and in that cold air, I felt terribly hot. I stood up and entered the house.

He came in to confront me, grabbing my wrist with a soft hand, causing more goose-bumps to litter my skin. I shook it off and hurried to my room, quietly, so I wouldn't wake up my parents. He reached my room before I could close the door.

"L-listen... I know, I -" he started, his voice sounding heavy and muffled from the tears that were starting to form. "I'm upset, too. W-we can forget -"

I looked at him thoughtfully.

"I know, I don't think it's right," he continued with a thick voice. "I don't -"

I stopped his words by shoving him against the wall and kissing the heck out of his lips. I couldn't stop, I didn't care about it being disgusting -- because it didn't feel that way, it didn't feel wrong, and no one was there to tell me it was.

He stopped me. "Wait... wait -"

"I'm sorry I freaked out," I said, gently. "I just got a little -"

"Is this... I -" he interrupted me, breathing heavily. He looked down at our shoes. "Is this going to be -"

I placed my fingers under his chin and pushed his head up."Go on."

"Is this going to be something or nothing?" he asked, softly. It was the best way he could word it.

I was unsure how to answer.

Closing my eyes, I kissed him. Then, I said against his lips, "I want it to be something. But people-"

"- they judge," he said, finishing my sentence.

"Exactly," I said, sadly. "We... we can keep it a secret, yeah?" I went to kiss him again, but he pushed me away.

Surprised at the outburst, and overwhelmed by the flood of emotions I've just endured in the past hour, I watched as he shook his head.

He ran a shaky hand through his hair as he paced the room.

I commented warily, "I mean, I just don't want people to... I don't want people to know."

He looked at me and I stared back. A silence took over, until he shook his head and said, tiredly, "I'm going to bed now."

I nodded slowly, mumbling, "Want to sleep in my bed?"

I hoped he would accept, because I just needed to feel his warmth despite the awkwardness that had fallen between us. But he shook his head and kneeled down on the floor, where some blankets were spread out earlier for a make-shift bed. I sighed and crawled under my blanket, burying my head into a pillow.

I stared at his restless body for the rest of the night.  

(Edited) 

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