Notes: This is my third slash. I'm still taking constructive criticism. Be brutally honest if you have to, just no flames because you simply hate it. If the plot is overused, tell me. I seriously want to improve. Other than that, I hope you like this story. If it's good, maybe I'll continue. I'm making it a continuation of 'When I Said 'Goodbye''. I own the song 'Imagination'. Oh, and this is from Mush's POV. But note, it is not Skittery/Mush slash. The slash will come in possible later chapters. And forgive me for my lack of knowledge on coffee…I don't drink it so I don't know. It's just a metaphor in a sense anyway.
It's hard to think of ways to describe my best friend. You wouldn't think we were even acquaintances by simply looking at us. We each go in our own direction, usually leading away from each other. I'm the one you'd usually see going with the crowd. Him…well, he makes his own path.
Based on this, I don't have to tell you how different we really are. I seem more of the popular, football playing jock type, but that's only a part I play in this school. Nobody would think that I'm the sweet, sensitive type, but I am. This only makes me wish that I could be like him. But he has his secrets too.
The "him" I refer to is Zachary Krus, known as Skittery otherwise. When I first saw him, I admit, I was just about scared to death of him. Every inch of his clothing was black, from the chained jacket he wore to the laced hiking boots. His face was no better, with black eyeliner engulfing his dark eyes. He had two piercings in his left eyebrow, one in his right ear and two in his left. He was the very image of the guys that I strived to stay away from. But I was stuck with him for the next semester as his roommate.
As I began to put away my things, I noticed that every single item of clothing he pulled out were the same dark colors: blue, black, brown…except for one. This was the one that surprised me. I knew what the shirt said before I even saw the print. 'Tough Guys Wear Pink' was stenciled across the front of the hot pink fabric. He glanced at it for a moment before turning to look at me. When he caught my gaze, his eyes narrowed into a threatening glare.
"Nice shirt," I remarked, not knowing what else to say, "I like it."
"Then you wear it," he said between clenched teeth, throwing it at me suddenly. I pulled the shirt off the top of my head and looked at him again. He was already back to sorting through his clothes. I glanced at the shirt.
"Don't you like it," I asked, "You did pack it."
"I must have packed it by accident, okay," he seethed, "It's probably my brother's." I shrugged, but said nothing. It seemed to me that he was lying. How could he miss the bright color among all the dark hues? I uncertainly put in into one of the drawers.
The first thing that I took note of the next morning was the absence of Skittery. To be truthful, I was a bit relieved to see that he wasn't there. His jacket was thrown across the back of a desk chair, giving me the impression that he had left hurriedly. His bed was unmade, covers wrinkled and pillows scattered by the headboard.
A few moments later, a knock sounded on the door. When I answered it, Skittery was standing there, but looking a lot more pleasant than the previous night.
No eyeliner decorated his face, making his eyes appear more welcoming instead of threatening. He had traded in his chained outfit for a simple long sleeved black shirt and baggy pants of the same color. Plain black tennis shoes were on his feet, laced into a double knot.
"You like coffee right," he asked quickly, pushing the steaming cup into my hands. Had it not been for the lid, I would have spilled it from the force.
"Yeah," I replied, "But why would you buy me breakfast?"
"I didn't," he told me, "They gave me the wrong drink. I had to get another." He lifted the cup that was clenched in his other hand. That's when I first saw the black polish on his nails, chipped and worn, "Here." I looked up to see a small round object come flying towards me. I grabbed the packet of crème quickly, "I didn't know if you liked it or not."
"Thanks," I answered, putting the packet down and pulling back the tab on the lid. I took a quick sip, but pulled back suddenly, slowly swallowing the liquid. Then I placed it on the table beside me, "I'm going to wait for it to cool a while." He looked at me, clearly asking why I had to share that piece of information.
"By the way," Skittery stated, "You owe me a buck sixty for that." He took a sip of his own drink before prying off the lid and pouring a packet of sugar into it. He stirred it slowly with his straw.
"What, no tax with that," I asked a bit sarcastically, anger mixed in my voice. Who got you a drink, even if by accident, and expected you to pay them back for it…especially when you never asked for it in the first place?
That was another stereotype you'd consider about me. Based on my usual optimistic nature, you'd think that I was a morning person. Truth was, I was as far from that as possible. My friends had long since given up on calling me in the morning, knowing that I was going to simply snap at them for waking me up.
Skittery raised an eyebrow, quite a comical look on what I took to be a usual expressionless face. They quickly narrowed again however when I noticed this.
"Fine," he snapped, "If you want one tomorrow though, you pay for it." I shrugged, my anger gone as quickly as it had come.
As I turned to pick up my coffee once again, I heard Skittery sigh, quietly enough that I knew he was trying to hide the fact. A quick glance showed confusion and frustration in his eyes. Another sugar packet was tipped into his drink, his straw once again rotating through it. Ice almost inaudibly clinked against the walls of the cup.
I took another small sip of my drink and found to my displeasure that it was still a bit too hot. I blew gently into the steaming coffee, hoping to lessen the temperature. I took off the lid, releasing some of the heat.
The clink of ice cubes ceased slowly and Skittery stood to approach me. His right hand was griped around a plastic spoon. He scooped two ice cubes from his drink and dropped them into mine. The ice cracked inside my cup.
I looked at him with a bit of surprise. I hadn't expected him to do anything for me, not after I had gotten angry with him. The small smile on his face dissolved suddenly. I don't know why he had tried to hide it though. It suited him, since it was a bit more of a smirk than an actual smile and subtly boasted about his split second of higher intelligence.
"Thanks," I told him quietly, taking a small sip and only felt a small burn of displeasure from the heat. It cooled quickly after a moment and I looked up at Skittery, who was still standing beside me, "What?" I felt a bit self-conscious about someone watching me as I drank.
"Nothing," Skittery replied, "Never mind."
It was a while before Skittery trusted me enough to tell me his secrets. The weeks went by, our conversations short and brief. Eventually we got over our differences and he told me everything.
Apparently, Skittery had a more sensitive soul that I had imagined. It's weird how I discovered that fact.
It was a few weeks since we had talked for the first time. I had returned to our room after classes were over to an empty room. Usually Skittery was there, sitting at the desk and drawing. That day, when I entered the room, a piece of paper was lying on the ground next to desk, partially hidden by a chair leg.
I had stupidly picked it up, intending to set it on top of the desk. When I saw words printed beside a picture he had drawn however, I couldn't help but read what they said. I never knew that Skittery could write poetry.
Thought I saw your figure in the rain
Ran to see you again
Turned out to be an illusion
A trick played by the brain
Shadows played across the sky
Saw your face and wondered why
Can't get you out of my mind
Why can't I leave you behind
My imagination
Trying to tell me where to turn
Every corner I see you there
Wishing you were here
But my hands reach out
And find nothing there
Wisps of fog float away
From my empty hands
Felt your presence behind me
Turned to find nothing but air
Invisible to the naked eye
Soaring off to the sky
Clouds come and form your face
But it doesn't do you any grace
Still I wish that it were true
That it was really you
A shiver runs up and down my spine
Wish that you were still mine
Don't want to let you go
I loved you more than you'll ever know
My imagination
Trying to tell me where to turn
Every corner I see you there
Wishing you were here
But my hands reach out
And find nothing there
Wisps of fog float away
From my empty hands
The picture beside it showed a boy wearing a black raincoat, standing before a crosswalk. The boy remarkably looked like Skittery, except for the pink shirt visible underneath the coat. Raindrops seemed to stop around the outline of a second boy, who was standing before the first and raising a hand in a farewell gesture. I studied the drawing for a moment, barely registering the sound of the door opening.
"What are you doing," Skittery's voice carried to my ears. I looked up in surprise, before noticing the lack of anger on his face. Instead it held a slight sadness as he held out his hand for the drawing. I handed it to him without a word.
"It was on the floor," I told him, "I guess I wasn't supposed to see it." The look on his face clearly told me that I shouldn't have, "It's a good picture. And I like the poem."
"Thanks," Skittery replied softly, "I wrote it for somebody."
"Are you going to give it to them," I asked.
"I can't," Skittery told me, "It's been a long time since I've seen him."
"Him?"
Skittery looked embarrassed, but only for a second. An awkward smile appeared on his face, but he seemed a bit happier than he had earlier, "It's not really a secret. I just don't tell anybody that I meet right away. I kind of try to hide it too if possible…aren't you at all shocked at all this?"
"Not really," I replied, then paused, "I'm the same way."
"You like boys," his mouth shaped into a surprised 'O'.
"Well, I actually like both boys and girls. It's not that hard to believe, is it," I asked, "Why do you think I pretend to be a jock?" Skittery couldn't think of a reply to that one.
"He gave me that shirt…the pink one that I threw at you a few weeks ago," he finally spoke, changing the subject slightly.
"Then why did you throw it at me," I questioned him.
"I guess I was just angry," he shrugged, "I moved away after we had been dating about six months…my parents' idea that keeping me away from him would stop my feelings. I wore that shirt almost every other day. I finally got tired of all the questions at my new school and started wearing black just to make them leave me alone…make them afraid to approach me."
"And you thought that if I believed that shirt was yours, I'd treat you the same way?" Skittery nodded and I grinned.
"I was too scared to approach you to begin with," I said, "You wouldn't have had to worry about that."
The next day I was pleased to note that when I woke up, the bottom drawer of my dresser was open. There was no sign of the pink shirt anywhere. And a few feet away on my desk, a cup sat on top. I got out of bed slowly and walked over. I opened the lid…coffee, two ice cubes floating in the center.
And that's what Skittery is to me. He's the ice in my coffee. We're exact opposites, but it's at the perfect balance that our friendship works. He knows the words to say in order to calm me down, make life more bearable, even with the slight burns that you're bound to get at some time or another. He doesn't have to do it, but he does.