Tense
"O-oh gosh…"
He hiccupped, and wiped his leaking eye with the back of his hand.
"Wh-what am I…"
His knees were wobbling dangerously as he shuffled down the residential sidewalk, and sometimes one of his legs would buckle and he'd have to catch himself before he hit the cement.
This was it, he was done for. He'd never so much as struggled before, but now…
Here he was.
He finally lost his will to walk, and soon found himself weeping at the base of a streetlight. It flickered gently in the setting sun, illuminating the backside of the trembling teen as it prepared for night.
He clutched to his book bag, despite it being the accessory being the one thing containing every one of his problems. He buried his face in its worn corduroy backside, and bit on his lips to keep the noise to a low hum.
AP Calculus, AP Physics, AP English IV, AP Government with AP Economics, and AP French III.
5 of his 7 classes were Advanced Placement.
The year before, he'd taken 6 AP classes. So, why was he suddenly struggling to keep up with them now? He knew he could do it. He'd done it since the beginning. The school counselors had told him early on that taken more than 3 AP classes would murder him, but it had been a piece of cake.
His grades are slipping.
A+'s have become B-'s.
To someone like him, who thrived on A+'s, the idea of getting an A- was the end of the world. One could only imagine what a B- was doing to him.
"Hey, nerd."
He didn't look up; he could recognize Buford's gravelly voice anywhere. Desperate to show he was in no mood to be chastised, he buried his face deeper into the fabric and visibly tightened his hold on his knees.
He couldn't see Buford's bright green eyes stare down at him with a calculating look.
"Alright. Let's go."
Baljeet squawked when he was suddenly lifted bridal-style into the brunette's beefy arms. He flailed a little on instinct.
"Buford! What are you-"
"Shut up, you."
Baljeet fell silent. He wasn't really in the mood to fight back against the bully right now. He wasn't in the mood for anything, really; when one's world is crumbling before their eyes, caring about little things is something only a miracle could make happen.
The tears that had stopped from the surprise began to burn at the corners of his eyes.
He leaned against Buford's shoulder, his temple resting comfortably in the dip between the collarbone and the bone of the shoulder. His face, contorted in shame and disappointment, bore wet lines that ran off the underside of his chin and into his shirt collar.
But Buford was warm and strangely comfortable in the night air, so it took little to no effort for Baljeet to hold back any cry noises.
After about ten minutes of lumbering down the street, Buford turned a corner and began towards what Baljeet assumed to be his house. They lived only six or seven houses apart, and when Buford turned up his own walkway instead of Baljeet's, the Indian boy became quite confused.
"Are you not taking me home…?" He mumbled, trying to keep his voice as steady as possible through his emotions.
"No," Buford replied simply, maneuvering open his front door with his elbow. Once inside, he shut the door with his foot and yelled, "Mom! Can you call 'Jeet's mom and tell 'er he's spendin' the night?"
Not waiting for a response, Buford thumped his way up the staircase across from the front door.
Normally, Baljeet would decline an offer to sleep at Buford's house. Not because the thought of staying in his house made him uncomfortable or anything, but because time spent at someone else's house could be better spent studying.
But he was a goner, anyway. He was already three-quarters through the school year; no amount of studying could bring him back from a B-.
He just remained snuggled close to the exceptionally larger body parading him down a hallway, drained, weepy, and warm.
Soon, he was very carefully set down on the edge of the Jacuzzi bathtub in the master bathroom. After wiping his eyes, he looked up at Buford with confusion.
"Take a bath," Buford said sternly, more of an order than a suggestion. He lobbed a big, fluffy white towel into Baljeet's arms, then headed for a cabinet. "We have a shitton of bath salts and whatever. Just pick some and pour them into the bath water." He pulled out 6 or 7 different colored bottles of scented salts and placed them on the floor next to the 'nerd'. He narrowed his eyes a bit. "But don't use too much; they're my mom's 'n junk."
Baljeet just blinked as Buford moved his way around the bathroom, pulling out all sorts of unnecessary oils and candles and salts. After there was a substantial pile at his feet, the burly teen stepped from the room. Strangely touched, but still listless, Baljeet idly picked up one of the corked bottles of bath salt and began to examine the label.
Dead Sea Bath Salts with Lavender. Specifically formulated for stress-relief!
He furrowed his brows a bit, and picked up another.
Epsom Salt with Cucumber. Perfect muscle-relaxant and pain-reliever!
Therapeutic Natural Bath Oil. Baljeet turned the glass bottle around. Made with Sandalwood, an East Indian oil used for mood-enhancing and sensual fragrance, Rosewood, an anti-depressant, mood-enhancing oil often used as an aphrodisiac, and Neroli, which brightens spirits and bring mental clarity.
The dark-skinned teen quirked a brow.
… Uh.
"Here," Buford snapped, startling Baljeet by his sudden appearance. He dropped a large, neatly folded shirt onto the Indian's lap. "Change into this when you're done."
Baljeet nodded silently, unused to such pampering from the bully.
As Buford left, he added, "And try not to drown, shorty."
After picking a few choice salts and a teensy bit of oil, Baljeet mindless prepared himself a hot bath and soaked as long as he possibly could without lowering his blood pressure too much. Buford never once knocked or verbally announced any kind of 'checking in', but Baljeet could hear his heavy footsteps outside the door every once in awhile. He did briefly consider dunking under the surface and just 'forget' to hold his breath, but the thought that someone still cared despite his utter failure was enough to keep him from considering it more than once.
After drying off and feeling absolutely luxurious in such a soft towel, he pulled on the shirt Buford had lent him and the pair of boxer-briefs he'd been wearing earlier that day. He stood there a moment, staring at his reflection in the mirror over the sink. The shirt was hideously large on his small frame; the short sleeves almost reached his elbows and the bottom of the shirt was about an inch and a half above his knees. He wrinkled his nose a bit. How un-cool looking.
He grabbed the neck of the shirt and pulled it open to look down at the half-naked body underneath, and had a whiff of a familiar scent wash into his nostrils. He blinked, then pulled the collar to his nose.
Sawdust. And bubblegum. And…. Paper…
He closed his eyes, gripping the fabric tightly as he inhaled deeply.
And Buford.
After a brief dinner of grilled cheese and tomato soup, Baljeet was lead into Buford's room. His clothes had been washed and folded neatly (whenever someone else had their hands on them he would never know) next to his heavy book bag, which had a small tear by the strap sewn up as well. Baljeet stood around awkwardly as Buford changed in his closet, unsure of where he was supposed to sleep. There was nothing pulled out for him to sleep on the floor, no blankets, no air mattress, no pillows, and Buford was never the kind of person to give up his belongings and comforts to others, so the bed was out of the question. He rocked back and forth on the balls of his feet and fiddled with the bottom of 'his' shirt as he awaited instruction.
When Buford emerged from the closet, he headed for the black-clad queen bed and otherwise ignored Baljeet.
When Buford began to crawl in without a word, Baljeet sighed gently and let his shoulders sag. I suppose I will just sleep on the carpet… He quietly seated himself on the floor, and winced when it turned out to be scratchier than it'd felt on his bare toes.
"What're you doin'?"
He blinked over at Buford, who was sitting up on the mattress with one side of the cover turned down.
"… Going.. to sleep…?" he asked hesitantly, cocking his head to one side. "I do not really have another place to-"
"Don't be a dumbass, Baljeet."
Baljeet blinked. "But… Where am I supposed to-"
Buford patted the turned-down section of bed next to him, a stern look on his face. "And it's not an option. Turn off the light before you get over here."
Suddenly feeling quite meek, Baljeet stood from his place and wandered toward the light switch. He gazed at where Buford had turned over, then flicked off the light.
A small, blue nightlight turned on in the far corner of the room, successfully bathing the space in enough soft light to see the dark outlines of the objects in the room.
Baljeet felt himself relax a little at the idea, and began to pad his way to the bed. "You sleep with a nightlight?"
"I will kill you, you know," Buford growled, rolling onto his back.
Smiling a little for what felt like the first time since school started, Baljeet carefully crawled into the plush sheets and wiggled around until he was comfy.
After a few strangely tense moments of silence, Buford scooted his muscular body close to Baljeet's lithe one and slid his arm around the smaller boy, comfortably resting other boy's head at the joint of his shoulder.
Baljeet turned over onto his side, and furrowed his brows. "Buford…?" he mumbled, confused and curious by the sudden… affectionate gesture.
"Just shut up and go to sleep," Buford rumbled, frowning at the ceiling as his hand moved to soothingly run his fingers through Baljeet's black curls.
The Indian boy blinked a bit, unsure of how to respond. But it didn't take very long for him to sigh and snuggle closer to the other body; the gentle massage of Buford's clumsy fingers on his scalp was slowly lulling him into a comfortable, worry-less sleep.
Why do all my otp drabbles end in snuggling in bed? Motherfucker.