Dirty blue splotches his dermis like aged ink stains on a shirt but the sting of pride is curt, the lad silently brushes the blood off his bruises, off his hurt.
Fifteen, on the ground and damning his height that has yet to spurt.
His bestie is there beside him, fussing, bandaging while humming a hymn, his grimy hair a shaggy red sheen. The former Cheshirish-ly grins, hoping to conceal a recent sin.
' Scones look lovely, they taste any good? '
Reddish eyebrows quirk up.
' Yer the Brit, not me. '
The Brit finds grinning with a broken nose is tough.
' But you're European! '
' Nope, yers truly's purely American. '
The Brit decides that laughing with a broken nose is tougher.
Then fingers pause in twisting crepe and there is a lack of words, both teens are at a loss. Nothing's funny anymore and the unspoken conclusion is that scones are only meant for dummies. Disgustingly rich dummies.
Redheaded bestie breaks first.
' Quit stealing. The cash ain't worth this. '
' There's bills to pay, Lavi. '
' Yeah, there's bills to pay and all but yer not gonna last! Not like this, dammi- '
' But if you snort money, everything just sparkles better. '
Redheaded bestie stops; he's stunned and his breathing's quivering and he's never gonna live this moment down ever. Never.
' You're fucked up, Allen. '
Allen in turn closes his eyes to will away the stars hovering around his head , the hoarseness in Lavi's voice, so he takes up the hymn the redhead previously hummed.
" The Lord is my shepherd; I shall not want. He maketh me to lie down in green pastures; He leadeth me beside the still waters. He restoreth my soul… "
Fifteen, on the ground and damning his height that has yet to spurt.
