[Change of Heart]
It had been two weeks now, and the two best friends were lounging in some grassy fields outside of Rockaxe. The castle could be seen from where they lay, but Miklotov didn't know exactly how far out they were. After much protest from Camus, Miklotov insisted that he do something for Camus, and he decided to treat Camus to a picnic lunch. Camus was a bit surprised at the gesture, which hurt Miklotov a bit. Did Camus think that Miklotov was incapable of such small acts of kindness? He wondered just how out of touch they were since their last time alone.
"Hey Mik, look at those clouds over there!" Camus said suddenly, breaking Miklotov out of his thoughts.
"What about them?" Miklotov grumbled. He tried to figure out what was so special about those clouds that Camus would tell him to look at them. To him they looked like the normal, white and fluffy puffballs that usually accompanied a bright, sunny day. Suddenly he felt fingers against his waist, constantly but lightly brushing his skin through his shirt. "Hey, are you trying to tickle me?" Miklotov said.
Camus laughed and moved his fingers up and down Miklotov's sides. Miklotov rolled around, annoyed by those fingers, but not really squirming or giggling at the touch. After a while, Camus stopped. "Okay, I give up," he sighed. "I guess you're official declared unticklish."
"Unticklish? Is that a word?" Miklotov asked, teasing Camus over his choice of words.
Camus shot him a glare. "Shut up!" He shouted, smiling. He plopped himself next to Miklotov, who was staring at the sky. "Anyway, I need to find your weakness."
Miklotov rolled over to look at Camus with a confused expression. "Why?" he wondered.
"Because you're beating up everyone in training," Camus answered. He smirked. "I heard that even the teacher fears you."
Miklotov laughed and playfully hit his friend. "You're exaggerating," he responded.
"I would never!" Camus said slyly, earning a glare from Miklotov. The two were suddenly silent as a flock of birds squabbled nearby. When Camus finally scared them away, he said softly, "Mik, you trust me, right?"
"Of course!" Miklotov immediately replied. He paused and turned way from Camus for a second before adding, "I regret not listening to you when that mess came about…"
Camus turned his friend over to face him. "Don't feel bad about it," he said. "I would have done the same thing." He smiled and sat up. "I'd probably still be mad," he added.
"But you don't hold grudges…" Miklotov protested, sitting up as well. He stretched his arms above his head and did tiny arm-circles to loosen up his back.
Camus followed suit before stretching out his fingers. "I'm still mad at Theresa," he stated. He now squeezed his hands tightly. "I don't know if I could restrain myself if I saw her again."
"Is that the reason why you aren't dating right now?" blurted Miklotov before he thought. He covered his mouth in embarrassment. Now if my mouth didn't run away at the worst times... Though he was expressing something that he had wondered about for the past two weeks. Two weeks without a single date, nor even a word about a girl, was a bit strange for Camus, considering the previous trend. To him, it seemed like Camus was almost trying to compensate for the incident. Miklotov always insisted that Camus hadn't done anything wrong, but Camus seemed to feel guilty nonetheless.
"What?" Camus said before shaking his head. "No, that's not why." Then what is? Miklotov watched as Camus stretched his neck and tapped his own fingers in thought. Finally Camus spoke. "Can't I spend some quality time with you without any other reason besides I want to be there?" he said. Miklotov looked at him, a bit thrown off. Is he trying to change the subject or not?
Miklotov decided to throw a question back at him. "Is taking care of an injured person interesting?" Miklotov responded, figuring that Camus would respond with something witty and lighten up the mood.
"Yes, especially when I can insult him and he can't fight back," Camus replied, smirking. Despite the knowledge that something like that would come from Camus's lips, Miklotov still couldn't repress his hand from smacking Camus lightly. Camus yelped, and Miklotov smirked in victory. Though he knew that Camus wouldn't let him get away with that.
Just then Camus hit him back just as hard in his right arm. "Hey!" Miklotov shouted. He rubbed the spot with annoyance. Camus smiled.
"Got you!" he said. Then returning to the previous conversation, he added, "Plus, you're more exciting then any girl I've met."
"Oh…" Miklotov muttered unintentionally. He thought of how Theresa said he was boring even though she smiled at him the whole time.
"Don't worry about what Theresa said," Camus said, reading Miklotov's thoughts by the darkening of his eyes. "There are plenty of other girls out there," he assured Miklotov. Miklotov couldn't help but hear the word "girls" repeated over in his head. Why girls?
"Girls…" Miklotov groaned, trying to stop that word from cycling in his head. He didn't realize that he had muttered that aloud until he noticed Camus staring at him.
"What's wrong with girls?" Camus wondered. Miklotov scratched his head. What was he thinking about, anyway? You don't want to tell Miklotov that you don't really like girls, do you? Miklotov wanted the debate in his head to stop for now, so he decided on a plain response.
"Nothing," he said nonchalantly, though it probably looked suspicious to Camus, because he didn't waste the opportunity to prod further.
"Hey, Mik, I'm your friend now. You're supposed to tell me everything," Camus whined. Miklotov tried his best to avoid telling Camus, because it was a secret.
The perfect idea popped up in his head, and Miklotov didn't hesitate to use it as a distraction. "You haven't redeemed yourself yet," he said, smirking.
"Oh," Camus replied, his face falling. Miklotov felt guilty for not telling Camus what bothered him, but he figured that he would tell Camus soon enough if that look stayed on his face. Though he knew that beneath that "sad" face, Camus was plotting something. It didn't take long for that to happen. Suddenly Camus was on his knees, his head bent towards the ground. "Oh, Miklotov. Please forgive me!" he cried with fake emotion. "I'll be your slave for another week if you want me to…"
Miklotov laughed at Camus. "You liked being my slave," he said, interrupting Camus.
Camus was silent for a few seconds, but soon another idea entered his head. "Uh…how about this. I'll give you back massages and tuck you into bed…" he said.
"Camus!" Miklotov exclaimed, pretending to look hurt. Camus was surprised at the sight before Miklotov continued, "You're looking for an excuse to attack me." Miklotov smirked knowing that he had used Camus's previous comment against him.
Camus wasn't going to stop there, however. "I'll polish your sword so that it looks as good as mine…" he proposed.
"Now you are just insulting me. Forgive you indeed…" Miklotov huffed, pretending to be mad. Camus kept looking at him with a childish pouting expression, and Miklotov almost fell for the trap. Those eyes…they're pretty… Miklotov was so relieved that Camus didn't hear that thought. It would have made this whole verbal battle a waste.
Miklotov turned away from Camus and admired the peaceful sight of grass being blown in the wind. I wish life was as simple as this. He didn't know how much time had passed, but he guessed that it was nearing supper time. Standing up, he glanced at Camus, who had followed suit and was brushing off his pants.
"Let's go back for now," Miklotov said, picking up his bag. Camus, however, grabbed his arm and prevented him
"You never told me what was wrong," Camus said. Miklotov looked down at his feet, feeling bad. Of course Camus would have remembered something like this. He knew he shouldn't run, but he didn't like being unprepared like he felt now. But would it matter? If Camus was his friend, he wouldn't mind aimlessly rambling and confusion, would he? He'd probably help…
Still, Miklotov felt unsure about telling Camus. "Well, don't tell anyone else, okay?" he whispered finally.
"I promise," Camus assured him. He let go of Miklotov's hand, knowing that Miklotov could run, but also that Miklotov would stay anyway.
"Well, I'm beginning to think that I'm not interested…in girls," Miklotov admitted. Camus looked shocked, and Miklotov felt a blush about to spread across his cheeks.
"Don't tell me that Theresa…" he began, but Miklotov cut him off with a wave of his hand. He stared at Camus and pleaded for him to understand. "I'm sorry," apologized Camus as soon as he realized that Miklotov had thought about this for a while.
"I just can't understand what's so attractive about them," Miklotov began. "I mean, I don't go for the body, and I rather not here their fake, high-pitched voices…"
Camus interrupted, saying, "But girls are much kinder than us. They're innocent and loyal…"
"Aren't you?" Miklotov said, cutting Camus off. Miklotov sort of expected Camus to react this way to his previous statement, but he had secretly wished that Camus would have been less attached to the greatness of women.
"Huh?" Camus muttered, having lost his train of thought after being so inconveniently stopped. Miklotov took this opportunity to continue what he was saying before.
"Men can be just like women," Miklotov added. "They're usually stronger, braver, and honorable." Remembering the knights who beat him up, he clarified, "Well at least most of the knights are." He paused to breathe. "I just find myself more likely to…fall in love with one of them, if I use the correct words," he concluded.
Camus seemed to understand, but then his next statement took Miklotov aback. "Are you sure you're going to completely rule out women?" he said. "I mean, there's nothing wrong with liking both…"
"I already have someone in mind," Miklotov confessed involuntarily. He covered his mouth, but he couldn't retract his words.
"Really? Who is it?" Camus wondered.
"Uh…" Miklotov began. He blushed, knowing that he could not wheedle himself out of this one. "Well, I don't really like him in that way," he said, "but he is the model for someone I would want."
Camus stared at him, not satisfied with the answer. Miklotov had given himself a bit more time to think, which he spent wondering how Camus would react. What if Camus didn't like the answer? What would happen to their friendship? He saw horror creep over Camus's face at the realization that his friend was in love with him romantically. Wait, did he just imply that he loved Camus in that way? Miklotov didn't know if he did, but it could clearly be implied…and Camus tended to be a bit quick to conclude things.
Camus was still staring at him when the words formed. Ever so slowly he supplied the air to his vocal chords, to speak those words that were so simple to say at any other time. With a deep breath, Miklotov looked Camus in the eye and said, "It's you."
Not waiting to see the response, Miklotov sprinted back to Rockaxe and hoped Camus wouldn't catch up with him anytime soon.
To be continued…
