Encoded
A/N: Schiz be Bash Slasher hardcore, but she grokkin' that not all Ducksfans is likin' the slash. Since this be so, Schiz try her hand at Bash Bro-ing. Think good, review. Think bad, review. Schiz no God, so please tell why you liked or didn't. Be sparkin' up the flames though, and Schiz come down on you like the Ice Age!
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"The men walked hand-in-hand, laughing sleepily together under blinding vertical glare. Sometimes they put their arms around each other's necks; they seemed to like to touch each other, as if it made them feel good to know the other man was there. It wasn't love; it didn't mean anything we could understand."
--from 'Journey without Maps' by Graham Greene
I like to be with Fulton, because he never expects me to say anything, you know? I mean, teachers and other adults are looking at me thinking, 'This kid's gonna be foul-mouthed and stupid'. And around my classmates and the other Ducks, I'm supposed to be cool, tough, and macho. But I can be anything around Fulton. We watch 'One Flew Over the Cuckoo's Nest' and I can get teary during the part when MacMurphy comes back after a lobotomy without worrying that Fult will think I'm a sissy. I can comment on W.H. Auden without getting a shocked, "You read poetry?" in response.
It's funny, but once after this great, hard-won victory over the Hurston Hurricanes for state, the whole Ducks team was celebrating on the ice--laughter, high fives, hugs, the whole nine. But Fulton and I got accused of being gay, just because I gave him a kiss on the forehead. People who think that, and think that it's bad or wrong besides, just don't get it. It's tough to be a guy sometimes. You gotta think up elaborate rituals and reasons so it's okay to touch another guy. Not like girls, hugging each other all the time and giving comforting pats on the arm and going to the restroom in groups.
Anyway. Coming back to my point now.
Fulton knows how to act around me, and I know how to act around him. One look at the way he's sitting, at his eyes, at the way he moves, and I can place his mood. I know that he does the same for me. Like when he asked me why I didn't come to Eden Hall at the beginning of the school year, even before I could tell him that my grandma had died, he knew that I was sad. And when I did tell, he just gave me a hug and said, "I'm here if you need me."
People had been throwing hugs on me for months, along with the it's-okays and she's-in-a-better-place-nows and (worst of all) you-can-cry-if-you-want-tos. But only Fulton's hug made me feel better. He got it. He knew that what I needed was a friend who wouldn't treat me any different because I'd lost someone I cared about.
People think that we're a pair of hockey goons, just a half-step up from Neanderthals. I've heard people dissing the playful punches and chestbutting we regularly trade as "overly violent" or "typical gorilla-jock" behavior. It's not that at all. A punch on the shoulder or a slap on the back might mean "Lighten up!" or "I'm just kidding around". And slamming our chests or knocking our helmets together makes a hell of a lot more sense to us than squealing "I'm excited!" or saying "Good job!"
Fulton and I, we're not rational people. When we fight, we fight: yelling, shoving, stomping, wrestling. We aren't even very consistent about fighting. Often, we'll both start laughing in the middle of a screaming match about leaving wet towels on the floor or bringing a girl (or girls) up to the room. Or we'll walk away, slam doors and break stuff, then come back in a half hour and talk about ordering pizza or Chinese for dinner.
Well, I guess what I'm trying to say is this: Fulton is not my friend. He's my brother, and you just can't get rid of a brother.
END