Philosophy, task 2: Write about being freed from something
For my lovely Lo-tato Chip.
Word Count: 552
Dudley can still feel the weight of hatred and shame wrapping around his insides and squeezing him. For a moment, he forgets how to breathe as he looks into Piers' dark eyes.
"Well? Come on; spit it out," Piers huffs impatiently as he folds his thin arms over his chest. Though the rest of his face is a mask of annoyance, Dudley can see the curiosity swimming in his eyes.
Christ! Why is this so hard? He opens his mouth, but the words seem to stick in his throat, choking him. His coughs and scrubs a pudgy hand through his tidy blond hair. "I…"
He can't remember the last time he's been so afraid. The palms of his trembling hands are slick with sweat. His stomach twists itself into a thousand painful knots, and he has to swallow hard to keep the acidic remains of his breakfast from snaking its way up his esophagus.
How could he not be terrified? He's spent his whole life learning that being different is wrong, that anything sort of funny is punishable with a beating. His fists have exacted swift justice after swift justice, all because a kid had been different.
Ironic, Dudley thinks as he wrings his hands together and fails to steady his nerves with a deep breath.
He's spent years as a bully. Maybe there will always be a part of him that's afraid of the unusual, that's always ready to fight. Is this enough to change that?
With another shaky breath, he forces his attention back to Piers. The words tumble from his lips before he can stop them, before he can consider the best way to explain it. "I fancy you."
Dudley cringes, his cheeks heating with color. He hadn't planned to be so blunt, but there's no way to take it back now. He stares at Piers, waiting for the fallout, for the world to end. His body tenses. Piers' knuckles will split his lip and blacken his eyes, and he'll deserve it for being different, for being an abomination.
"You mean… You're gay?" Piers asks, his eyes wide.
Dudley is surprised that there is no hatred in his expression—only a softness that borders on curiosity. He swallows dryly, shrugging. "I don't know," he admits with a heavy sigh. "Maybe? I… I like blokes. I know that much for sure."
It's amazing how liberating it feels just to vocalize it. He's spent so long being weighed down his own hatred and lashing out at anyone who reminded him of himself. Now, he's open and honest, and he can finally breathe again; he is free.
"I don't know if I fancy blokes or not," Piers says, raking his thin fingers through his messy chestnut hair. "But I do know that I fancy you."
Dudley acts on instinct. He doesn't even allow himself to think about what he's doing as he leans in and presses his lips to Piers'. Over the years, he has kissed his fair share of girls, but it's never felt right. This, however, feels perfect, like the universe had been created just for this kiss to happen.
"What do we do now?" Piers asks, his voice barely above a whisper.
"Chips first," Dudley says, and Piers chuckles and rolls his eyes. "After that, we'll figure it out. Together."
