xX... just a teensy weensy Deamus-Drabble. you understand, of course. ...xX
"Fat."
He slaps his NOT-FAT stomach.
"Fat fat fat fat fat!"
The slaps have created a rhythm. drumlike, almost. With... fleshy undertones.
"Am I-?" he turns around.
I don't even have to look up. I just continue to nibble away at my fingernail as I leaf through a textbook, looking for an elusive answer.
"No." I say.
And it's actually the truth. I usually lie a lot. Well, about stuff like this. It was sort of a problem middle of 3rd year. When I ended up leading a hopeless Hufflepuff on. I like it, though. There's a comfort in it. Lying that is, not leading Hufflepuff's on. God no. Lord have mercy.
"Are you sure?" He says, picking his nose but pretending to scratch it.
He should know better. I've known him too long.
"Positive" I say, scribbling an answer down. My sleeve drags across the parchment. It smudges.
"Fuck"
I immediately regret this choice of expletive.
The reason why:
I take a long drag. Exhaling slowly. It hurts at first, but it's ok... in fact, it feels wonderful. I try to make rings. But I can't. I pass the joint to Seamus. He doesn't TRY to make rings. He DOES make rings. Brilliant. I applaud. My head feels like it's filled with stuffing.
"Shhhhhhhhh... Seamus?"
I giggle. He giggles. We giggle.
"Yeah man?"
"I like boys."
"Duh"
"Oh."
"Have you fucked one?"
"Seamus!"
I giggle. He giggles. We giggle.
"Are you gunna?"
"I dunno. Maybe"
"Hahah you fuck blokes! That's awesome"
The take another hit.
Hence the reason why, now, any time I use the word "fuck" it is free game for Seamus to torment me re: my sexual preference which is a) none of his business b) not relating to my choice of the word FUCK anyway and c) my business you tard!
"Not now Dean!"
"Shut up," I throw my shoe at him.
"You shut up!" He squeals and,
before you know it-
We're making out.
KIDDING.
That was a total jay-play.
It must've been my imagination taking over.
In actuality, this occurred:
"Don't throw your shoe at me!"
"Fuck you!"
"Not again, Dean! I'm still sore!"
"Oh stop being such an immature prat!"
"Fag!"
"Douche!"
"Homo!"
"HomoER!"
"Queer!"
"Beautiful!"
And then we DO make out.
It's unexpected. I just sorta do it.
I never thought I had it within me, I was always so terrified of the male body. But I find myself kissing him.
I pull away.
I know it's right.
I giggle. He giggles. We giggle.