Page 19 of Flagrant Foul
He’s sitting exactly where he was before, but he’s sunk down a little to make himself more comfortable. His feet are bare, crossed at the ankle. One foot is still and the other moves briskly from side to side. Almost like a dog wagging its tail.
I don’t particularly relish the idea of having to ask him for bedding, but neither do I love the thought of sleeping without it. A faint hint of mirth near the corners of his eyes makes the decision for me.
“Yup. Sure did.” If he’s disappointed that I’m not stooping to ask him for bedding, he manages to hide it. “What’s for dinner?”
“Gee, sorry, Mister Delorean, I didn’t realize that in addition to providing four walls and a roof over your head, I’d be doing all the catering.”
“I meant, what do you feel like?” I lie. “I’m cooking.”
He doesn’t believe me, but he’s happy enough to play along to see how it plays out. “What can you make?”
“Chicken parm.”
He turns his nose up, crinkling a perfect ski slope slightly. “What else?”
“That’s all.”
He sighs and lets his gaze drift up to the ceiling. “God. I miss Leyton.”
“Leyton was a dick.”
He shrugs faintly. “At least that dick could cook.”
I can’t think how to respond, not least because I’ve hit my maximum limit of soft focus for the day and tiny pixels are falling into place all over Teddy’s face. His complexion is brightening. The whites of his eyes are whiter than white. His teeth too. His lips are dark pink and his eyes are so blue my spinal column feels like it’s been dipped in acid.
I look at him and think the same thing I’ve thought for years every single, solitary time this happens.
Why’d you have to go and look like that?
As always, since I can’t ask the question aloud, there’s no answer forthcoming.
To distract myself, I attempt to make conversation. “So what, are you just going to spend your life trying to make things as awkward as possible the whole time I’m here?”
He turns his head dismissively to face the TV, leaving me hanging for so long that I almost give up waiting for an answer and start trying to cook something that isn’t chicken parm.
A millisecond before I move, he blitzes me with a blinding smile. “I’m gonna try.”
I hold eye contact and let his smile wash over me despite the fact that it isn’t a warm one. It isn’t even a friendly one. It’s the opposite of those things. I don’t know if I mean to do it, but I might because even though it’s better for everyone concerned when he smiles at me like this, I miss the old days. When smiles were warm and games between us didn’t exist.
It starts as a measured quirk of my lips that matches his exactly. His stays firmly in place, but mine spreads. I feel the tug of it at the center of my top lip. The pull asmy cheeks bunch. As it happens to me, the same thing happens to him. I watch like a boy in the front row of a magic show as a gentle line forms on his right cheek and others crease near the corners of his eyes.
That’s not the magic trick. It’s close, but not quite.
The magic happens when electric blue softens. Acid is neutralized and good things, soft things, flow from him to me.
It almost takes my knees out.
There he is. The sweet boy who used to follow Nate and me everywhere.
No matter how prickly or spiteful he’s been, when he smiles at me like this, none of it matters. Time doesn’t matter. When I see him like this, I don’t see bad things. I don’t even feel like I’m a bad thing.
When I see him like this, I see him as he was. As he is.
A sweet boy. A soft boy. A boy I want to protect.
10
Sev Delorean
