It's Up to You

We can walk, if you'd like. Or spin in circles. Either way I'm love with where we're going. Slash.

            “God the sun is hot,” I mutter hopelessly. Its UV rays are pouring down on me like they are meteors or shooting stars. I feel around the lush, green grass but come up short. “S**t,” I say , the words rubbing against my dry throat and coming out hoarse. The grass tickles my bare back and I’m sure there are ants somewhere on my clothes by now. Sweat is trickling down my neck and chest and forehead and I can feel my nose scrunching up in disgust.

            “How does Ethan stand this?”

            I sit up and look across the field at Ethan, who is marching across the parking lot with a trumpet in hand and smile on his adorable little face. He notices me looking at him and waves happily. Even in sweat and 100 degree weather he still loves that stupid trumpet.

            “Well,” I say, “At least marching band is fun for him.” I look at my watch (11:45 am) and smile as I realize there’s only 15 more minutes until Ethan gets done and I can get some water.

            I look back at Ethan, who’s standing next to Tom, twirling his trumpet around and laughing about something. He’s red in the face from marching out in the heat, his strawberry blonde hair clung to his forehead (it curled slightly at the ends from the sweat), and his eyelids kept fluttering closed as his eyelashes tried to distract the sweat from his eyes. I blush.

 

            “Come on Fraizer!” Ethan whines as I lag behind. Why is it that he never uses nicknames for anyone? I shake that thought off as a tiny girl with red hair bumps into my leg. I walk away quickly before apologizing.

            I dislike crowds and places with crowds, like amusement parks or school. Especially the mall, which is why I was silently cursing Ethan to the heavens (because I loved him too much to curse him to hell) as he pulled me along the crowded mall and into the food court. His hand was sweaty from marching band and holding his trumpet in the summer heat, but I held on none-the-less.

Ethan stops at the first ice-cream place we see (Coldstone) and order two Chocolate Devotions in a cup, because cones were useless in the summer-too messy. He lets go of my hand to pay for them while I grab the two cups, and I can see the kid behind the counter glare at us.

I was still trying to get used to all the stares and glares Ethan and I produced. I still get offended whenever people (especially other guys) called Ethan and I ‘f*****s’ and ‘gay’. Last I checked, a f****t was a bundle of sticks and gay meant happy. If they were going to call us names they had better get their facts straight.

Ethan grabs my hand again, either ignoring or oblivious to the looks the kid was giving. He leads me to an empty table near the edge of the food court. We sit down and I can feel Ethan’s long legs pushing up against my average-length ones and I blush absent-mindedly.

“So, how did we sound? And look? Doing pretty good this year?” Ethan asks, his legs constantly rubbing against mine as it bounces up and down and smiling awkwardly.

“You guys sound great,” I say. “The flutes were a bit late getting to the last set, but other than that. Great.”

He smiles widely. “Great? Cool! I have a good feeling about this year.”

“That’s good,” I say.

A moment of silence. “Fraizer?”

I look up at him with concern. He had said my name with such an intense emotion I couldn’t quite place, when he normally says it with a light-hearted joking feel.

I decide not to say anything and just wait for him to finish. He grabs my gaze and no matter how hard I try to look away, he keeps it. Finally he smiles and the seriousness is gone, like a balloon floating out of the hands of a child. “Nothing, he says.

I raise an eyebrow slowly. “What was that about?”

Ethan shrugs nonchalantly. “Nothing.”

“Quit saying that.”

“Saying what?”

“Saying nothing.”

“I’m talking though.”

“No, the word ‘nothing’. Stop saying it.”

“Why?”

“Because!” I whine.

He laughs, probably to make the situation less awkward.

I lick a spoonful of my chocolate ice-cream innocently. Ethan is fidgeting slightly, his legs keep bouncing and his fingers are tapping out rhythms and his head is bobbing almost discreetly, but then he grabs my hand from across the table and every movement, everything, stops. He acted as if I was some kind of reliever of stress, which scared me a tad. I run my open hand through my hair (this week it is brown) and smile nervously up at him.

A group of guys our age walk past us with their girlfriends. We pass the gaze of one of them and he stops to look at our enclosed hands gingerly. He begins to laugh, a cruel laughter trying to get us to break, before he points and yells, “F**s!”. Ethan ignores him, but I can feel his hand tense around mine.

The guy doesn’t leave. He stands there as if everyone cared about our boy and boy relationship, but hardly anyone was looking or laughing but him and his friends. Finally Ethan gets fed up with it and stands up, grabbing our trash and going to throw it away. I stand up and push past the guys, being sure to keep my gaze away from theirs.

“Freak,” one of them says in my ear when I pass them. “Stay out of the public.”

I stop and turn toward, catching a glimpse of Ethan by the trash can, waiting. His arms are trembling and I can tell he’s scared of what these guys can do to hurt us. “I’ll go wherever the hell I want to, so you can turn your a*s around and head back home with your s****y-a*s friends,” I say calmly, not showing any anger and acting as if I was having a completely normal conversation with him. I don’t stay around to see his face or to hear his smart-a*s remarks; I turn back around and walk over to Ethan, slipping my hand into his. He smiles at me as we walk away.

“You didn’t have to say anything. There’s just immature anyways,” he says quietly as we walk into a pet store and play with the puppies.

I shrug. “They deserved it.” I wanted to tell him that I wanted to prove myself to him, that I did it because I wanted him to be happy, but my emotions most often come up short.

“I don’t really mind it. At least, not when I’m with you.” He bends down to place a kiss on the top of my head. “I only care what you think of me.”

I blush. Why was Ethan so easy going when it came to spilling his guts? Why couldn’t I be like him?

“I love you,” he says after a moment. I stretch my toes and reach up to place a gentle kiss on his lips, though I don’t really need to stand on my tippy-toes.

“I love you too,” I finally say. 

Author's Note

Written for TransparentHearts, though it is EXTREMELY late. I was gone all weekend and I've had band rehearsal and a band competition and ugh! My schedule is so busy, but it's here now.