Ezra
“You’re such a complainer,” I muttered, working on the second knot with the heel of one hand and the fingertips of the other. “Can you complain about something that’s not me, for once?”
I didn’t expect Josh to actually reply to that, so I was genuinely surprised when he said, “It’s the middle of October and I don’t have a Halloween costume, plus the student event council hasn’t announced the Halloween party and I’m worried that it’s going to be a flop like last year’s.”
“Oh. Brace yourself for a second, by the way, this one’s tougher than the other one.” He put his hand in his mouth, and while I winced at the idea of biting my own fingers, I went ahead and went through with the particularly harsh push. Once it was over, I gently rubbed the spot so that it wouldn’t be so bad. “If it makes you feel better, I don’t have a costume either.”
He removed his hand from his mouth. I saw the imprint of his teeth. “That should make me feel better?”
“I don’t know.” I went back to massaging the knot out. It was oddly calming to do this. I had forgotten the fact that it was soothing for both parties involved. “We could go as each other.”
“What?”
“I dress up in your letterman jacket, put on a backwards baseball cap and some basic-white-boy blue jeans, you borrow one of my hoodies and I give you some fake piercings and black makeup.” I paused. “We have petty arguments all night, but I’m ‘Josh’ and you’re ‘Ezra’.”
“That’s a stupid idea.”
I frowned and dug the heel of my hand into the knot again, hard. He yelped. Serves you right.
“But,” he added, slowly, “I don’t have a better one. Let’s do it.”
“Sweet.” I finished with the knot and rubbed both of the spots gently. “Sorry if it bruises, I’m out of practise.”
“I’ll be fine,” he assured me, though he had a wince when I climbed off. He sat up and stretched. “I feel better, though, thanks.”
“You’re welcome. Take a shower or you’re going to ruin the next shirt you put on.” I handed him the shirt that he’d taken off. “You can wear this again, I’m sure.” I pushed him into the bathroom and closed the door behind him, feeling only a little embarrassed about what had just happened.
I just offered my roommate-- who hates me, I'm sure of it-- a massage. He actually accepted said massage. And now, he's showering in our bathroom. And I'm blushing like an idiot. Goddammit, Ezra! I slapped myself across the face. You're a total ignoramus, I told myself.
I tried to get my wits about me while Josh showered, wiping my slick hands off on my shirt and putting away the phial of massage oil. I changed back into my sweater and climbed back into my own bed, picking up my book and eyeing Josh's side of the room with a sort of sickening, confusing wonder.
What had possessed me to do that? Had Josh enjoyed it? Dear god, had I-- possibly, impossibly-- enjoyed it? Why had it felt like we were finally getting along? Had we been getting along?
All of those questions and more flitted through my mind as I tried and failed to read through my novel. I had probably read the same sentence thirty times without knowing what it said by the time that Josh came out of the bathroom, hair soaking and a towel around his neck.
The look I had on my face when I saw him must've been strange, because he beelined for me and put a hand to my forehead, asking, "Do you need to lie down?"
I shook him off. His skin was burning, or maybe mine was, I couldn't tell. I felt odd. I didn't know how I felt.
I wanted him to leave. I wanted to leave, myself.
I went for the latter option, bolting from the room without even putting shoes on, and sliding down the hallway to Mark and Tommy's dorm room.
I slammed their door open without knocking. The view I was greeted with was of Mark pulling Tommy's shirt off, but I didn't comment on it. I'd seen weirder from them, in only a week. It was a true feat of magic, that.
"I couldn't ignore him," I announced with zero context.
Mark, throwing Tommy's shirt to the side and leaving his redheaded companion unabashedly half-dressed, pulled me into the room and shut the door behind me, not unlike a reverse-what-I-had-done-to-Josh.
"Spill," he commanded, sitting on his bed and pulling Tommy in with him.
I sat on Tommy's bed, which looked flawless next to the... nest that Mark had managed to turn his into. "So, he comes home from practise, right? And he's acting all sore, like something hurts, so I ask him if he's okay, and I dunno why, but he tells me that no, everything actually hurts. And my big brother used to do sports-- the one with kids? Yeah, the only big brother I have. So, my brother taught me how to give massages so that I could help him with stuff like that, sore muscles and all that. So I offer to give him a massage, and he says yes. He says yes, and so I give him a massage and we talk the entire time and now we're going to be each other for Halloween, but whatever. I finish getting the knots out of his back and I practically force him into the shower, 'cause I'm all blushy and stuff." I paused. "I'm all blushy and stuff! What's wrong with me?"
Mark and Tommy exchanged a look that I couldn't read, then Mark told me, "You're going to hate me if I tell you what I think, so I'm not going to tell you. Figure it out on your own."
I groaned. "Really, guys? You suck."
Tommy shrugged. "Whatever. So what was that about Halloween?"
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