Nash didn’t know how to describe Easton’s touch. Not that he wanted to dedicate much time to thinking about it.
As winter rain enveloped their surroundings for what was likely to be just five minutes, Easton wrapped his arms around Nash’s torso and lifted him into the air. The colour of Nash’s cheeks made them look like they were actively fighting against the cold.
They were not alone, just two boys in a coed group of students waiting under the eave of the main school building. The sun had just finished rising, revealing the crisply-scented wet grass. Yellow-faced honeyeaters whistled their songs, occasionally and rudely interrupted by the boisterous laughter of the kookaburras. The school, a small collection of buildings with corrugated steel walls, had not opened yet.
‘Put me down, you moron!’
Easton obliged. He laughed before saying, ‘Sorry. I just missed you.’ His voice was high-pitched and silvery.
Nash’s cheeks seemed to think the weather had suddenly gotten even colder. The other students were staring. Of course they were, since Easton still had his arms around Nash.
With a giant scowl, Nash looked up at the taller boy with his big, dumb grin and his stupid hipsterish man bun. His cinnamon-brown wavy hair definitely never looked like it’d be soft to touch whenever he let it down. Oh, and his body spray with notes of fresh citrus and lavender? Not appealing at all.
‘You can let go now,’ Nash grumbled. Once again, Easton obliged. Well, kind of. He placed a warm hand on Nash’s shoulder.
‘I barely saw you over break. What were you up to?’ As Easton brushed his finger up and down his collarbone over his shirt, Nash started to piece together what his touch felt like. Aside from the warmth, it was soft but heavy. An image of one of those fluffy, animal-shaped heat bags dropped into Nash’s mind. ‘Nash?’
How long had he been silently thinking? ‘Uh, yeah, I was busy with homework.’
‘The whole break? Oh well, at least you’re here now.’
Nash’s ears picked up some whispers. He couldn’t hear what the students behind him were saying, only the fact that they were gossiping under their breaths. Judging by his smile and loving puppy dog eyes, Easton didn’t seem to notice.
A teacher finally walked up to the main building and unlocked it.
At lunch break, Easton was late. Something about having to talk to a teacher. It was just Nash and his other friend Colby, a short boy with curly brown hair. Now that it was sunny, they sat by one of the benches outside.
In between bites of his sandwich, Colby asked. ‘So are you and Easton, like, gay or something?’
Nash swallowed a big chunk of his own sandwich, which went down his windpipe. He went into a coughing fit.
‘You alright?’
Nash nodded, still coughing. He took a few deep breaths and managed to calm himself.
‘I’m not gay. He might be, though. He keeps touching me all the time.’
Colby smirked. ‘I noticed.’
‘It’s gross.’ Nash started throwing his hands about as he talked. ‘Has he never heard of personal space? He should know that not everyone is interested in stuff like that!’
‘If it bothers you so much, tell him.’
‘But what if he gets offended and stops wanting to hang out?’
Colby shrugged. ‘Then fuck’im.’ Colby’s cold eyes and frown reminded Nash that they used to be each other’s only friend. Easton came to the school about a month ago and immediately attached himself to Nash.
‘Fuck who?’ a familiar voice, which in no way sounded like butter, asked.
Nash flinched as he turned his head towards Easton. Colby continued eating his lunch like usual.
‘Uh, we were talking about a teacher.’
‘Oh, speaking of which, we’ve got Commerce together next, right?’
Nash sheepishly nodded. Great, another class for Easton to get all touchy-feely in. Easton sat on the bench between Nash and Colby, causing the latter to glare at him. He kept smiling, seemingly unaware.
‘Oh, Nash, you’ve got something stuck in your hair.’
Nash raised his hand to grab it but Easton was quicker, taking the leaf out. He then ruffled Nash’s hair a bit as if trying to return it to normal. Nash combed his fingers through his hair to actually return it to normal. His entire body felt like a giant heat bag had fallen onto it. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Colby smirking.
Commerce class went as expected, with Easton watching the teacher with gradually closing eyes while holding in a yawn. Nash, on the other hand, sat with a straight back and keenly listened while taking notes at the speed of a black hole eating matter. He kept his full concentration until something that felt like a heat bag fell onto his shoulder. His entire body tensed up and he whipped his head around to see a sleeping Easton.
‘The hell are you doing?’ Nash whispered, not wanting to alert the teacher. Easton didn’t respond verbally, only nuzzled his head against the shoulder. Nash sighed. He tried to pull his focus back to the lesson but that soft and heavy feel was much too distracting. Even more distracting were the hushed snickers surrounding him.
The teacher, Mr Gardner turned away from his whiteboard to ask, ‘Did my class, perhaps, get replaced with a flock of kookaburras with their syrinx removed?’ He was always like this. Nash silently wondered if he would be happier teaching biology over commerce.
Mr Gardner looked at the still asleep Easton, who now had his hands gently curled around Nash’s arm.
‘And perhaps one of my students has been replaced by a koala short of a few eucalyptus leaves,’ the teacher said.
The stares pierced Nash’s very soul. He felt like he was drowning in judgement and that, if he wanted to survive, he would have to push his way out.
He tore his arm from Easton and pushed him away. He accidentally applied so much pressure that the other boy fell off his chair. Easton’s eyes jumped open. He looked around the room in a slumber-induced daze of confusion.
‘I’m not a homo like you, so stop treating me like one!’
The room went silent. Easton couldn’t piece together what happened, only that his friend had just called him a homo. Tears pooled together in his eyes, waiting to be released.
Mr Gardner’s mouth was agape. He looked Nash up and down before staring into his eyes the way a parent would look at their delinquent child.
‘I’m afraid you’ll both have to go to the principal’s office.’
Principal King was a big, burly woman whose icy glare burned into students’ skulls. Easton kept fiddling with his shirt in his seat. At least he was keeping to himself. Nash sat with his arms crossed.
‘So, care to explain your outburst, Nash?’ Mrs King asked, her voice a cigarette smoker’s rasp.
‘He keeps touching me,’ Nash muttered.
‘Louder.’ Nash repeated himself. Mrs King turned her gaze to the other boy. ‘Without his permission, Easton?’
Easton stood up so fast it was almost like he jumped. ‘I didn’t mean anything by it! I thought I was just doing what friends do.’
‘You mean what homos do,’ Nash murmured.
King glared at him and he sunk further into his seat. ‘Nash, we won’t have any of that.’
Nash stood up. ‘He never respects my personal space. He’s always getting in my business!’
‘You could have just told me!’ Easton yelled. ‘I would have stopped if I knew I was making you uncomfortable.’
‘Well maybe you should have thought I’d be uncomfortable before grabbing me and touching my hair!’
‘Sit down!’ barked Mrs King. The two boys sat down in perfect sync. Mrs King rubbed the bridge of her nose. ‘Okay, it seems you both have things to apologise for.’
Easton gave Nash the puppy dog eyes again. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to creep you out.’
Nash was silent. Mrs King asked in a soft voice (or at least soft for her), ‘Nash, are you going to apologise?’ When Nash defiantly turned his head to the side, Mrs King said, ‘I think you both need some time to think over your actions. Maybe in detention.’
Nash turned his head back at that. ‘What? But he’s the one who was being gross!’
‘And you’re the one who won’t apologise.’
Detention took place the next lunchtime, in a classroom devoid of any posters, art pieces or any kind of colour outside of grey. It seemed that this classroom was hand-picked just to remind rule breakers that prison was a possibility for them. The room contained just Nash, Easton and a constantly yawning teacher.
The only sound to come from Easton as he sat at the desk was the crumple of paper as he furiously wrote the same phrase over and over. Nash leaned over towards Easton’s desk to read it.
I will ask permission before touching people.
Nash said, ‘You don’t need to write lines, you know. This isn’t America.’
‘I’m doing this for myself so I remember,’ Easton replied without looking up from his page.
‘I feel like you shouldn’t need a reminder.’
‘Well, it’s not like I had friends to tell me this stuff.’
‘You have… wait, what about your old school?’ Easton’s slumping body over the desk told Nash everything. ‘Sorry. And…’
Nash placed a comforting hand on Easton’s shoulder but the other boy shifted his shoulder away. Nash put his hand back in his pocket and looked at the teacher, who was now asleep.
‘Sorry for pushing you and stuff. I just… don’t like how I feel whenever you touch me.’
Easton scoffed a laugh. ‘What’s that supposed to mean?’
‘I don’t know. I just feel… weird.’
‘So, uncomfortable? Look, I’m really so-’
‘I like it.’
Before Easton could put the pieces together, he bore witness to the sight of Nash hiding in his own arms like they were shields.
Nash counted himself lucky that no one was checking his heart rate. He wished he could take those words and shove them right back in his mouth.
‘Why the hell would you like…’ The pause felt like five detentions’ worth of time. ‘...Ohhhhh. So you’re the homo, not me.’ Nash said nothing, continuing to crawl into the shelter of his own arms. ‘Kinda weird, buddy. I didn’t mean it like that. So, like, when I touched your hair yesterday, you got turned on?’
‘No!’ Nash yelped, finally lifting his head to turn it towards Easton. The teacher woke up at that and shushed the two.
‘Sorry,’ the boys said in unison.
‘It’s not like that!’ Nash claimed in a harsh whisper.
‘Sure, mate.’
Nash reached for Easton’s shoulders to shake him into being convinced, only to stop partway through upon seeing the grimace on Easton’s face and the flinching of his shoulders.
The bell to signal the end of lunchtime rang. Easton and Nash had one other class together, but they didn’t speak to each other.
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