Linger On

“Oi.”

I turn to the side to look at him. It’s somewhat irritating to be called in such a manner but right now, I don’t really mind. He’d usually call me by my nickname, or just simply say “oi” like now, just like the rest of my friends (though there was one instance when he called me by my name but it was probably just a fluke). I go back to looking on ahead.

“What now?” I ask him, telling him that I’m listening. I bet it’s something about school and homework. It always has been like that. He always seems to ask about useless things these days but its fine; I’m used to it.

“What happened during class this morning?”

But why do I care anyway? He is just a friend who happens to be like a brother to me. In fact, I’d probably want him as a brother than the ones I’m currently living with. I roll my eyes at his question.

“Nothing really. Just a bit of exercises here and there,” I answer, refusing to look at him. It’s hard to look at a person in the eyes, and these days, I think it’s harder for me to just look straight at him. If I look at him too much, I end up staring and shying away, making it very weird and awkward for me. Just like now as I watch him take off his glasses to wipe his face with a handkerchief from my peripheral vision. I look away before he could even have a chance to catch me.

“Why do you bother asking anyway? You don’t go to class anymore,” I continue. He refuses to go to class, already accepting that he will fail. Why bother when you already know the end result? But personally, I wish he wouldn’t just give up like that. Then again, who am I to say? It’s his decision and I shouldn’t care.

He answers with a shrugs, a habit he got from a friend when there’s nothing left to say. I wish he didn’t do that though. It’s hard to fill in awkward silences, and it seems that we’ve been having a lot of those these days. So we continue to walk, going down the stairs and exiting the building underneath a somewhat painful silence and I’m torn between filling in the empty gaps and being misunderstood that I’m a bit desperate to have a conversation with him. Maybe, just maybe, I am.

Usually I’d just annoy the heck out of him by poking him, calling him fat, pointing at his fats, but right now, whenever I do that, he sees through me and he finds out more and more. I know he’s not stupid; I know he knows. So I try holding the urge to just play around with him like we usually do. Then again, I know he’ll mistake it for me flirting with him like he always hints that I do.

We continue walking towards the gate as he reaches out for his phone and starts texting, probably to ask the others were they are. Even the thought of me flirting with him sickens me, makes me shiver. I’m sure he feels the same way too since he seems to always remind me with his half-meant jokes. Even around friends, when it’s so obvious that they’re pestering me about him, he doesn’t It’s his indirect way of saying…

Well, I’m not so sure now. Is he saying that I should leave him alone and stop pestering him with my touchy-feely attitude? Sometimes he confuses me with his indifference, acting like he doesn’t know anything and doesn’t even bother to care. Or probably I’m making this a big deal.

“So where are you going?” he asks, an attempt to cut away at the thickening atmosphere. Yes, maybe I’m just thinking about this too much. Probably he’s being nice, playing along with my games just so not to humiliate me any further since around half of the class knows of my predicament. He’s being a good friend.

“The usual,” I say, giving him a shrug. This situation is getting really awkward. Thankfully, we’re near the gate. “So where are you going?” I ask. He usually doesn’t follow me all the way to the gate.

“I’m gonna eat. Wait, hold this.” He hands out his envelope to me and ties his red sneakers while I watch him.

“Eww, your fats are showing. You’re going to get fatter I swear,” I tease him, pointing at his growing belly that’s beginning to show through his black shirt. He stands up and scrunches his face. I can never seem to hold my urge after all.

“Oh yeah? Well, you’re a whale,” he answers back as he tries to grab his envelope from me. I step on his feet, dirtying his already dirty shoes, and I move the envelope away from him as I laugh, letting him reach for it until he grabs the sides with his hands. It’s always fun to do these things with him, as if things were not so complicated about my thoughts on him that picks at me now and again.

Then his hand accidentally touches my fingertips. I feel my forehead sweating already, his fingers still lingering there, as if trying to entwine onto my own fingers. I immediately pull away before he could even successfully link one of our fingers together. I look at him and turn away. Is he mocking me? He’s looking at me with that indifferent look, as if he didn’t know what I thought about him, as if it wasn’t awkward enough when he looks straight into my eyes like he can see right through me. But, there’s something different about that look today. It’s as if…

He finally grabs the plastic envelope before I could make anything out of it, my limp hands not refusing to give it to him. “Where are you gonna eat?” I ask suddenly, turning away from his gaze, my face feeling very warm already. I should act normal, like nothing happened. He’s probably playing tricks on me, or maybe it was just an accident, or maybe ten more reasons as to what happened just a while ago. I don’t want to read on it too much. He might think I’m crazy.

“Dunno. I’ll probably just eat fries or something,” he replies. We start walking again, the sound of our feet meeting the marbled floor echoes throughout the building only to be drowned by the constant noise of other students. The silence is not as deafening as before but the atmosphere between us is as thick. I don’t have time to be uncomfortable, my thoughts turning to that moment wherein our hands almost linked together. It was strange and nice yet, I know that it’s still wrong. I wonder what he thinks about this. Then again, I bet he’ll even deny it.

We reach the end of the gate. I stop walking and he continues on walking. “I’ll see you in class later,” I call out. He waves back, still walking on. I stand leaning on a pole, staring at his back as long as possible until he disappears into the crowd.

The sun shines, barely touching the tips of my sneakers, reaching out to me. I continue to lean on the pole for support, watching the other end of the street and waiting. I get impatient, the sun already devouring my feet as I reach for my cell phone inside my bag only to find it empty; no new messages, no missed calls. I put it back in my bag. I can never seem to stand for too long in the heat.

Arms wrap around my waist and a kiss plants itself onto my head. I lean against the warmth at my back, giving out a little smile as I do so.

“You’re late as usual,” I sigh. I turn my head to see his hazel colored eyes staring back at me and his face with an apologetic smile. He lets me turn around to face him and, once I do so, he tightens the embrace. He’s wearing his usual black shirt, pants, and black sneakers, and I realize that I’m wearing the same.

“Sorry,” he chuckles back. He knows I never get mad at him. I can never seem to do so. I chuckle back, returning his hug. We separate and continue to walk side by side, his slightly calloused but soft hands finding my own. I can’t help but think that this hand that’s now softly squeezing mine feels similar to the fingers that lingered just a moment ago.

A/N: For those who finished the whole story, I congratulate you. I know it’s a little bit boring and all…I was wrestling with my writer’s block. At any rate, please do comment. Much love to you all. hugs