Puck Hartsough
The voice is familiar, of course; over the past few months, Kai has gotten to know Gia practically better than they know themself. They stop, half-turn even though they don't want to, even though they're walking away (running away) and all they want to do is go back to their room and lie in the dark and hope their roommate doesn't come back for a few hours. "Hey," they say as she catches up.
"What's wrong?" she asks. They start walking next to each other, shoulders brushing, instinctually, conditioned by their months of friendship, of being the two in the middle of the pack - not the fast walkers, not the dawdlers. Conditioned, too, by times they've walked alone, chatting or silent, on days when their ridiculously large group of friends is just a bit too loud. "Are you okay?"
"I'm fine," they say, squinting up at the sky. That's not exactly true, is it?
She sighs lightly. "No you're not."
"Why'dja ask, then?" they say, drawing a smirk onto their face. By her look, she sees through it. It's interesting - they've been doing this since high school, pasting on expressions that people want or that will get Kai what they want, and usually they're impenetrable. But not with Gia.
"You've been acting kind of off recently," she says, kicking a pebble a foot or two forward. When they reach it, Kai kicks it farther, and they start to trade off.
"I don't know," they say, wondering how to answer, because what are they supposed to say? Yes, I've been acting weird - well, weirder than normal? I know I've been pulling away a bit, I was just hoping you wouldn't notice? For a brief, heavy/light/weightless moment, they consider telling her. Talking about the past few weeks, about how her casual touches, the kisses on the cheek, the feeling of her fingers laced through theirs, have started to burn. They imagine how she'd respond - a soft, Oh, a long, awkward silence. Or immediate laughter, sweeping them into a kiss, because she doesn't do anything by halves.
The touches would change, either way. If she, miraculously, said yes, they'd get more frequent, have more meaning, maybe comfort Kai even more than they already do. But if she said no...
The backs of her fingers brush theirs, and they fight the urge to stuff their hands into their pockets. She's intuitive. She'd notice. They wait another few steps, until it won't be obvious that they're avoiding her touch, then slip their hands into their pockets, hooking their thumbs into their belt-loops.
If she said no, the touches would stop, probably cold turkey. If she said no, their friendship would likely be ruined, even if they tried to keep hold of it, because it would always be there, hovering in the back of their minds, keeping her from opening herself, keeping them from asking for anything. And their other friends? If it went really badly, it could tear all of them apart. All Kai wants, really, is to keep everything the way it's been, because they are happy, so happy, with everyone just the way they are, and they just want everyone else to be happy too.
"I guess I'm just stressed about finals," they say, a thousand words crowded on the roof of their mouth.
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Puck Hartsough is, above all things, completely unsure of anything in the world except for their appreciation for writing, reading, music, theatre, and bees. They hope you enjoyed this piece.