Say Uncle

The college town of Ruston, LA was already well into its morning by eight o'clock. Today was an especially lethargic one, as heavy blue-gray clouds obstructed the sun, leaving not a single gap for which to shine through. It was quite humid, as well, and it was recommended by an overenthusiastic DJ to dress for warm weather. Sleep-deprived students, who practically dominated the town's populace, were dragging their asses to their class, while others still snored away in the dorms.

Nola Tucker's morning proceeded as usual.

She woke to her boyfriend heading out to his morning classes and intercepted him with a brief peck on the lips. He smiled into the kiss and combed his fingers through her hair.

“Morning, Kyle,” she slurred, still half asleep.

“Sorry, babe, gotta run; 'm already late,” he caught her lips again, “are we still on for movie night?”

“How's Up! sound?”

“You always liked kid movies,” Kyle snickered as he pet her head fondly, “Up! it is. Now I gotta get a move on; you tell that Sal to behave himself, alright?” Double checking his pocket for his keys, he jogged out of the apartment.

Nola, on the other hand, froze at the mention of 'kid movies'. She took in a sharp breath as she remembered something. She could clearly feel her heart hammer in her chest. Biting her lip when she saw he had already left, she rushed out the catch him before he hit the stairs.

But he was already out of sight.

Nola lingered for a moment before sighing, then she plodded back into the apartment and cut to the bathroom. In the mirror, she took a good, hard look at herself. Her long, auburn hair was slightly tangled and she noted that she had forgotten to scrub off her signature firetruck red lipstick and smoky eyes the night before.

Nola touched up her makeup slightly, much too lazy to do it all over again, and pinned up her bangs. Taking a short glance around the bathroom, her eye fell on the stack of towels on the counter. She felt tempted to reach under it for the object of her nervousness; a reminder that this was really happening. But in the end, she resisted.

“Tch.”

Nola ventured to the kitchen, digging through the cabinets for a granola bar. Munching on it, she allowed herself to think while subconsciously stroking her belly with her thumb.

How Kyle was going the news, she didn't know. He was an all around good guy, but he had problems committing to major changes in his lifestyle or relationships. It had been a big deal just for Nola to move in with the guy, and now this … she didn't have a good feeling about it.

Despite all the possible outcomes — good and bad — Nola was set on telling him tonight over the movie, and until then, she wouldn't allow herself to mull over it. Because if she did, there was no doubt in her mind she'd chicken out.

Nodding in finality, she polished off the bland bar and, after pulling on a pair of denim shorts and a baggy sweatshirt, strolled out of the apartment with her purse and arms swinging widely. Doing this has always cheered her up, and she really needed that boost. Speaking of boosts, there was only one person she'd rather see at the moment.

It was around eleven when Nola arrived at her best friend's dorm room. On the way there, many of the guys on his floor greeted her with hugs and playful comments. They were more than used to the auburn-haired woman by now, since she'd been invading Sal's dorm for far over a year now. When the herd of college boys eventually dispersed, she adjusted the two plastic bags full of salad stuffs and Powerade ZERO within her hand and let herself in with her own copy of his key.

Upon entering, she found everything to be in order. The order of the room made it obvious that an artist occupied it. One of the four walls were completely plastered with magazine clippings, sketches, Polaroids, and video game posters. On his desk and across the hardwood floor, were mounds upon mounds of sketchbooks and literature. There was a drawing table in the corner, and a futon under the wide window. And like any other college boy, Sal had quite the habit of leaving shit around, most of which being empty ramen cups, bottles, and a pair of SpongeBob boxers.

Taking in the smell of charcoal and paint, she set the bags down in the tiny kitchen area and backtracked, spotting Sal.

He, in all his lean Italian glory, was curled up in his mismatched Pokemon bedsheets and plaid blanket. His wavy black hair — that could use a cut, Nola might add — was strewn about his pillow. In his heavily tattooed arms, he gripped a huge, worn out teddy bear that, Sal had been embarrassed to admit, he'd slept with since he was just a boy.

Barely managing to avoid stubbing her toe on a Buddha figurine, she leaned over her best friend, petting his dark hair fondly.

“Sal, wake up, doll,” she hummed.

Moaning into the fur of his bear, he wound into himself further. Nola, as persistent as ever, merely grinned and steadied her feet. With a might war call, she pounced...

and tickled him.

Sal startled, gave a strangled mixture of a laugh and a yelp and proceeded to beat his assailant over the head with a tissue box. Nola giggled and went for behind his knees, his most sensitive spot, to which he respond by squirming and laughing harder.

Nola let him go when there was a banging on the wall from Sal's neighbors. His chest heaved as he gulped for air, propping on his elbows. The Italian didn't have to look to know who it was, since he already had a good idea. Who else had the balls to break into his dorm room (well, sort of) and tickle him awake. Not many people, he'd have you know.

Sal sat up and whined. “Nola, you bitch.”

Giggling at the grouchy look on his face, she rolled off the bed, “You love me.”

“Unfortunately,” he rubbed his face tiredly, “why'd you wake me up so fuckin' early?”

She deadpanned. “It's nearly lunch.”

After a brief staring contest, he sighed and stretched in defeat. Just when he finally had some time off of classes, Nola had to go and ruin it. Oh, how he'd like to curl back up and sleep 'til four. But, obviously, that just wasn't going to happen.

“Go make me some ramen, would you, caro?”

“No way, babe. You eat too much of that shit. Ya gotta eat good—which is why I've come in peace, human, with offerings of leafy green salad. I have heard it is very foreign among you odd college men.”

Sal rolled his eyes. Nola was such a case.

“Lots of egg whites?”

Nola grinned ear to ear. “Plenty.”

“None of those crunchy little bastards?”

“Yeah, babe. I even kicked a bag of 'em for you. I got some weird looks.”

He grunted in amusement. “Nice, let's do it.”

And so, they made the long, treacherous journey across fields of random articles of clothing, canvasses, and miscellaneous paraphernalia of interest — which, unsurprisingly, was not much of a exaggeration; even Sal had to admit the place was a danger zone. Presently, Sal was hunched over the makeshift kitchenette in his single dorm room with a pout with Biggie, the bear, sitting on the stool beside him. He was lazily tossing pieces of lettuce in a bowl. Nola had scolded him earlier for not first washing his hands, and laughed when he promptly went to sulking.

“Alright, hands out.” She swatted his hand with a spoon, and he growled.

Sal yanked them out, flinging a leaf of lettuce in the process, but he couldn't bring himself to care. Nola added everything else in and poured a generous amount of Italian dressing over the top. The naturally tanned man, still in nothing but one of his many pairs of laughable boxers, studied Nola's face over the bottle. She was calm, smiling slightly, but there was something else he couldn't place.

Nola was slightly startled to see Sal squinting at her suspiciously.

“What is it, doll?” She covered her ass with a grin and joked, “I swear I didn't sneak any croutons in.”

“Yeah, whatever …”

His face softened, but he didn't let go of that feeling. As they munched on their slightly soggy salad, sipped on ZERO, and passed playful and grumpy (of course, on Sal's side) banter across the table. He told her about his latest boy toy, whom he found extremely annoying because he just wouldn't shut the fuck up, his recent projects, and Nola nearly killed herself laughing trying to explain a ridiculous commercial she had seen on TV. As usual, she was easily amused; Sal didn't it deserved more than a chuckle, which he had given.

“Hey, Sal?”

He looked at her, a bushy eyebrow raising. She was staring awfully hard at the table and her jaw was clenched.

“ … Yeah?”

There was a weighty silence, before Nola laughed and shook her head.

“Forget it, it's not too important.”

“Nola.”

“Forget it.”

“Nol—,” she cut him off, speaking in a firm voice that promised nothing good for the Italian.

“Sal. Forget it.”

Sal glared at her stubbornly. Nola didn't get this way often, and when she did, she was seriously thinking of something trifling. And even then, she would rant to him (and often, annoy him to the extent where he'd attempt to kick her out). It had to be something pretty serious for her to keep her mouth shut. As he watched her immediately snap back to normal, feeding him a piece of tomato, Sal frowned deeply.

This would not turn out well. But for now, he just wanted to enjoy his salad. Well as best he could. He scrunched his nose — leafy bastard.