And Why Are You Laughing?

Two friends, killing time together. That's all they are. That's all they've ever been, and that's all they'll ever be. That's what he tells himself on that afternoon at the park.

That's what he always tells himself, what he has to tell himself, because his friend is kind of perfect. Too cool for him to imagine as only half of anything, especially when it was something as normal and sickeningly "high school" as a first relationship. His friend is above that.

And yet, that's what the two end up talking about: who's cute and who's not, like they're on some kind of cliché TV show. It's weird, the fact that the philosophical, politically driven, outspoken kid decided to bring something as corny as this into the conversation.

He doesn't mind though. He keeps what's really on his mind under wraps and keeps the conversation, until the questions get oddly personal. The leader leans over, and so the follower leans in, wondering what he's about to hear.

Instead of words, he finds a brush of the lips.

One blushes. The other laughs.

And the first feels his mind and his heart rush into overdrive.