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The muscles in his arms flexed fluidly, happy to be confronted with the challenge as he scaled the tree beside Dallas’ house. As time had passed, Malek had gotten progressively better at climbing the old pine, but he had to be careful. The boughs dipped under his weight; he didn’t want more scrapes than he already had.
Blunt fingers gripped rough bark as he paused and looked over his shoulder. One hand relinquished its grip as he angled his face towards the sky. The moon was unbelievably close. Small town perks, he supposed. No smog to blur the luminescence that was catching the planes of his face, flooding tanned skin. The stars were headlights, and he was a hopelessly fixated deer. That thought drew a humorless laugh from him. His eyes flicked away from the sky and over to the soft orange glow spilling from Dallas’ window onto a roughly shingled segment of roof. Hopelessly fixated indeed.
He brought his fingers to his cheek for a moment. In the pale light, his blood looked inky. Never was it a question of how much it would happen so much as it was how bad it would be. His aunt’s boyfriend had a temper, to put it kindly. At least this time it was just this. At least it wasn’t his ribs screaming at him as he struggled up the tree. Or his back. Malek shook his head and swung himself onto the roof with a thump. As he peered inside, he smiled and reached into the pocket of his army jacket. Deftly, his fingers flicked a cig out of the pack and lit it, bringing it up to his lips. He ignored the way his hand shook. Lungs drew in a deep breath, the end of the cigarette glowing like one of the stars above him. The trembling subsided gradually, and whether it was because of the smoke warming him or the silent scene playing out in front of him, he couldn’t tell.
Dallas was sitting cross-legged on the floor with his little sister Hazel, the pair of them laughing and wrinkling freckled noses at each other. He watched Dallas push the sleeve of his sweater back up and raise one slender finger in front of her as a speck of red wound its way around it. A ladybug, one of the many critters she had a habit of picking up. As he watched that small, quiet smile grace his lips, Malek felt himself grin broadly. Only the twinge on his cheek reminded him why he was there. Softly, he rapped the glass with his knuckles.
Hair dyed faded green flopped against Dallas’ forehead as he whirled around to look at the window, rushing to open it when he saw Malek looking in.
“Jesus christ; you almost gave me a heart attack.”
“Sorry,” he murmured, stepping in. He felt eyes catch his cheek as a hand spanned his shoulder, helping him through the window. His own gaze remained firmly fixed on green wool, waiting for him to say something.
A bundle of strawberry blonde curls, barely held back by a headband, saved him for a moment. “Ooh-ooh! Dallas’ boyfriend is here!” Her eyes sparkled as she rose her eyebrows and drew out the word “boyfriend”.
He couldn’t help but look over at him, the tops of his cheekbones darkening just barely.
Her older brother looked over his shoulder quizzically and rolled his eyes, though his shoulder rose defensively. “He’s not my boyfriend.”
“I’m telling mom.” Curls spun as she whirled around, bouncing as she half-skipped out of the room.
“Boyfr-” he started to ask, eyes widening as hands cupped his face gently. He felt something clench in his chest, lips parting as he looked down carefully. It wasn’t easy to catch him unawares. Usually it wasn’t so hard to just be his friend, to hide exactly how he felt. But now? Now it felt like he was hyperaware of every breath that passed his lips, that expanded his lungs and rose his chest under his black sweater. It felt like the stars were a hell of a lot closer, like they’d all condensed down into the person in front of him. It felt like sparks were skittering over his jawline, leaving it smarting and warm.
“What the fuck happened to you, asshole?”
He let his face be inspected: turned from left to right, tipped up and down, and then looked intently at once more for good measure. Loathe as he was to pull his head away, he stepped back. The army jacket caught the back of a desk chair as he shrugged it off and tossed it. Knees tucked against his chest, he slid to the floor and wrapped his arms around himself.
He was joined on the floor. “It was him again, wasn’t it?” His voice was like a moss-coated pebble in one of the creeks out in the woods. Soft, yet firm.
He looked away and swallowed. “I’m fine.”
“Malek-”
“I really am. ‘S not as bad as it could have been.”
The measured silence was gravid. Knowing Dallas, he was trying to decide if he should push it or not. He was grateful when it seemed he had decided not to. Talking about it wouldn’t do a thing. It was painful to go over it again and again, it wouldn’t keep it from happening again, and it upset Dallas. Not to mention that, on some level, he blamed himself for not doing something - not fighting back. What the hell was he good for if he couldn’t protect himself? He was athletic, strong; if he tried maybe -
“Come on. I have the antiseptic here.”
He watched as it soaked a cotton ball, closing his eyes and blowing out a breath when he knew it was about to press into the shallow cuts on his face where the skin had split over the peak of his cheekbone. Slender fingers cupped the back of his neck, both reassuring him and keeping him from reflexively pulling away. Just barely, he let himself lean into them.
“This is what you get for having such fantastic bone structure,” he teased weakly. Freckles would have been one of the more prominent features of his face if it weren’t for the crooked hawk nose. Or the fact that he looked part basset hound with his characteristic droop around the eyes. It was this that made Malek feel a twinge of guilt. When Dallas tended to him, somehow the dark puffiness under his eyes looked worse, the quiet set of his mouth tighter. He knew it was because of him.
Dallas continued. “I know.” He sighed. “You don’t like talking about it. I wish you’d do something, though.”
Hearing that only reaffirmed what he already felt. Maybe it hadn’t been meant like that, but he couldn’t help but hear what was already echoing in his mind.
“Just talk to somebody. Tell them. Don’t let him get away with doing this to you.” His voice broke on the last word. “Somebody more than me. Somebody who could help you and stop him.”
“It’ll be over soon.”
“Don’t say shit like that. Please.” He sat the antiseptic and cotton balls down beside him, picking up a little pot of cream concealer and a compact of powder.
His skin was tender where concealer-smudged fingers pressed and tapped in an effort to blend it out. Just enough to cover the bruising. The cuts would need a band-aid, but it would be easy enough to say he’d taken a pitch to the face or something like that. He was the catcher, after all.
“I think I’m getting better with the concealer.” The lid screwed back on with a click. “I read online that it won’t get messed up so easily if you set it with powder. I snuck it from my mom’s bathroom, but it’s one of those samples that came in the mail, so I don’t think she’ll notice.”
“Just hurry; Hazel said she was getting your mom.” Green eyes darted to the doorway nervously.
“I know, I know.” He powdered the makeup quickly and pulled a band-aid from the box, tearing it from the packaging and pulling off the paper tabs before gingerly positioning it across his cheekbone. All of the supplies were shoved beneath his bed… for the next time. “Good as new.”
“I feel a lot better now that I - You’re staring?” He looked back up and felt it again - felt that same hyper-awareness of his own breathing. The way it caught in his throat every few breaths just from catching Dallas looking at him. Hopelessly fixated.
Peonies bloomed across a familiarly crooked hawk nose, drowning out a smattering of freckles. “I am?”
“Yeah, you are.” He turned with a faint smile. Their faces were closer together than he’d realized. He’d imagined this more than he should have. Somehow his imagination had still done a piss-poor job in comparison to what it really felt like. The humor left his voice. “Something on my face?” A little closer and he’d be able to feel his breaths, whistling softly through his nose. A little closer and he could spend all the time he wanted counting freckles. A little closer and -
“What, besides the bad makeup job?” The way he said it was like a nervous chuckle. “Dude -”
Malek finished the thought in his head. A little closer and he could feel soft, just barely chapped lips against his own. He could angle his head, the muscles in his jaw shifting fluidly as a star-dotted nose brushed his.
A hand tipped in a chipped, mismatched manicure done no doubt by Hazel caught his hair and ruffled it. They sprang apart, cheeks flushing scarlet as Mrs. Margolin looked at them with the same twinkling eyes that Hazel did. Her gaze was a touch more knowing, and she held back a laugh.
“Yes, Ms. Abaid - your nephew is here,” she said into the phone by her ear.
Sadie had trotted in on her heels, and was occupying herself with cleaning Dallas’ face thoroughly. She was a head-on collision between a half a dozen different types of dogs. Scruffy, with little pointed ears and a pert snout like a terrier; too leggy for her body like a larger breed; and with a laughably round face. All the same, nearly everyone who met her fell for her.
“Sadie!” He was laughing, his voice cracking harshly. It was nice to see him laugh without being self-conscious about his voice or hiding it behind his hand because he was embarrassed by the crookedness of his teeth.
“Hey, Romeo, try using the door next time, young man.” She laughed warmly. His hair was undoubtedly a mess; he felt her muss it lovingly again. The touch reminded him of his own mom, in a bittersweet way.
Malek laughed too, hoping that the lingering flush in his cheeks wouldn’t betray him.
“Juliet” - or perhaps, “Julian” - on the other hand, was struggling with his mutt on the floor. “Mom, help! Sadie is drooling all over me!” His sweater hitched up his stomach as he tried to push her away. It revealed the shallow dip in between his hips, over which he had slung a pair of loose sweatpants.
He - tried to - look casually. It was an exceedingly rare sight, considering that Dallas was absolutely covered almost all of the time. Understandably so, but he wished he actually listened when he told him how good he looked. Because he did look good. Very.
Mrs. Margolin handed him the landline apologetically. “Malek Sohl. You better not be causing any more trouble -” His aunt’s voice snapped on his attention like a taut rubber band.
A sigh left him as he stood and paced into the hallway, hand cradling the phone. “I’m sorry, aunt. I don’t mean to be a burden to anyone.” He swallowed thickly.
Her voice relented. “Baby...” A beat passed as she sought the words. “I’m sorry. You know that’s not what I mean.”
“Yeah.”
“Are you okay?”
He hesitated. “I just had to get out of there.”
“Well he doesn’t always mean it, you know?” Her voice was meek and scurrying, like a mouse, as she tried to scrape together a defense. The rest of it he didn’t hear, only catching the last few words as they petered out. “I’m sure he’s… sorry , and -” Most of the time she didn’t know what happened between him and her boyfriend, but the times she did, she tried in vain to mediate.
“Yeah.” The floor squeaked, and he caught a worried, honey-brown gaze. “Do you - ah - do you mind if I sleep here tonight?”
“Again?” she ventured.
He knew she wouldn’t stop him.
“I suppose so. Say hi to Dallas for me, okay?”
“Okay.”
“I love you.” She sounded hopeful.
“I love you too.”
When he walked back into Dallas’ room, his mom smiled and rubbed his shoulder. “Should I pull out the air mattress?”
The shaved hair at the nape of his neck pricked at his fingers as he rubbed it. “You really don’t have to go to the trouble, Mrs. Margolin. Thank you for letting me stay.”
Her hand flapped like she wasn’t having any of it. “I’ll get it out and leave it outside the door. You boys can set it up if you insist. But pancakes for breakfast.”
A sheepish smile twitched on his lips. “Thank you.”
“Mhmm.” She looked at Dallas before stepping out and pulling the door closed behind her.
They set up his bed in relative silence, only broken by the occasional statement in an effort to start conversation. Nothing managed to stick before they lapsed back into quiet. It was beginning to wear on him. All of it. The cuts and bruises that marked his body. The furtive tree-climbing just to find somewhere safe to sleep. The growing toll he felt he was taking on his best friend every single time he needed patching up. The excuses from his aunt. The discontent he felt with himself for not doing anything. He’d like to see someone from school try to beat up on him like this. But this was so different. His brain was running circles around itself; it wouldn’t turn off long enough for him to even close his eyes.
“Malek.”
His name filtered into his consciousness, but went unregistered.
“Malek?”
“Yeah?” He looked over. The soft glow of his phone was shining over Dallas’ shoulder as he lay in bed.
His words came out in a way that was both halting and torrential. Fast-flowing, but broken in the wrong places. “I can’t sleep. You don’t have to sleep on the floor y’know? Is it weird if you creep up here, or something? It’s not weird, right? I mean. I totally don’t mind. It’s not awkward at all. I mean I -”
He reached up from his place on the floor, nudging his back with his knuckle.
The bed creaked as he turned over to face him. “I just want you to know - You’re safe here, y’know?”
Malek opened his hand, offering it. He smiled gratefully when their palms brushed, fingers threading into his.
He felt his brain begin to decelerate. “I know,” he murmured into the darkness.
“Okay.”
“Goodnight.” His eyes felt pleasantly heavy. As his senses began to dull, his hand was pulled closer - a twitch of a finger away from brushing a cheek dusted in faint peach fuzz. Green eyes flickered open for a moment as he looked over at Dallas, who was already snoring quietly. He bit his lip, holding his breath. “Thank you,” he whispered, tracing the tip of his index finger along a cheekbone that was unmarked in contrast to his own.
He looked out of the corner of his eye at the stars shining on the other side of the glass.
Hopelessly fixated.