Chapter Text
His chuckle was deep and coarse.
He wasn’t trying to be a jerk, really.
It just came naturally to him when it was with Baljeet.
“I am having fun watching you struggle with that.”
Baljeet’s hands squeezed Buford’s forearms tightly, sending a flush to his cheeks he desperately wished he could hide. Fortunately for him, though, Baljeet seemed more concerned with losing his balance than with looking at his face and stared at the ground with bitter uneasiness.
“Buford, you said you would teach me. You promised!”
“I didn’t promise shit,” he laughed. “It's not my fault you can't stand up straight, ‘Jeet.”
The skatepark was peaceful that day. It was spring break, most people were just there to cruise around and relax, so Buford assumed it was a good day to teach his best friend how to skate.
He just wished he had given more thought to the implications of being alone with his childhood crush for a whole afternoon.
“Line up your feet with the truck screws,” he pointed at his borrowed longboard, “That way you won't fall.”
“Like this?”
Baljeet placed his right foot forward, following his instructions dilligently. Buford couldn't help but smile.
“You a goofy footer?” He chuckled. “A'ight, badass. Try pushing off gently—let go of me first, though.”
“Oh, I do not like that idea…”
Trust me, me neither, he thought to himself. It felt…so nice to be this close to the boy he had been crushing on since they were 11, even if he was just holding onto him to keep his balance.
“Don't make me shove you, nerd.”
Baljeet sighed. He slowly let go of his arms, flailing for just a moment. He put his left foot down, and Buford gave him a thumbs up.
He pushed off a bit too hard, and for a hot second Buford thought he was going to fall flat on his face.
“Bend your knees, bend your knees!”
Baljeet yelped; he swayed for a bit, but quickly got used to the speed and managed to stand with both feet on the board. Buford was hit with such a wave of joy that he started laughing.
“Nice save!”
He ran up to his nerd as the skateboard's wheels slowed down.
“That was good!” He said.
Baljeet was beaming, and it made Buford want to kiss him.
“Uh, so…” he felt himself blush, and hoped it wasn't noticeable. “What you wanna do after pushin’ off is pivoting yer feet to ride until ya slow down. Then pivot yer riding foot straight, push off with your other foot, and pivot back...uh...what?”
Baljeet was staring at him. Just staring. And didn't seem to process what he was saying at all.
“Hm? Oh!”
Baljeet quickly turned away, playing with the wild curls that fell over his forehead.
“I apologize. I was not quite listening, c-can you repeat it?”
Buford eyed him suspiciously. Was he blushing?
“Uh, sure. So...”
They kept practicing for the rest of the afternoon. Baljeet was a fast learner, obviously, and Buford hated and loved him for it at the same time – he had always been the Brain Boy after all. By dinnertime, he could push off and skate in a straight line without any help.
Which was impressive enough by itself, considering it was his first day of skating lessons, but made even more by the fact that Baljeet insisted on doing it in combat boots and pleather pants.
(He was going through his punk phase.)
“Teach me how to turn”, was what he said next. Buford shrugged.
“I dunno if I should. Maybe if ya practice more—”
“Please?”
...How could he ever say no to those big brown eyes?
Buford explained to him the basics – flexing his ankles and shifting his weight slightly to either direction would help him turn without falling. His longboard's trucks were screwed tightly for him to start learning without speed-wobbling.
“So,” he said, “ya might need to lean a lot.”
“Okay, I believe I am ready to try.”
Buford gazed into his eyes for an instant. His nerd looked determined, and he couldn't really be there to hold his hand forever, right?
Buford stepped out of his way, and Baljeet pushed off with his left foot. He was a natural. The bully followed him with his eyes and almost let himself get lost in his graceful movements and focused gaze.
He looked beautiful.
“Okay, ‘Jeet,” he shouted from afar. “Now keep your knees bent and chest up, remember to look in front of you—” He was looking at him now, “—'Jeet, look forward, not—” He was swaying, “--'Jeet, not at the ground—!”
He slipped and tumbled down a ramp with a surprised gasp and followed quickly by a loud “ouch!” and the humming of the wheels across the concrete. Buford ran up to him cursing under his breath.
“Fuck, ‘Jeet, you okay? Did'ja hit yer head or somethin' like that?”
Baljeet sat up and brought one knee closer to his chest, hugging his thigh. “I... I do not think so, but...ugh.”
Buford slid down the ramp and kneeled beside him.
“Lemme see.”
He had scraped his knee pretty badly – his pristine pleather pants were ripped and dirty. Baljeet sighed.
“I am really sorry for worrying you,” he mumbled, looking away, “And for being greedy. This is my own fault.”
Buford clicked his tongue, dismissing him with a wave of his hand.
“Hey, don't sweat it. It ain't your fault, people fall down all the time, ‘s part of learnin'.” He smiled, nudging his shoulder with a closed fist. “I been waitin' for ya to fall, actually. Took ya long enough, nerd.”
That was enough to make him chuckle. That familiar teasing. “You are such an asshole.”
Yeah, but I'm your asshole, Buford thought to himself. He swallowed, gazing from his stupid pretty face to his scraped, bleeding knee and then back to his lips again.
Wish I could tell you that.