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He's fine. He's fine.
It was two words spoken on a whim and it shouldn't affect him at all! Preston is used to mean words and meaner insults, but a 'shut up' shouldn't warrant nearly as much emotion as it does.
Maybe it's because Max said it.
No, that's ridiculous. Max was mean to everyone. Literally everyone. Why would something so simple hurt him more than any other hate-filled smack to the ego he's gotten all summer? Who really knows.
But he does know that his throat is closing up quick and he has to bite his bottom lip to prevent it from wobbling.
Five campers sit at one of the benches in the cafeteria. Max, Neil, Preston, Ered and Harrison. Weird group, but they have a purpose being here.
Today was paintball camp and David had split the campers into two teams. The other team was meeting by the flagpole, much to their dismay. Preston took a nice inhale of the cooler air inside the cafeteria. It's not AC, but it's better than nothing.
Max was attempting to formulate a plan of attack when Preston spoke up with a smile. He doesn't even remember what he said exactly, but it ticked Max off enough for him to snap out a "Shut up." Quick and easy.
He did as he was told, despite the rebellious artist nestled deep in his core, lips sealed and eyes cast downward as the world went on around him. He could do anything and the others wouldn't notice.
Was that a relief or a cause for concern? He couldn't tell.
Preston occasionally looks up at Max. He is still explaining a plan, pointing at a small map of the camp he drew while talking about positions and obstacles and the opposing team. Preston doesn't care. He'd rather not play now, his mood is soiled. If he does play, he knows he won't try, and then his team will hate him more than they regularly do. It's a lose-lose no matter how he looks at it.
He wonders if the day would have gone different if he was on the other team.
"Preston, what do you think?"
The theatre kid blinks once, twice, only to open his eyes to the sight of the other campers watching him. Staring. Waiting.
He opens his mouth to say a small 'Okay,' maybe even a 'I think it's worth a shot.' But all that comes out when he pushes against the wall in his throat is a sob.
Harrison raises a brow, glances at Max, and gently holds out a hand to the other. "Uh.. Are you..okay?"
Preston blinks again. Vision suddenly distorted and blurry. He goes to open his mouth again but all that escapes is another sob followed by a wail of despair.
He can't bear the sight of them staring and opts to cover his face, almost ducking under the table. Maybe then they wouldn't have to see him, hear him, jnow how pathetic he was.
He can hear mumbling between gasps for air and the sound of his own tears falling. Faint footsteps, two or three sets, are heard walking away to another part of the mess hall while another, lonelier pair of legs, walks right up to him.
"Uh.. There, there." Max deadpans, brows furrowed with confusion and a look that asks, 'Am I doing this right?'
Preston hiccups, eyes flickering across the floor before looking at Max head-on. There's a glint of almost concern in his eyes, one that makes it hard to keep his eyes dry. The theatre kid chews on his lower lip again before averting his eyes to the ground in order to avoid speaking.
The younger camper sighs. He tenderly, barely even making contact, gives the theatre kid a pat on the shoulder before turning around and walking over to the group of other campers.
Preston gulps. The tears stopped flowing. His throat is open. The world has gone still and silent. It's waiting on him. He has to get up.
After pushing himself onto his feet and wiping his face dry of any tears, he makes his way over to the group and shoots them a smirk. "Alright team! Who's ready to WIN THIS THING?!" He shouts enthusiastically.
He's met with a chorus of "Yeah!"s and one reluctant "Yaay."
Good enough for him.