Chapter Text
The period before winter break spelled doom and despair for Fluixon.
Maybe it’s the cold weather and grey skies, or the fact that midterms are on the horizon, or it could be the fact that student council duties just pile up left and right. The semester’s end meant that colleges would be sniffing him out before long, and he had clinicals to run through in healthcare, and he still had to handle the job he’d been handed against his will: Organizing the student section at basketball games.
He had to pick some clever theme every time there was a home game, and he had to make sure no underclassmen ran off and… did something or other. On top of his classes, of course. And midterms, dreadful things.
He didn’t choose this. He didn’t know anybody on the basketball team enough to like them, but he’d been delegated this issue because he had skipped out on helping with football games and homecoming. He owed nearly everybody on the student council favors at this point.
Gotoga had passed the issue over to him. He’d been putting this off for about two weeks now. The first game (only technically, since it’s scrimmage, which he saw no point in doing such extravagant things for, but alas) was this Friday night, and he really had no choice now. People had started to ask him about it. He was tired of giving them half-baked excuses.
It’s Tuesday morning, and he’s at the bottom of a shitty iced coffee while scrolling through Pinterest for ideas. He hated just about all of them. Yes, they were all tacky yet easy, but he didn’t want to be associated with being the one who chose to do these. He frowns.
Thomas slides into the seat beside him and drops a McDonald’s bag and a large soda on the table. He looks over from his agonizing, herculean task and rubs his forehead.
“Well you look awfully happy today,” Thomas says, dropping his school bag to the floor. “What’s this?”
“The stupid student section for the basketball team…” he groans, picking his watered-down coffee up again. “I don’t even see why we need a student section for a scrimmage.”
Thomas flicks up an eyebrow. “You still haven’t done that?”
“No. I’ve been busy.”
“Yeah. Busy. Getting another eight hours on Steam a week?”
“Shut up. Which one is going to be the least embarrassing to stand in for two hours?” He turns the screen of his tablet towards Thomas and scrolls a little.
“These are for every home game, y’know? You gotta plan ahead for all of them.”
“Shit.” He reaches up and rubs his forehead. “Okay, so it’s a matter of selecting the least embarrassing.”
“You know, Flux, I don’t really think it’s meant to not be embarrassing. The whole point is to be, like, light-hearted and fun,” Thomas says, unfurling the top of his breakfast bag and fishing out a hashbrown. He passes it to Flux and pulls a second one out for himself. “I think you care too much about how other people see you.”
“It’s hardly eight in the morning, can we not psychoanalyze me? I haven’t even finished my drink yet.” Flux pouts, turning his tablet back to himself.
“Sure. Why don’t you just pick them, throw together some sort of poster on Canva, and call it a day?” Thomas takes a bite of his hashbrown. “You’ve got a healthcare test tomorrow, I think you should study for that instead.”
Flux groans in defeat. “Right. Right, you’re right, I’m putting too much thought into something about sports. I need to finish my notecard.”
“What’s your test on?”
“Phlebotomy. We’ve been shipped off to the nursing home to draw blood from the elderly. They won’t tell you this, but it’s just practice so that we can participate in the blood drive in March.”
“Is that why Rotation always accuses you of smelling like old people?”
“It’s why, if Rotation ever needs any sort of blood drawn, he’s getting the largest needle I can find.”
“You’re vindictive,” Thomas notes.
“Justified. I’m justified,” Flux corrects. He scrolls through Pinterest for a moment longer and taps an image. He pushes it towards Thomas. “How about this for this week?”
He points towards a luau theme. Thomas squints at it for a second. He leans away and shoots a thumbs up.
“Works. You know you gotta dress up, too, though.”
“I’ll find something.”
“The basketball team has to dress nice on days they have games,” Thomas says. “You’re lucky this one is just a scrimmage. You’d have created a monster.”
“That’s not my problem, Thomas. Do you know what student sections are? They’re a babysitting dump for people who don’t want to watch their kids.” Flux frowns and opens Canva up. “Anyone else who shows up is either one of their girlfriends or has nothing better to do on a Friday night.”
“That’s not a very nice thing to say. What if they just wanna support their team, you know?” Thomas grins. Flux snorts and picks his hashbrown up.
“Sure. Because we really sport some star athletes here,” he smiles dryly. “I can’t wait to see them in action.”
“Who knows? Maybe you’ll have fun.” Thomas picks a napkin up and wipes his face. “You might like what you see.”
Flux rolls his eyes. “What could I possibly like about basketball?”
Flash forward to Friday night, where he’s been sitting on ass-numbing plastic bleacher seats for the past hour and a half. He’s got his chin in his hand and his cheap sunglasses folded in the neckline of his shirt, and Crow’s straw fishing hat is pushed halfway back on his head. The game was almost over and it had been decided for the last fourty-five minutes. There was a score gap of at least ten points at any given moment.
It’s been nothing but the sound of shoes squealing on the wax-coated floor, the sound of the ball bouncing off of the backboard, and the occasional callout. He cheers at the appropriate times, or at least he did for the first half, but he’s resorted to lifting his fist in the air supportively at random intervals. He’s mentally exhausted.
He watches the ball go up and down the court, fly between players, and listens to the swish of the net every time someone scores. He glances at the scoreboard in desperation. Two minutes until he can clean up and go home. No problem. Just two more minutes.
He watches the ball sail across the court as someone passes it to another. He’s really starting to worry for himself, because he’s so bored that he’s vividly dreaming up scenarios where the ball is thrown the wrong direction and nails him in the face. He looks down for a second to pick at a loose thread in his pants when there’s a thud and the audience collectively groans.
He glances up and sees one of the opposite team’s players on the floor with one of his. They’re untangling and getting back to their feet. He watches as one of their players– he recognizes the guy as the team captain, Saparata– gets hauled to his feet and stands up tall, rolling his shoulders and shuffling over towards the bench. He lifts his foot up and avoids putting weight on it as he limps to sit down.
Flux pinches his face. He takes a moment to watch, but something was off about the way he was acting. That guy must’ve rolled his ankle. He lifts it up and starts rubbing his thumb into it where he sits, sipping from his water bottle as he does.
Saparata spends a short beat on the bench before he’s back out there. Fluixon finally has a reason to pay attention. With a minute and a half left of the game, he watches that idiot go back out and run the full length of the court multiple times. He moves quickly despite the well-hidden limp.
Everyone on that court was drenched in sweat and panting. Everyone on that court was starting to slow down, to jog instead of run, or to stand in place and take a breath for a moment or two. Everyone in the bleachers started to pack their things up, gather their trash, and wait for the clock to tick down. Everyone was ready to go home and call it a day.
Everyone, with the sole exception of Saparata, of course.
He bounded up and down the court, palm spanning the ball as he bounced it on the court floor for a moment. It made total sense that he was the captain now, clearly he was filled with energy. He can see him scan the court before he launches himself away. Flux can see the overhead lights make his body look much stronger, makes the shadows look bigger, and makes him seem even more like a beacon the way sweat glistens on his skin and his bright white hair glows.
He watches him move forward, hop up, and make a shot. It goes through the air and falls through with a clean swish. He grins for a split second. It shines in the light. As he turns to reset, he skims the bleachers with his eyes for a second.
Fluixon swears their eyes meet and he freezes in place. Time goes in slow motion as he lingers on slate-blue eyes. They wince. He glances back at Saparata’s ankle and when he looks back at his eyes, they’ve gone back to the game. His ears burn with a tiny heat at the tips.
Flux couldn't begin to understand why he'd want to keep playing like this when he'd clearly hurt himself, but Flux had picked up on a lot about this boy in such a short amount of time, and one of the absolutely glaring things was his utter lack of brain. He moves on instinct and gut feeling. Flux can’t imagine moving with such trust in his subconscious to do exactly what he needs it to.
His eyes track Saps across the court. He’s never given half a shit on sports prior to his, but this is his opportunity to be a little curious about basketball. Saps dribbles as fast as he runs, the ball thudding to the ground with every stride. He moves in a rhythm that could really only come with skill and experience. Flux wonders if it really is that easy, the way Saps makes it look, and quickly decides that it's unlikely.
He watches him size up a player from the opposite team, bouncing from side to side trying to seize the ball. He manages to take it right from under them in one swift motion before he's off again. Flux blinked and missed the moment it happened.
When the game finally ends with the heavy echoing buzzer. The scoreboard stays as is and, as expected, his team has won by a wide margin. The crowd rolls into cheers and he does a little of the same. He could care less for the game. He looks at Saps instead.
Saps wears a big, unfaltering smile on his face while the others drink and sit down and give each other a round of ‘good game’ and catch their breath. Saps had to do the same, sure, but it was terribly noticeable how differently he wore his happiness than the others. He practically glowed. He was just a stereotypical himbo from Flux's perspective, plain and simple.
Flux lets out a hefty sigh as everyone begins to leave, yawning like just sitting and watching all this has worn him out. Not that it hadn't, but when he's right next to a bunch of athletics it feels a lot more pathetic. He thinks back on Thomas' choice of words, then grimaces and swats the notion out of his mind. Traitorous.
He hesitates, watching awkwardly as the team groups up in sections and chat with one another. Flux is in this awful limbo of waiting to go and sort out the team's idiot but being unable to find an ample opportunity to just get up and walk there.
It's some time, and a lot of mental convincing, for Flux to realise that there will never be a golden opportunity. It's a pity being him, such a stickler for these things. He stands to benefit nothing but curing his own perfectionism. It doesn’t matter if that guy goes out and gets hit by a car on the way home, as long as Flux can say he prevented him from doing it on a hurt foot.
Saps could stand to step away for a moment, anyway. Sports boys always seem in need of a reality check. Flux gets to his feet and sneaks off of the bleachers, hugging the wall, and toes his way towards the bench.
There’s really no reason he should go out of his way to be doing this in the first place. Flux just wants to go home, and he really didn’t want to be here in the first place, but he knows exactly what’s going to happen if he turns around and goes home now: he’s going to lie awake, annoyed by the total dumbass who rolled his ankle at the first game– no, quite literally just the first scrimmage– of the season, and he won’t be able to sleep.
It’s really only to make him feel better about himself that he quietly slides around towards the bench, and he feels so out of place already. He can feel people looking at him. They’re obviously happy to have won the game, sure, but he knows how strange it looks on his part. He doesn’t bother to look any of them in the eye as he slides in.
He hovers behind Saparata, looking at his ridiculously white bleach-fried hair and curling his lip in disgust. He’s nursing a bottle of Gatorade and high-fiving anyone who comes up to him, hitting them with a “let’s go” or “hell yeah” breathlessly every so often.
Against his better judgement, Flux reaches out and taps him on the arm. Saps turns around and his face shifts when he realizes it’s not one of his teammates. He’s still half-grinning when he and Flux lock eyes, and it drops into half-excitement, half-confusion.
“Hey, what’s up?” He asks.
“Erm– Hey. Nice game. Your foot- uh, did you…” He cringes and pauses. “Let’s try that again. Hi. Are you okay?”
Saps bursts out laughing. “Yeah? I think so?”
“Did you, uh, roll your ankle?” Flux asks far from delicately.
The smile drops from Saparata’s face. He looks down at his ankle, then back at Flux, and he gets to his feet quickly. He throws a quick glance around, towards the rest of his team, and then grabs Flux by the sleeve. He drags him along to a few feet out of range from anyone else. Flux follows awkwardly.
He comes in close, voice decently hushed. “Okay. You can’t let other people hear you when you say that, dude. You could make me miss a game.”
Flux pauses. He blinks at Saps. He really didn’t think this far ahead. He swallows and gestures down at his foot.
“Well, you’re going to absolutely wreck your ankle if you play on it injured. You should wrap it.”
God, what is he doing? Now he’s picking a fight with this guy. Saparata could probably beat him to shit with all of his leftover adrenaline. He’d be ground beef patty on the unswept floor. It’d be over for him just like that. Curse his need to always prove himself correct.
Saps glances down at his foot again. “Look, I dunno who you are, but it’s literally my senior year and I’m the captain. I can’t get hurt, especially not in a scrimmage. This literally happens to be my year.”
“It’s not going to stay that way if you play on a bum ankle,” Flux pulls a face. “At least put ice on it and wrap it at home. It’s not serious if you don’t aggravate it.”
“I don’t know how to wrap ankles, and I’m not telling my coach about this.” Saparata crosses his arms. The audacity of this guy, really.
“I mean… I can, uh, I can wrap it,” Flux says. “I’m in healthcare.”
Saparata blinks at him and leans back. “You are?”
“Yeah. Do you want me to wrap it for you?”
“Uh, sure. That would be nice, actually,” Saps looks over his shoulder at the rest of his team. He lifts his arm up to wave at someone and then looks back at Flux. “Thanks.”
“Go get some prewrap and tape. Then thank me,” Flux says, fishing his phone out of his pocket. “Go. The sooner you do this, the sooner I can go home and your ankle won’t be at risk of ruining your prospering sport’s career.
“Okay, okay, I got it,” Saps moves towards the locker room. He stops about halfway and turns around. “Hey, wait, what’s your name?”
Flux feels his shoulders sink. “I’m your student council vice president, you should know this.”
He says it like it’s an accomplishment, or like it would make him a recognizable name in the school, and for the basketball team captain, it probably should be someone he at least knows of. Flux waits for it to click. He visibly withers.
He lets out a wounded sigh. “My name’s Flux.”
Saparata stops and grins at him. “Thanks, Flux! Nice hat, by the way.”
Then he jogs into the locker room on the injured foot. Flux reaches up and realizes he still has Crow’s hat on, and he tears it off of his head. His cheeks flush and he wills himself to relax. Awful. Embarrassment floods him. He can’t seriously be caught looking like this in public.
He stands there awkwardly for ages. It seems to take ages. People start to file out, and he still stands against the wall until his back starts to hurt, and he really considers just walking out the door. A few other members of the basketball team start to leave. There are far too many eyes that land on him as he waits, leaving him feeling like a zoo animal in the wrong enclosure. He feels terribly out of place.
Saps comes around with prewrap, tape, and all of his stuff piled into his sports bag. He’s got sweatpants and a hoodie on now and swapped his basketball shoes for slides. He takes a seat on the bench.
Flux picks up the prewrap at the same time Saps does his water bottle. He kneels down and stretches the roll of prewrap out. He watches Saps pull his slide and sock off and set his heel on Flux’s leg.
As he sets to wrapping his ankle, Saparata starts to make conversation, which was the last thing he needed right now.
“So, uh, you’re the… the student council guy?” He tries.
Flux has just enough patience left to humor him. “Yep. I got stuck with the student section for games.”
“Oh, is that why you had that hat on?” Saps grins. “I liked it. You seem like the type of guy who can dress up. Didn't realize you would be the type to like these things, though.”
Flux snorts. He rips the prewrap and picks up the athletic tape. He starts to wind it around his ankle in the same pattern.
“I don’t. This was just the duty I was delegated. I’d much rather be doing anything else, but I’ve got to do these for the rest of the home games this season. Dreadful.”
“Really? You’re gonna be at my other games, then?”
“If I can remember when they are. I almost forgot about this one.” Flux rips the end of the tape and smooths it over his ankle. “See how that feels.”
Saparata takes his foot off of Flux's leg and flexes it in a circle. He winces but stands on it for a second. He shoots a thumbs up and sits back down, scooping his sock back up.
“Thanks, dude,” he says as he fits it back on. “I owe you big-time.”
“It’s nothing,” Flux says, wiping his pants off after he gets to his feet. “I just couldn’t stand watching you limp around. It irritated me.”
Saparata laughs like it's a joke. He gets to his feet again and slips his shoe on. Flux looks him up and down, watching as he fusses with his bag, before he looks back up at Flux and smiles.
“I’m serious. Thanks, Flux.”
“Right.” Flux looks at his foot again. “Just put ice on it for twenty minutes at a time to keep the swelling down, prop it up, I’m sure you know the drill.”
“Gotcha. So, about that council stuff… you, uh–" Saps shakes his head and starts again. "It might be a good idea if we got each other's numbers, that way I can remind you and shit of when one’s coming up. I, uh, I don’t think you wanna keep track of them, so I’ll let you know when our real games are coming up?"
Flux thinks it over, just for a second, then slowly nods. "Erm, sure."
He awkwardly stands there until Saps takes the initiative to pull his phone out his pocket. He fumbles a little when unlocking it, then offers it out to Flux, which he takes and sees he's only on the phone's home screen. Saps blinks and then rushes to take it back out his hand, "Sorry– let me just. Yeah."
Flux is handed the phone back on the 'add new contact' screen, after awkwardly looking at Saps tap at his screen in a hurry. He offers him a friendly smile, before tapping in his own details. The strangest thing of all is that Saps doesn't seem like the type to be this… well, he's acting like a clutz. An awkward clutz. It makes him feel a little more human in comparison to the kids who play sports, who are more normal, less nerdy than him.
He's had a lot of awkward silence to consider why he really bothers himself with doing this. He’s got all of the time in the world to wonder why he doesn’t just lift a hand, shake his head, and deliver a short dismissive “Oh, it's no problem. Don't worry," without any regard to how rude he could possibly look. Especially not to a guy like this.
And somehow, despite all of that, he struggles to just shut him down easily. It's cursed how inescapable teenage surface level attraction is, he never thought he'd be the one to fall for it. The ever-so-infallible Fluixon, dropped to new lows by a piece of meat who likes sports. How the mighty do fall. He’s disappointed in himself.
He shakes the thought away as he types the last digit and glances back up at Saps. “Here.”
"This isn't a fake number to get me away from you, right?" He laughs, taking his phone back.
"I guess you’ll have to find out for yourself,” Flux bats his eyelashes at him, and then seems disgusted with himself for a split-second, so he straightens his back.
Saparata looks at him for a moment like he’s someone different. He’s studying him in his own strange way, trying to piece him together and figure something about him out. He half-smiles and looks at his contact again, before warming up and taking a step back.
"I'll see you tomorrow, then, Flux," he says, and his smile is something much softer than it’d been up to this point. Flux feels something wash over him. He lifts his hand up to wave Saps away as he walks, fingers curling before his hand drops to his side. He swallows.
The thought briefly crosses his mind that that Saps guy was pretty cute.
The force of a train slams into him with that thought and he almost doubles over in shame. He’s mortified with himself for even considering that in the first place. He just met this guy, and he’s been doing nothing but make awkward small talk to get by. Now it’s over and he’s got chills at the notion he may be developing a… a…
No. He’s not going to humor the thought. He squares his shoulders.
He is not going to let that get to his head, even if it kills him.
When Flux leaves, Saps sits there for a moment and looks over his ankle again, admiring the smooth work Flux had done. He hears the heavy door of the changing rooms swing closed.
He sighs and heaves himself up off the bench, going to check out the gym one more time. Everything's been cleared up, there wasn't much to sort out. He swings off the door frame back into the changing rooms. He tries to avoid balancing on his bad foot. After checking his changing bag and making sure he didn't drop anything, he zips it shut and slings it over his shoulder.
When he starts walking for the door, he smiles, noting that his foot doesn't hurt as much as it had before Flux helped him. If this happens again he knows exactly who to run to. It's not often you meet someone who goes out of their way to help you without even asking for it. Flux was a nice guy– nicer than he made out to be.
Maybe it's another good omen related to his new hopeful and prospering senior year. Or an angel came to save him from seriously injuring himself and ruining his hopes for anything good coming out of being captain, just like that guy had warned.
He gets to the door to the parking lot and pushes it open, cold air gushing to hit him. He's still pretty worn from practice so it's at least a welcome cold. He looks at the sky, the blue is beginning to wash away under the darkness, he follows it to see his car waiting for him in the distance, backlit by tall street lamps. Snowbird is leaning against the side of it, only perking up when he sees that Saparata has finally arrived. He reaches for his keys stashed in his pocket to unlock the doors, letting him huddle into the passenger seat.
Saps jogs towards the car, smiling at Snowbird through the window. He opens the door to land on the driver's seat, sinking into it comfortably with a sigh. Snowbird always caught a ride with him because he lived on his way home.
"Was that Flux?" Snowbird quickly asks, face pinching.
Saps looks over at him, grabbing his keys and twisting them into the ignition. They rattle with the sounds of a slot machine and a hamburger keychain with a cartoonish face slapped on, both respectively swinging against his house key. He turns on the radio and winds it down to a low level before it blasts at his prior volume, while going to connect it to Spotify.
"Yeah, sorry. He saw that I rolled my ankle during the game and said he could help me since he's in med."
Snowbird perks his head up and cranes his head to look at Saps’s foot. "You rolled your ankle?"
"Yeah. It's nothing bad."
"Alright," Snowbird smiles. He looks at Saps while pulling his seatbelt on, "Didn't think Flux was the type to go out of his way to help someone like you."
"Uh, what does that mean?" He frowns, tapping his hands on the wheel, "He seemed nice."
"He's nice. He just doesn't hang around… y'know, sporty guys," he shrugs.
"I mean, I guess that makes sense." Saps presses down on the accelerator and rolls off the gravel, listening to it crunch as he slowly pulls out onto the road. "I mean, I guess I could tell. He was like, nonchalant. But in, like, a nerdy way. He was all like," He makes sure to put on a poor impression of Flux- basically just a typical nerd voice- "'I had to watch you limping and it really irritated me! So I had to help you! Thank me later.' He's funny."
Snowbird snickers along with Saps, "Are you sure he doesn't actually just hate you? I wouldn't be surprised."
"No, no! Why would he wrap my ankle if he hated me?" Saps clicks at the turn signal, rising up from leaning back to check the mirrors closer before he turns the wheel. "He was obviously joking around with me."
Snowbird laughs again, alone this time, while Saps puts a confused look on his face. "You're defending this guy before you even know him?"
"Benefit of the doubt?”
"I guess, dude." Snowbird pulls out his phone and opens Twitter to scroll.
"I gave him my number so he doesn't miss our games. For his student council stuff and whatever."
"He's finally taking responsibility for the chore he hates?" He snorts.
"Thanks to me."
"Alright, buddy."
The sky has faded to a deep blue by now, and Saps is almost at Snowbird's house. He perks up when he realises he almost forgot something.
"Oh yeah, wait–" Saps spares a glance over at him, "Send me that photo you took."
Snowbird goes ahead and messages him a few images, ones he took when grabbing a drink while everyone was scrimming. He tries to get some photos when he can for Saps, since he likes to post them on Instagram and asked for some help so he could actually post photos that he was in. Snowbird doesn't get it, but he goes along with it anyway.
By then, Snowbird is grabbing his bag as the car parks up on the curb of his drive. He waves Saps a bye before retreating into his house. Saps turns up the music higher. Now he gets to sing along to things with a little more vulnerability, and free-spiritedly full-on belting white girl music was what he was born to do.
He's left to the device of his own thoughts, all but drawing back to the thought of Flux helping him out. There's nothing nicer to have thrown into your day than a random act of kindness. He'd probably be a nice friend to have around. He might as well, he can spend his time talking to him next game. This time, he's gotta show off so that Flux really knows the kind of potential he's got.
Flux shuffles into his room after dinner and collapses into bed with a huff. He snatches a pillow up into his arms. He lies there for less than a minute before reaching out and pulling his phone off of his cord.
The conversation with Saparata has been running through his mind on loop. It’s been on his mind ever since he left the game. His brain has been rudely bringing it up. He keeps thinking of every little embarrassing thing he did or said and shudders. He shouldn’t even be overthinking this– honestly, what was so special about that guy? He didn’t have any unique traits. He was captain of the team. Yay, he’s good at sports!
… It did him some good, though. His physique made it obvious that he was active. He was tall, about half-head taller than Flux. It makes him tilt his head up to look him directly in the eyes. His shoulders were broad and he had plenty of muscle going for him under the surface. Flux would be lying if he said it wasn’t at least a little attractive.
Other than that, he hardly had any outwardly redeeming qualities. He was your run-of-the-mill jock. Flux couldn’t find anything that would explain why he’s so fixated on Saparata out of the blue. He’s never cared before. It’s eating him alive to know that he can’t stop thinking about some random idiot.
He groans and opens Instagram so he doesn’t lose his mind. He finds Saparata’s page and starts scrolling, keeping his thumb away from the screen at all costs. He’s posted a photo of himself during the game with something about his teammates and winning. Boring. He didn’t even take the photo himself, it was taken from the bleachers. Flux can see part of his own head in the foreground. He scrolls to the next one.
There’s a few photos of his cat. Flux tilts his head and swipes through them with surgical precision. He smiles at the few photos of his cat’s birthday party where he had put up balloons and put a hat on him– okay, maybe he had one redeeming quality, but Flux was still a dog person.
The next one was a photo at the gym. Flux stares at it in sheer horror. Saps has one of those tight-fitting shirts on with his sweatpants and headphones. He was already posing a little, but then Flux swipes to the next picture against his better judgement. Saps is flexing in this one. He was flexing a deceptively jacked arm.
Flux feels his face burn with shame when he finds himself looking so intently. He swipes through the next few and tries not to linger. He swallows and tries to tell himself that it’s not because he’s into him, and anybody with that kind of physique would cause the same reaction. It’s not reassuring, but it means Saps isn’t special.
He finally manages to rip his eyes away from the horror picture show to skim over the caption.
never played tag cause i always knew i was it 💯🔥
Fluixon feels himself wither. He puts his phone down and wipes his face. He briefly wonders if he’s really cut out to be stalking the page of someone who’s a frat boy at heart. It takes a great deal of willpower to pick his phone back up and take a closer look. He rereads it in disbelief for a minute, scrolls through the photos again–
He accidentally likes the post.
Dread washes over him. Dread is cold, like a bucket of ice water splashed over his head and sending chills down his spine. He rolls onto his back and grits his teeth, face discarded to the side in shame. He grabs his pillow, takes a deep breath, and holds it to his face. It’s pressed suffocatingly close..
At the top of his lungs, Fluixon promptly screams, “Fuck!”