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Custas could see the tape coming undone, but there wasn’t much he could do. To adjust the sign and smooth down the Scotch tape, he’d need to stand, probably on his chair, and reach up without bracing himself on anything. PT had done wonders for him so far, but that was outside the realm of possibility for him. It would be a tricky endeavor— if he bothered trying to begin with. He remained where he was, his chin rested on the stand as he stared up petulantly. At least the school fair was almost over.
Dagda would be here in an hour, and, in the meantime, he’d man this table space for his class fundraiser. The last time this table has seen the light of day had to be over three decades ago when kissing booths were all the craze: Custas took one look at it and got out papers, stapling them together to cover the ‘k’ word with “Advice and Fortune” to tape before the word Booth. Advice and Fortunes: Only one dollar! What a great idea given he couldn’t realistically run any of the games, like the horseshoe bottle toss he had perfect view of. He watched the crowds of his fellow classmates throw the bands over the bottles, win simple prizes or lose and be teased. Tetia and Eoleo seemed to be having fun running that booth, even if Eoleo seemed to be staring elsewhere than the crowd of peers.
There was also the little cafe booth with students running around back and forth. Custas offered initially to help run the register, wanting to be with someone he could talk to or hang out with in his downtime, but he received an apologetic smile, one he’s seen all before, and was told, “We’d love it if you could— but it’ll be pretty crowded, and it’ll be harder for you to carry the orders back and forth. I’m sure another booth would love to have you!”
Yeah, like there were other booths. Agott and Richeh’s miniature art gallery walk was among the few left that he could manage to run, but he doesn’t know enough about that kind of art to want to join in. Beyond that, all the other activities were sports related, ones requiring more movement than he was capable of, or was full.
He watched as Coco ran back to her station for the fourth time that hour. She kept needing change because her booth was so busy. He sighed into his palm, then refocused back on the girl sitting in the stool in front of him.
Admittedly, he didn’t know her. He doesn’t really know many people at this school even if he’s been attending for a few months. The kids in their little After School club were one thing, but his classmates? He was only just starting to be in all his classes. He still was working on the whole friend thing, and it’s hard to make them when you are outcasted upon first glance. And second glance, he thought to himself as he wormed a finger through a hole in his pant’s knee.
“So, I guess I just want to know how the spirits or, erm, fate would feel about me and Danleho… Would we be a good match? Should I ask him out?” Custas nodded as her ramble came to an end. From the way she was eying the tarot deck he checked out from the school library, the one with cats on them in funny poses, he assumed that’s what she wanted her tale from. He plucked the cards up, flipping through them before setting one on the table. Five of cups? Alright.
“Spirits say that if you ask Danleho out, he will be a massive jerk to you. Self-centeredness and jealousy is what he currently struggles with, and that’s something he will need to work through on his own.” I saw him trying to cheat off Tartah’s social studies test last week. Dude utterly sucks and almost got them both in trouble. You could do better in terms of your taste in guys to crush on… Or so the spirits say. Whatever.
“O-Oh!” She gasped, bracing a hand over her mouth. “He would be?”
“Yuh-huh,” Custas said, flipping another card. He hummed lowly as he stared down at it, nodding his head as she leaned forward, eager to see the next hint of wisdom he’d have. “Yeah, see: this claims to be your spirit card. It tells me you are a unique individual with hobbies and interests, and that sometimes you feel misunderstood, but that you are an incredibly kind and caring individual. It is saying to not rush: you will find someone better to give your heart to.”
She smiled, plucking the card up and examining it. Finally, she looked back up at him, grinning as she tilted her head. “My spirit card is a three of wands? That’s amazing! Can I take a photo of this?”
“Sure, and make sure to tell your friends about the booth before the festival ends!”
And sure as silver, more and more girls kept coming to the booth for bogus readings. Not many boys are into horoscopes, he supposed, or maybe it was the crowds of lovestruck girls that steered them away. Either way, it wasn’t so bad. He made good money on people assuming they were coming for fortunes instead of the ‘advice’ portion of the sign. When he told Dagda his plan, he received a look, then a shrug. “So long as you aren’t falsely advertising. I’m not sure how many people will really buy into the fortune thing. Doesn’t everyone know that's junk science?”
“The majority of the student body is white.”
Dagda tipped his cola can. “Yeah, that’ll work then.”
And making 82 dollars in just over two hours was hard to beat. His class better appreciate the hard work he does relying on their own flaws. Still, he hoped the amount was somewhat significant. He hoped it helped them like him more. Eliminate the ideas they had on him from the beginning of the year before he met Tartah and found accommodations. Make them at least…
“An advice booth?”
Custas jumped in his seat, eyes wide as he glanced up to see Tartah, and– He was soaking wet? Even his shoes looked water-logged and while people on TV could appear appealing in a wet shirt, Tartah looked like a drowned cat despite his relaxed stance and even expression, looking completely unbothered. What, did he have a personal raincloud following him all day and decided to roll with it? Poor guy. He did have a knack for misfortune, which meant that this was the booth he happened to need.
Custas smiled up at him. “And fortunes. Looks like you’ve had an eventful day.”
"Quiet." Tartah sighed through his nose, then plopped down into the stool in front of the booth. His clothes made a wet slap as they connected with the nonexistent cushion. At least his slicked down hair was so short that it didn't fall into his eyes. “Thank Mr. Qifrey for that. He was supposed to be in the dunk tank, but he wasn’t feeling well.”
Custas tilted his head. “What does that have to do with you?”
Tartah’s freckled cheeks burned a little as he glanced to the side, muttering through a pout, “Well, Coco was worried and Mr. Nolnoa didn’t need my help anymore with the mini science fair, so–”
“You got in the dunk tank for her?” Tartah nodded. Custas whistled, leaning back in his wheelchair. “Pfft... Simp.”
"I am not."
"You absolutely are!" Custas cackled. "Volunteering to get repeatedly dropped into freezing water because Coco needed help? C’mon. That's a lame look, Tartah.”
Tartah rolled his eyes, slumping his arms onto the booth. The wood grew wet, darkening the longer he remained there. "I volunteered because the booth would've closed otherwise. She worked hard to get it up and running; If I could help, why wouldn’t I?”
"Mhm." Custas rested his cheek against one fist. He gestured with a wagging finger toward his drenched attire. “Sooo, how many people paid to dunk you?”
"...A fair amount."
Custas barked out a laugh. "What’s that supposed to mean? There was a whole line, wasn’t there? Poor guy~”
Tartah groaned, hitting his head on the stand with a dull thud. When he raised his head, Tartah shifted on the stool, voice dropping down a hair. “Well, yeah. Duh. I'm not exactly popular. A chance to throw a ball at me and not get detention is something I’m sure plenty of people found appealing.”
Custas blinked. Noticing that reaction, Tartah sighed, gesturing vaguely to the emptying field space around them as students began to clean up after the last wave of people made their final rounds. “It made good money for their booth, so I don’t mind, but yeah.”
Custas continued to stare at him long after Tartah finished speaking, caught in confusion. He searched Tartah's face for the punchline of this weird joke, but all he found was the same calm, matter-of-fact expression he always wore whenever he spoke about himself. It left his fingers feeling numb, clutching around nothing as he searched his scattered thoughts for something to say to that. That didn't make sense.
"...I don't understand," Custas admitted at last, leaning farther over the advice booth until his elbows rested on the tabletop between them, their arms inches from blushing. "I mean, every time I see you you're helping somebody with an assignment, carrying equipment for a professor, or fixing someone else's mess. You're responsible, you've got your whole life figured out… I don't know. I've just always thought you were kind of cool. I don't understand why anyone would go into it wanting to dunk you of all people."
Tartah’s rosy cheeks flushed gradually, spread over the bridge of his freckled nose as his silver eyes drifted away from Custas immediately, fixing instead on a nearby tent that some volunteer students were dismantling. Thank god, Custas thought as he pinched his arm harshly. That was probably really lame to say out loud like that. Totally lame. And too close to something not worth mentioning at this moment because they are friends and guys usually don't talk that much.
Tartah’s lips twitched before a small, incredulous laugh escaped him. Their knees knocked underneath the table, and Tartah's rested against his for a good moment. It was cold and wet, but Custas didn't shy away from it. "I don't think anyone has ever described me that way before."
Custas rubbed the back of his neck with a sheepish grin. He failed to hide the warmth creeping into his own face, not when it looked so pleasant on Tartah. “Well, probably not to your face, sure, but I think a lot of people think that way about you.”
Tartah shook his head. “Maybe that’s just because you transferred here and didn’t go to school with the rest of us, but I’m sure people are set in their ways with what they think about me, and I’m sure none are that kind. I don’t mind. I kind of deserve it.”
Furrowing his brow, Custas replied, “What? Did you forget to do your homework once? Oh, the scandal!”
The corners of Tartah's mouth lifted despite himself, but before he could say anything more, his shoulders raised sharply, his breath catching as he turned his head away from the booth. He barely managed to lift his elbow before a sharp sneeze escaped him, followed by sniffling as he rubbed self-consciously at his nose. Custas frowned. “You’re freezing, aren’t you?”
“I’m alright,” Tartah said as he wiped his nose with his drenched sleeve. The shiver that ran through his body said otherwise, following a cool gust of wind, but Tartah brushed it off. “I had a towel, but it either got misplaced or taken. I don’t know. I was just going to go get my gym clothes and change into them, but saw your booth and decided to stop by and see how you did.”
Custas gave him an unimpressed glare. With a long sigh, Custas reached down for his bookbag beside his wheelchair, stashed just under the table. When his fingers found soft fabric, he let out a triumphant hum and tugged out the hoodie Dagda had forced into his bag earlier that day, saying if he was going to be out late, he needed to make sure he didn’t get too cold. Custas thought it was such a worrywart move, but now he was mentally thanking Dagda for this golden opportunity.
“Here,” Custas said as he offered the hoodie.
“... No, you’ll need that if you get cold,” Tartah replied. Custas wanted to roll his eyes.
"You are literally dripping wet. Take it so you don’t get sick and miss school. That would be more of an inconvenience to me.”
A reluctant smile pulled at Tartah's lips as he accepted defeat. He took the hoodie apologetically before pulling it over his head. The fabric settled around him with surprising ease, hanging a little loose through the shoulders and bunching around his wrists where the sleeves were rolled up an inch. Almost instinctively, Tartah tugged them down back to their original length– so, Tartah has longer arms than me?-- before folding his arms against himself, sinking comfortably into the warmth— or, well, absent of drenched coolness. Tartah tucked his chin a little farther into the collar, almost disappearing into it as another stream of wind passed them.
For a stark breath, Custas feared that with his nose so close to the fabric, brushing it with his sniveling outer nostril, that he’d catch the waft of drugstore detergent, or even Custas’ hotel room shampoo that burned his own nose when he globbed it on. Admittedly, given their washing methods were abysmal at best, he never really thought about what his clothes smelled like until this exact moment, because he assumed it was mediocre at best, passable in a large classroom, but…
Tartah sank into the stool, almost hugging the hoodie closer against his chest before rubbing one sleeve absentmindedly between his fingers. He looked entirely too cozy as another breeze hit, but now his shoulders relaxed, no longer shivering every few seconds. After a moment, Tartah cleared his throat. “I should probably return the favor.”
Tartah reached into the pocket of his soaked pants and, after a brief struggle, produced a thoroughly waterlogged green wallet with some character indented into it, and Custas– He watched with muted awe as Tartah flicked it open to reveal lines of soaked bills and his student ID in the clear window.
It might have been a small thing, but Custas couldn’t help but stare, lips parted. If someone handed him money, it'd probably live in three different jacket pockets before disappearing entirely, only to be rediscovered months later while looking for something else, likely sticky from whatever mess he spilled in his backpack. His coins would be fused together in an amalgamation no one's ever seen before, but Tartah?
His gaze drifted from the wallet to Tartah’s face, and he watched the crease between his fluffy eyebrows grow as he tried to wedge a finger between some bills. Not for the first time, the distinct thought of he’s so cool entered his mind. Tartah was the same age as him, in the same school, same classes– yet he carried himself differently from anyone else. He had this quiet, assured competence that made everything he did seem effortless, even his rescue attempt for his cash. And who even carried around a wallet in middle school? Who worked and got paid, or got an allowance? How does Tartah balance everything so easily? How?
“Sorry it’s wet,” Tartah murmured as he peeled out a bill and set in on the table space before his friend with a pathetic splat. “Um, for advice, I guess. In exchange for letting me borrow your hoodie.”
“My advice is to pack an extra towel next time,” Custas chirped as he took the bill and threw it absently under the table. He’ll find it later when he isn’t busy. When Tartah only rolled his eyes, Custas waved a hand dismissively. “I’m joking: what would you like to talk about?”
Tartah looked down at the tabletop, idly tracing one of the wood grain lines with his fingertip. "I don't know."
Custas raised an eyebrow. "You paid without having a single question in mind?"
Tartah spared a little smile. "I just knew I didn't want the fortune. I doubt you know the zodiac, much less remembered all the pictures and titles in this deck of cards.”
Of course Tartah wouldn’t buy into that. He’s too grounded and intelligent for the fanfare and decor to sway him toward pseudo science. It only made him cooler.
"Alright," Custas said, folding his arms atop the booth. "Then let's find you something to worry about. How’s school?”
“As good as it can be."
"Family?"
He shook his head. “Just me and my grandpa, not much to say there.”
Huh.
"Okay. Friends?"
"No."
Custas watched him for a moment before asking with some reluctance, "You got a crush on anyone?"
Immediately Tartah’s cheeks tinted pink. He ducked his head, suddenly far more interested in the damp cuff of Custas' hoodie than the conversation. His fingers worried at the fabric for a few moments before he finally let out a sighing breath, his shoulders sinking as he gave into the truth. “... Yeah. I do.”
Tartah was quiet again for a moment, choosing his words with unusual care as he leaned back, then caught himself on the table edge to keep himself from teetering over. Custas sighed through his nose as his friend continued. "I don't really know what to do about it, actually," he admitted. "I like her, but... I don't know if she thinks of me that way."
Custas bit the inside of his cheek. Her. Yeah, that checks out. It’s so painfully obvious that Custas wished he could just get it through his thick skull and aching chest. Coco. It was always going to be Coco, and its been that way since before Custas met him.
"I keep wondering if I should say something– I was thinking of doing it today, but the whole dunk tank fiasco ruined the luck on that," Tartah continued. "And– part of me thinks it'd be better just to rip the bandage off, even if the answer isn't what I'd like. The other part of me worries I'd only make things awkward and lose what we already have." His hands curled in on each other and he let out a weak laugh. “I’ve never really done this before. I’m not sure what I’m doing.”
And to make matters worse, Tartah still hasn’t realized that Coco is being even more thoroughly pursued by another. Custas wondered briefly if Agott had anything to do with Tartah not finding the time to confess. He’d bet his entire cash box on it.
The answer sat on the tip of his tongue: Maybe don't confess. It would save Tartah the embarrassment. The disappointment would fade and he’d find another crush, one that could like him back and love him. It would be the nice thing to tell him no, move on, look around harder–
... Wouldn't it?
Custas' stomach twisted. The thought felt ugly the longer he clutched onto it, not wanting to budge on this idea, this way to be without causing the most hurt to someone. Yeah, he's a bit of a jerk. He wanted Tartah not to confess. All signs pointed to that being the best answer, or maybe it was only the best answer for himself. Now-- He did want Tartah to be happy. He also wanted, selfishly and desperately, to be the person Tartah looked at in that way, even if it was second to Coco. His nose burned as he smiled bitterly at the table grain.
"...Can I ask you something?" Tartah nodded. "Would you regret it if you never told her?"
His gaze drifted toward the festival grounds, where volunteers were hauling folding tables back toward the gymnasium. He should be among those helping. Why he ever bothered to linger around for Custas was always a lost cause to understand.
"...I think I would," he admitted. "Even if it doesn't work out, I want to try.”
Custas closed his eyes for the briefest moment. He slapped his hands on the table. "Then I think you've already decided." He grinned. “You should totally confess to her.”
Tartah looked back at him bashfully, his cheeks still tinted that pretty love color. "...You think I should?"
Custas nodded, swallowing his disappointment down as he uttered, “I think… I think she’d be happy to know. I mean, you are thoughtful, kind… I’d just feel pretty lucky, I think, to be the one you liked. It would be an honor to be trusted like that, so even if she doesn’t feel the same, I can’t imagine she’d think less of you.”
Tartah’s cheeks burned as he muttered his friend’s name, the pitch belying his flusterness if it wasn’t already exposed by his rosy face. The knot in his brow loosened. “You really think all of that?”
“It’s either that or I’m really giving you a bang for your buck,” Custas replied coolly, throwing his hands up carelessly and Tartah laughed, shaking his head.
“Well, thank you.” He let out a slow, long breath, then said, “I’ll tell her. Soon."
They sat there for a moment, watching the straggler students tear down or find their way to the front of the school to be picked up. Just as Custas was going to inquire about doing the same, Tartah reached once more into his still-damp wallet, carefully separating another water-logged bill from the others. The soaked bill landed on the table with another miserable splatter. “How about a fortune this time then?”
Custas laughed. "I thought you said tarot was nonsense."
"I did." Tartah's shoulders lifted in a tiny shrug. "And it is. I figured if anyone was going to make something up convincingly, it'd be you. I just want to hear how much you’ve been bullshitting others.”
Custas wheezed at the casual curse word, then nodded, sitting up in his spot. He reached for the deck of cards when an abrupt downward bound object had him jostling back against his chair. Tartah also jumped, the thing that fell nearly nicking him, and he blinked his eyes rapidly as they both looked up to see where the thing had come from and—
Custas’ heart fell deep into his stomach as he realized the wind or perhaps the shitty taping failed him, and now his sign above him read in big, blotchy letters: KISSING BOOTH. Both their eyes fell to the soggy dollar between them.
Tartah's face… it wasn’t the same gentle pink Custas had grown accustomed to whenever he teased him: this was a deep, all-consuming crimson that spread from the bridge of his freckled nose to the tips of his ears in the span of a heartbeat. His silver eyes had widened so much, his lips trembling as he curled his fingers on the ends of the hoodie sleeves.
Oh god, to anyone passing by they are going to think I… that he… Custas took in a deep breath to calm his thundering heart. “S-Sorry– I got help getting the sign up. I, uh, it’s a repurposed stand from back in the day. It was just a hassle if I had to paint it, so I just taped posterboard up there to cover the… You know.”
Tartah nodded a little too quickly. He bent down and retrieved the fallen poster board, then held it out to Custas by the furthest edge. He muttered as Custas took it, watching Tartah’s hand jerk away fast. “Yeah, I figured.”
Custas pursed his lips, staring down at his lopsided handwriting as Tartah cut in, “Sorry.”
"It's not your fault,” Custas reasoned. “The wind, right?”
An odd silence settled over them again and Custas busied himself with tucking the posterboard against his chair to keep it from blowing away. When Tartah managed to raise his tucked chin to meet their gaze again, he immediately looked to the side, lips settled in a crummy expression.
He’s uncomfortable. Custas’ stomach felt weak, but he managed a smile all the same. He had to fix this. Clearing his throat, Custas reached for the tarot deck. “As for your fortune, then–” He shuffled the cards with gusto, then threw out a seven of swords. “Well, would you look at that!”
Tartah warily glanced over to the depiction as Custas announced, “This card says that the person you are destined to kiss…” He drummed his hands on the rim of the table– "...is someone who isn't me!”
The joke landed without a following laugh or roll of the eyes, but Tartah did look up at him, blinking twice as if catching up to their predicament. "...What?"
Custas forced a laugh in his place, waving a hand between them as though to sever any semblance of a connection. "It says you're in the clear. You can stop looking so terrified, ha ha haa..."
Tartah still didn't laugh along. He stared, eyes narrowed ever so slightly, but it wasn’t mere suspicion or a gaydar going off. Custas would be surprised if Tartah had any type of radar for people, much less when it directly involved himself. Otherwise he’d know Coco is a hopeless cause and the one that likes him is the same person who, if he had more courage, who willingly kiss him for that dollar and no one else. Not that he’d accept that fate though. Ew! Totally gross!
“Custas?” Tartah whispered, leaning a hair forward. “Are you… okay?”
Custas’ heart stuttered. He pushed himself backward in his wheelchair, clapping his hands together with a loud slap. "Welp! Dagda's probably wondering where I am right about now."
Tartah eased, confused as Custas reached for the cards and began shoving them haphazardly into his bookbag. “If I keep him waiting long after clean up he might come looking for me, so I should really get going on this booth, huh?”
Tartah watched him quietly before rising from the stool. "Here, let me help."
Custas shook his head. "You don't have to."
"I don't mind." Before Custas could object again, Tartah had already begun gathering the scattered decorations from the tabletop. He even rescued the damp dollar bills and put them properly in the cash box for the class. Custas watched as he brought down the sign, dumping the poles and board into Custas’ lap before walking around to push him to the storage closet.
Custas hated how much he liked Tartah. He hated how sweet he was, how caring, how hardworking. How is anyone supposed to not fall for you?
And every time Custas glanced up, he caught sight of Tartah wearing his band hoodie, sleeves reaching just to his wrists, his hair dry now even if the hood was a little wet…I’m happy he stayed. Tartah glanced down as they stopped in front of the storage room, waiting for an opportunity to squeak in. As if noticing what Custas was inspecting earlier, Tartah pinched the front design of the hoodie. “What is this anyways? I don’t think I’ve seen this logo before.”
“Uh, it’s for a rock band. They haven’t released music in like a decade, but they’re really good.” Custas failed to mention that they didn’t really make it that far: the market was too saturated at the time that they fell through the cracks. It was a miracle and a blessing he found it on a thrift store rack for a handful of coins since no one knew who they were. He’s very lucky to have found it, very lucky to have brought it today, and very lucky to have been able to help Tartah in return. He pursed his lips and glanced over his shoulder. “Are your parents waiting for you? I can finish from here. It’ll be a while before we can get our turn inside. I’ll need both the doors open to get this all through.”
Tartah snorted at the first question, already shaking his head as though there was an inside joke Custas didn’t know about. “No, I’m fine. I don’t have anywhere else to be at the moment anyways. I would rather hang out with you.” His hand drummed on one of the handles of the chair. “Maybe sometime you can introduce me to this band? The design looks cool, and if you like them, they're probably worth listening to."
Custas’ hands tightened around the supplies in his lap. Was he really about to dig through the van to find the CDs Dagda burned to preserve the originals they lost when they fell behind with the storage unit? Did he even keep all of them? Would it be better to ask Tartah to search them up on his phone instead of bringing out the CD Walkman? Would a phone even have them on it in as good a quality? Chances are unlikely. Physical media is the best.
"Yeah– Maybe I could come over sometime and we could listen together."
Custas froze. Come over… to the hotel?
Hell no.
Dagda would be there. Not that Dagda isn’t cool or anything, but upon hearing them talk? “Oh, so this is Tartah! Custas talks so much about you. So, how long have you been the subject of my boy’s waking fantasies?”
No!
“Maybe,” Custas squeaked out. “Or I could come over to your place?”
Or get dropped off a block away to avoid Dagda being embarrassing on purpose.
Tartah's smile faltered with a wince. “Sorry, I can’t host.”
He didn’t elaborate further and, to be fair, neither did Custas. After some moments of pondering their loose plans, Tartah rubbed the back of his neck. "...We could always stay after school one day after the meetup." Custas looked up as Tartah nodded over to the field. “I’ve seen kids lingering beneath the bleachers once school lets out. We could probably sit there and have a quiet place to listen.”
The bleachers? Has Tartah ever stayed up late watching shitty late night dramas? Everyone knows what that area is for, and it’s not for talking! It’s a different mouth action entirely, one that they are firm on not doing with one another. How naive is he to the way of the world?
Custas nodded anyway, refusing to entertain that further. It’s never going to happen. They are never going to be together, or date, or kiss under bleachers like highschool partners on a lovers lane. It’s just how it will always be. Tartah’s only got his eyes on Coco anyways, and after her, it’ll be some other lucky, bright-eyed girl. "...Yeah. Okay.”
“Great! Maybe we can see about tomorrow.”
Custas hummed, attempting to quell the ache in his chest. He gave his friend a toothy grin. “Okay.”