How can Jason do that? The flagrance of the other boy's act starts a wildfire in the dryness of his throat. There's Jason, pretending like this isn't killing him, and here Peter is, actually choking on all of the shit he's tired of being afraid of. This is it, Peter thinks, the perfect snapshot of their relationship. He tucks it away; the darkest part of Peter taunts him for his weakness in both faith and self-preservation.
"Sure," Peter manages to choke out. A sharp left at the drink station puts Peter in the men's room. Here he is again, staring at himself in the mirror as the war wages within him -- a war with such casualties.
Peter finds himself looking up. Was there a point in trying to have this conversation again? Was he already so clutched after only a few hours that he's praying in the St. Cecilia's cafeteria bathroom? That can't bode well.
Anything but peacefully, Peter's eyes slip closed. His head tips back down, forehead resting against the cold mirror. He asks for strength but he never asks for distance from Jason. At best, he asks forgiveness for what he does to Jason; the way he makes Jason feel. The things that he makes him do. How Peter feels no actual guilt over the way that he feels. He knows he's not worthy of the things he begs for.
In a few moments' time, Peter is upright and adjusting his appearance -- hair, face, shirt. He looks like he does any other time to a layperson: composed, secretive Peter, studying too hard to think about girls, juggling clubs and rehearsals and honors classes. Peter, the golden boy's dorky-but-cute roommate that barely even registers on the high school radar. Attentive Peter, who still manages to bring back everyone's drinks despite the schism he fell into in the bathroom.
"Nadia, I got you Dr. Pepper," Peter says, plunking the drink in front of her as he swings his legs over the bench to sit back down next to Jason. He still dares not look at his best friend.
"Alright, but when this goes straight to my ass, I'm gonna tell my mom it's your fault," she intones in faux-disappointment. She gets to it on her drink while Peter sets Jason's lemonade in front of him. Bonus points for Peter as he manages to push out a little laugh at Nadia's Nadia-esque antics around a sip of his water.
no subject
"Sure," Peter manages to choke out. A sharp left at the drink station puts Peter in the men's room. Here he is again, staring at himself in the mirror as the war wages within him -- a war with such casualties.
Peter finds himself looking up. Was there a point in trying to have this conversation again? Was he already so clutched after only a few hours that he's praying in the St. Cecilia's cafeteria bathroom? That can't bode well.
Anything but peacefully, Peter's eyes slip closed. His head tips back down, forehead resting against the cold mirror. He asks for strength but he never asks for distance from Jason. At best, he asks forgiveness for what he does to Jason; the way he makes Jason feel. The things that he makes him do. How Peter feels no actual guilt over the way that he feels. He knows he's not worthy of the things he begs for.
In a few moments' time, Peter is upright and adjusting his appearance -- hair, face, shirt. He looks like he does any other time to a layperson: composed, secretive Peter, studying too hard to think about girls, juggling clubs and rehearsals and honors classes. Peter, the golden boy's dorky-but-cute roommate that barely even registers on the high school radar. Attentive Peter, who still manages to bring back everyone's drinks despite the schism he fell into in the bathroom.
"Nadia, I got you Dr. Pepper," Peter says, plunking the drink in front of her as he swings his legs over the bench to sit back down next to Jason. He still dares not look at his best friend.
"Alright, but when this goes straight to my ass, I'm gonna tell my mom it's your fault," she intones in faux-disappointment. She gets to it on her drink while Peter sets Jason's lemonade in front of him. Bonus points for Peter as he manages to push out a little laugh at Nadia's Nadia-esque antics around a sip of his water.