Re: [Outside the Rec Center.]
Holly kinda just thought Noah was fearless over there. He was so confident, right? About everything from his cock to saying what he wanted, and Holly, okay, he had the 'confident about his cock' thing down, but the rest of it? Nah, no way, and he did conflate this Noah with the one back home, at least as far as popularity, right? He got the feeling that was the same kinda thing, and he could easily envision this Noah charming the pants off, like, every girl in school. And, okay, so Holly hadn't actually realized he was a jealous fucking bitch until this week, but there was that, too. Anyway, Holly's first instinct was definitely to protect himself, and he got that Noah maybe didn't have that instinct at all. If Noah'd had that instinct? Then they absolutely wouldn't be here, right?
But they were here, and Holly was tearing an orange apart, and Noah was over there indecently eating a banana, and Holly felt like shit. But, yeah, he was kinda content? He was simple, right? I mean, he was pretty sure he was a lot more low-key than Mr. Banana Eater over there. Mr. Banana Eater, who was knowingly making inappropriate offerings about orange juice and skin. "You absolutely cannot sexualize orange eating," he said, but he knew Noah could do just that. He could too, you know, if he chose to. And, okay, it would be really easy to start thinking about that kinda stuff. He was still kinda hard, and Noah was sitting really close, and, yeah, the sunlight thing. More than anything, really, he just wanted to go back to the room and, like, look. Yeah, so it was a recurring theme, but Noah had gotten to look a lot more than Holly had. Holly's memory of the evening before wasn't detailed. It was like pointillism, and he had been standing too close to see the larger picture.
"I meant for you to go inside to piss," he reminded Noah, belying any claims of not remembering the night before. I mean, he really didn't remember it clearly, especially toward the end, but the walk was pretty clear, and we can blame the brisk air for that. "Daniel," he agreed. "Maybe call him Mr. Webster. Oh...um, I told him he couldn't tell anyone about you, so he won't. I don't think he wants people to know his grandson is a deviant," he concluded, deadpan and as if a label of deviancy was no big deal. "You really need to be more specific, Wilbur," he said of feeling weird. He popped the last orange slice past his lips, and he resisted the urge to push Noah's curls off his eyebrows.