How did I catch you?

It was the 301st day and you’re standing with blonde-brown hair and a striped shirt and a pair of sweatpants and a blank expression behind your sunglasses and a snapback and a hoodie. Next to you is a vending machine and next to that is a shorter boy whose foot bounced back upon kicking the thing and yelped and you didn’t even flinch at his reaction despite it being so close to you.

‘Are you done?’ you ask him and your eyes behind the dark lenses are like a speedy pendulum left right left right left—‘Look, can we just go?’

‘Dude, what is your problem?’

There’s a bout of silence and your cheeks plump and your nose flattens and you’re displeased because your lips crinkle at the ends and a dent forms in your round white chin probably caked with concealer.

‘I just—I need to practice, OK? I’m falling behind on steps and I really don’t appreciate wasting time like…’

‘You’re lying.’

‘What?’

‘You are lying. You’re playing with that thing. And every time you do, you either have free time or you’re really nervous about something. And clearly, someone who has free time doesn’t look as friggin’ constipated as you do right now.’

I don’t like your friend and I know we won’t get along and I don’t want to admit this but he’s right. You’re unsettled and you have extra energy and you’re trembling under all those layers of clothing you’re so warm hence the colourful cube in your hands and you put it beside you and your top lip curls and you’re trying to look tough and it works.

‘As if.’

‘Yeah, as if, right? 'Cos you’re the manliest man from us all.’

‘Whatever, man. Think what you want. J