Goodbye, Mr. Could Be [Teddy/post-dated May]
Simon sits on the park bench, looking down at his cellphone with the greatest amount of anxiety the human world has ever known. The boy takes a few secure puff of his inhaler, shakes the canister, and then pockets it back into his jeans. This is it, isn't it
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Comments 35
Simon's strange telephone manner has done nothing to help his situation, whether or not Teddy is aware of it yet-although his body language is casual, loose, relaxed as always, the southern boy is feeling somewhat wary of this particular meet-up. His greeting is lukewarm, as it so soften is when his mood isn't quite right.
"Hey."
For now, he'll just stand next to the bench, hands in his pockets and hat on his head. Yes, he is wearing his stupid hat, the hat he got at a garage sale for like fifty cents. What of it?
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Off to the side, there's the sound of his thumb flicking against the little paper filter. Up front and center, he's maintaining his drowsy, pleasant look and speaking in a tone to match. "What's up, stringbean?"
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...right. Those long arms slide back to his own sides so he can wander back to the bench and sit down. Guilt, anxiety, fear; it curls inside of his belly like a sleeping serpent, waitng to eat up anything he manages to construct for his will.
Fidgety hands pick at his shirt hem, ripping the threading. "I just...wanted to talk about somethings. How's the apartment thing going?" Scoot scoot. Have a seat, big boy.
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Lanky arms jerk to straighten and pop, just like the subtle pop that occurs at the tilt and jerk of his head. He steps, slow and careful, to the side, drawing an invisible circle around the taunting lad. Open and wide: that's his path. "How sweet the words you speak, my love. Like honey on my tongue." Which he makes sure is visible in his open jawed grin. You see that gleam of metal? So familiar, isn't it? Say goodbye to the fun times had with that, Teddy, dearest.
"I know what kind of monster you are, friend." Step. "You're a wolf, a wolf struttin' around in sheeps clothing. So much for the fellow lamb who might never hurt me." Step, leg crossing over leg. "So much for the friend I gave myself to."
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"Don't you turn this shit around on me! Don't you dare do it, you lyin' sonuvabitch. Good Christ, the audacity." Good ol' Teddy and his random ten-dollar words, and his gesturing, and his animated facial expressions. "What did I do? What'd I even do ta you, huh? Why you gotta do me like this?"
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"What did you do? Theodore." He smiles, coy and teasing. "You remember my loving ex, Bradley? The way you're acting now? Not much better than he did. Sorry, to tell you though, you'll never be as scary as him." So sorry, Teddy. This is a solid fact.
The General finally stops along his path to lean on a bony hip. His grin is golden, as he's working out a way to get on the head of the speeding train, figure out how he'll reroute the track so it doesn't crash into the side of a mountain. "You act like you're in the wrong. Wasn't it ...It... Why, yes. I-I do think it was you who told me to do this. To be the person I want to be. But, I can't be this and make you happy, now can I?" The grin drowns in a mock-up of a pout, that pretty bottom lip jutting out to the enraged teen ( ... )
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Look at this. What is this? Why is any of this touching him? The comparison to that charming Bradley fellow tosses a lump of hot lead right into the pool of his belly ( ... )
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