I'LL WAIT FOR YOU

Besides some few utterances, Tony didn’t talk much. He’d said “hello” as he took off his shoes at the door, another “hello” to Teddy’s mother as she passed by, then “did World War 1 start in 1941?” thirty minutes into their homework, papers and books strewn around the carpet. Every conversation Teddy tried to start, he could only coax out a nod, shake or a shrug—or any two followed by each other, to denote a maybe-yes or maybe-no. Made sense why, for their school project, Tony had slipped a piece of paper into his hand how they were going to divide up the work, prior to meeting in Teddy’s house. It meant that Tony’s silence was well-planned. Teddy supposed—that’s just introverts for you.

To be completely truthful, Teddy always thought Tony was kind of… weird. Not to be mean, but he seemed like a slump. Not that Teddy knew Tony personally, but that boy was always hunched at the back of the class, as if melting into the shadows, continually fading into opacity. Tony was—well, average. Not enough to shine, but good enough to not fall behind a year. Teddy might’ve interacted with him before all this, maybe said a good-morning or said hi—but that’s because Teddy says hi to everyone. Otherwise—maybe besides the odd haircut—Teddy only knew of his existence until as of late.

Still, now that Teddy has seen him close-up, it’s a much sadder story. Tony looked forlorn, always—as if he had lost something. There was some sort of yearning in his eyes, but there’s no hope behind them; the very thing he’d lost was never to be discovered. His upper lip was always tucked into his teeth, as if he just ate something unpleasantly sour. Teddy hasn’t seen anyone so… lost, so… unexciting. The antithesis to whatever a rush of serotonin felt like. Melancholy, perhaps. Maybe that’s Freddy’s doing—that dick’s set hell loose upon him, and it’s easy to understand why he’d be upset. The thing is, Tony’s always—well—so angsty. So woeful. Problem is, they’re not close enough for Teddy to ask why. And he’s not the type of guy to gossip, either.

Still, even if he couldn’t figure out Tony’s life story, there was still the one thing that tugged at his brain—that letter. From Tony. The contents were carved into his heart: I love you. He’d laughed it off in the locker room, but really—his ribs were about to be crushed from the way his heart swelled. Something had bloomed in the crevices of his emotions, and suddenly the nobody-boy from class moved to live in his mind rent-free. The way Tony was, though, it was hard to start a conversation, much less get an articulate answer. There’s no time like the present, though—the question was clawing at his chest, and Teddy needed to ask. He had nothing to lose—but then again, Tony might.

“Tony—”

“—Ted—”

They’d piped up at the same time. Teddy, so surprised that Tony was the one who started up, immediately decided to put his question on hold—too late, Tony already gave the floor to him, physically shrinking into himself like a tortoise, as if guilty that he’d interrupted Teddy. Tony was already twiddling his thumbs anyway, chewing his lip in anticipation. It’s useless to get him to speak first—so Teddy dropped the bomb.

“Was it—” Teddy paused; not because he was hesitating, but because he saw Tony tense up. Maybe he already saw it coming. Teddy continued anyway: “Was it really you who wrote that letter to me?”

Tony knew what he was talking about. Teddy knew it caused him immense pain, that letter being publicized to the whole school—it’s no surprise that Tony immediately narrowed his eyes, shoulders shrugged as if to make himself seem smaller, sniffling. Tony picked at the skin around his nails, hair hiding his expressions. It seemed such a great task for him to verbally respond, because a minute’s worth of silence passed before he conjured a very simple answer:

“No,” he said. “Said” was an overstatement—Tony had mumbled it out. Maybe he was trying to save face; if he admitted that letter, he’d be doomed once more. The thing is—somehow—Teddy knew he was telling the truth. Tony was quiet, and unrevealing; for him to write “I love you” must take great lengths for him to do, and the effort cost more than what it’s worth. Teddy, feeling as if the wind had been knocked out of his body, laughed and slowly lowered himself to lay on the floor, hands behind his head.

“I guess I was hopeful,” Teddy smiled—and he knew Tony noticed that his smile had wobbled. Somehow, someway, even though they’d only referred to each other by name just a few weeks ago, Teddy trusted him. Hence, Teddy answered Tony’s questioning look.

“I… I had hoped that letter came from you, Tony,” Teddy said, chuckling—but his voice was all cracked up and dry, as if he was nervous. Maybe he was about to cry. Maybe both. He hasn’t even told this to his mom yet. Yet somehow, with Tony—all it came out.

“I just—you know, I felt kind of like a freak. I was always dating girls, and dumping them when they wanted more. I thought I was an asshole. They called me an asshole too, them girls. I understood why they did, but I couldn’t understand myself. And then, that letter came, and you know—”

Teddy wiped his eyes. Maybe he started crying, “I—Tony, it was so weird, but my heart started beating so fast. I laughed it off, but it was like, something snapped inside me, and I realised it. You know what I’m talking about, right? Like—it just made sense. I wasn’t—I don’t have to be that—I don’t have to be that ideal straight guy. And then obviously… well, Freddy faked that letter, and you confirmed it for me, so I…”

His smile wavered, “I don’t know. Maybe this is not what I want. I’m really not sure yet. Look, like—I mean, I never saw you like, you know, in the I-like-you sort of way. But then… learning about you, and this letter—even though it’s fake—made me realise stuff about myself. I was hoping I could… I could discover more, and... I’m—sorry, it’s kind unfair to say I’m disappointed, because it’s not your fault. And…”

The articulate Teddy Carter ran out of words, and he simply deflated, letting go of all his points. Tony had simply listened to him in his usual silence, fingers tightly laced together, rocking in his crossed-leg position. Teddy was all too ready to say—forget about it. Let’s pretend this never happened. Except Teddy saw his bottom lip tremble, and he—he started speaking.

“I like you, Ted,” he muttered quietly. He moved to tuck his hair behind his ear, and Teddy thought he was going to say more— but he fell into silence, eyes darting this way and that, squirming in the fact that he’d just said that out loud. 

Slowly, Teddy slowly rose from the floor, shuffling closer towards Tony. The latter recoils, as if Teddy was about to hit him—poor thing—but settled when Teddy proved himself to be of no harm. A sudden urge overcame Teddy’s being and he slowly raised his hands, suddenly wanting to cup the boy’s face, yearning to touch him. Tony was slowly backing away—afraid, perhaps—so Teddy’s hands froze in the air.

“I—Can I?” Teddy almost rasped, his fingers shaking. Tony, reluctant at first, eventually nodded, and let out a surprised noise when Teddy touched his face. Teddy was already prepared to retract, but Tony had just gripped his wrists, as if he wanted his hands to stay—maybe Tony just wasn’t used to being close with someone. He shuddered when Teddy stroked his cheeks, as if he was about to cry—but his grip was stone around Teddy’s wrists, not wanting the other to let go.

Teddy was no stranger to caressing someone’s face, but with Tony—it felt completely different. Suddenly it felt as if he’d never done this before, and if it weren’t for Tony’s grip, his hands would’ve started shaking. Teddy could feel how thin Tony was, how his face wrapped around his skull like latex, cheekbones poking out of his skin. Tony was letting out these small noises, as if he was uncomfortable—but every time Teddy went to retract his hands, Tony pulled them back, evidently wanting more.

Then Teddy’s eyes fell upon Tony’s trembling bottom lip. First he thought maybe Tony was going to cry—then a fleeting thought came to him; the urge to pull him into an embrace and meet him with a kiss. It overwhelmed him so much that Teddy froze in his tracks, staring at how Tony’s lips were almost as pale as his skin. Tony, noticing that Teddy had stopped completely, stared into his eyes—and for the first time, Teddy noticed how clear they were; such a pretty pale blue, seemingly so lifeless yet in fact, so wonderful—waiting for its depths to be discovered.

“Can…” Teddy swallowed, stroking his cheek, “Can I kiss you?”

He’s nervous, and his voice croaked. Tony, staring at his face, nodded quietly, his thumbs stroking Teddy’s fingers. With a shaky breath, Teddy leaned into him—first resting their heads together, before kissing his lips.

In Tony, Teddy found the solace he’d been looking for, in the blooming and buzzing confusion. Perhaps Tony had more discoveries to make—it was clear he’d never kissed anyone before—but the way his arms shyly wrapped itself around Teddy’s body felt like comfort—felt like home. Had Tony been braver, perhaps he’d linger for more; but he shortly broke away, his pale face an unusual cherry-red—but the fleeting seconds it had lasted was enough for Teddy to know that he wanted more.

As if realising their places, both of them awkwardly shuffled backwards, looking away from each other in fluster. Still, the laugh that came out of Teddy’s mouth felt good. Sheepishly, he scratched the nape of his neck—but he leaned closer to Tony once more, and this time spoke in an unwavering tone.

“They can’t know, Tony,” he said, his voice drooping from what was bliss just a few moments ago; “I saw how they treated you, Tony. It can’t happen. And I won’t let the same thing happen to you again. Not a word, you understand?”

Tony, shifting in his seat on the carpet, nodded slowly, as if he already knew. Teddy, somewhat relieved, smiled and—quickly—he dove in to steal another kiss, before he stood up and marched to the kitchen in lightning speed, yelling something about getting more snacks. Tony, having turned into stone, raised his fingers to slowly touch his lips, not quite believing that he wasn’t at home in bed, daydreaming about the boy who had seemed so far away before.