20. panic, fighting, and flowers

TWENTY

panic, fighting, and flowers

Wednesday, April 2nd

"She saw."

The area between August's eyebrows was creased, his confusion plain as day. "What?" he asked, then went to turn around, but Isaiah gripped his shoulder and forced him to keep looking his way. "Isaiah?"

"Hide me," he whispered, and August faltered, the tension in his face evaporating. The blond sighed and remained in the same spot, trying to ignore the sun beating down on him. Isaiah pretended not to notice so he wouldn't feel so guilty.

August wiped the sweat beading on the bridge of his nose. "Isaiah, you do know that I'm shorter than you, right?"

"Oh God, she's walking over."

"For fuck's sake."

August turned around. Jordan was headed their way, hands picking at the strings of her hoodie, her fear of the sun nonexistent. Isaiah averted his eyes, kept them focused on anything but his sister. Which was hard to do when she wasn't yelling for once in her life.

"Isaiah?"

Please don't mention it, please don't mention it.

"Why aren't you on the field?" she asked, and Isaiah felt his whole body slump in relief. Yet he still couldn't get his mouth to keep up, so he was stuck trying to grab the words scrambling around in his brain and make them into one coherent sentence. It was proving to be difficult.

"He got hit with a ball," August lied. He smiled and held out his hand for Jordan to shake. "I'm August."

"Oh, you're August," she commented, nodding slowly in understanding. "I've heard about you. Nice to meet you, I'm Jordan. Isaiah's older sister."

August arched an eyebrow and glanced over at Isaiah, who still looked troubled, then back to Jordan. "I've been talked about? What did he say?" he questioned, grinning at Isaiah's quiet sigh of irritation. "It must've been about my a—"

Isaiah rammed his elbow into August's side. "Shut up," he hissed, and finally met his sister's gaze. His anxiety immediately came rushing back.

"You're alive," she stated, then pressed her hand against his forehead and lightly shoved. "I can tell you're freaking the fuck out. So, chill. I don't give a shit that you're kissing dudes, or girls, or hey, even both—"

"Jordan, please," Isaiah interrupted, facepalming. "Shut up."

She frowned. "You bully me and your boyfriend? How rude."

"He's not... Jordan..."

"August, you hearing this? He's a bully."

"Jordan!"

She flinched at the volume in her brother's voice and met his wide, teary eyes. Her face softened and she nodded in understanding. "Okay, okay, I get it. Not ready for gay jokes." She held her hands up in surrender. "But seriously, I don't care. And I don't think Mom and Dad will either. Dylan, on the other hand? Beware for gay jokes to the max, bro."

"Can we stop talking about it?"

"Alright," she said. Jordan looked between the two boys before jerking her thumb in the direction of the stands. "I'm gonna go cheer Steve and Ashton on, because I love my brothers from other mothers. You'll be good here, right?"

Isaiah sighed. "Yes, I'll be fine."

Jordan hummed. She took two fingers and aimed them at her own eyes and then to August's. "I'm watching you, bitch."

"Jordan!"

"Okay!"

Once she disappeared, Isaiah faced August with an apologetic look. "I'm sorry," he mumbled. "I didn't know she was coming. And I'm sorry she's so weird, seriously, I am—"

August snorted, taking a few steps closer. "It's fine," he said. "Don't worry about it. She's fucking cool."

Isaiah frowned. "That's because you two are scarily alike."

August grinned, eyes almost seeming closed, faint dimples showing in his cheeks. "Yeah?" he laughed. "I can see it. Also, do you wanna stay here and watch the rest of the game, or go home? You're sweating buckets."

Isaiah ran the back of his hand across his forehead, grimacing at the feeling. He wanted to stay, but he knew the heat wasn't helping his anxiety at all. "Home," he decided, and August nodded. "I drove here, so."

"Morgan brought me. I'll just tell her I'm going with you."

"You're coming with me?" Isaiah asked, surprised. "You don't have to."

"I thought that was obvious," August teased. "Besides, I want to. Let me text her."

Isaiah stood there awkwardly, rubbing at the back of his neck. "I'm gonna get my stuff." He gestured over to the dugout. "Be right back."

Once he'd entered the dugout, Isaiah noticed that majority of his teammates were sitting around, and he frowned. They'd gotten three outs already? He rubbed at his arm, making his way over to Ashton. Is it my fault?

"Hey!" exclaimed Ashton, standing up quickly. "You okay? I didn't get to ask."

"I'm fine," he replied, glancing out to the field. Steve was at bat. "I'm, uh, going home."

Ashton's smile dropped. "Right now?" He looked disappointed. "You're not gonna watch the rest of the game?"

Isaiah cleared his throat, the dugout unusually quiet, and he lowered his voice as he spoke. "I'll text you, okay?" he said softly, and Ashton nodded, making an 'OK' sign with his fingers. He knew when to not push the subject, and for that Isaiah was thankful.

Just as he picked up his bag, a hand clamped down on his shoulder, causing Isaiah to flinch in surprise. He instinctively ripped away from the person, turning around only to feel guilty at the sight of Marcus, who looked uncomfortable. Marcus crossed his arms against his chest and took a step back. "Sorry," he said. "Uh, feel better."

Isaiah forced a smile. "Yeah, thanks." He brushed past him, squeezing his eyes tightly shut for a moment to reprimand himself for being so stupid. He needed to stop being so tense around him; it was starting to affect everything.

"Yo, Isaiah." Please, I just want to go home. Leave me alone.

"What, Alex?"

"You got hit with a ball and now you're leaving?" he asked mockingly, and his friends started to snicker. So much for being teammates. "Since when did you become such a pussy? What, your boyfriend didn't give you enough he—"

Before Isaiah could think and stop himself, he was storming over to the junior and gripping his shoulders tightly, shoving him back against the brick wall. "Does your mouth have an off button?" he snapped, fingers digging into his shoulderblades. "I don't know what the fuck I did to you to make you hate me so much, but it's getting annoying."

Alex looked momentarily stunned, before he quickly recovered and pushed forward, making Isaiah take a step back. "So it's true?" he questioned, a smug look taking over his features. "Your boyfriend isn't satisfying you, how sad."

Isaiah clenched his fists; he wasn't a violent person, but he'd never wanted to punch someone so badly before. "My personal life is none of your business," he hissed. "Stop projecting your problems onto me. It's unhealthy."

Alex scowled. "The fuck is that supposed to mean?"

"Exactly what you're thinking."

A vein protruded from Alex's temple, and he stood up quickly, shoving Isaiah back against the fences. He was fuming, and Isaiah couldn't help but feel triumph at the sight; pissing an asshole off was a rewarding feeling.

"Wanna say that again?" Alex growled, shoving at the other boy's chest again. "Say it, I fucking dare you."

"You're projecting your own feelings onto me," Isaiah said slowly, maintaining eye contact. "Because you're a selfish fucking a —"

Pissing Alex off was a rewarding feeling, but it was also a very painful one.

Alex slammed his clenched fist against Isaiah's cheek, forcing his head to the side. Immediately the dugout erupted into shouts of surprise and even cheering, and Isaiah felt like his cheek had been set on fire. He was prepared to hit him back, but a stern, gruff voice yelled at the players, one hand grabbing Isaiah's shoulder, and the other Alex's, forcing them apart.

"What the hell is going on here?" Coach snarled, glancing around at all the other players. "Huh? Say something! The fuck is wrong with you guys today? Playing like shit, and now y'all are fighting? Get ahold of yourselves!"

Coach refocused his attention on the two he was keeping apart. "Sit the fuck down, Alex. Isaiah, come with me."

Isaiah stumbled after his coach, and he reached up to touch his tender cheek, wincing at the stinging feeling. He tasted a coppery flavor in his mouth, one that was building up, and he spit, watching bloodied saliva shoot to the cement. He cringed, running his tongue along his teeth, almost gagging at the taste.

"You wanna tell me what went on over there?" Coach asked, a bit calmer than before, but his face and tone remained stern. Isaiah looked down. Why did he ask for me? I was the one who got hit. Alex hit me.

Isaiah shrugged. "He was being a jerk. He said some things, wouldn't butt out of my personal life, and I told him he was projecting. So, he hit me."

Coach pursed his lips, placing his hand on his forehead in disbelief. "Okay, we'll talk about this another time. Were you about to leave?"

"Yeah."

"Okay. You feel dizzy?" he asked, frowning. Isaiah shook his head. "Headache?" No. "Any serious pain?" No. "Nothing that could distract you from driving?" No.

Coach nodded. "Alright. Get going. I'll talk to Alex and the others."

Isaiah sighed and pulled his bag higher up on his shoulder, making his way over to a pacing August. Once the blond noticed him, he smiled, then immediately frowned at the harsh mark on his cheek and the blood on his chin. He hurried over as fast as he could, taking his face into his hands, making Isaiah wince.

"Holy shit," August breathed, lightly brushing the forming bruise with his thumb. Isaiah grimaced, and August clenched his jaw. "Who hit you? Seriously, what the fuck? What happened?"

Isaiah pulled away, brushing past August. "Just an angry teammate."

"Hey." August grabbed his hand to stop him, lightly pulling so he would turn around. "Don't just brush it off like that. Tell me who did it and I'll beat their ass. Fuck my bad legs, I'll sock 'em." August was both serious and not, and when August smiled, Isaiah couldn't help but chuckle.

"But seriously," August murmured, voice quieter, brows furrowed in unmistakable concern. "Are you okay? I can drive."

"Shut up, no you can't."

"I may not have my license, but I have willpower."

"August, shut up. Let's just go."

"Okay, Mr. Grumpy."

As soon as Isaiah started to back out of the parking lot, August began to mess with the radio, accidentally blasting the music when he turned the dial the wrong way. In a panic, he smacked it, turning it off completely. Isaiah sighed.

August turned the music on again a little bit later, keeping it at a medium volume. He hummed along to the random pop songs that played, legs stretched out, fingers tapping a rhythm against surfaces closest to him. Usually Isaiah found humming kind of annoying, but he couldn't help but think August was adorable when he did it. He kept those thoughts to himself.

Isaiah soon parked outside his house, and August trailed behind him, hands inside his pockets, eyes observing the flowers Isaiah's mom planted in the garden. He smiled, nudging Isaiah, who was searching for his house key.

"Can I take a flower?" he asked, and Isaiah raised an eyebrow.

"I mean, yeah. But make sure it's not one my mom would notice."

Isaiah unlocked the door, and he kept it open for August, kicking off his shoes and pushing them up against the wall. August walked in moments later, a yellow flower in hand and a bright smile to match. Isaiah raised an eyebrow.

August pushed the door shut and walked over, tucking the flower behind Isaiah's ear. "For you." His fingertips traced behind his ear and along his jawline to his chin, gently pulling it down so he could press a soft, gentle kiss to his lips, careful to avoid the cut that formed from Alex's punch.

Isaiah shook his head, lightly pushing at August's chest, not trying too hard to push him away. "You're so cheesy."

August laughed. "Yeah," he said, shrugging his shoulders. He remained close, smile slowly fading as he ran his thumb across the angles of his face, soon finding himself touching the bruise, wincing along with Isaiah. "I don't see a reason why someone would punch you."

Isaiah snorted. "I'm not perfect. Even if I was, people could still hate perfect things."

"Yeah?" August replied, pushing his fingers through Isaiah's messy curls.

"Yeah," Isaiah mumbled. "People don't like when others are better than them at what they do."

"But I like you," August pointed out, pouting. "And you're better than me at many things."

Isaiah rolled his eyes, pushed at August's face with his hand. "Shut up. You stink."

August gaped at him, lifting his arm to sniff. He frowned. "Barely. Besides, it was hot. And you can't judge me when you were the one running around, so you smell worse."

Isaiah ignored him and brushed past, heading upstairs. August wasted no time in following him, hand reaching out to grab the back of his shirt. Isaiah paused, turning his head to send him a confused look.

"Slow down."

"Oh, shoot. Sorry."

Once they reached Isaiah's room, the latter tossed a towel at August's chest. "Go shower," he demanded, then went to search for clothes he could borrow. August chuckled in amusement.

"You wanna join me? Saving water is good for the enviornment."

Isaiah blushed, threw a change of clothes at his face. "Die."

"A simple no would've sufficed."

"Shoo, fly."

August let out a loud laugh and disappeared into the bathroom, and a few minutes later Isaiah heard the sound of water rushing against the bottom of the bath. It was twenty minutes later when the water stopped, and he heard a loud 'fuck!'. Isaiah immediately shot up and rushed over to the door.

"August? I'm coming in—"

"Don't!" August blurted, panic lacing his words. "Don't, I'm fine."

Isaiah frowned. "Is it because you're not dressed? If so, it's fine. If you need help, I can—"

"It's not," August groaned. "Not because of that. It's my leg, or you know, lack thereof."

"August, it's okay. I don't care what your leg looks like, alright?"

"You say that, and you think you mean it, but you don't," August said, voice sounding strained. "I look fucking weird, okay? It's not cute, or attractive, it's ugly."

Isaiah sighed, pressing his forehead against the door, hand clutching the doorknob. "It's not supposed to look good, August. You have a scar, just like the rest of us."

"It's a big ass fucking scar."

Isaiah let out a soft exhale. "I'm coming in."

"For fuck's sake, Isaiah—"

Isaiah pushed the door open, revealing a dejected August propped up against the side of the tub. A towel was draped over his lap, and he was looking off to the side, determined on avoiding Isaiah's eyes. His hair was plastered against his neck and face, cheeks pink, and hand holding a second towel over where his leg should've been.

Isaiah dropped to his knees beside him, cradling his face in both hands and turning his head to face him. He leaned forward and pressed their foreheads together. "It's not weird," he whispered. "I think you look just fine. Now let me help you get dressed."

"I don't need help."

"Whether you need it or not doesn't matter. I want to help you."

Isaiah helped him to his feet—er, foot—and sat him on the edge of the tub, taking the extra pair of briefs and helping him slide them on. August looked in the other direction the whole time, ashamed, keeping the towel on his lap so Isaiah couldn't see anything. Isaiah pulled it off when the briefs were on and tugged him up.

"Come." August sighed and wrapped his arm around Isaiah's shoulders, letting him guide him back to the bedroom. Isaiah laid him down on the bed and turned on the fan, hesitating before leaning down to kiss him on the lips quickly.

August finally looked at him. His eyes were lighter, glassy, and he looked both sad and content at the same time. Isaiah placed his hand on his cheek. "I'm gonna go shower, I'll be right back."

Isaiah finished up quickly and tugged on his briefs and a pair of basketball shorts before hurrying to his room and climbing onto the bed. August raised an eyebrow as he plopped his head down on his chest, arm slung lazily over his torso. August squirmed when his hair tickled his collarbone, and he pushed his hand through it, fingers gliding from the top of his head down to his jaw, pushing his head up to look at him.

A smile pulled at August's lips. "You said you weren't perfect, but I have to disagree."

"Hush. I'm not."

August chuckled quietly and pulled him further onto him so that their chests were touching, and Isaiah's legs were in between his thighs. He wrapped his arms around him and held him close, kissing the top of his head, the smell of his shampoo oddly relaxing. His fingertips ran up and down his spine and over his shoulders. Isaiah closed his eyes and inhaled deeply, the sound of the fan whirring and August's quiet breaths one of the most calming combinations Isaiah had ever had the pleasure of hearing.

"I know I said it as a joke earlier, and haven't really said it seriously," August started, eyes closed, "but I do like you. I have for a little bit now."

Isaiah blinked in surprise and lifted his head, August's eyes opening at the movement. "Since when?" he whispered.

August winked. "It's a secret."