Black Velvet (30) (Patreon)

I haven't left my bedroom for the entirety of the uncomfortably warm October morning, refusing to leave the softness of down blankets and the blessing that is air conditioning, or my reality in which I didn't just have a strange sexual awakening on my front lawn.

I can't escape from the truth of it.  It's suddenly not a how, but just a —

It just is.

—

Incoming text (Charlie-Anne):
Where are you?

Incoming text (Charlie-Anne):  
Which booth are you set up next to? I'm next to the tarantulas.

—

I should know something's up when Nic delivers a quiet knock to my bedroom door; he never knocks, ever, in the history of annoying brotherhood.

"Why are you knocking?" I kick my comforter further down my bed, grumbling loudly after Nic's fourth attempt at being courteous.  It rings loud behind my headache, and I cringe,  "are you possessed by a polite house ghost?"

"You're annoying." Nic grunts in frustration, muffled from outside the door,  "I don't usually have to knock. Why is your door shut?"

I don't remember when I shut it.

"Turn the knob,"  I groan, covering my ears as he knocks again,  "Is your wrist broken from jerking off?"

"Don't be a brat. I'm using manners here.  I'm respecting privacy, and all that glitters."

"Mom told you to knock, huh?"

"Open up." Nic snips, and I roll my eyes from my fetal position. "Or I'll come in anyway."

"... Hmm, I'm sensing a polite presence in the hallway, one that's becoming less and less pleasant," I beckon towards Nic, with one arm outstretched from the singular fleece blanket that's still draped across it.  "Oh, what should I do?"

"Oliver."

"Ooh.  Chills.  You can enter my abode, weak-wristed spirit who smells of fruit flavored condoms."

The doorknob hesitantly turns before Nic pushes it, uncharacteristically drawn into himself.  He has something in his hand.

"I told you before," he's pouting, "Those condoms weren't even mine."

"Yeah, and I didn't believe you then,"  I snort disbelievingly, fiddling with a loose thread at the edge of my bed,  "why would Joseph just happen to leave his ridiculous condoms here?"

Nic shrugs, sending an unbothered look towards the open door.

"So.  Did crushing your science project totally ruin you for the day?"  He seems to feel awkward, or maybe even genuinely concerned.  I startle for a moment, wondering if perhaps he'd seen something he shouldn't have — but then remember the mess I left on the front lawn.

Shit.

"Awe, man.  I got the big pieces. Is mom super mad that I didn't pick it up?"  I groan, splaying my arms above my head, "I was in crisis mode."  I'm fully aware that I'm pouting now too.  My stomach is also growling angrily in protest of today's laziness.

Nic, of course, equates the crisis towards my shattered project and not my budding sexuality.

"No, she's too busy putting up ridiculously late Halloween decorations and feeling sorry for you. She knows you love the science fair."  He juggles the circular object that he's holding from one hand to the next,   "and you missed it.  Charlie-Anne even stopped by to see if you were okay, but you were sleeping."

"She did?  Did she win?  Ugh, don't tell me."

"She won."

"Oh, well, thanks for that.  My project kind of sucked anyway."  I shrug slowly, still semi-irked that I'd spent money on it, just to have it break into tiny pieces. "Breaking it was a saving grace to the science community.  Blessing in disguise;  no need for anyone to feel sorry for me."

"Okay..."  Nic perches on the end of my bed, hands curled around a sphere-shaped piece of glass,  "Uh.  Well, speaking of people who feel sorry for you..."  His sentence trails off, voice lower with confusion.  He drops the item he's been cradling next to my lap.

It's dark against my sheets, hard and heavy.

A snow globe.

The backdrop is littered with stars, an array of mint green and dark black, a strong blue mist.  It has 'Jameson Science Fair' stamped across the top and there's a post-it taped to the bottom.

It reads,

Sorry.

It's cold against my hands, and I shake it lightly,  watching a thin sparkly liquid drift along the stars.

"Oliver," Nic closes his eyes and inhales.  It's loud, harsh.  "I don't like to pry, but I need you to be upfront with me here..." he pauses, too long and too strained, his mouth fumbling to find his own question. I avert my eyes to the globe, just as he finally closes his. "...Did something happen — with Toby? While I was gone?"

I swallow, outstretched hand sinking to the blankets, snow globe cradled in my palm. I stare at it, a warmth building in my chest.  My heart feels weird.  It takes me more than a moment to hear what Nic has even said, too caught up in the thought that this is from Tobias —

Tobias bought me this.

"Oh... You mean, the rumors?"  I whisper, twisting the glass about.  I finally bring my eyes to meet my brother's, furrowing my brows, "I wouldn't believe those. I couldn't ever see Tobias — he could never,"

"No, with you." It's blunt, to the point, interrupting my sentence midway.  Nic stares at me like what I've said confirmed a suspicion that he's holding, eyes trained on how I clutch the gift,   "Did something happen, like,"  he's uncomfortable,  "with you two; between you two — while I was gone."

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