A nasal voice reaches and twitches Mason’s ears. Peeking up from the floor tiles, rolling open his dead eyes, Mason finds the familiar boy and nods to him, then over into their classroom.
“Sam? You’re waiting for me outside of class? Did Hell finally freeze over?”
Mason jokingly looks down at his raised foot, checking for breaking icicles at his soles. Wearing a smarmy grin as he peers back at his friend.
“Oh, you’re very funny. I don’t live in the classroom.”
Sam remarks. Pushing up his silver-grey frames, all the way up to the bridge of his nose. The boy waves his hand, veritably brushing off Mason’s mockery.
“Yeah, only because they make sure to kick you out so you can’t extra study.”
Mason jokes under his breath, finally reaching his friend. Mason goes to pat Sam on the shoulder but then decides to shove him a little.
“Hmph.”
Sam huffs, smirking back at Mason. Letting his hand rest upon his shoulder strap, straddling his book bag a notch higher. Sam seems to tense at the sight of Mason for some reason.
“What's up, buddy?”
Mason lightens his face a touch, thanks to Sam being Mason’s other best friend, he can safely soften around him.
Creeping in from the side of his eyes, Sam’s whites begin to shade red, slowly encroaching towards the center as his breathing gets heavier. A nefarious air approaches and Sam’s eyes dart from side to side as if searching for something.
“D-Did you uh- Did you see her today?”
Sam cuts to the chase, as ever. He trips nervously over his words because half of him is the kid who asked this question in this way, while the other half is the meek boy that Mason greeted.
“Ugh, yes, Sam, I saw her.”
Mason rolls his eyes and walks past him into the classroom, coldly. The room is quiet, currently, as the two of them are the first to enter. The halls just outside are a faint hush as books are grabbed, friends are waved goodbye, and lockers squeak close.
“D-d-did you... “
Sam’s eyes bleed red, the shade closing in on his iris. His gaze becomes something truly devilish. Sam’s curse is fully manifested, alive in his eyes. Seeing this, Mason raises the back of his hand.
THWAP!
“Knock it off.”
Mason knocks sense into Sam, throwing his glasses across the room. He knows how and when to hit Sam before he loses too much control over himself.
Sam’s curse- a random trait that all Cursed get when they become as such- does that when his blood pressure increases too much. It can start to take over his personality. Mostly, this fun fact makes it so that Sam, a usually closeted and manner-minding boy, turns into someone who would do almost anything to see the better half of the female student body.
Sam’s head reels forward as he’s struck, already picking out a new pair of glasses from his pocket and placing them on his nose, his middle finger pushing them back up. A constant replacement is needed for him, considering his condition and Mason’s penchant for treating him in this way.
“Ahem. Thank you, and, apologies.”
Sam nods while his glasses shine a bright white in the lenses. His head falls to waist height, a deep forgiving bow.
“Eh, I’ll always hit you, buddy.”
Mason throws his flat palm into Sam’s unguarded back, leading off towards their seats.
Sam smirks, thinking about Mason’s ironclad and unforgiving attitude toward playhouse violence.
A thought drags Sam back to the past, remembering their short history of only a year, back to when they met on last year’s first day of school- the duo found each other when Sam first entered the school grounds, passing by his fellow students and immediately walked right up to an already dirtied Mason.
***
“Mind your damn tongue, next time!”
A younger Mason trembles his fists at his sides, standing firmly above two bigger kids- their bloody noses matching his fists. Droplets fall off of his knuckles onto their chests as he steps up his foot on the right-side thug.
Sam, much smaller and unsuspecting, comes across this scene as everyone else did. He walked up to an amassing crowd to see what was happening, but more so than anyone else, Sam wanted to get into the formed ring with an oddly determined expression.
Struggling to match glances with the bloodied Mason, Sam steps forward and shakily raises his hand. An audible gulp escapes from Sam’s throat and like a pet giving paw to its master, Sam lays his hand out in offering to Mason. Extending his fingers outright, fighting to keep them as steady as one can when facing a force like Mason. The crowd murmurs around them, sharing hand-covered whispers and giggles. The crowd hushes expecting the small boy to say something, possibly stupidly heroic.
“M-m-m-my name is… Sam. D-Do you want to be friends?”
Sam has his eyes closed and his voice is elevated. He excitedly finishes his sentence and throws his hand a bit further towards Mason. Similar to the scene of a confession, the crowd shyly glances away out of cringing embarrassment.
Surrounding the two now are the laughs and giggles of all their peers, confused and baffled at the sudden proposition. Some phones are swiped out to take photos or video evidence, and a few others leave out of boredom, expecting a bigger fight- more students join the crowd to see if this is the case.
“Haaagh!?”
Mason backs off an inch, bewildered by the strange young boy. A grunt falls from one of the fallen goons at Mason’s feet as he steps onto his leg. Mason can’t help that there is this tiny flaming inspiration inside his chest though, piqued by the small tree-green-haired child.
“Who does this?”
Mason thinks to himself, giving Sam a good once-over, wondering in this instance if he’s a friend or a potential threat. Scanning him for any sort of tell, but eventually seeing that he’s probably meant to be as unassuming because he really is.
Sam stands before him still, gulping down a hard lump, still fighting to keep himself straight and steady. Determined to make friends with the apparent toughest kid in the yard. Prison rules.
After eye-balling him, Mason chuckles to himself. Raising his hands to his face, Mason nods his head over to each hand while he talks.
“How could I shake your hand?...”
Mason lends his voice into anger and frustration.
Sam closes his eyes and his hand slowly falters and lowers.
“...When I’ve still got all this blood on me.”
Mason tilts his head ever so slightly, only enough that Sam, whose eyes are shot at him, could see. Mason smirks at Sam, raising his left-side cheek, showcasing the sharp teeth behind his lips.
Stifling his surprise and a stint of joy, Sam bites his teeth down and perches his lips up to his nose, wearing a thoughtful expression. Sam lowers his hand.
The surrounding students, having heard Mason’s words, are silent, confused, and likewise surprised. Putting away their phones and grabbing at their neighbors to leave, realizing the end of the fighting is with this boring scene.
“Huff.”
Sam briefly exhales, turning his head to see the downed boys beneath Mason’s feet. He titles his head to properly look at the closest one. Sam pivots over to the down-and-out bigger student, stepping over to his face and sizing him up. He quickly reels back a tiny fist he packs and gives the boy a slight jab - nothing unfairly hard, but enough to bloody his own hand.
The crowd turns to watch, spinning around with gasps and hums. Whispers float.
“Woah.”
“Damn.”
“Pretty messed up, isn’t it?”
These twitch at Mason’s ears, the sound of disapproval and worry pleases him as ever. Mason continues to follow the strange young man with glowing curiosity. Mason leans his weight on the closer thug, bending forward to reach closer to Sam.
Sam raises his fist again, this time not to reach for Mason’s but to inspect it alongside his. He eyeballs the size of Mason’s hand and just how much blood is drying on him as they stand here. Sam closes one eye to get a better look, edging closer, but not too close. Focusing his glasses with his free, non-bloody hand, Sam can tell that he’s got just enough blood on his hand to match Mason’s now.
“Here.”
Sam posits, pushing his welcoming handshake to Mason, more confident than before. A droplet falls from his hand and continues to move forward, almost hitting Mason’s black dress shoes.
The crowd around doesn’t know how to react, steadily remaining silent now, not even a cell phone chirps.
“You’re crazy… Sam, was it?”
Mason firmly grips onto his hand, finally. Squeezing blood from both of their hands. As Sam grips tightly back, attempting to match Mason’s force, droplets of red fall to the ground and splayed body of the boys under them.
The two of them stand, shaking their hands until the crowd finally disperses, realizing that Sam isn’t about to get beaten up by Mason.
The crowd leaves, and Mason and Sam stare at each other. The two share in an awkward giggle.
As if fate smiles upon them, they ended up in the same first-year class and have been making it together ever since.
***
Continued in PART 7…
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