Art by Torryinabox
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>You rap twice on the door to your room, which feels weird to you since… it’s your room
“Sam? I couldn’t find anything in your size, so I figured you could just wear my old pajamas for the night.”
>You wait for a response before knocking again
“Sam? C’mon. They’re about your size I think.”
>You jiggle the knob a bit
“You still not dressed or something?“
>Just let him know you’re trying to get in, but you want to make sure he’s not naked
>No response from the other side
>With your old pajamas in one hand, you twist the knob and somewhat forcibly enter your room
>God this better not turn into one of those embarrassing cliche anime scenes where you see him naked and get a nosebled
>And he goes ‘kyaaa~!’ and-
>Oh
>He’s not naked at all
>In fact he’s still dressed in the same clothes her brought with him
>And he’s still cruising through your comics at light speed
>He’s even taken the liberty of using an old English paper of yours to sketch a few doddles in the margins
>For the first time in what feels like a long time, you see him smiling
>Hear a contended hum rumble out of his meager body
>Feelsgoodman.jpg
>As quietly as you can, you whisper:
“Hey, bugs, like my essay on Frankenstein?“
>The rabbit sits up and glances around, as if he forgot where he was
>His eyes find you peering over him
>His smile folds into a nervous line
>“S-Sorry. I-I’ve never… uhhh … been in a r-r-room this big b-before. I g-got distra-distracted b-b-by the c-c-c-c-comics
>You tell him it’s okay, as you hurl your old dirty pajamas at him
>Sam squeaks as flannel bottoms and graphic tee drape off his head, masking his soft facial features
>Hnnng
>He looks kinda cut-
>NO
>NO
>You spin on your heels and autistically march towards the door
“Just come out when you’re ready. I’m gonna heat up a pizza in the oven.“
>You then shut the door, glowing red in the face
>Fuck, you need to do something manly, like… fight Alex or Mike…
>…and find the promised sodas…
>You crack a beer in the kitchen and get Alex to shotgun it with you
>That’s right
>Drink down the confusing feelings
>Drown ‘em
>How can a boy be so feminine? It should be against the laws of the natural world
>B-But you’re not… not attracted to that. Femboys ain’t your style
>You slurp down the can in record time
>Pushing down everything that happened today into your stomach
>Your liver will handle what your heart can’t
>Alex isn’t competitive but even he tries to match your pace
>He must be feeling anxious or sexual conf- NO
>Sadly, you are a pace he cannot match
>You belch loudly and loose a satisfied groan
>Fuck, that felt good
>“A-A-Anon?“ a shy voice behind you draws your attention
>Sam is in the hallway that runs along the kitchen,
>Wearing your old, flannel pajamas
>The bottoms are indeed WAY too big for him; they nearly slip off of him as he gingerly paces into the kitchen
>Were those jammies not strapped in place by the tender bow of his hips, they’d be around his ankles in no-time
>The dirty graphic t-shirt is draped over his upper body like a tent, but it does the job of covering the good-
>What goods? HE’S A BOY
>“Hey Sam, are those Anon’s clothes?“ Alex looks at you wearing a sly grin
>God you just want to punch him in his mouth sometimes
>Sam draws a deep breath, his trembling beginning to slow as his chest expands outward
>“Y-Yeah,“ he still says weakly, avoiding eye-contact with Alex. “A-Anon gave me t-t-these to wear.”
>You crumple the beer cans on the counter, hoping Sam doesn’t notice what the cans say
>Again, you don’t think beers are a good thing right now, but you need to drink away the confusion
“So, you want something to drink? We got some leftover sodas out,” you say, hoping to cut the homoerotic tension. “…and since the pizza’s in the oven. I’m gonna go wash your clothes.”
>Strange – as you pass by the rabbit, you catch an expression on his face
>It’s like, somehow, he’s found a tiny sliver of peace
>The tired glassy look in his eyes folds into a vague comfort, tinged by anxiety at being left alone with Alex – Your friend who is not Sam’s friend but you pretend he is
>You retreat to your room, leaving a few root beers and Dr. Bepper’s out on the kitchen table for Sam
>He’ll be fine. He can handle himself around people, rigth?
>The filthy clothes he wears day in, day out, are too big for him.
>You shove them into the washer
>The green hoodie
>His Jeans
>The gray longsleeve
>… His boxers…
>All of them are at least your size, if not bigger
>You figure they’re hand-me-downs
>You toss in an extra cup of detergent, and even some bleach for good measure
>Lord knows when the last time they were washed; chemically bombing these clothes is the only thing that’ll work
>You drop the lid on the washer and pace back into the hall
>You’re gonna have to get this kid some new clothes eventually
>You’re gonna have to care for him
>You’re gonna have to explain to your parents why there is a stuttering brown rabbit living with them
>You pace back into your room
>You just need a few moments to collect yourself, because the weight of what you’ve done tonight is heavy against your chest
>The shakes haven’t hit yet, but you think that might be the beer supressing them
>Or that evil pact you made with Vanessa to be ‘brave’
>Fuck, you can’t believe you did that – you can’t fucking believe you got yourself wrapped up in this
>You grab the red book off your dresser, pushing aside a drawing Sam left bheind
>You notice the red book was left open to a random page
>Looks like Sam was doing more than just reading comics
>You flip the page and gasp
>One of Sam’s superheroes is in the margins, right next to hundred-year-old spidery scrawl
>He’s a human, standing tall, robed and garbed in what looks like priest vestments
>Corded with muscle and sinew, the priest’s body bulges through his robes a little bit at the sleeves — but the rest of the costume remains loose and pious
>In his right hand is an open book
>And atop his head is a short pointed hat
>Oh, he’s some kind of wizard or a cleric?
>You read the name of what you assume is one of Sam’s characters…
>…Jesus Christ, kid, you could have at least written in cursive
“Anon, The Brave and Wise,” your mouth forms the words but your barely sober mind keeps them from coming out of your mouth
>Oh
>Oh dear
>Your heart does flips
>Blood rushes to your face
>Your knees feel weak
>Oh god oh god
>This is cute as hell
>He’s depicting you as a superhero?
>You’ve never seen yourself as a superhero, let alone ‘brave and wise’
>You know…
>…this feeling, right now?
>This is The Gay(tm)
>It’s – It’s not your problem if Sam has a crush on you
>After all you just daringly rescued him from his abusive alcoholic father
>You were the only person who tolerated him for so long
>Gave him food
>Your old clothes…
>You draw a few fortifying breaths, mind mulling over what’s happening to you
>But it only feels like there’s a block there, an unroutable stack of memory
>You flip the page, trying to trhow away the confusion
>A softly written header catches your attention, snapping you out of your feelings
>“To cleanse the body and soul:”
>Initially you think it sounds like new age shit
>But you know this book is no joke…
>You mark the page with a scrap of paper and make a mental note to come back to it
>It’s only 8:30 and your thoughts are coming in at a sluggish pace
>When you shut your eyes you don’t want to open them again
>Did you have homework?
>You crack a beer in the kitchen and get Alex to shotgun it with you
>That’s right
>Drink down the confusing feelings
>Drown ‘em
>How can a boy be so feminine? It should be against the laws of the natural world
>B-But you’re not… not attracted to that. Femboys ain’t your style
>You slurp down the can in record time
>Pushing down everything that happened today into your stomach
>Your liver will handle what your heart can’t
>Alex isn’t competitive but even he tries to match your pace
>He must be feeling anxious or sexual conf- NO
>Sadly, you are a pace he cannot match
>You belch loudly and loose a satisfied groan
>Fuck, that felt good
>“A-A-Anon?“ a shy voice behind you draws your attention
>Sam is in the hallway that runs along the kitchen,
>Wearing your old, flannel pajamas
>The bottoms are indeed WAY too big for him; they nearly slip off of him as he gingerly paces into the kitchen
>Were those jammies not strapped in place by the tender bow of his hips, they’d be around his ankles in no-time
>The dirty graphic t-shirt is draped over his upper body like a tent, but it does the job of covering the good-
>What goods? HE’S A BOY
>“Hey Sam, are those Anon’s clothes?“ Alex looks at you wearing a sly grin
>God you just want to punch him in his mouth sometimes
>Sam draws a deep breath, his trembling beginning to slow as his chest expands outward
>“Y-Yeah,“ he still says weakly, avoiding eye-contact with Alex
>Aw fuck it
>Before you turn the book shut, your mind wanders to another idea
>Sam might have wanted to know what was so special about this book
>After all, it was there in the chasms above the school
>And you… You want to know more about this thing that Vanessa has going
>Well, you have time to do some light reading – maybe five minutes until the pizza’s done
>And the clothes still churn in your washing machine
>Sam is just going to have to deal
>Your name is Alex
>And you’ve always known that Sam was a bit odd
>But man, it’s not even your house
>This is just ridiculous
>“C-C-C-Can I have t-this one?“ the rabbit asks you in a timid voice, holding up a Dr. Bepper, pointing at the label
>“U-Unless you w-wanted it…“ he lets his sentence nervously die, the pleading tone in his voice plain and clear
>You level a concerned gaze at him
>“If you think you can handle it?” is your confused response
>Sam not sensing your faux sarcasm, glows
>“I-I-I can h-handle it! I p-p-promise!”
>He flashes a smile as he pops the can open with his fuzzy little fingers
>THe crack of the lid makes Sam jump
>You… you just watch
>It’s like witnessing an alien try something you’ve known your whole life
>The bunny takes a few light sniffs, his nose wrinkling at the sharp scent of Dr. Bepper
>Your concerned gaze continues to be more concerned
“You ever had a Dr. Bepper before, Sam?”
>The rabbit shakes his head, throwing down strands of hair across his face
“Well it’s kind of… hmmm… You know when you eat spicy food? It’s kind of spicy.“
>Sam tips the can back against his lips and takes a slow, savoring sip
>His eyes go wide as the first drops of the sacred nectar grace his tongue
“See? It’s spicy, like the indignation of a worker alienated from the fruit of his lab-“
>“It’s g-g-good!“ Sam squeaks in excitement
>Yet, despite that proclomation, he sets the can down and pulls nervously on his (Anon’s) pants up cinching them higher up his bdy
>God they’re so comically big on him, it’s a wonder how they even fit
>Probably his girlish hips
>You draw a long, confused sip on a root beer
>Sam continues staring at the can of Dr. Bepper, sneaking glances at you
>You stare back at him, confused
“Are you done?“
>He deflates, brown eyes flickering to the floor
>“W-W-Well don’t you w-w-want any?“ he says softly
“What? Ewww. No. I’ll just get my own. That one is yours bud, all covered in gross rabbit spi-“
>The rabbit then shakes his head a bit, shutting his eyes in the process in disbelief
>“T-T-That’s m-mine?“ He repeats. He then looks up at you, the biggest fucking doe-eyes you’ve ever seen
>“We d-don’t h-have to s-s-share?“
“Yes- I mean, no. We’re definetely not sharing. That’s yours,“ you poke at the chilled can
>With trembling arms, Sam grabs the Dr. Bepper off the table and takes a loud slurp
>Lol what the fuck?
>Ordinarily, you’d insist that it was ’OUR’ soda, but you don’t want to share his gross rabbit spit
>You’ll allow private ownership just this once
>You win this time, capitalisim
>Sam’s eyes narrow and his nose wrinkles as tips the can vertically, high against the kitchen light
>When he’s done, he gingerly sets the can down and-
>BUUUUURP
>-belches at glass-shattering volume
>Good lord, you’re amazed he’s still standing – that could have knocked him back a few feet
>His face glows red as he points his eyes to his feet
>His floppy ears drip down his forehead and shieeld his face
>“S-S-Sorry,“ he whispers
>The gentle BEEP of the oven causes him to jump a few inches into the air
>You guess the pizza is done
>You are Anon, and you are sitting uncomfortably close to Sam on the couch, eating pepperoni pizza
>Alex rifles through your shelf of movies
>The TV is on but nothing is happening
>Sam eats in small, gentle bites, but none-the-less has already consumed two pieces of pizza and is halfway through his third
>“Lord of the Rings?“ Alex suggests
“Too long.“
>“James Bond?“
“Too violent.“
>“Batman: The Dark Knight?“
“Too sca-“
>Sam sits up, a slice of pizza still dripping from his face
>“T-That one!” he exclaims, spewing crumbs from his mouth
>And then, as if suddenly embarrassed, he looks at you, the look of want plain across his face
>“I-I-If that’s okay with y-y-you?”
“Have you ever seen The Dark Knight? It’s really good, but it’s pretty intense. I don’t think you’ll like it,” you say
>“I-I can take it!” he asserts
Oliver Hart
Author of Foxing, Leaves of Fall, Liquid Courage, Beating the Heat, A Red Winter, Weber’s Gambit, and many other stories. He primarily writes hmofa, but dabbles in most genres. Interests include, writing, reading, technology, and music.
Stories: Foxing, The Leaves of Fall