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No. 472
Thanks for repostin' this, anon! Good timing, too, since I just finished the second part I was writing.
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I know what I said before, about liking Engie and all, but later that night I avoided him like the freakin’ plague. It was a crappy thing to do but you have no idea how goddamn embarrassed I was.
It was like “I’d-rather-be-felt-up-by-Medic-again-than-face-him” embarrassed.
And considering the type of guy Medic is, that’s a really fuckin’ serious statement.
I even hung out with /Sniper/ I was so desperate to get away. Or hide.
Whatever.
Sniper’s a damn recluse. He just sits up there for hours and looks at shit. Shit like the horizon and God knows what else. I guess he feels the same way I did, about getting out and all. He looks wicked sad with his aviators off.
But he looks really gay with them /on/, so it’s a lose-lose situation for him.
“What’cha doin’ up here, mate?” He took a swig of something and looked at me for a minute.
I glanced down at his bottle, hoped to God he wasn’t drinking his own piss, and shrugged.
Freakin’ smells up in his nest.
“Just goin’ somewhere else for a change,” I said.
He looked at me again, for a little while longer.
“Hm,” was his stupid reply.
It made me pretty mad that that was the only thing he could think to say, but I guess you can’t blame a guy for being socially retarded. Probably had a crappy childhood or some shit.
I sat on top of a crate near the window and looked into the courtyard.
Soldier and Pyro were down there tryin’ to act all macho; I saw Medic round the corner into the base.
Engie was out there, too, and I looked at him real hard.
It was like he didn’t even know that anything was wrong.
Actually, he probably didn’t know.
It’s stupid how carefree the guy is. Goddamn.
He was wrenchin’ somethin’ like normal, though. Clankin’ usually gets on my damn nerves but it’s okay when he does it. Same with sentries.
When I first came here I fuckin’ hated the damn beeping they made.
Now I think it’s soothing. Sort of like some kind of fucked up lullaby.
I have honestly fallen asleep to that shit before.
It’s great.
And I guess you could say the same for that stupid Texas accent of Engie’s.
Not the falling asleep to it part, asshole. It just sounded stupid as shit when I first met him – like I actually think I laughed in his damn face when he introduced himself – but now I don’t think it’s so bad.
Seriously, though. “Howdy, y’all.”
What the fuck is that shit?
“Smart guy,” Sniper mumbled.
I must’ve jumped two freakin’ feet into the air, because he scared the shit out of me. I nearly fell off the damn crate and out the window, for God’s sake.
I had forgotten that he existed for a minute, actually.
Or that anything existed.
“Engie?” I asked, stupidly. I don’t know why. It just came out of my mouth. “Yeah, he’s pretty damn smart. 20 PhDs or some shit.”
Sniper chuckled a bit as I looked out the window again.
“What?” I asked. He had that dumb look on his face, like his mouth was all twisted into some creepy smile. Who the fuck knows what his eyes looked like. Probably scary as hell.
“You like ‘im, don’t ya?”
“Wh- well, of course, we’re on the same damn team, moron…” I shoved my hands in my pockets and glared out the window at everything.
“Nah, more than that,” Sniper said. “You should see the way yer lookin’ at that bloke, mate.”
“Don’t call me mate, asshole,” I mumbled. “I ain’t lookin’ at him special or anythin’.”
Sniper chuckled again, except it was more like a laugh that time, and drank that piss or vodka or whatever crazy shit he liked.
It probably /was/ piss water. I hate that guy.
“Shut the fuck up,” I said, emphasis on fuck and up.
“Alright, mate, just don’t come cryin’ ta me when ya realize ya love a man,” Sniper said. He adjusted his aviators like some kinda hotshot and grinned at me.
His teeth suck, by the way. They’re fuckin’ terrible. Like all crooked and shit.
Anyway, I got up, socked him in the jaw and left.
I don’t think he had any right to call me, ME, of all people, gay.
He’s always fuckin’ that damn Frenchfag every hour of the night. They seriously go at it like nobody’s business, with Spy sayin’ all this shit in French and Sniper sayin’ that he doesn’t fucking understand a word but he loves it anyway.
Fuck Australia!
It’s just a big mess in that lair of his. It’s stupid and I actually fuckin’ regret going in there, and I never regret anything.
At least I know what faggot smells like. It sure ain’t me.
Goddamn.
Worst part was I think I heard Spy decloak on my way out, after I had shut the door.
Like, the guy was sitting in the room the whole time just watching us.
And Sniper just said hi to him like it was nothing.
It makes me shudder just thinking about it…
So I got away from those gays as fast as I could manage, and made my way down to the damn courtyard.
‘Cept I stayed in the doorway, just kind of lookin’ out into it, like some kind of pussy.
And I swear to God I have no damn idea what was wrong with me right then. I’m /never/ fuckin’ like that – I mean with the standin’ still and all and the bein’ wimpy – so it doesn’t make any sense that I suddenly /would/ be.
Felt kinda creepy, to be honest. I was just sorta… standin’ there, lookin’ at Engie but also at nothin’ at all, thinkin’ really hard about stuff.
And let me tell ya, there’s not a lot I think about really hard.
It was gettin’ pretty dark. I could sorta hear Sniper and Spy fuckin’ in the background, but that didn’t bother me so much since I heard it so damn often. They’d be done soon, anyway, ‘cause Sniper, uh…
Well, he doesn’t take too long, if ya get what I’m sayin’.
Anyway, everyone else was inside doin’ who knows what, and it was just me and Engie again.
Though I don’t think he knew I was standin’ there like that. Good thing, too, ‘cause that would have been pretty awkward.
He stopped for a minute and crouched down for a minute or two, rubbin’ somethin’ on somethin’ and blowin’ on it all gay-like…
Damn guy knows how to build a fire real good.
And let me tell ya, right then I couldn’t stop thinkin’ about how impressed with him I was. He can do a lot of shit. A lot more than I thought he could at first, anyway. He can cook some tasty freakin’ breakfasts, and he can build all that goddamn shit out on the battlefield, and he knows how to get stains out of /everything/…
Oh, and he knows how to sing.
Plays guitar, too.
That’s what he was doin’ by the fire, by the way. Singin’ and playin’ guitar. I don’t just think about his musical talents on my own or anything. That’s too much.
So I finally got up enough courage and walked towards him, pretendin’ that I was just coming down from somewhere. I waved a little bit and took a seat next to him (but not too close).
“Yo,” I said, starin’ into the fire. He strummed his guitar.
“Heya, Scout,” he said. He didn’t look at me but it sounded like he was smilin’.
He started to play somethin’ I wasn’t familiar with, probably because it was a Texan thing and I don’t exactly come from an area close to Texas.
It sounded nice, though, so I watched the flames for a little before moving my gaze to his boots, which were sort of tapping in tune with the music he was playing, even though it was really gentle music – not like stuff you’d tap out a beat to – and I honestly wished I had a harmonica then.
Could’ve impressed him that way, maybe, sort of. I dunno what he’s impressed by.
I didn’t look at him any more than that, because I felt really flustered again (and goddamn, was it annoying).
“No reason to feel like that, Scout,” I told myself. “You’re bein’ a pussy-ass bitch.”
I frowned a little and drew a circle in the dirt with my shoe. But Engie, that bastard, was just strummin’ along like everything was okay and like he had never seen a guy who was hurt before in his entire life, like I was hurt, sort of heartbroken I guess-
Wait.
Wait, wait, wait. /No./
I was /not/ heartbroken. Just a little mad at him for bein’ a fag from before, okay?
Just a little upset.
He started playin’ a different song, one that I actually knew, some shit about a chick named Irene.
I drew my legs up to my chest and wrapped my arms around them, layin’ my forehead against my knees.
“God, Engie,” I said into my crotch. “Don’t play that shit.”
“Hm?” He paused for like five seconds before continuing. He hummed the tune for a minute to get himself started, I guess, before he sang the words again.
I didn’t think anyone with an accent as dumb as his could actually sound good singing, but, shit. You learn something new every day.
His voice is pretty good. Really mellow. I could tell it wasn’t the first time he sang something, anyway. He puts a lot of emotion into that stuff.
Like he really believed what he was singin’.
Goodnight, Irene.
I didn’t say anything for a little bit. Even though I fuckin’ hated the song I liked his voice a lot.
“This song is sad as hell,” I said, finally. He made another little “hm” sound and didn’t sing anymore. He just played the chords.
I dunno what it was – like the fire or the way the night air was just the right amount of cold or his guitar or something – but I felt really, really sad. Not sad like upset or anythin’, sad like, uh, the thing Spy says he does sometimes…
Oh, right. “Pining.”
Pinin’ sad, like I missed somethin’.
Spy says he pines a lot for France or where ever he comes from, cause hangin’ out with us is so awful or whatever, but I always just say he doesn’t look like a tree. I think that’s why he doesn’t like me.
Anyway, I felt like I was pinin’ for somethin’. Maybe home or a warm bed for once, and I even thought for a minute that I would like to see my dumbass brothers again.
Imagine that. Me wanting to visit all seven of my freakin’ idiot siblings. My ma, too, but that’s obvious. Wantin’ to see your ma again ain’t so bad.
The dumbest part was that I missed him singin’ already even though I had pretty much asked him to cut that shit out. Even though it was a sad song and all that I really liked his voice.
“Hey, uh, Engie,” I said, liftin’ my head up a little. He stopped completely this time and looked at me. I think I blushed or some shit cause goddamn, he had taken his goggles off. They were hangin’ around his neck and he was just lookin’ at me, like really lookin’, like he cared about what I was gonna say even though he knew it was gonna be somethin’ uninterestin’ or stupid.
“Could ya teach me how to play?”
He smiled, nodded, and moved a little bit closer, putting his guitar into my lap and sort of putting one of his arms around me – boy, that was somethin’ – and guidin’ both my hands to the right spots.
I gulped a little and tried not to think too much about the fact that he was so fuckin’ close to me.
He told me about the strings and stuff like that and how I should use my hand like so to hit the notes the right way, but honestly, I was barely paying any attention. I was listenin’ but not really, and as he was sort of moving my hands as he explained (“This string right here, Scout…”), I realized that I just wanted to kiss him.
Yeah, I know, fuck you. You’d get it if you were so close to this guy.
But anyway, I did kiss him.
I just sort of whirled myself around so I was facin’ him all awkward and his guitar made this weird twanging noise as I bumped into it, since I was kneeling now, and he looked real fuckin’ confused until I planted my lips right on top of his, holdin’ his face up to mine.
I’m pretty sure nothin’ in the world moved for a while.
When I pulled away he blushed a little bit and grinned his weird little grin, holdin’ onto his hardhat like it would fall off or somethin’.
From Sniper’s nest I heard him cheer us on, and Spy laughing like the little snot he is.
And holy shit were Engie and I embarrassed when we realized they had probably been watchin’ us the whole damn time. Fuckin’ creepy voyeurs. I flipped them off and looked at Engie again, who had set his guitar to the side.
He looked at me for a minute before pulling me into his arms, the fire cracklin’ in a way that made it feel really perfect.
But I honestly gotta just stop doin’ shit like that.
Gonna have a heart attack or somethin’.
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