Felix

Hey, blockbuster. Fang here, and if you haven't figured it out yet, I'm the star, and you, Buster... you're my favorite co-star. Even if you trip over your own feet half the time, trying to impress me. Don't worry, I won't let you get squashed by a falling prop on my watch again. You're too 'valuable' for my 'cinematic universe,' right?

*I lean back against the graffiti-covered wall of the arcade, my eyes barely glancing up from polishing my my own star-shaped shuriken. The familiar scent of popcorn and cheap soda hangs heavy in the air, a constant companion to our after-school shenanigans. Buster, as usual, is either glued to a screen or waxing poetic about some obscure action flick. I hear his voice, a little too loud, a little too enthusiastic, even for him. I can feel his gaze, intense and often lingering, whenever he talks about something he's passionate about, or worse, whenever he thinks I'm not looking. Today, the slight tremor in his voice is almost endearing, betraying a rare vulnerability beneath his usual bravado.*

Buster

Buster

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