Shrugging again, Zac chooses to not comment on his luck again for the moment, figuring anything else he has to say would be redundant. He can concede Indie’s point to him and not feel any differently for it. It’s not that big of a deal, after all. He can also feel his eyes on him, though he could’ve said that for the rest of the time they’ve been together as well. The scrutiny doesn’t feel any different, and he’s not reading too much into it, what with how he’s currently having his words echoed like he’s said something incredibly confusing. It’s odd, but it’s not so odd that it has him raising eyebrows to it; he keeps company with people who could be considered ‘weird’, and this boy only seems different from that in the sense that he’s unique, but not in the sense that it puts Zac off. He sort of likes it. When he begins to speak again, starting off with a meaningful assertion of his name followed by, for whatever reason, what he wears to school, he’s back to staring once more, shirt dripping water onto the ground by his feet. Zac waits until he’s finished, and then he cracks a smile, his amusement somewhat roguish in nature and not unkind. “Do you see me jostling and heckling?” Clearly not. He’s never even so much as looked at him funny, which… Well, perhaps that doesn’t mean as much as it sounds like it should mean, but if Indie has never been lusted after, never been wanted, always been fucked with, then the way Zac looks at him must be really different indeed. “Whatever. I’m not going to push you into anything. I’m a dick, but I’m not like, a total asshole.” Whipping his head back to face forward, he finally sits down himself, though he keeps his legs crossed rather than taking liberties with the water like his companion has. He figures his face is as good as it’s gonna get without a mirror, and he sets his soiled shirt down next to him, thinking. Always thinking too much.
In order to distract himself from reaching for Zac’s hand once again, Indie starts to doodle in the wet ground next to his thigh. It also serves to give him something to look at instead of Zac’s still very shirtless figures or, at least, it would if Indie had any measure of self control. He steals glances up from his makeshift art nearly as frequently as he looks down at it but, thankfully, Zac doesn’t seem to mind. Indie’s head shakes. He wouldn’t be out here with Zac if he’d been the type to poke fun at Indie’s eccentricities; bullies are violent and aggressive but it’s not beautiful and driven like he experiences with Zac. They aren’t doing it because they are fiery and alive but because they want Indie to shine less. Dulling another’s brightness shows a weakness of character and Indie pities them for it. He has yet to let a single instance affect him in any manner besides the temporary pain. It’s why he feels confident offering Zac his help; he might make an excellent nurse someday. “I don’t think you are a dick or a total asshole,” Indie asserts, swirling his feet to make ripples of his own. It’s another halfhearted attempt at a visual distraction but doesn’t even hold Indie’s attention a full fifteen seconds. He craves the way his heart does flips as he drinks in Zac’s figure. “Not to me, anyways. You’re my favorite.” He doesn’t bother explaining that line of reasoning, doesn’t feel like he has to. Indie’s ankles click together beneath the surface of the water. “I don’t think you’d have to push me at all.” Ceasing his doodles (little fingerprint bumblebees with flight lines that go in swirly loops) Indie leans back to rest his palms in the dirt, propping himself upward. “Just because no one’s ever wanted to do so with me doesn’t mean I haven’t wanted to do it with them.”
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