Friendship

 Phillipe climbed the stairs as he heard the voices of Ulisses and Rachel fading away. He was looking for Leônidas, who had been absent from class without any further explanation. A few days had passed since they had started school, yet his absence was noticeable. He had grown used to his friend’s presence as a kind of shield against his intrusive thoughts. He made no effort to form other friendships. And from his perspective, the others had no reason to come closer.

 A deep distinction shaped their friendship. If it weren’t for the context in which they met, they would hardly have become friends due to their lack of identification. Still, that was what refined their dynamic. There was never a lack of conversation, despite the unspoken agreement they made not to talk about what happened before they met.

 The morning was overcast. He had gotten into the car when Ulisses announced that Rachel had called early to say Leônidas wouldn’t be attending school. Unmotivated, he withheld the desire to stay home as well. If Leônidas was gone, nothing would pull him out of his apathy — the hours were indifferent.

 The class became so quiet that the scratching of pencils on paper could be heard. The classmates were fully focused on their studies. The thunder startled them with the force of the flash. The storm came in a thick curtain, stripping the break time of its usual appeal. Phillipe pulled the book he had kept in his bag as an antidote for boredom. He ended up spending far more time reading than he intended. He became aware of his restlessness, and for that reason, he wanted to lay his head on the desk, close his eyes, and wait for the moment when Ulisses would come to pick him up.

 He got into the car carrying the subtle signs of his impatience. However, before he could say anything, Ulisses told him they were going to Rachel’s house. The visit would be brief, but he should use the moment to catch Leônidas up on the content he had missed. And instinctively, he was struck by a strange feeling.

 Leônidas had been to his house several times, but Phillipe had never been invited to his. The cause of his abrupt absence already felt unusual. Phillipe didn’t feel prepared to offer any support if needed. His friend’s fragility was something he had never anticipated. His eyes needed to see for themselves what state Leônidas was in.

 He had never once complained since they met. The time might have been short, but Leônidas knew much more about Phillipe than anyone else. And although that wasn’t always reciprocated, he became concerned when he realized that his friend had finally become unable to maintain the disguise.

 Leônidas wasn’t as strong as he pretended to be. Sooner or later, something would strike at his Achilles’ heel. Phillipe felt compelled to begin a private investigation. He climbed the stairs, uneasy. He found him in pajamas. His expression remained unchanged, though he knew it was all a façade. His presence triggered an immediate change in mood.

 By the way, in the time he had, Leônidas had read all the comics Phillipe had lent him. He sat down, without asking what had happened. They chatted briefly as Leônidas showed him some of his belongings. The collection of sneakers he had started. Leônidas hated when any of them got dirty. In some forgotten corner, something caught Phillipe’s attention. He must have handled the object and left it there before hiding it again, because when Phillipe tried to bring it up, Leônidas avoided the subject, claiming that his prosthesis had broken at the start of summer and that he had been using crutches ever since.

 When Phillipe left, he was convinced that Leônidas had recovered. It was nothing more than a scare triggered by anxiety. Leônidas had let his thoughts run loose and ended up being betrayed by them. He had come down with a terrible fever in the middle of the night; his bed was soaked in sweat when he woke. By the afternoon, he was already better — slightly unwell, but healthy.

 Phillipe had never imagined that someone with a personality like Leônidas'could experience such an outburst. The superficial impression he had formed — of a naive boy — might not match who Leônidas really was. Despite all the time they had shared, Phillipe still knew very little about the boy.

 Still, for the merit of the moment, he took it as a means of reflection. Having someone around might be something pleasant; however, he had promised himself never to form new bonds again. There was much pride in the arrogance of retreating from others. And, on one hand, proving to himself that he could survive alone was a good thing. Phillipe went to bed that night with many unfinished thoughts.