Basil is weird, he’s your best friend and has been since kindergarten, but he’s mean and hella weird.

even now that you’re both grown up; the tendencies of the bad, sort of sadistic temper he carries around since little did not fade away with the years, as adults predicted.

you don’t care, or…you might as well say you’ve become accustomed to it.

you’re a loner, and so is he, it’s better to be alone together after all.

…. is that your hair on his hand?

“i will do necklaces”

Basil declares, with indeed; a piece of your hair on his hand, jolly as ever, with that eerie smile on his dolly face, that smile, you’ve always thought it resembled the one of a shark, in a ‘i smile, but don’t come close’ sort of way, toothy and vaguely threatening.

“i’ll have your hair in mine and you’ll have mine in yours”

he says, brushing some residual hair out of your shoulder…he didn’t even ask, he puts it on a little paper he just ripped out of his notebook, and folds it neatly, it mingles with his own.

you’re on the school’s roof, watching your schoolmates bellow your feet like little ants you’d like to squeeze, Basil doesn’t enjoy recess very much, people make him nervous, thereby violent.

your legs dangle off the edge of it, Basil’s short and ginger hair dances chaotically in the wind, his sandwich (yours, that he stole) lays abandoned in between your and his knee, the sun is bright above you.