Naked and Afraid of Love

August and Oliver sat themselves at the small table in the corner while Mimi, as August heard Oliver call her, scoured the cupboards. What was she looking for? August didn’t know, but he was sure it was important. If not to her, than to Oliver, to the reason why he brought them here today. But Mimi couldn’t find it. She yanked the drawers out one by one, opened each and every door, then slammed them all shut with a frustrated sigh when she found just cheap stationery and old textbooks inside. The room might’ve received a fresh new look, but it had yet to forget its old purpose.

Suddenly, an excited gasp. Mimi returned holding what looked to be three cups – which she divvied up blue to August, pink to Oliver, purple with the stickers to herself – and a very fancy kettle. No sooner had she turned it on that the water inside was already boiling, thick steam wafting through its nozzle. Though curiously enough, when Mimi had poured in the hot water it looked odd. Light brown, effervescent and he could swear he heard a slight metallic clink when the bubbles popped on the surface.

“What’s in here?” August asked, more apprehensive than curious. Mimi didn’t answer, flashing him a guilty look as she scuttled to her seat. Though it did help his doubts when she and Oliver both took a hearty sip, that was soon undone when said sip seemed to stick in their throats. August gulped and, subtly, pushed away his ‘tea.’

“Hoo,” Oliver panted as soon as he recovered from his coughing fit. His eyes were watering and his face was red, though his voice wasn’t the least bit hoarse. “Is it meant to be tickling?”

“Better that than a blinding jolt of pain,” Mimi shrugged. “Though I imagine that’s likely still on the cards.”

“Heh, I’ll drink to that,” Oliver said, taking another sip. Then another and another, until he had guzzled down the entire cup within a minute of it being filled. “Say, did I ever thank you?”

“Doesn’t hurt to hear it one more time. Then again, I should be thanking you, I suppose. You won’t imagine the amount of shit you’ve just saved me.”

“Student council giving you grief again?”

“No, not the council. The president. That whinging little wanker.”

“No way, Albert? Did he finally get that ball transplant he’s been waiting on forever?”

“Yeup. And now he’s got the gall to waltz in here and threaten to shut down my, quote, ‘shitty pastiche of an extracurricular fever dream’ unless I get to three members by Friday. Joke’s on him, though – now this is a bona fide club. I can apply for funding, sit on all the event planning meetings, and book out labs and conference rooms. And he’ll have to give them to me. Can you imagine, Ollie? Can you imagine that sycophantic twat’s smarmy grin, crackling as he pulls out that counterfeit Mont Blanc of his to sign his illegible initials on my perfectly conceived forms – Yes?”

Finally, August’s shaky hand waves had caught her attention. He wasn’t too eager to interrupt her impassioned speech – not find out the consequences – but he felt like he didn’t have a choice. Mimi was – well, where should he even start? Her exhibitionism, the suspicious and secretive behaviour, and enough vitriol to fill an industrial tank, the list could go on and on. But his biggest concern was her relationship with Oliver.

They were friends, that much was evident. And thankfully, August couldn’t see them being anything more or less than that – though he wasn’t really trying too hard to. But at the same time, he couldn’t shrug off a bitter ache in his chest – the feeling that Mimi was his better. That she didn’t just follow Oliver’s lead, cruising along, humouring his each and every whim. No, if Oliver gave her grief, she’d wrap it with a bow and hurl it right back at him. The two of them were on the same wavelength, resonated at bold frequencies that August couldn’t even fathom, let alone dream of reaching. And so, it wasn’t really strange for him to wonder,

“Why are we here, again?”

“Oh? Oh, right. Shit, I almost forgot.” Mimi leapt from her seat, flourishing her skirt with practised flair, and striking an action pose – one which August could only describe as egirl Uncle sam. “You, my friends,” she continued gravely, “are here because you’ve heeded my call! The forces of evil, dark and lugubrious tendrils stretching across the universe, had festered here on earth for too long now. Greed, wrath, pride, all of them are burning hotter than ever in the soul of humans. But no longer. We shall rise to the challenge, fight them and push them back to the slimy depths they came from. For we – are – magical girls!”

August was struggling for words. Really, he was expecting cheesy music to swell from a hidden speaker, confetti to pop, the wind to blow filmic through her hair. But none of that happened, which made Mimi’s soliloquy feel all the more embarrassing.

“Right, so, couple things,” August said pragmatically, rubbing at the bridge of his nose, then pushing his glasses further up. “First of all, fighting evil is cool and all, but how are we supposed to do it?”

“With magic, of course? Don’t you watch anime?”

“I do, which leads me to point two. That is fiction. This is real life. What magic?”

To that, Mimi smirked. August didn’t like that, nor did he like the gusto with which Mimi spun on her heels and pointed her open palm at the window. Then, she scoffed. “Watch this.”

And August did indeed watch – watched unenthused at first, then in awe as light began gathering in small clumps, all of them coalescing to one point at Mimi’s fingertips. Soon it became a bright orb, and Mimi toyed with it for a while. Made it grow and pulse and shrink and shiver, and when she had finally had enough fun, she thrust her arm forward and the ball drew a long column of light through the air, before vanishing. Not without a trace – when he looked at the sky, August could see a hole in the clouds.

“Whattheactualholyfuckingshit,” he whispered under his breath, tongue tying itself in flabbergasted knots. He couldn’t believe it. He did not want to believe and because of that, he had to fight it. He had to deny it, however clear it was that it was real, lest he went insane. And so, clinging on to the last bit of reason that still hung about him, he took on all the evidence laid before his eyes, and shoved it all aside.

“Nevertheless, point t-three,” August stuttered. “They're called magical girls. And last time I checked, and trust me it was very recent, neither me nor Oliver had anything that could reasonably describe us as –”

August’s argument stuck in his throat. The lights were playing again, though this time it didn’t seem to be Mimi’s fault. He turned around to find Oliver engulfed in a brilliant periwinkle glow that allowed only his silhouette to be visible. His floating silhouette. His floating and nude silhouette.

Only Oliver wasn’t just standing there suspended in mid-air for the sake of it. No, he was moving, turning, changing. His arms, legs and torso shrunk and slimmed, his shoulders rounded, narrowed and sloped; the straight line of his body became a smooth sinuous curve, tapered at the waist, swaying wide at his hips; his hair grew long – past his chin, then neck, then budding chest – and his face rounded, his jaw sanded down, his nose thinning, his eyes opening wide and wider.

But then, the glow subsided. Too early, too sudden. It fizzled out and when it did, Oliver plopped to the ground with a soft thud and an equally soft groan. Without thinking, August rushed to his side, but had to stop after only one step.

There were some things boys his age couldn’t just do – and helping naked girls was definitely one of them.