Chapter 5: 2010 V I S I T I N G : [The Fourteenth Birthday]
𝟚𝟘𝟙𝟘
Ozzie wasn't having a crisis. He wasn't. Nope. He was totally cool. And not just cool. He was Romanoff cool. Bad ass and confident and undeniably hot in only his Avengers boxers. Who wouldn't be? They even had little Mjolnir's on them! Totally cool! Ozzie couldn't think of one person who'd say Thor's hammer wasn't epic.
(Sammy J. in English, Bryan Williams in P.E., and oh! Can't forget that prick Devi in Math, he didn't think Thor was cool either. But Devi's a cunt. A jealous cunt who stole your gushers in second grade when you told him his Halloween costume looked like George Washington instead of GI Joe. He ripped your Iron Man sketch too. Asshole. So, he hardly counts. But the other two, they totally do and this is really not helping at all—)
Ozzie bit his lip, turning away from the mirror in front of him (too short, too skinny, not light enough to look white like his dad, not dark enough to be black, Urdu too accented to be native like his mom's, tan skin somewhere between bronze and gold a solid middle ground between his parents, straight black hair like his mom's, nose a little too big for his face, eyes like honey all his own) to throw another shirt back onto his bed. 'There're only 10 types of people in the world' it said written in black across the gray fabric. Hilarious if you knew binary. It was the tenth in half as many minutes. Ozzie groaned while face planting Mt. Vi-Clothes-vius and just like Pompeii it threatened to spill all over his room.
Why does life suddenly suck so much? He wondered as the smell of his mom's favorite detergent filled his nose. I'm thir—fourteen! That's like almost an adult!
It probably started sucking, Ozzie mused, at about the same time he realized girls were really pretty and that kissing them was actually not at all as gross as ten-year-old him thought it would be. Not that he had all that much experience in the area but still. Ozzie groaned again, hands in his hair and debating whether or not a fall from his second story window would kill him. Probably, but it would hurt like a bitch and he'd be more likely to end up a paraplegic than dead so in the grand scheme of things not worth the effort. And no, he still wasn't having a crisis thank you very much.
Just because there were, well, about...all of his shirts...and pants...and socks (and Christ on a stick James was right he was totally a nerd. Who the fuck worried about their socks?) draped over his mattress like the modern art equivalent of a bedsheet, it certainly, definitely, absolutely didn't mean he was 'Having-A-Crisis'—
Oh, who was he kidding—he was totally having a crisis.
"Ozzie? Guddu?" His mom called from somewhere outside his room. Most likely the bottom of the staircase if the echo was anything to go by.
Ozzie turned his head, blinking blurrily at his door as he tried to clear his throat. "Bleeah?!" He called back, voice definitely too high to be considered normal. Fuck puberty, he thought, sticking out his tongue with a grimace. He could feel the lint that stuck to his lips. And fuck lint too. Gross.
"James is here! Should he come up? I told him you'd be down in a minute and he said you were probably having an existential crisis! Are you having an existential crisis, Ozzie?! Is it school again?! Do I need to talk to the principal—"
"Ammi!" Ozzie groaned, rolling his eyes, "I am not having an existential crisis!"
"Oh," a pause, "that's good! Jee. And James?"
"Send him up!" He said, voice finally pitched back to normal. "The door's open!"
"Achha!"
Turning over completely, Ozzie threw an arm over his face, taking a deep breath while his other hand trailed lazily down to scratch an itch on his chest. You like James. He reminded himself, even though he can be a bit of an oblivious dick. James is your best-friend and you know after he's done making fun of your little freak-out that he's totally going to help you. Cause James is a bro. An asshole, but a bro. He wrinkled his nose. A bro with a lot more experience in the girl kissing department than you. So, don't be the little shit you want to be and get his advice, 'cause Cynthia ain't gonna woo herself. Probably. Ozzie frowned, worrying his lip between his teeth. That's reassuring.
There was a creak—more of a squeak—and Ozzie lifted his arm from his face, propping himself up with his elbows on Mt. Vi-Clothes-vius as James knocked on the door.
"Dude," James said, voice muffled from behind said door. "Are you decent?"
Ozzie glanced down at himself, taking in the Avengers boxers clinging loosely to his waist. He shrugged. Mjolnir was decent, right?
"Sorta?"
"Sorta?" James echoed. "Wha's that supposed to mean."
"That I'm not naked?"
James huffed and Ozzie could imagine the slightly nauseated look that image brought to his face—nose crinkled and usually droopy green eyes a little wider than before. "If you're lying and I see your dick, I swear to god I'm gonna tell everyone at your party about that time you dressed up as Sailor Moon for Halloween. So...," he paused, "there better not be any dicks." James droned as he opened the door. "Oh, thank you...No dicks."
Ozzie choked on a laugh, a little half grin twitching at the corner of his lips at the hand James had pulled partially over his face. "No dicks." Ozzie agreed.
"Can we stop saying 'dicks'. It's getting weird." James grimaced.
"No penises then." Ozzie grinned wider.
"Believe it or not, that's actually worse."
"Towering rod of awesome?"
"Dude."
Ozzie rolled his eyes. "Fine," he gestured vaguely behind him, "you gonna close the door now?"
"Sure, man. What're bros for?" James closed the door, sobering slightly as he picked his way across Ozzie's room to his usual spot by the window, plopping down onto the beanbag chain besides it. "Mind if I smoke?"
Ozzie shook his head. "Open the window, though."
James grinned. "Course. Why'd'ya think I'm sitting here?"
"Smart-ass." Ozzie scoffed.
James just grunted, opening the window and lighting the joint. Ozzie watched, waiting criss-cross apple sauce on the edge of his bed. James blew out a ring and smiled, his whole body loosening with the motion. James was infinitely cooler than Ozzie, Ozzie realized. He'd come to that conclusion years ago: if Ozzie was Romanoff then obviously, James was Tony Stark—suave in the way only fifteen-year-old boys are and full of a surprising amount of playboy swagger.
(Of course, that's just a nice way of calling him a slutty douche but that's neither here nor there)
"So w'as the problem?" James asked, tilting his head to the side. He looked particularly cat-like in that moment, his long curly bangs fanning over his face. James batted them away and took another drag from the joint. "You still having an existential crisis over that Cynthia chick?"
Ozzie wrung his hands in his lap. "S'not a crisis," he mumbled, "I just don't know what 'm wearing."
"She coming?"
"Everyone's coming and I only have dorky stuff." Ozzie groaned.
James nodded sagely, exhaling from his nose. He pointed at the wall directly across from him. "That her?" Ozzie frowned, turning his head to see what James was pointing at.
Amongst all the posters and random half-finished drawings there was a sketch of a girl. It stood apart from the others unconsciously, the space between it and the others just a little bit wider, it's shading a little bit darker, the detail just that little bit more defined. It didn't do Cynthia justice and Ozzie didn't think it was very good but it was a start.
Ozzie wet his lips, a blush dusting his cheeks. "Yeah."
James leaned forward in his chair, stubbing out the joint and flicking it out onto the tiled roof right outside the window. It was raining lightly and the joint hissed duly at the contact. He closed it behind him.
"Jesus," Ozzie coughed, wincing as he fanned the air in front of him, "there's no way my mom's not gonna know you smoked in here."
"Your mom won't say anything," James said with a grin, "she loves me."
"My dad doesn't," Ozzie grumbled, "gonna be another 'Ozzie that Evans boy is a bad influence' lecture tonight."
James hummed in response. "S'a good picture."
Ozzie blinked.
"You should wear that shirt with the binary joke. It's a V-Neck," James continued, stretching and covering his mouth as he yawned, "chicks dig V-necks. And skinny jeans. You still got those ripped black ones?"
"Uhm yeah? I think?"
James nodded. "Okay, wear that, and find that douchey red bandanna you use for your brushes. It's all artsy and'll make you look hipster. Chicks love hipsters. You even got the glasses for it. Nerd."
Ozzie gave him the finger, then got the bright idea to throw a sock at the dick. So, he did. It landed on James' face and he sputtered indignantly. "Anything else?"
"Yeah. Give her the picture fucker. It's good. Like really good," James tossed the sock back and Ozzie caught it. With a smirk, he put it on, wiggling his toes in his face. James just heaved a sigh.
"It's your birthday, even if she doesn't like you, I bet she'll at least give you a kiss for the picture," James said.
"Really?"
James shrugged. "Sure. Don't see why not," he clapped his hands together and got to his feet, stumbling slightly over the corner of Ozzie's easel. "Now get dressed so we can par-tay! I'm feeling the munchies."
Ozzie groaned and he hopped into the pants James suggested. "Just don't eat all the Doritos, when we get downstairs." He slipped the button into place then pulled the shirt over his head.
"Dude, wait," James paused, "you have Doritos?"
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
ADROBINSON
ADROBINSON Translation:
Guddu: A nickname resembling doll but masculine. It's a pet name Ozzie's mother uses for him
Jee: Yes
Achha: Okay
Ammi: Informal mother. I think of it as like 'mommy'
(P.S I obviously am not fluent or super familiar with Urdu and its usage so if any of this is incorrect please let me know so I can fix it. I compared as many sources as I could and this is what I know to be correct at the moment)
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