"You're a good guy, y'know?"
She curls her golden strands behind her ear. The brown, almost famous orbs come to gaze. They're big and explosive and... honest.
He guesses that's what he likes about her. Olivia. She's honest, honest about the good things, honest about the bad. You don't need to be a lie detector around her, nor scan her eyes for any given subliminal messages.
He hates doing that. He hates when people lie.
Olivia looks straight at him―like it's okay, like it's normal―and he gets so damn jealous. She came to make him feel better. She's in his bedroom, on his messy bed trying to get him to smile. Her bag laying against her thigh, as she fiddles with her golden strands.
Wen should probably know he's a lucky one. Not because she's perfect, but because of the fact that he's even going to have a 'her'.
His―future―girlfriend is a rarity amongst all the female population, with that voice of hers and those brown eyes.
She's wearing some purple blouse and these pale, hippie jeans. Her hair loose, with a wave that reminds him faintly of the beach. Then suddenly, she smiles and her dimples almost tease at him. She's pretty.
He flutters his eyes a little, trying to remember what she said. "Uh, yeah, yeah, sure. I guess so. Not a lot of people think so though."
Charlie always cuts himself short.
He's a good guy, really! He's talented, nice―and somewhere in there―smart. It's just that he never seems to think so. Slouching his back slightly, he averts his gaze to the ground underneath his stained shoes.
Olivia remembers when her parents would give her gifts for Christmas, she would always somehow know what was inside. Toys, clothes, stuffed animals―whatever it was the young girl always knew. Any who, she could do the same with people. She still can.
Thoroughly and easily, she can read whoever she meets eyes with and accurately describes them at first glance. The act was done with Stella, Mohini, Wen, even stupid Ray.
She can't do that with Charlie though. She can't even read him well. Amassing and picking up things from his actions, she can point out his strengths and what he has―not who he is.
He's a gift like no other.
Olivia can't read him and she certainly can't read his mind. She can vaguely understand his emotions and see them nearing, but she doesn't truly get him. Not yet.
"That's only because they don't really know you yet," she mumbles, cautiously picking her words with a poignant fork, "when they do, they'll see."
Charlie changes his eyes again, moving them to her brown irises. His own coffee, brown hair blinding her eyes, as the sun's rays field over them like leaves.
She finds that she forgot the next choice of words on her mind. His expectant orbs glancing at her, while the coffee waves of his own swirl around his cheekbones. He's art at its finest. She's without words.
"I don't think they ever will," the words escape ghostly, like a whisper meant to be avoided. "But, that's okay, I'm okay."
He kicks his feet with a scuff on the carpet. Olivia feels a weak hint of sympathy thumping in her chest, but she can't force him to feel better.
She just pats him on the shoulder gently, leaving a meek kiss on his left cheek. He doesn't react much, other than a flinch.
"Any girl would be lucky to have you."
He momentarily wonders if that girl could be her.