First of all, I'd like to thank the anonymous reviewer who calls her/himself "Someone", for the encouragement. Either there's no way to reply anonymous reviewers, or I'm still a total novice at this site. Anyway it's nice to know that there's someone out there (no pun intended) who's read my story, liked it, and was nice enough to leave a review. Thank you! You have successfully motivated me to update faster :D
The slender boy clad in blue glanced around, foot tapping impatiently, longish, flaxen hair whipping around slightly in the brisk wind. It was a bleak Monday morning, and Blake was leaning against a lamppost, waiting for the arrival of Carl so they could walk to school together as usual. However, the redhead seemed to be running late, annoyingly enough; Blake checked his watch for the eight time that morning and sighed.
"I suppose there's nothing for it then, I'll have to go on without him today…" He muttered under his breath, and started off in a rather gloomy mood. He hadn't gotten too far though, before a shout rent through the air, halting him in his tracks.
"HEY GRIPLING! WAIT UP!"
Blake spun around, and stood with his arms crossed as a tired-looking Carl jogged towards him, backpack clutched in one hand. He slid to a stop in front of Blake, and took a moment to catch his breath, doubled over and panting. Blake stared at the top of the ginger head before him, and Carl, sensing the disapproving look, raised his head. Hooded green eyes met bright blue ones, and Carl gave a sheepish grin.
"I guess we should really start running now, huh?"
"Honestly, Carl, next time you intend to get us both into trouble for being tardy, just let me know in advance." Blake set off with a huff. "Here-"
He shoved his brown backpack at Carl, "-as my official slave, you may have the honour of carrying my stuff to school."
"Chill out, Blakey-boy, we still got like… ten minutes."
"WHAT!?"
Carl winced slightly as he realized that he had just made things worse. "Uhh… race you there!" The redhead took off, both backpacks bouncing against his back, laughing rather maniacally.
"Carl!" Blake stamped his foot in irritation before taking off in pursuit of the older boy.
The bell had just rung by the time the two boys had reached the outside gates of their high school, and they barely paused for breath as they dashed towards the front doors. A student monitor stepped out to survey the surroundings, spotting the two approaching boys at once.
"Cutting it close again, Foutley," the brown-haired senior stated coldly. Carl had quickly made a name for himself the moment he set foot in high school, being the troublemaker that he was, and it always took Blake a bit of effort not to get caught in the middle of the redhead's messes. One direct result of Carl's shenanigans was that all the teachers, as well as the hall monitors and prefects, could spot him from a mile away.
"Just keepin' you on your toes, Ryan, my man." Carl pulled up one corner of his mouth in a devilish smile, his charm turned on at full blast. Blake found himself wanting to strangle Ryan; Carl never bothered grinning at Blake like that.
The tall, lanky senior before them sighed in disapproval. "Oh, get on with it, Foutley. If you're ten minutes late for class, you'll probably get a detention."
"Depends on whose class it is," Carl said cheekily, winking. He sailed past the taller boy confidently, Blake grumpily stomping after him. The senior rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, but there was a small smile pulling at his lips. Carl grinned in triumph as he darted through the hallways; Blake scowled.
It turned out that they did manage to avoid a detention, seeing as they had first period with Mr. Curving, their amiable, young English Lit teacher. One glance around the classroom told Carl that Hoodsey was absent for some reason. As Mr. Curving droned on about the intricate themes of Hamlet, Blake, who usually listened to the young man's pleasant voice with rapt attention, found himself staring fixedly at the back of Carl's head, barely registering a word. He failed twice to answer the random questions he usually conquered with ease, to Mr. Curving's obvious disappointment.
"Jeez, Blake, what happened to you earlier?" Much later, they were having Geography with Miss Todd, who after assigning them some work, had dozed off on her table at the front of the class. "You're usually Mr. PrettyBoy's prize pupil."
Blake glared at Carl. "Don't call him that, Carl," he twirled a pencil between his fingers, "It's so rude of you."
Carl yanked the pencil out of the younger boy's grip, and started rolling it around on Blake's table just to grate on his nerves. "Aw, come on, Blakey – he kinda is a pretty boy, got loads of crushes from the girls – and possibly you too."
The other boy gasped and quickly glanced around to ensure that nobody had heard; indeed, everyone was too busy gossiping or fooling around to have paid them any attention. "I do not have a crush on him!" He hissed indignantly at Carl. Then, as an afterthought, "Besides, he's a man, Foutley. I'm a male, he's a male – do you see the problem here?"
Carl raised his eyebrows. "Oh, that a problem to you, Blakey-boy? I didn't think you'd have been one to limit yourself." Internally, Carl wondered why he was indirectly asking Blake the question he had tortured himself with countless times the night before. The matter had plagued him so relentlessly that he hadn't really managed to sleep much, and had subsequently woken up late.
The young Gripling stared at his blunt friend wordlessly; Carl couldn't quite decipher the blank look on his face. Vaguely, he realized Blake was quite the "pretty boy" too, in a way; he had always just described him as "the bratty rich kid" before he became Blakey-boy, and Carl realized he'd never really studied Blake's refined features before.
Deciding that the silence between them had stretched on for too long, Carl sighed and started poking at Blake's arm with the eraser end of the pencil. "Well, if it's not our dear Shakespeare-lover, who could Blake Gripling possibly be crushing on, I wonder?"
Blake lowered his stare to his folded arms, and the attacking pencil. His eyes were unreadable; Carl's gaze lingered a little too long on those straight lashes, before slowly moving down to survey the pink, puckered mouth. Blake had always had a defined chin, something he had been oh-so-superior about when they were younger; Carl remembered his own desire to get a stronger chin via plastic surgery, and seven-year-old Blake's voice echoed somewhere in the back of his memory:
"I see your point… or perhaps, the lack of one?"
"C-Carl? Whatever are you staring at? Carl!"
Carl snapped out of his short trip down memory lane at the sound of eleven-year-old Blake's voice, and realized that he had still been staring at the bottom half of his friend's face. He quickly turned away, eyes wide, wondering if he was losing his mind.
Blake looked like he was about to say something, but just then the bell for lunch rang, and chaos ensued as most of the class tried to run out first. The older boy hurriedly got up to join in the rush, but Blake quickly pulled him back by the arm.
"You're my personal slave, now, Carl… remember?" Blake grinned as he dumped a load of books into his friend's arms. "You may drop these off at my locker. I'm sure you know the combination by heart now, having sneakily hung around enough to decipher it for yourself."
Carl groaned. He had spied on Blake countless times before and he did know his locker combination. He hadn't known that the younger boy had been aware of the fact, though; that made his plans of hiding stuff in there for pranks seem less fun. He shot the shorter boy a sulky look as they exited the classroom. Blake saw it and chuckled.
"Hurry up then, Carl; I suppose I shall be the magnanimous master that I am and save you a seat, but I expect you to get me my lunch."
"Once this stupid slavery thing is over, Blakey, I'm gonna wipe that smug look right off your face."
Said smug look grew wider. "We'll see about that, Foutley."
/
/
At one corner of the cafeteria, at a table that seated six, two boys sat alone, one of them picking glumly at his food while the other ate ravenously.
"Honestly, Carl, are you going to eat or not?"
Carl looked up, jolted out of his thoughts, at the very person he had been thinking about. "Oh… uhh… no. Not really."
Blake rolled his eyes. "Well, you can just hand over your crisps and Jell-O if you're not going to finish them."
The redhead just silently pushed his tray towards Blake, to the younger boy's surprise. Blake frowned; whatever was bothering Carl lately seemed more serious than he had first thought – the older boy never willingly gave up his favourite lunch of crisps, cheese macaroni and Jell-O.
"Foutley, if there's something important on your mind, I suggest you spit it out already."
Carl looked at his friend silently. There was no way in hell he was going to tell Blake about what had been eating away at him. He merely shook his head and turned away, surveying a table of pretty cheerleaders who were giggling over some new piece of gossip. Blake huffed in irritation.
The rest of the lunch period was spent in silence.
"Well, then you can dispose of these," Blake waved a hand at the empty trays, as the bell rang to indicate the start of classes again. He watched as Carl cleaned up after them without a fuss, brow furrowed. Whatever it was that had Carl Foutley so distracted, Blake decided that he would get to the bottom of it. In the meantime, he intended to fully use the advantages of having his own personal servant…
A/N : Okay, I know it was short, but I haven't had much time lately. Hope you can bear with me until the next chapter ^^ Reviews are highly appreciated! :) I'm just glad if anyone's reading this stuff. Cheers!