011 Noel - 6 -

Noel

It's hard being me sometimes.

Okay, not really, but I thought that would be a great line to start with.

At the moment, however, it is a little difficult. See, even if it's November, we're having a bit of a heatwave this week, plus some of our House members are more immune to chilly weather, having grown up in the colder parts of the Midwest or, well, Scotland. So for a bit of fun, a bunch of us decided to have a football – er, soccer – game to relieve the stress of awaiting results of our midterms.

Not everyone here's the sporting type, but some of us are, "some" including surprising individuals. Me, for instance. I'm all about fashion and art and being a bit…well, gay, basically. But I'm actually quite good at and enjoy playing footb—soccer. (And no, not just for the hot, sweaty men running up and down the pitch – that's just a bonus.)

Another "surprise" is Remy, who actually isn't much of a surprise, as she's always struck me as a closeted jock. Not butch, really, but active and tough in her own way. And Zach – I know he's a well-built bloke, but I didn't realise how well-built, or that he liked sports at all. I guess the others feel the same way about me, but between the two of us artists, he'd probably be the more likely enthusiast. Yet I never got that off him.

Brad and Jesse are no surprise – they keep up with the leagues anyway. All of them, American "soccer" and international "football."

John is trying to coax attention his own way by settling outside with us, where most of the other girls (besides Angie, who's not home) are cheering us all on – both teams, amusingly. Sitting there with his guitar, dressed in a black trench coat he really doesn't need in this weather. Laughably, he's only getting the attention of one girl, Jen, who thinks her appraisal of John will somehow make Brad – who is way too into the game (and his girlfriend) to even notice – jealous.

But even if John isn't that into Jen, he seems to gloat about winning her attention over the shirtless blokes on the field (well, shirtless besides me, Remy…and Gwen!) – though Jen's attention is actually shifting back and forth between him and Brad, constantly checking to see if the real hunk is watching her dote on the fake hunk's ego.

Yes, you read correctly. Gwen. That's the most surprising bit, I think. But Ms. Fashion Bug herself is in here amongst us hooligans, shoving her way around and giggling with delight – and actually doing quite well! And when she scores a goal against a not very forgiving Jesse, who refuses to play nicer just because she's a girl, she screeches with girlish glee and hops over to force a victorious hug on Remy.

It's fantastic, so I can't help laughing. Even if my own attention is mainly taken up by one specific shirtless man on the field – another no-brainer for the sport, as he's a staunch Rangers fan.

I could go on and on about why I like the guy so much, including talent, friendliness, his easy and contagious laughter, the twinkle in his gorgeous eyes which tell of his great sense of humour and personality…but at the moment, my eyes and libido can only focus on the purely superficial vision of Simon's chest muscles, his toned tattooed arms, his immaculate overall physique…Not that the others aren't equally matched – fuck, Jesse's boyfriend Omar (who should be in the House, really, but chose a specific fraternity instead – despite all of our pleas to join us) is built like a bloody bull!

But my own keen eyes can't be swayed from watching Simon. The others may think this is a good thing, as he's on the opposing team, but really it's just an excuse to be able to ogle him openly without anyone questioning why…

Oh, I'm not that stupid. I'm sure many people are either aware of it or just suspect, but I think I've been infatuated with the Scottish Romeo since I met him. Over three years ago. And in all that time, where I'm usually too affectionate with people (including the rare ones I feel something more for emotionally), I still lack the nerve to say or do anything about it. Probably an ultimate fear of rejection, or putting him off, as I've only seen him show a true interest in girls – and teasingly flirting with other boys for a laugh doesn't count. Even if he's doing it with me, like offering his lap during House meetings.

I suppose my "secret" feelings for him are just stronger and more serious than they've been for others I've fancied in the past. Like, it really matters this time, and I'm too afraid to fuck it up, because I'd be devastated if it went wrong and our friendship was ruined by it.

Dee is the only one I've actually talked to about it, and of course her suggestion is to just go for it. But I can't. I freeze up and go mute, then crack a joke to ease the tension. Granted, that wins me a lovely smile in return, but it doesn't get across what I mean to say. I'm sure some others know – but he doesn't show any signs of seriously suspecting it.

Well…okay, so maybe he's a bit nicer to me than he is to others, which can be hard to detect in someone who's generally a very congenial person anyway. But after three years, it's impossible to deny it. Like he has an especially soft spot just for me. Like letting me take a shower with him (honestly, no "funny business" went on that time, but it was funny enough in another way to gloat over it later). But that still doesn't necessarily mean he'd reciprocate my genuine feelings.

It can be so tedious…like right now, seeing him half naked and running around with the other boys…and trying not to let on how much I'm enjoying this opportunity.

Oh, sigh! (A syllable which is needed in saying the name "Simon"…In my head, "Simon" automatically becomes "Sigh-man.")

It doesn't help matters when Traci – Traci! – pulls into the driveway and comes around the side of the house to present the clan with a few twelve-packs of beer. Saying he'll let it slide this time, as it's the weekend and we've all been working so hard, even after midterms were over. He doesn't join in the actual game, but pops open a can as he settles beside the cheerleaders (smirking as he accepts a makeshift pom-pom from Dee). The others all rush over to partake in the feast, and I even saunter toward the pile, but hesitate. See, I have a liver condition that makes it a bit difficult for me to break down alcohol in my system, but once in a while I'll cheat a bit.

And when Simon himself comes over to hand me one – with a careful look in his eyes and a warning of, "Just the one, aye?" – I fold completely and accept it.

A few minutes later, we're back in the game…and half an hour later, after various people return again and again to the ever-diminishing stacks, the game has turned into more of a free-for-all tumbling session. I notice Sendhil has come up from the basement lab to watch, taking a seat next to Traci and accepting a beer gratefully, but I also note that he's watching quite a bit of Zach in particular.

Interesting, I giggle to myself. I wonder if Sendhil's even aware of Zach's "secret" infatuation with him, but this is definitely a positive sign…

But then I get distracted, as Simon's gotten all touchy-feely with the opposing team, leaping on Remy's back and dragging her down to the ground, making her laugh uproariously to knock it off. And then he rushes over and – as I stand frozen in shock – tackles me to the ground, tickling and giggling uncontrollably. Which, of course, sends me into (euphoric) hysterics. But all too soon, he leaves me – a worthless, limp heap – as he races after the ball. I can barely lift my head, breathless, but manage to catch sight of Jesse kicking the ball to him, and he makes a glorious headbutt to send it sailing into the goal – but the blow exceeds his expectations and plunges instead into the pond just beyond the intended goal.

Oh God. Now my stomach's going to hurt all day tomorrow – not from the one can of beer, but from the hysterical laughter that engulfs me.

God, do I love that goofball!

I'm lucky to catch Simon early enough on a morning when he doesn't have work but is still out of bed long before his classes start. A rare opportunity, as we all know how much he cherishes his sleep.

As I sit at the kitchen table with my books for the day's classes and my sketchbook, I watch his back whilst he pours himself a thermos of coffee – straight black, I've discovered by now. He takes a long swig of it before exhaling loudly and proclaiming, "Just what I needed."

He turns around to me and I try to pretend that I haven't been watching him like a hawk. But when I eye up his clothes surreptitiously as he shuffles over and takes a seat across from me at the table, I have to smirk – in place of a cringe.

"Are you actually wearing that to your classes?" I chuckle in bemusement, referring to his ratty, loose, off-pink tee shirt which hangs pretty low on his chest (not that I'm complaining), an equally tattered thin gray sweater jacket, and torn jeans which look like he bought them in the mid-nineties.

He glances down at himself, then shrugs. "Why not? Don't see what the problem is. Just pop on my boots and I'm ready to go."

I snicker, perfectly aware of how much more put-together I look, with my shiny skin-tight trousers and black leather shirt, covered by one of my favourite warm coats, deep forest green with a (fake) fur trim. And, of course, my glittering silver platform boots.

But I guess to each his own. Besides, he doesn't look so bad in the rugged, scruffy attire. Loose and laid-back, just like him.

"I don't think my instructors care what I wear to class," he smiles as he sips at his coffee. "As long as I show up with something on. You're more in tune with the fashion world. I'll leave that to the experts."

I consider this, flattered that he doesn't say it with a hint of sarcasm, and finish spreading my melted Nutella on toast, taking a dainty bite.

"This is nice," he muses softly, gazing out the window behind me at the bright sunlight pouring in, with a serene smile on his face, before turning it onto me. "Very relaxing. Good company, too, this early. Nothin' could ruin this…"

I try to hide my sheepish grin, then clear my throat. "So, what I wanted to ask you—"

And before I can get the question out, Jen comes padding into the room, yawning and running a hand through her bedhead hair. Then she halts, letting out a cry, and demands, "Who drank all the coffee?"

Simon immediately slouches, rolling his eyes. "Okay, maybe one thing could ruin it…" And he starts to stand, gesturing with his head for me to follow him.

"Oh, forget it," Jen huffs, making a racket as she slams through the cupboards. "I'll just make my own."

"Aye," Simon grinds out. "That's usually what we all do."

Just as I start to lift myself from my chair, Jen slams a cupboard shut and snipes, "Nevermind!" And she storms out of the room.

Simon pauses, listening intently with giant eyes, then looks at me before nodding and settling back down. "Okay, I think the coast is clear…"

But a second later, Jen comes stomping back into the kitchen, and Simon's on his feet again, muttering, "Christ, woman, make up your bloody mind…"

She pours a bowl of cereal, dodges Simon irritably as she goes for the milk in the fridge, and just as I'm uncertainly rising to my feet again, the two collide in the doorway.

"Jesus!" Jen snaps. "Would you cut it out?"

"Cut what out?" Simon snaps back, just as cranky. "Are you goin' or stayin'? Just pick a fuckin' room and stay there!"

"I'm going to the den!"

"Good! Go, then! Get outta here, I'm not stoppin' ya!"

"I am!"

"Then go!" He waves his arm furiously at her, as if wanting to shove her out of the kitchen (and maybe to the floor) himself.

"I would but you're in my way!" she hurls at him with a heavy scoff.

"I am not, I'm going back to the table…" And he does just that as she remains in the doorway. When she hasn't moved for half a second, he shouts, "WOULD YOU GET THE FUCK OUT ALREADY!"

"I'M GOING!"

"THEN GO!"

"FINE! GLADLY!"

And she finally disappears.

If that hasn't jerked everyone else out of their sleep, I guess the next step is a train breaking through the house.

Simon sits down across from me again, mumbling, "Bloody useless whiney pain-in-the-arse whore." Then he clears his throat and turns his lovely smile back to me, as if the previous scene never happened. "So you were saying?"

I snicker a little at the past tension – nay, hatred – they displayed for each other in just a few moments, but then focus on the real subject at hand.

"Right," I go on, a bit timidly – not because of his rare display of anger and annoyance, but because of what I'm about to ask him. "I was just wondering if, um, you would mind, um, if I could possibly, um, paint you."

He raises his eyebrows as he gulps down some more coffee, then suggests with a sly grin, "You mean, like, you want me to strip and you'll splatter it on me? That sounds like fun…"

I giggle nervously, assuring him, "Er, no – though I agree that would be kind of interesting…"

"I'm all for it, mate."

"Er, no, actually. I just mean, would you be a subject for my painting?"

Not that I haven't already sketched you in secret hundreds of times over the last three years – but this is actually serious.

"Like a model?"

"Yeah, exactly. For a class."

He looks intrigued, but then quirks a cautious eyebrow at me. "Now, hang on – I've seen some of your work, and while it's all cool 'n funky 'n shit, with the weird creatures and almost abstract stuff, am I gonna be some kinda freaked-out monster?"

I pretend to scoff, but can't help laughing genuinely instead. "No, no, no – it's a true-to-life painting. Realistic, not just imagination. A study in painting what you see with your eyes, as opposed to what your mind can conjure up."

He suddenly looks disappointed. "Oh…Well, can we do a monster painting anyway? Maybe at winter break?"

I perk up in pleasant surprise. "Sure – I wouldn't have to wait that long, though…"

"But as for this specific assignment…" He looks intrigued. "Is it a nude?"

I try not to gulp too loudly, and cover it with another good-natured giggle. "Uh, not quite. It's supposed to be a portrait of someone doing something they'd do naturally – preferably clothed—" (so says the instructor, not me) "—but not just a bland, sitting-there-staring-at-the-camera type of thing, but not too, like, action-based either. Another student is painting her friend, who's an English major, staring out the window with a book in her hands…That sorta thing."

His eyes widen at the prospect. "Oooh! You mean, like, painting me chugging a keg? Or, like, strangling Jen?"

I titter again, informing him, "I was thinking more like a painting of you playing guitar or something. You know. Something you do every day and seems like a typical thing, but if seen from the perspective of a portrait, can be quite beautiful…" And I feel my cheeks start to burn at the utterance of my last few words.

He sits back, peering at the ceiling in thought – thankfully not leaping on my little obvious slip and cackling over it. He's seriously considering it. "Ah, I see."

"It's just for a class," I reiterate quickly, as if trying to convince him without seeming too desperate.

He shrugs. "Aye, you said that already."

"Oh…" I bow my head shyly, biting my lip, and glance up at him with blatant hope in my half-hidden eyes. "So…d'you think you'd like to?"

He instantly shatters my fears and anxiety by shrugging again, as if I've just asked to borrow his pen. "Sure, no problem. When do you need me?"

Oh, mate – all the time…

"Uh, maybe if you're not busy tonight…"

He nods enthusiastically. "Cool. I'm free. It's a date, then."

And as he stands to go fetch his boots, the burning in my cheeks I felt before has returned with a vengeance, and I'm sure he can see it this time – with that particular wording especially, I just can't help it…

He beams that gorgeous smile at me from behind his thermos of coffee and winks as he takes a sip, before leaving the kitchen. Leaving me to sigh dreamily into the empty room.

Well, that's done it for me – nothing can spoil my day now!