Disclaimer: Characters are property of Rick Riordan
Pertinence
He's not quite sure why he's smitten with her.
The realization is sudden, drastic, but not in the way an epiphany should go, he thinks. It altogether does little other than make him blink. All that ends up happening is that he finds his eyes irrevocably attracted to her back as his gaze morphs into a stare that borders mostly between confusion and pensive.
He's not quite sure what snaps up his attention but he does know that he ends up thinking about her quite a bit, though, and suddenly the school day goes from long and boring to long and thoughtful as he goes from class to class, mesmerised by the memories he's reviewing. And they paint a picture that's much more telling.
It's not like the movies or the books. It isn't something magical. Not at all. They haven't been friends their whole lives; they haven't been enemies, either. They weren't, aren't, in fact, either too close or too distant. In spite of their ten years together as classmates. Despite the fact that he has so many memories of her, he can hardly count them.
He's not quite sure what to make of that.
His eyes quirk up as he stifles a yawn, bored with the sentimentality of classroom imprisonment. Dyslexia, he thinks, makes it much worse when the words swim away and his attention is shot more times than not. He tries really hard to give his teacher her dues - really, he's trying, he swears - but this promise to his mum is hard to keep. At least she understands.
Unintentionally, he finds himself once again focused on He catches her whisper, her soft, muttered singing that carries itself to no one else but him and her: "And I don't want the world to see me, cuz I don't think that they'd understand; when everything's meant to be broken, I just want you to know who I am..."
It trails off in a way that sounds haunted but its contents make his spine stiffen.
Maybe, he thinks, it's because she's become the girl next door. He's not sure what her home life is like - and he doesn't need to know; he doesn't tell anyone his - but ever since last month when she moved into the house over, he's somehow seen less of her and it just feels so much more.
It scares him. Just a bit. But enough that he's curious - he's not a stalker, really! - about what she's doing with her life because it seems like he can't make heads or tails of his.
-O-
The art of being in love is something he's not sure anyone could ever write a book on or accurately film a picture of. At least, not in truth. There is always bias to everything and he wants his love to capture his own. So he forgets everything he's ever heard about crushes, lust, and love and loses himself at the very sight of her, loses all semblance of logic (but not control; he's always in control).
He wonders if she's ever noticed how much she draws him in; if she does, she hasn't said anything about it and the indifference in those orbs of grey show that she doesn't mind the attention or doesn't think much of it. The smallest quirks of her brows in puzzlement and confusion aren't because of his unexpressed emotions but rather because he confuses her, he guesses.
-O-
He thinks she's a sort of wise girl. There isn't much to it, really; it's not like she stands out in school, even if she's a bit above average in the grades department, but her wit is imminent whenever she so rarely chooses to smirk and lash out with a quick comment. It happens so little that he wonders if the interactions are imaginary or if it's really just the haze of a moment and nothing in the grand scheme of things. But, he supposes, it matters enough to him now.
But because she's a wise girl, he thinks she'll balance him out. And at that realization, he makes the executive decision to exhibit why his brain is full of nonsense: he takes a deep breath and walks up to the girl of his dreams in the middle of gym class and strikes up a conversation with her.
It ends awkwardly and everyone is laughing at him; he notices but doesn't care. From one outcast to another, he thinks, their laughter isn't any different than the rest of the day. And from the continued indifference in those beautiful grey eyes, he knows that she doesn't care either.
And that's enough to make the pit in his stomach melt.
-O-
The first time he breaks a bone is when he takes a punch meant for her. How it goes is like this: it hurts, and he's pretty sure his jaw isn't meant to feel that way.
But between the pain and the numbing and the screaming in the background, he makes sure to catch a glimpse of her face. Her eyes are wide, her mouth agape, and the slightest bit of trembling besets her fingers. It's enough to make him snap; he clenches his fists, turns, and stares down her attacker, fury on his face and flame in his eyes.
The other boy is trembling now, too, his fists shaking but his sneer prominent and powerful. There is a moment where it seems like he is about to run off but instead he stands himself up a bit taller and looks forward at the girl's defender, his eyes a smothering golden, crisp edge as his defiance and pride flares itself.
It's clear that he's not used to facing any resistance, especially not from people like them. The tension is raw, thick, and desperate for entanglement when all of a sudden, it dissipates in the face of angry teachers and the school principal looking less than pleased. Words are exchanged and the fair-haired boy is taken away by the school psychologist and an assistant teacher.
Air leaves his lungs as he heaves. He glances at the girl of his dreams and finds himself surprised at how open her face is. She's not weak; she doesn't look weak, not ever. But right now, he thinks that she's exposed and tender and a gentleness flits about her as her fingers touch the mark on his jaw.
He flushes at the contact and yelps, a leviathan flame crawling from beneath his flesh.
Literally. The pain comes back twofold and he drops to his knees and the school nurse is at his side within moments and he vaguely hears that someone's dialed the emergency medical services number. The blaring of sirens and rushes words, colors, and shadows dazzle him, his world twirling in an abundance of motion.
He blinks, and then the world is gone.
He wakes, hurting and confused, unsure of where he's been but knows that he's been taken care of. The walls are sterile white, after all. As he's checked into a hospital bed after some stitches, he finds that he still can't forget that flash of something behind her eyes and he groans. He's a goner.
When he tells his mom, she's choked up between sobs and laughter and tells him that everything's going to be alright.
-O-
They enter junior year in high school as half-friends. He's very much into being friends with her but she still keeps him at arms' length and neither of them are ignorant of the fact. He thinks he's doing well, considering she hasn't told him off.
She's a bit lighter now, he muses, but the weight to her stare hasn't been lifted.
His thoughts are broken into by the sound of her voice. He looks up and her smile is still as beautiful as it was years ago. He says hello back and grins sheepishly. They make smalltalk for a minute before something just clicks.
She beams at him and grabs his hand; he yelps as he's dragged along but the smile is still on his face as they fumble about and down the halls, rushing not to get to class but to celebrate the fact that they're halfway done with their high school tenure.
He pushes down the anxiety coming from thoughts of the future, a future where he doesn't see her everyday, that threaten to devour him whole.
They bumble together into the privacy of the theatre clubroom where he and she have spent so much time practicing line after line and danced their way through various choreographies and invented an intrigue of improvisations. Their eyes roam over their last project together and how much of a failure it was but how amazing it seemed at the time - they share another giggle - and the two of them swear to do better, to not let themselves, not anyone else (except maybe his mom, he adds silently), down again.
Determination litters like sparks in her eyes and he swears that she's possessed. When he tells her this, she only smirks. She asks, isn't he the same? He only shrugs, but the two of them know him better. He loves the challenge and adores the game.
They get so caught up in their own world that they forget another one exists until a reminder chimes its vibrations down their senses. But neither of them care too much for the dulcet tones of the school bell; the buzz means they still have five minutes to get down to class and that's more than enough time to spare.
-O-
He's not sure when she realizes that there's something more between the two of them. And he isn't sure that he likes her knowing. He's not a wall of iron, not a hero, nor is he brave. The very thought of her knowing how much she means to him, in what ways, terrifies him. So much so that when she confronts him in his bedroom, he is sure his heart stops.
It all starts with an innocent question about what he thinks of her and his inability to breathe gives him away. She pins him, with a stare, and it's a curious look that keeps him in place. His fingers are laced between hers so he can't fidget, but he turns away, faced red and burning.
She asks why he's never said anything. She never asks why she hasn't seen it before - the two of them know that that question is just dancing around the issue and she's a diver.
He asks why she thinks he would ever have been able to tell her on his own when he sees her smile and laugh on the dates she has, when he has to be the one she leans on when she cries, when he's her solace from a non-existent home life just sixty seconds next door.
She stills.
He goes on and says that he's a coward; admits it wholeheartedly and freely because he likes, no, loves being her haven and is willing to give up parts of him to do so because anything with her is better than nothing and he's crying when the fear writes itself across his bronze features.
Her eyes soften as she ends up looking away, but she doesn't let go of his hand. Silence sits itself there, a third member to their party of two until at least, she whispers an apology. He strains to hear it and instead of accepting, pulls her into his embrace like he always does when she's upset.
The two of them leave the earth in that moment, and he repeats her question and words in his head. It occurs to him that he's never told her anything - anything! - about her and how much she is to him at all. In any capacity. He shakes his head and she turns to him, pecks him on the cheek as she normally does and he realizes that, for the first time, she's studying him and the way the redness creeps along from his cheeks to his neck, the way he knows his eyes dilate, and the subtle tightening of his arms around her lithe form.
"I'm so stupid."
He thinks those words. She says them, her voice trembling. He automatically corrects her, his mouth running before his brain does. "No you're not." Because she isn't, he thinks, and he doesn't know how to convey his thoughts much more because right now he's so open, so weak, so vulnerable, and-.
Isn't she, too? He blinks and more realizations come to him. They really are a dumb couple, aren't they?
-O-
It's at this point that he's not sure how to say "I love you;" sure, she knows, but he's never verbalized the idea, only embodied it. And he's pretty sure that he wants to to say those words at some point, preferably before he asks her to marry him.
Even though he plans on doing that tomorrow.
No matter what the result, he thinks, he knows that he loves her. And that this is it for him. If she says no, he won't leave her, unless, of course, the dark part of his brain snarks, that she makes a dash for the hills. But he's trying really hard to not think about that option. On the other hand, if she says yes, it means she won't leave him. Either way, he'll make it work.
It might not be the right time to ask but he supposes any time is better than never. Regardless of warning, the future doesn't scare him at all. Because ever since he met her, nothing's like before. She's his sanctuary; he's her peace. So, with that hope in mind, he's willing to open the box and present himself, simple and clean.
Notes and Acknowledgements:
The only note I have for this is "Mood: Two is Better than One - Boys Like Girls."
This was written between 25 April 2020 to 10 May 2020. I was revisiting folders and found it again on 18 November 2021. Edited for formatting.