"What about that one?"
"How can that look like Johnny's hair?"
The two friends were laying one their backs in the middle of the maze, staring up at the morning sky, watching clouds roll across the sky and trying to see images in them. They had lain there ever since earlier that night.
"Well, I'm sorry! But you have to admit, it does look like his hair…"
"It looks like a porcupine…"
"Exactly!" Enrique exclaimed.
Oliver rolled his eyes. "You try saying that to him."
"I will." Enrique replied, and Oliver turned his head to look at his best friend.
"Do you want a fancy funeral, or private?"
"Shut up. Weren't you supposed to meet your father?"
Oliver sighed sadly. "Yes…"
Enrique sat up. "Oh, come on Oli. It can't be that bad. After you take over, we'll still be around… I'll still be around. Promise."
"You can promise all you want about you being there, but how can I promise that I'll be there?" He glanced at Enrique's confused expression and sat up. "I hardly get to see my father… If I can barely see my father, how will I be able to see you?"
"Oh come on, Oli…" Enrique said, embracing his best friend in a hug. "We'll see each other. Maybe not as much as we do now-"
"Which is slim to none-"
"But we'll see each other all the same."
"But…" Enrique let go, and looked at Oliver. "I… don't want to take over…"
"Why?"
Oliver shrugged nonchalantly. "Does it matter?"
"Yes." Enrique replied sternly, and Oliver sighed.
"I feel… that I'm too young. I'm only seventeen… I need- want to see the world. To keep competing in beyblade tournaments with you guys… but when I take over… that won't be happening…" He paused, looking at Enrique with moist purple eyes, wet with tears. "It's supposed to be an honour to take over this." He laughed softly and looked up into the sky, watching a bird fly overhead. "Some honour…"
Enrique was astounded by Oliver's sudden show of emotions about his family business. He had thought the French boy had been looking forward to finally taking the Polanski's future into his own hands, but now… he was definatly sure that Oliver didn't want to do that.
A stray tear caught Enrique's eye as it rolled down Oliver's cheek and he swiped it off with his index finger, before taking hold of his chin and forcing Oliver to look at him. He gave a lop sided smile and hugged the French boy again with more force, rubbing his back soothingly. He felt the other grip his small jacket tightly and Enrique felt Oliver's head on his shoulder.
"Oliver?"
"Mm hm?"
"If you want, I'll stay here as long as you want…"
"Thank you…" Came the muffled reply.
"Jesus, you two look like you slept in a hedge, before being dragged out of it backwards."
"Thanks. You too."
"Giancarlo…" Johnny growled.
Robert spotted Oliver's slightly red-rimmed eyes. "Oliver? Are you alright?"
"Huh? Yeah, why?" Oliver asked.
"You look ill. And I suppose sleeping outside did the trick. I say you go back to bed and sleep." Robert replied.
"But I have a-a-a-" But Oliver couldn't suppress the yawn anymore. "Meeting with my father this morning. I can't miss it."
"I'll tell him that you're resting, Oli. Don't worry." Enrique assured his friend, who nodded and walked up the staircase, up to his room. Enrique turned to the others when he heard a door slam. "I know what's up with Oliver."
"Sit." Robert said simply, gesturing to one of the armchairs.
"So…?"
"It's the Polanski restaurant." Enrique said, his thoughts trailing back to when they had sat in the maze. "Oliver doesn't want to take over it."
"Are you sure he's serious?" Johnny asked.
"Yes."
"How-?"
"He was crying."
Silence.
"He…"
Enrique nodded. "Not blubbering, but there were tears in his eyes. I have the wet patch on my shoulder to prove it."
Robert sat with his arms crossed and eyes closed, obviously thinking hard.
"What…exactly, from your memory, did he say?" he asked finally.
"Um… he said he didn't want to take over, firstly. When I asked him why he says that he thinks he's too young and that he wants to see the world and beyblade." He paused, trying to remember what else the young Polanski had said. "He went on to say that it's supposed to be an honour to be given the Polanski restaurant, but he doesn't think it an honour."
Silence reigned for a few seconds.
"So now that we know what's going on, what're we gonna do?" Johnny asked, looking mainly at Robert.
"I'm staying here for a while longer." Enrique said. "Oli said he wanted me to. You guys can stay if you want."
"I think it would be better if we did; have some friendly faces about the place." Robert commented.
"Nothing friendly about Johnny's face…" Enrique muttered.
"Listen, you're on the right road for a broken jaw." Johnny retorted.
"Is that a threat, McGregor?"
"No. It's a promise and I tend to keep it."
Robert sighed as the argument carried on. He stood and proceeded up the grand staircase, continuing to Oliver's room, but was stopped by none other than Oliver's father.
"Ah, Robert my boy." The Elder Polanski greeted. "Have you seen Oliver?"
"He is resting, sir. He said he felt ill." Robert replied.
"Ah, must've been stressful." The man said thoughtfully. "Fights with best friends are never good. Well, I shall see you later, Robert. And tell Oliver to see me when he feels better; we have business to discuss."
The man walked away, leaving Robert puzzled.
'Fights with best friends?' Robert shrugged and walked up to Oliver's room, going to knock but the door opened.
"Oliver?" He asked, looking round the empty room, finding no Oliver. The balcony was empty also. He was about to go back out when he heard a strangled sob coming from the en-suite bathroom. "Oliver?"
The soft sobbing continued and Robert made his way over to the wooden door quietly. Easing it open, he peeked round to see the French boy sitting on the closed toilet lid, legs to his chest, arms wrapped around them and sobbing into his knees.
"Oliver?" He repeated softly and Oliver's head sprung up suddenly. Oliver wiped his eyes quickly.
"S-Sorry, R-Robert. I d-didn't know y-you w-were th-there." He stuttered, standing shakily.
"Oliver, what's wrong?" Robert asked concerned, but Oliver shook his head, green bangs falling over his face.
"N-Nothing."
Oliver made to walk past Robert, but his shaking legs gave way. Robert caught his petite frame before he hit the floor.
"I don't call that 'fine', Oliver. Come on, let's get you sat down."
Robert helped Oliver back into his room, finding that the French boy was leaning on him heavily, as if exhausted; but he put it down to crying too much. They finally made it to the huge four-poster bed and Robert helped Oliver sit on the edge.
"Oliver…" He began.
"Oli?" Came a worried voice from the doorway; Enrique.
Robert made a gesture to tell him to stay in the doorway, before turning to the boy beside him.
"Would you rather talk to me or Enrique? Or would you like to be left alone?" He whispered, so only the French boy could hear.
"Enrique…" He heard Oliver croak.
He nodded and stood slowly, walking over to the Italian.
"What's wrong?" Enrique asked worriedly, but quietly.
"I found him crying in the bathroom. Talk to him, Enrique, but don't force any answers out of him. Treat him like a glass statue that could break any second."
Enrique nodded.
'Glass statue… right… glass statue…'
He proceeded over to the bed, and sat on the edge next to Oliver, looking at his best friend. He opened his mouth to speak…
"I… just can't…take it anymore…" Oliver whispered.
"Take what?"
Oliver was silent for a few seconds. "Everything…"
A/N- ooooooh! What's wrong with Oliver? Well, you'll have to wait to find out! (Evil laugh)
Thankies to all reviews!