𝚂 𝙼 𝙸 𝙻 𝙴

chapter 24

TW : violence and mention of cliche scene towards the end of chapter ...

sorry for the late update ... I promise i will start building a lil romance soon TT .. never let them know your next move was the theme of this chapter so hope you enjoy! 🫶🏼

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No one can blame me for feeling like my world was collapsing beneath me. I was alone. And loneliness is a lethal poison.

When Colton went home she was left with Oliver—she didn't mind it too much but it still left a cut on her heart— and it gave them time. . . Time was something they desperately needed and just didn't know it.

"Hey," he said, pulling out a movie disk very dramatically. "Wanna watch ... Titanic?"

A laugh coiled in her throat.

"What's so funny? Is it not a good choice?"

"No, no, it's a great choice but it's a romance movie," sputtered in between laughs at the puppy eyes he was throwing her way. "I haven't actually seen it all the way through. Adoptive parents bought it thinking it would help me feel normal."

she had done it. she just said a sentence she was holding in for such a long time to someone who once betrayed her. When she looked up at him, he was not staring back at her eyes with a pitiful look on his face nor was he marching over... he was digging through the movie collection, sighing as he realized Titanic was the only good movie her family had. It was relieving.

"Want some popcorn?" her voice sounded relaxed around him, she knew it did, and he could tell, too.

He smiled and nodded. As soon as her back turned to pour the kernels into a bowl, he managed to ninja his way over just in time to save the glass bowl from shattering as her arms failed to reach the elevated microwave. Suddenly his presence made itself known; his breath was going down Alina's neck and his arm right next to the frames of her face; her cheeks flushed. Why did her cheeks feel so hot?

"Sorry, but if that would have hit the floor then your toes would have been in bits and pieces." Even when he jokes about injury his face is still so unchanging and his presence is still known. It was at that moment that she never realized just how pretty he was; the ginger hair she once knew was somehow darker than usual, and his eyes were more hazel in this lighting. The sharp jawline and high cheekbones made his face all the more balanced as his small angled nose proved to be a fantastic centre. Of course the style of his hair also helped, but his height, oh boy, his height. "Lina..? Did you get hurt?"

The nickname rolled off his tongue like it belonged there and she didn't dislike it—nor did she like it.
"No, I'm okay."

The microwave alarm tinged and he rescued the bowl from the hot insides, lowering it down to her. Something about the way he was so quick to come to her aid made the situation all the more attractive; she never wanted the night to end... and maybe that was foul of her.

"You should go and grab knit blankets from upstairs," she said. Her little feet were moving quicker than normal. It was weird. Unusual.

Oliver remained calm, a one-sided smile forming on his face as his palms rest on the stovetop. His posture was elegant yet relaxed. And then a little laugh escaped. "She's so cute," he mumbled. "But so clueless."

Alina descended from the stairs with a stack of blankets in her arms; one being burgundy with navy chevrons, the second a cerulean blue, and the third a plain grey. She set them on a chair at the bar in the kitchen and gestured with her hand for him to choose one, a gesture to which his response was the cerulean blue, and she wrapped it around herself. He watched as she crossed to the fridge and got out a bottle that was a strange color. "What's that?"

"I'm not sure but Polly said I could have it in small doses."

Small doses is parent slang for soda.

"Should I get the cups?"

"You can get one for yourself."

She paid him no mind and went to the couch and he soon followed. It was going smoothly... until the mystery beverage had side effects. Alina felt woozy but refused to fall asleep during the movie, her guard was let down and Oliver noticed in the corner of his eye. Whether his motives were driven by the cliche from movies or by a vendetta didn't matter—he was still about to fight her. She hit the floor and the tussling began; one hand held her shoulder to the floor while he struggled to subdue her, and the other over her nose and mouth. He sat on her waistline so she couldn't wriggle loose, but it proved to be useless as her legs kicked violently for purchase against the flooring. Her free arm was whacking against what she could reach on him, until he moved from her shoulder to holding her arms above her head, which gave him a minute to switch to an object to cover her with. She closed her eyes and refocused her weight slowly to her waist and hips.

"Still fighting? Man, I missed getting into fights with you, 'cause you never know when to call it quits."

He got cocky. The first non-spoken rule of fighting is to never get cocky. It is the immediate consequence of failing that usually follows after that makes it a rule. If you get cocky then you stop being as precise with your movements. He never learns his lesson.

One minute he was gazing down at her disheveled hair and the next it was dangling in his face as she sat on top of him, her weight redistributed to her lower body to act as a dumbbell, bony side of her forearm resting against his head, and her other hand hovering in front of his face , her pointer and ring finger sharp nails like a centimeter away from piercing his eyes. Her breath was smooth while he was ragged. She opened her eyes to look directly into his, her voice calm and casual.

"You're the man but I have all of the power. Don't forget that."