Wicked Summer Games. BxB (Complete)

8. Paper crane.

With only the power to part my lips and not say a word at all, I move out of the way, so Axel can come in.

It feels weird.

I feel like I am letting him into my most private space, and it's dead-ass uncomfortable.

With not another word, I settle back on the wooden chair behind the small desk.

I can't speak.

I can't say anything—not yet. Feels like anything I might say at this moment would either be rude or stupid, so I chose to stay quiet for a few more minutes.

I watch as Axel scan the room with his hands placed in his pocket like a cool kid in my world. He bobs his head a little, and I can't help but feel judged. Even when he doesn't say a word, I know he judges me. It could be about anything and everything; like the fact that my bed is neatly made with zero creases or that my books are well organized on my desk. That my floor is neat and no clothes are lying around like in Jamie's room.

When he has gotten enough of the room, he looks back at me and the open book in front of me.

"It's funny how I haven't stepped foot in this room the entire two months I have stayed here," he muses, hands still in pockets. Still looking fucking cool.

"You moved in two months ago?" I ask, finally finding my voice. It's not as shaky or hoarse as I thought it would be. I am glad.

"Yeah."

"That was when your parents died?" Oh, my fucking goodness, how did I not think about that before I asked it? From my side, it sounds rather harsh.

With a hesitant eye, I look up to meet his. He doesn't flinch, he gazes at me like I haven't asked him the most personal question of all time.

Not many people like to touch on sensitive topics—talking about his parent's death is too sensitive. It's probably a trigger, and I hate myself if I am the one to remind him of the pain he had to live through.

Sometimes, I can be so dumb and stupid and insensitive.

"No." He doesn't move from his spot, and he doesn't look away. "They died two weeks ago."

Oh.

"Really?"

The fucking nerve, Luke! I hate myself right now.

"Yes." He swiftly runs his index finger under his nose as though sniffing something and clears his throat. "Listen, Smarty-pants, I need something."

It's shocking how he maintains the same mood and voice even after talking about his parents. I would be crying every time I am reminded of my dead parents.

I missed that opportunity though because even when my mother told me that my father died, I did not cry. She said he died a few days after I was born and that did not make me cry either. I didn't have a connection with the man, so I felt nothing.

If my mother were to die today, I would want to bury myself with her.

"W-what do you need?" I am stuck on the topic of his parents,  it's really hard to just switch like him.

"Paper, just a tiny piece of paper." He draws his thumb and forefinger closer to let me know how small he wants it.

"From my book?" I ask.

"Yes."

"Why?"

I want to understand why he wants a paper from my book when he can get it from his book.

"I need it."

"But why don't you get it from your book?"

"I have like one book, and Jamie misplaced it."

"What?" My eyes widen with horror. "Are you even in school?"

"Yes. I have one book for all my subjects," he says like it's not a big deal at all.

He is driving me insane, but I would rather not get involved in this madness, so I quietly rip a page from my book and hand it to him.

"Mmh, that's too much, but thanks," he says and gives me an excuse of a smile. It's cute…but forget it.

"So, why do you need it?" I can't stop, or maybe I don't know when to stop.

"You ask too many questions." He sighs.

"If you answer me, then I won't have to ask many more." I shrug.

"I want to roll a blunt."

"What?!" I yell, then whisper as though it's some highly classified intel, "You smoke?"

"Yes," he mimics my whispering tone.

"Why?!"

"Chill." He zips the paper in half, tucks one half in his pockets, and starts folding the other half.

"Why do you smoke? You know it's bad for your health, right? I mean, does Aunt Nima know about it? Does Jamie smoke too?" I lament another load of questions.

"Too many questions," he mumbles and grabs my hand—I want to scream, but the grip is gentle. He opens it and places the white piece of a paper crane he just made, and my heart melts immediately.

It's fucking cute. What does this mean?

"Everyone knows I smoke, I know it's bad for me, but I don't care and Jamie doesn't share the habit."

He closes my hand and heads for the door, leaving me there, staring at my closed hand and wondering what all this is about.

This boy is a fucking mystery.