Paper Heart

Part Two

Thank you to everyone who has been reading this so far ♥

For this chapter, listen to Timshel by Mumford & Sons.

"This is not a love story, this is a story about love." - 500 Days of Summer.

7.

Elliot was waiting for me the next morning, as I loped into school with my headphones. I was drowning out the world with my selection of bittersweet Smiths songs, when I suddenly noticed him standing there. He was slumped against the walk and he looked more lost than I had ever seen him look before.

I knew he couldn't be waiting for Patrick, because Patrick had decided long ago that coming into school on time was for "ponces" and tended to traipse in around halfway through second period with a smug expression on his face in order to appear more "edgy". His own words, not mine. A while ago, this might have been something Elliot and I would have laughed at, taken the piss out of, but the Elliot I knew now was nothing like the Elliot I had known the majority of my life, so we found ourselves remaining silent and reserved from any kind of secret jokes we might once have had.

He was standing there, watching me, with sealed eyes and a vacant expression. I stupidly turned to look behind me, certain that he was looking out for somebody else. But I saw no one.

"Jack." He said, both hands in his pocket. His eyes invited me to come closer, and without thinking, I followed his voice.

My immiediate reaction should had been to walk on, stay away, act as if nothing had happened. But I knew I couldn't do that - even though Elliot wasn't exactly my favourite person at the moment, he had been my friend for years and I knew to walk past him and pretend as if I hadn't seen him would be the official end of everything we had ever known. And I wasn't sure I was ready to just forget about everything we had been through. Not yet, anyway.

"You're early." He remarked, promptly lighting a cigarette as I approached.

I shrugged. "Not as early as you."

He blew out a smoke ring and looked a little lost for a second.

"Oh. Right." He said, looking around him at the crowds of bored teenagers standing around in the courtyard.

I wondered if maybe he was bored, maybe even a little embarrassed to be seen standing around talking to me. I glanced around myself, suddenly self concious, and willed him to just say whatever he needed to say.

"So, there's this gig tonight," He said, his tone casual, nonchalant, as if none of this really mattered. "And I know you're probably going to say you have plans, which I know you don't by the way, but I really need you to come. It's kind of vital you come, actually."

I stared at him, for a moment, trying to figure out if he was joking.

"I really do have plans tonight." I told him, vaguely, fully knowing those 'plans' would probably consist of feeding Whiskers and drinking too many cups of tea and falling asleep somewhere around four a.m. By myself.

He smirked at me with raised eyebrows. "Jack, when you say you have plans it usually means you're going to be spending the night talking to your cat and whining about your lack of social life."

Close, I thought, but I glared at him anyway, to which he just chuckled. Almost like old times.

"Look, mate, please? Patrick asked me to bring a few friends and I thought of you, and well...you haven't exactly been the regular social butterfly recently."

I sighed. "Why do you suddenly care?"

He looked a little hurt, just for a moment. But then he grinned and I noticed the slight gap between his teeth.