23. racist fucks and ceaser the salad

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(Misery by Maroon 5 //doesn't really fit but it's catchy as fuck sorry//)

THIS IS REALLY SHORT IM SORRY AND IT MIGHT BE REWRITTEN

|23.| racist fucks and ceaser the salad

Maybe I should've been a little more than suspicious after the mind boggling conversation Wednesday night with the even more mind boggling Oliver Remmer. But somehow, I'd come to the conclusion not to jump to conclusions. Oliver was his own man and he had his own shit that I had no right to push my way into.

That's why instead of pestering him about this friend-hang he had that had taken up a week of his time, I'd simply smiled at his when he'd sat beside me at lunch that Friday.

I watched his pale hand as it placed an apple in front of me, the unmistakable bandage wrapped around it being the cause of my worry. But instead of bothering him about it, I just pointedly stared at it, his body fidgeting under my gaze and proving that once again, Oliver was beaten a little and bruised in other places.

"Where?" I'd questioned when he seemed to struggle with breathing as he sat himself in the seat that had somehow became his along the way.

Oliver sighed, shrugging and digging in his bag. When he pulled out a bag of gummy bears, my smile became a little less fake; I took his wrist in my hand, seeing gauze wrapped around his knuckles and a weird white bandage on top of his veins, "Just my ribs and hand, I'm fine."

"What's this?" I'd asked, assuming the worst when I'd seen the faint white lines on his right wrist but I was put at ease when a grin slapped on his face. Oliver smiled, peeling the bandage back a bit and showing off a little black arrow.

He'd gotten another tattoo and it looked kind of beautiful on his skin. The darkness of the black ink was bold against his arm and his smile was too blinding for words.

I nodded in approval, "it's nice."

Trying to ignore the slight blush creeping up his face, Oliver pulled the bandage back to its original position before opening the back of gummy bears.

It was then that I realized how quiet my table was and I'd noticed the new kid at the table. Luca was staring down in his lap as Sid smiled over at him, his expression slightly uncomfortable.

"Hey, Luca," I greeted, my eyes focused on Sid who was eye-molesting the side of his face.

I nudged Oliver, trying to get him to speak which might've been my most desperate move that day. Oliver Remmer was quieter than all of us so asking him to speak to prevent awkwardness wasn't my best move.

I watched the adorable way he looked caught in the headlights as he thought of what to say to Luca, a guy he'd almost mutilated over an accident. And when Oliver glanced at me, he sucked in a breath before turning back to the foreign boy in front of us, "I'm -uh- sorry I almost punched you."

Luca blushed, ears red as we all noticed how completely uncomfortable both boys were at this seemingly forced interaction. Oliver's eyes stayed downcasted as he picked at the lining on his gauze, Luca's nervous response making it ten times more awkward as he wet his plump lips, "It is fine, n-not a lot of students are pleased with me."

It was so noticeable that he wasn't from America with the harshness of his French as he all but butchered the English language , words coming out a bit off and the sentence seeming to drag on a little longer than normal as he seemed to be trying to find proper words.

I'd never really noticed that.

"I like you," Sid had said, confusion written on her face and in that moment, I wanted to slap my best friend for being so forward on this obviously-shy guy.

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