At school, I told him what I thought of his lips.
We were in the toilets, and he dragged me there, something about needing to take a piss.
I waited to the side, facing away from him.
Then he moved to the sink and washed his hands.
He stood staring at his reflection for a few seconds, running a finger against his lips without being fully aware that he was doing so.
"They're fine," I said.
His eyes shot to mine and he dropped his hand. "What?"
I leaned against the tiled wall, stuffing my hands in my pockets. "Your lips. They're fine."
His eyebrows shot up. "Okay..."
"I just," I faltered. "I just thought I'd tell you, because you seemed self conscience about them the other night. When I came over for that project."
He stared at me until I caved and looked away.
"I'm going to class," he announced to no one in particular as he moved past me to the door.
I wasn't looking at him.
"You coming?"
I glanced up to see his hand pressed flat against the swinging door, eyes boring into mine.
I pushed off the wall. "Yeah."
