Six Centimetres Away From My Heart

II

With a loud flump, Emmanuel dropped the voluminous books in his arms onto the table; one after the other they left his grip, taking with them his final resolve.

Niifẹ stared at the mountain of books that towered over him, his Adam’s apple bobbing in fear. “Do I have to read all of this?” He tilted his head so he could catch a glimpse of Emmanuel. “I thought all I needed was a swimming trunk, a floater and a teacher.”

Emmanuel exhaled. “Master Falade, am I your butler?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Your babysitter?”

“Yes, you are.”

“Your adviser?”

“Yes, you are.” The area between Niifẹ’s eyebrows creased as he stared in confusion. “Emma, what’s with all these questions?”

“Language, Master Falade.” He shifted the books to the side and was rewarded with Niifẹ’s confused puppy-like expression. “But, am I your tutor?”

He shook his head. “But you are intelligent.”

“Lord and Lady Falade will be furious if they were to find out about this... this activity.” He gestured to the cramped library. “I am doing this because you are my master and I want the best for y—”

“You are doing this because you love me Emma.” Niifẹ shook his head and fiddled with his fingers.

Emmanuel froze. “What?! E-excuse me?” He placed his hands on the table and leaned towards his master. “I do not—I repeat—do not love you.” He stood straight and adjusted his gloves. “What... What no-nonsence. You...”

A blush slowly stained his cheeks and Niifẹ giggled in victory. “Aww, but you—” A sharp pain struck his heart like an arrow and he groaned in pain.

Emmanuel rushed to his side, fear painted on his face. “Master Falade, what—”

“I do not... I do not know... I...” He gasped sharply and placed his hands over his heart. “It hurts,” he moaned as he leaned forward.

It is the curse, Emmanuel thought in grief as he rubbed Niifẹ’s back. But, how?

“Your eyes.”

Emmanuel froze as Niifẹ placed a feeble hand on his cheek; it was warm, filled with sheer love and concern.

“Your eyes, they... they are like the bushes of blue ogin you were hiding behind when we first met.” His thumb caressed Emmanuel’s face. He leaned closer to the butler’s face and observed fear-filled eyes. “Beautiful, yet afraid of something.”

Emmanuel held Niifẹ’s wrist and pulled the teenager’s hand away from his face. “Master Falade,  the only thing I need from you is approval of my job, not compliments of any sort.”

Niifẹ winced then rubbed against his chest that burned hollowly. “Teach me how to swim, do not lecture me Emma.”

The butler sighed and stood straight, tugging down his waistcoat. “Master Falade, please don’t call me ‘Emma’. It’s childish.”

Niifẹ laughed lightly. “Language Emma. Butlers do not speak informally to their masters.”

Emmanuel stiffened with a slow blush that creeped up his neck. “My sincere apologies Master Falade.” He dipped his head.

A grin stretched Niifẹ’s face. “I accept your sincere apologies”— he stuck out his tongue—“Emma.”

Emmanuel shook his head in finalized disappointment. Why do I even bother?

*

“‘The Butterfly Stroke’,” Niifẹ read with a confused expression. He dropped the heavy book. “Do I need to turn into a butterfly?” he wandered in confusion. “Or grow wings?”

“Just... read Master Falade, you will understand it in the end.” He massaged his temple.

Niifẹ stuck out his tongue and pulled up the book and literally stuck it under his big, button nose; the book smelled like ash and fresh roses. Exactly after five seconds he whined, “Emmanuel?”

Emmanuel discretely rolled his eyes. “Yes Master Falade?”

The boy let the book drop out of his hands with a very loud and annoying bang. “I am hungry.” He pouted and rubbed his belly and gestured to his open mouth. “Food.”

Emmanuel tried so hard to suppress the heat that ate up his body at Niifẹ’s cuteness, but he gave up with an internal groan. “What will you like to eat Master Falade?”

“You.”