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PLEASE VOTE BY CLICKING THAT STAR AT THE BOTTOM OF YOUR SCREEN! :)

"When your crush is talking to you and you can't believe it and you're just giving him the I'm-just-chill look but inside you're screaming."

As if he regretted what he just said, his eyes darkened and he stepped away.

I curled my finger in my hand. It was vibrating.

"Are you okay?" I squawked. This time I sounded like a dehydrated rooster. My words tripped over each other, a sign of my stress level. "Are you hurt anywhere? There were four of them against you."

I saw Noah swat Drew and his evil minions like flies, but still.

His brows furrowed. "You were the one who jumped in front of me to take that punch and you're asking me if I'm hurt?"

I blinked at him. "Yes?"

He stared at me for a moment, then he sighed. "What am I going to do with you?"

He asked it in a whisper so soft, so solemn that my heart clenched.

"I'm fine. Not a scratch," he finally answered.

"I'm glad to hear that."

He was still standing, leaning against the wall, as if he was going to leave at any moment.

And I wanted him to stay.

Maybe you can tie him up?

Where's the rope?

I gestured toward the chair. "Can we sit down?"

I'd asked him twice now.

"I should go."

He'd said that twice now.

"No. Please. Don't. I have food downstairs. You want some? Food? To eat?"

He sucked his bottom lip inside his mouth, his blue eyes crinkling at the corners. I could tell he was trying not to laugh.

"I'm good, Parker."

What? No... He was supposed to be hungry.

"Okay. How about something to drink?"

He shook his head.

Crap.

I was wracking my brain on what else I could offer him so that he'd stay when I saw him grabbed the chair from my desk, turned it around so that the back was facing me and straddled it, propping his arms on top of it.

He was so tall, his legs so long that the chair looked so tiny.

He was staying.

I couldn't help but grin, and I knew I looked creepy so I turned my back to him and walked to my bed.

When I was sure my creepy pedo smile was gone, I sat on the edge of my bed facing him.

I cleared my throat. "You were on your way to town when I saw you?"

He shook his head no. I noticed his eyes were scanning my room again.

Bra? Panties? Please hide yourselves!

"Past it. You know I work at Hos' garage. Usually after school."

Oh. He wasn't going to town to meet his girlfriend then, like I thought before. And it wasn't because he was avoiding me.

"You walk there?"

It was far. At least a forty-five minute walk. Possibly an hour and half for my short legs.

He shrugged. "I don't have a car. And besides there's a shortcut."

Suddenly he smiled, and I knew then that he was remembering that first moment he carried me home when we took the shortcut.

My face felt hot. I cleared my throat again. "Your friend, Sebastian, he works with you?"

Is this the Spanish inquisition?

"Seb's family owns several businesses in town. According to him, he's set for life and doesn't need to work." He paused.

Was it my imagination that his shoulders looked stiff?

"I wasn't aware you two know each other," he added.

"We don't," I replied. "Not till today. My friend Magdalene mentioned him."

"Hm." His shoulders relaxed. "He was going to give me a ride. I was waiting for him when I saw you and your friend in the hallway."

I looked up at him, surprised. "You saw me?"

He was silent for a moment before he murmured, "I always see you."

My heart.

Why did it feel like it was going to jump out of my chest?

I couldn't believe he was in my room, but most especially, that he was talking to me like this.

I wondered what changed. Was it because of what happened earlier?

He let out a long sigh, started to get up.

No! Not yet.

"My lip still hurts," I exclaimed.

He hooked his thumbs in his pockets, drawing back a little as he looked at me for a moment. Then a small smile appeared on his lips. "Shall I kiss it better, then?"

His eyes widened as if he too, like me, was shocked at what he said.

"I'm sorry." He lowered his head, his hand rubbing the back of his neck. "I shouldn't have said that."

"No. I want you to—"

"It's what my mom used to say whenever I get scrapes from playing outside too much."

We both spoke at the same time and maybe... maybe he didn't hear me.

I was disappointed and delighted at the same time. Disappointed that he didn't mean it the way I thought he did. Delighted and very surprised that he talked about his mom when before he refused to.

I wanted to know more, but I had a feeling if I pushed it he'd closed up on me again.

"That's very sweet," I said instead.

When I looked up, he was blushing and he couldn't look me in the eye.

"Why do you paint?" I burst out. I wanted him to stay and I'd keep him talking if that's what it took.

Desperate much?

I noticed that he was the kind of person who deliberated his thoughts before he spoke. And that impressed me. So much. Not many people I knew did.

"I'm a slave for it," he replied after a moment.

"A slave?"

"Painting doesn't always give me pleasure."

"I... I don't understand."

"Sometimes it's a punishment." He frowned. "A battle. Think of a moment in your life where you've witnessed something so beautiful that it overwhelmed you. It can be a place or a person. An occasion. Anything."

I nodded.

"Now try explaining what you felt."

"I..."

"It's hard, isn't it?" he said when I looked at him helplessly. "There are no words."

I seemed to have lost my voice.

"That's what painting is to me sometimes. It's easy to create, slap paint on a canvas, draw landscapes, faces.

"But the hardest part is painting the emotion. That intensity you feel in your chest when you experience something so out of this world it's almost akin to pain."

My throat was closing up. It was hard to breathe.

Being around Noah was overwhelming.

He was too much... too perfect to be real. Too out of my league.

It saddened me.

"There is no relief," he continued, his voice deepening, "unless I've painted it exactly how I see it. See not with my eyes but..." he trailed off, looking embarrassed.

But with his heart.

"It drains you," I commented.

He seemed pleased that I understood him. "It's worth it."

"Is it always like that?" I asked. My voice had become low, quiet, and he noticed it as he angled his head to study my face.

"No. Not always. Sometimes I see what I want to draw or paint so clearly that I don't have to struggle to express it." He paused. "Like the picture I've drawn of you."

Why did that hurt? "Because I'm simple?" I choked out.

The blue of his eyes suddenly became intense. "There is nothing simple about you, Parker."

He took a step toward me, closer, closer.

"I see you," he continued. "You're like a burst of colors. Vivid. It's almost impossible for me not to—"

My heart began to pound. I looked at him, waiting for him to finish, but his eyes suddenly flicked up to my window.

When I looked there I saw the black cat he always fed. I just noticed it only had three legs, but seemed to have adjusted very well, loping with smooth feline grace.

It narrowed its neon yellow eyes at me. As if it was offended that I dared talk to its master.

It lifted its butt, like giving me the finger, before it jumped into Noah's arms.

"I have to feed her. I'll see you in school tomorrow."

Gently he placed the cat on the window before it leaped outside. 

"Will you still talk to me tomorrow?"

He rubbed the tip of his nose with the back of his hand. Was he hiding a smile?

He inhaled, just a little deeper than normal, lowering his head to look at the floor.

As if he was having an internal debate with himself.

And then he walked toward me, reaching for my hand.

And placed something in it before he closed my fingers over it.

"I will," he answered.

"Goodnight, Noah."

He looked at me for a moment, a look of hesitancy in his eyes as he let go of me.

I watched as his hands wrapped around the sides of the window, his biceps bunching. The dark hair on his nape was stark against his white shirt.

"Goodnight, Parker."

When he was gone, I opened my hand.

It was a band-aid.

A/N: Hi, loves! This should have been posted earlier but my laptop decided to regurgitate. I need a new one. Weep. You know those annoying updates that take forever? And then I had to wait until my laptop stops making those cringe-worthy I'm-about-to-croak-my-last-breath sounds when it's busy. I can't write when it's screaming at me like that. Shivers.

Love,

Isabelle

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