Page 5

NOEL

Alex lives in the rich part of town. His house is right in front of the town's big, picturesque Lake Evershine, only accessible to this neighborhood. I live a good ten minutes away, on the outskirts of our old and prestigious school, behind the acres of wooded area. There aren't many houses where I live, tucked away from everyone to see. It's a two-bedroom home that my mom struggles to afford every month so that I can go to Knight’s Valor Academy. I'm on a partial scholarship but still have to pay a portion to attend.

Everything about Alex's home is the opposite of mine. It's expensive, large, and unnecessary. Are they planning on throwing balls or something? Why do people need houses this big?

There's a large, sparkling chandelier in the middle of the foyer as you walk inside. An open kitchen with granite countertops and low hanging light fixtures, where the ceilings are high, making the already large room feel even bigger. There's so much space. And why are the hallways so wide? It's never ending. It's like I'm at school on my first day again, nervous I might get lost. Everything is spacious and blindingly white. It must be awful to clean. White floors and white cabinets? Who thought that'd be a good idea?

It's a total contrast to Alex's room with an all-black color scheme. There's hardly any natural light, but I've always been partial to the dark, so it makes sense why I'd prefer that over the white. It's all about my obsession with stars, space, and astronomy in general. And his walls are covered with anime character posters, framed in glass casings and floating shelves with figurines still in their boxes. I can't stop staring up at it with a big grin on my face.

It's so unexpected of him… I can't help but be impressed and in awe of the things he seems to love as much as I do.

After getting changed into my fencing gear, I wander around his room, looking at the figurines of all my favorite anime’s.

I spot a stack of papers on his desk that are out of sorts, so I go to investigate, only to stop in my tracks when I see markers strewn across a sketchbook that's open.

It instantly takes me back to the past, when Alex would draw on his skin with permanent markers. The memory is so vivid it's like I'm there in real time.

I didn't have friends; I never did. I had no need for them. But he was special to me. We simply clicked together. It wasn't forced, and he understood me in a way the other kids didn't. It was so easy to just… be. I could talk to him, and he was interested in what I had to say. It was all so effortless.

He treated me like we were best friends, and I thought we were.

Everyday I'd watch him draw on his arms with markers or pens, while he'd listen to me babble on and on about space and—

I stop mid-thought while I caress his drawings with a sad smile.

It doesn't matter, does it? The past is the past.

I stare down at faces and bodies, full pages of detailed and beautifully drawn, realistic people. The top page is of a boy's face, his eyes barely open like he's just woken up. His finger is in his mouth in some kind of… well, I'm not sure exactly. If I had to guess, I'd say it looks sensual. His tongue peeks around a long pointer finger, glistening from saliva. It drools down his chin, the amount of it staggering. Huh . That's a lot of saliva. I swallow loudly the more I stare at all the details. There's a desperate need for something in his actions and gaze, eyes hooded and hair messy. I'm probably reading too much into it, but it's something Alex took his time on. There's so much precision and talent in the drawing I can't help but admire it.

I stared for entirely too long, picturing Alex using swift, delicate strokes while his pencil probably left a stain on his hands after he brushed away the pencils' lead before using markers.

I move the paper off to the side so I can see his other drawings. Some of his art is of anime characters. Commander Shinso in battle, Lieutenant Kasakabe, a fierce warrior, with a backdrop of the anime's fantasy world fighting large masked demons. I want to take it for myself and hang it in my bedroom, but I stop myself.

Everything about these drawings reminds me of what he was like as a kid. Playful and warm. Kind. I can't help but think of the first time I met Alex. I was twelve, just days away from turning thirteen, and it was my first week at Knight's Valor Academy.

There's something about the rain that calms my frantic nerves. I always have too many thoughts in my head, and the sound of it hitting the glass helps me concentrate. I'm in class staring out the window as the students talk about who's dating who, what happened at Debbie's sleepover, and something about Josh hitting Roger last night during a football game. It's all background chatter, though. Nothing interesting.

Miss Leonard is teaching us about the stars today. Constellations. Now that's interesting.

The other kids don't seem to think so.

I guess I'm still kind of like the new kid since everyone knows one another from previous years. I'm the odd one out here in more than one way.

“Alright kids, calm down. I'm going to have you all pair up in groups of two for this project. Grab your friend and then I'll explain everything.”

All my classmates freak out, laughing and calling out their friend’s names. I sigh. I don't have any friends, at least not yet. It'd be nice if one person talked to me or even better, liked the things I like, but my classmates don't speak to me, so I don't know.

I sit still and wait for everyone to pair up, knowing how this will go. I'll be the last one without a partner and forced into a third-wheel situation. It sucks. It happened at my other school too. I just wasn't expecting my first month to go the same route.

“So, you’re the new kid. Want to be my partner?”

I look up at a boy who's chomping on spearmint gum too loudly. I know it's spearmint because the smell is overwhelming my sensitive nostrils. His blond hair is so messy it looks like he just ran both hands through it without a care.

He's wearing black jeans that are meant to be ripped at the knees. The look screams expensive, where mine is second-hand thrift, sticking out like a sore thumb. But I don't mind the difference. I'm in ratty jeans, a wrinkled shirt, and a jacket that's too small on my torso, but I'm comfortable. Clothing shouldn't be as important as it is here. They shame others who can't afford name-brand things. I see that a lot with kids here. It's strange. I don't really understand shaming others because of fabrics with certain logos. Next year we all get to wear uniforms, which I'm excited for. No more teasing from the students that I'm not in expensive t-shirts and pants. Mom said the school only gives uniforms to the high school grades, but starting next year we're all getting them.

I look around me, unsure why he's talking to me, when I notice that he's staring, brow raised. I whisper, “Me?”

“Yeah you. You're the only new kid around here, right? C'mon. Everyone else is annoying, boring, and lame,” he says with disinterest. “You look cool.” He tilts his head. “Let's be partners, partner.” He grins so wide I can see the gum in the back of his teeth.

“Uh… Sure. What's your name?”

He pulls up a chair in front of my desk and straddles it backwards. “I'm Alexander Phoenix Madison. Phoenix, like rise from the flames,” he says, spreading his hands outward like a bird. “But everyone calls me Alex. What's yours?”

I don't question his odd explanation, so I say, “Noel.”

He nods slowly, snapping his fingers. “Noel, like the Christmas carol?”

“Uh. Yeah.”

He starts to sing loudly to our classmates. “Noooooellllll, Noooooelllll,” he chants, and everyone giggles, gathering the attention of all the other kids. “I like it. Much better than Godfrey Godfrey over there.” He thumbs behind me at the kid with red hair, turning around and shouting, “We still love you, Godfrey!”

The redhead turns, gives him a thumbs up, and smiles. A couple girls whisper and laugh at him.

Godfrey's first name is also his last name, and I don't understand why it's so funny to everyone in class.

I sit quietly, too shocked to say anything more. I actually have someone who wants to be my partner, and he's kind. He's speaking to me like I'm his friend.

“Stars are interesting. This should be a fun project, right? Do you like space?”

I blink. The question throws me, and I don't exactly understand why. My mouth opens before I realize what I'm doing. Words tumble out, and I can't stop it. “I-I do. Like them. Um, I love the stars. There's supposed to be 100 thousand million stars in The Milky Way. Sounds crazy when you repeat the number… it's kind of hard to comprehend. And the number of stars in the universe is 200 billion trillion. That sounds even crazier, right? I mean, it doesn't sound like a real number, but it's true.” When I finish speaking, the look on his face is hard to decipher. He squints his eyes, running a hand through his messy hair.

“Whoa, Bill Nye, you're like… smart. That's… really cool, you know all that.” He chuckles.

My chest tightens. “Me?”

He looks at me so intensely that my stomach clenches, something twisting deep in my gut. I'm not used to such blatant eye contact like this, so I divert my eyes to look at the girl behind him.

“What's your favorite constellation?” he questions.

I don't miss a beat. “Hydrus.”

"Ooooh, nice one. Wanna guess mine?” I look over to him and find that his smirk is mischievous, and I instantly know what it is.

“It's… the phoenix, right?” I smile along with him.

He clicks his tongue. “How did you guess?” The question comes out sarcastically and I only catch it because of his tone and the way he's smirking like I'm in on the joke.

I laugh softly as he leans his head on my desk.

“This is going to be fun, Noel.”

I sigh and turn away from Alex's desk.

He doesn't remember me, nor would he even care if he did. Because even though we shared something that I've etched into my brain, in reality, we weren't close. Well, the kind of close I thought we were. He was my best friend. But in hindsight, maybe I was just another kid to him. I wasn't anything to him.

The door opens abruptly, and Alex comes out glistening, skin dewy from his hot shower. He has a towel wrapped around his lean waist as he dries his hair with one hand, using a different towel. I quickly skim over his physique clinically, taking in his flat, muscled stomach. There are a couple dark bruises on his side and his upper chest, but that’s not unusual in fencing. We get bruises all the time. I notice our bodies are similar in definition and tone. His biceps flex for a moment when he opens a drawer, showing off more than I have. He might be slightly stronger than I am then.

I drop my gaze, sit on his bed, and wait for him to finish getting ready so we can do what I came here for. To fence.

He grabs some clothes from his dresser and goes back into the bathroom.

I stand up, grab my things, and prepare myself mentally for our bout.

When he exits the bathroom wearing a shirt and boxers, I don't make eye contact with him. I simply wait for him to finish getting pants on.

“You look angry.”

I blink. “Just waiting so we can practice what I came here for.”

His pale brow raises. “There's the snark. Been wondering where it was since you got here. Shall we?” He cocks his head and gestures for me to lead the way as he picks up his face mask and bag. I unlock the door and let him pass me so he can show me where we're going.

“Your house is too big.”

His shoulders shake like he's laughing at me. We go down stairs and another long winding hallway.

“Rich people problems. Wait until I show you the movie room. The couches are beds.” He doesn't sound like he's bragging but making fun of the situation. Like he knows how ridiculously wealthy his parents are and the money they spend is on frivolous things.

We reach a door to the left that he has to enter a key code before it opens, and when I see the room, I pause before fully going inside.

It's bright and surrounded by a wall of mirrors and brick. Alex walks straight over to where there's a glowing screen connected to the wall. He drops his mask and bag and touches the screen so it comes to life. It beeps as he scrolls down, and music fills the room with a low beat that I'd never be able to name because I rarely listen to music unless it's a certain genre, much less anything considered popular.

“What bands do you listen to?” Alex asks as he continues to scroll.

“Um, I don't listen to music when I fence.”

“Tch.” He makes a noise like a scoff. “When you're with me, we listen to music. I need it to practice. Tell me what you like, or I'm putting what I listen to on, and I doubt you'd appreciate it.”

“Yes. Do that.”

He turns his head, and we're back to the awkward eye contact again.

“You really don't want to tell me what you like?”

“I… don't really have a preference,” I say, but that’s not true. I want to give him a piece of myself and speak about the type of music I listen to every day. I divulge into a moment of nostalgia thinking of our past friendship and give in, clearing my throat before speaking. “But… when I'm not fencing, I listen to EDM,” I rush to say, making him raise a brow.

“I guess you’re not totally lame then.”

I can't tell if it's sarcasm or not, so I respond with an unsure, “Thanks?”

“What about rock? Do you listen to anything like that?”

“Sometimes.”

He nods. “I already know you wear earplugs anyway. So go ahead and pop 'em in. I’ll surprise you.”

It’s not odd that he knows I wear them. My earplugs are a tool to help me concentrate, blocking out everything else going on in the room while I fence. I usually only wear them during competition, but since he insists on listening to music, I'll need them. The song that starts to play is unfamiliar, but it’s not bad. It even helps ease a little of my anxiety. It’s some form of soft rock, with drums and a catchy beat.

I rummage in my bag for the small pair of soft-molded plugs and put them in. Being here alone with Alex is throwing me out of my routine, and I don't like it. I try to avoid scenarios that cause me to feel this way, but I also think it's more than my regular anxiousness. It's simply being near Alex that has my lungs feeling heavy, like someone is sitting on me. My hands tremble so badly I forcibly loosen them with a harsh shake.

Alex sits down on a bench to the far left, putting his shoes and mask on while I have a small freak out. Chest heavy and hands trembling. It's not my first time having an anxiety attack, nor will it be my last. The racing heart, trouble breathing, feeling that I'll pass out or throw up. It's random, and a lot of the time I can handle it without people realizing I have it. I focus on my breathing and clear my head of the thoughts that are triggering me.

I know I'm freaking out because I can't articulate what I feel for Alex, and I can't understand why I react the way I do when I'm around him. I hate him, but I also don't hate him at the same time?

Ugh. Sometimes it's like this, and other times when I'm near him, I feel calm and peaceful. Like staring at the stars in an open field while breathing in crisp night air. A chilly breeze against my face. Hot cocoa in my hand while also holding—no. I'm not thinking about that. I drop the memory and focus on my reflection in the mirror as I wait for Alex to finish getting ready. My face is pale, but there's some color in my cheeks too. A light shade of pink. It's so confusing sometimes. I'm out of my element being here with him, but I'm finding it helps when I focus on the fit of my fencing gear, the soft material against my sensitive skin.

Fencing centers me. It gives me a single-minded focus while I have a foil in my grip and an opponent to bout with.

As I stare at myself in the mirror, I notice that my usually tidy, combed back hair is in disarray, and I try to tame it by pushing a hand through repeatedly before I need to put my mask on. It doesn't work, so I give up, grabbing my mask and sliding it on. Having that over my head helps me chill enough to get my head focused on why I'm even here to begin with.

Fencing , I remind myself again.

I catch Alex looking at me for a split second, but he swiftly unzips his bag and gets his foil unpacked.

Mine is already in my gloved hand. “Ready?”

Alex doesn't even blink as he stares at me, subdued, right before putting his face mask on. We salute with our foils and begin our practice bout, stepping into the rhythm we know well.

Fencing is reflexive.

It's being vigilant of your opponent’s moves.

It's foot work, arm work, and brain work. It's patience and knowing when to strike.

I admire the sport.

Our bodies push into a practice that has us both panting for breath, arms stiffening, and legs aching. My thighs burn, calves stretching with every second of our continuous movements.

After half an hour, I'm heaving under my mask as he advances, using parry four. I struggle to keep up with him. He advances again, the tip of his foil hitting my torso, effectively scoring on me again. We have no electronic scoring system here, but it's not needed. We back off, retreating to our lines, holding our foils in a quick salute since we're both finished for tonight. I undo the Velcro at my neck and grip the back of my mask, pulling it off my head carefully while trying to catch my breath. I take out my plugs, and Alex stops the music.

“I win,” Alex states in a dull tone that's not cheering or gloating. He's simply stating a fact.

I wipe at my forehead, perspiration coming off my skin from being in a bulky mask. Alex tears his off unceremoniously, dropping it to the mat. The foil rests in his closed fist while his other hand glides through his wet, sweaty hair.

Lazy, blue eyes catch me staring.

I blink and look away. “Why do you do that?” I ask, trying to catch my breath.

“Do what?”

“Take off your face protection and drop it like it's not worth your time.”

“Why do you think I hate fencing?” He asks curiously, sounding like he's also struggling to catch his breath.

I look back up and fold my arms to my chest, not understanding. “You don't seem to like it at all. Why not play a different sport? Soccer, football, or lacrosse seems more up your alley.”

He grins, although it's more like a grimace. He doesn't seem to be happy with why I've asked. “Because other sports are pointless .” He grins and it takes me a very long time to understand the fencing joke. When I do realize it, I smile faintly, and he shakes his head at me. “I don't hate fencing.”

“Could've fooled me.”

His eyes roll back with a sigh. “I guess it’s story time.” I raise a brow as he begins. “There are three reasons I chose this sport,” he starts with a bored recital, and I have no choice but to listen to whatever his reasons are. “One: My father is a football fan.” He makes a sound suspiciously like a laugh under his breath, but I don't find the humor in his statement. “Two: I enjoy it.” The admission feels odd coming from him since he doesn't usually delve into personal topics.

“Really?”

His head tilts the smallest amount to the side. “You think I'm the type to give any sort of my time to a sport I didn't actually enjoy playing?”

“I guess.”

He chuckles, and my chest deflates at the genuine sound. A calming heat warms me up from the inside, gut clenching sickeningly. “What's the third reason?” I murmur, turning towards my things but keeping an eye on him.

He holds up his foil, inspecting it by turning his wrist. “It's a sport with a weapon. Who wouldn't want to sword fight?”

I smile. “Like Shinso.”

“Exactly. If only they were sharp at the tip.” Alex waggles his eyebrows playfully.

“I wouldn't fight with you if these were real swords.”

“Aww, why not?” He takes a couple steps forward to where I'm standing. “Afraid I'll slice you open?” He chuckles, shaking out his sweat-soaked hair.

“You're too good,” I admit truthfully. “You'd seriously injure me; I'd bleed out, and you would just stand there laughing.”

“Mmm probably.” Alex shrugs, and I stifle the surprising laugh that wants to erupt from my chest.

“Asshole.”

“I fight to win, little rival. You're either a winner or a loser in life.” Alex chooses this moment to get up close and personal, his body so close I can see and smell his sweat. I'm pissed as fuck that it doesn't stink. It's musky, raw, and I like how he smells. His whisper sends goosebumps up my arms and neck. “I choose to be a winner,” he finishes his stupid little monologue.

“Tell that to the losers.”

“I just did.” He smirks and steps back.

I roll my eyes. “I should get going,” I add, more nervous than I should be.

Something shifts in his attitude. Before, he was confident and playful, but now, beneath his well-crafted display of disinterest, he appears more solemn and reflective. “You're dripping sweat on my mats.”

My brows scrunch in question as I look down. There's no sweat anywhere. Alex waves a hand like he's shooing me away. “Go shower. We'll grab food afterwards.”

“You want me to shower here?”

Annoyance flickers across his face. “You're welcome to smell like ass until you get back home. Be my guest.”

I wince and lift my shirt slightly to take a whiff. I don't smell bad, but I hate feeling dirty. “I guess I'll shower here.”

“Good. Go.” He points his foil at the door.

I place mine back into its protected case and grab my mask before heading towards his room. I can feel the sweat running down my back, so I'm grateful he's letting me shower before I leave. I always keep extra sweats and a shirt in my bag, so I don't have to wear the clothes I fenced in.

When I reach his bedroom, I shut his door before heading to the bathroom. I stop when I see just how ridiculous the room is. Like the rest of his house, it is excessively large. A standing shower with stonework walls and flooring, and a separate door for just the toilet. I suppress rolling my eyes at the absurdity and chuckle when I realize that my room is the size of this bathroom. I quickly undress and enter, melting as the hot spray runs down my body. I scrub myself clean, inhaling his body wash scent. It's a simple fragrance-free soap, but I find myself greedily savoring it.

I stop and stare at the wall. What the hell am I doing? I put the stupid wash back on his built-in shelf and grabbed the shampoo. Scrubbing vigorously at my scalp as I wash my hair. I hear the bedroom door open, and my heart skips. Alex has always caused me to react in peculiar ways.

I need to get my shit together. I hate him for a reason. I focus my attention on arranging the shower products so they're all facing me. I then tilt my head back and let the hot water run over my face.

ALEX

I check the house to make sure Sophia is really gone before heading to my room. Thankfully, she didn't cross paths with Noel before she left. She hasn't met any of my friends before because I never have brought anyone over.

Noel is still in the shower, so I drop my bag and strip down to my underwear, needing to rid myself of sweaty clothes and everything related to fencing. I put on a pair of soft cotton shorts and a fresh shirt while I wait to shower and plop myself on my bed.

I listen to the water smack the tiled floor, and I close my eyes as it lulls me into some kind of trance. I don't ever invite anyone over here. It's too personal of a space. A past I don't like to think about.

Noel shuts off the shower, and I hear the curtains open. My head turns to the side while I listen like a freaky stalker.

My phone beeps with a text message somewhere on my dresser, but I ignore it. My head snaps up when the door swings open, and he steps out with a different shirt and a hoodie tied around his waist.

“Thanks for the shower. I'll be leaving now.” He must be nervous because he avoids eye contact while biting his lower lip. His hand scratches at the back of his head idly.

Weirdo can't contain his fidgeting.

I drop my head back to the bed. He picks up his bag, and I sigh. “Your bag is so fucking ugly.”

He looks offended. “No, it’s not; it’s my favorite!”

“That doesn’t make it any less ugly.”

“Such an asshole.”

“Buh Bye.” I wave my hand using my fingers, closing my eyes in dismissal.

“See you at school,” he grumbles, probably fed up with my teasing. He grabs his things and leaves without another word. I hop out of bed and get in my shower that's still steamy, disappointed that he didn't want to stay and eat dinner with me.

The rest of the weekend goes by slowly. It's a repeat of the same shit I usually do.

Sleep way too much, shower, eat, draw, watch anime, go back to sleep.

I'm more down than usual, so I'm not up for company. My body feels too heavy, too irritated, and I don't want to think about anything.

I make a cup of coffee at six p.m. Sunday evening for no reason except I want a hot beverage. I stand alone, surrounded by silence, in my kitchen as I wait for it to brew.

Your house is too big.

Noel's statement rings too true, and I find myself smiling as I think of him and his blunt words. The unfiltered honesty in his thought process. When my eyes roam the living room, the large hallways, and the kitchen, I get a sudden wave of sadness that hitches my next breath. It's useless space. I feel my smile drop.

The only sounds in this empty house are coming from the coffee maker. It's deafening. I'm completely alone, and while I'm used to it, right now it makes my chest tighten. Being alone really, really sucks.

I stare at the stream of dark liquid as it hits my cup, wanting to get back in bed. When it fills, I grab it and walk past the dishes piled up in the sink.

My bed beckons me. School is tomorrow, and I have fencing practice . I wonder if Noel will ignore me. I don't have any of the same classes as him, only Ace and Levi. I've seen Noel in the hallways though, in his own little world, not bothering to speak to anyone. His tie is perfectly done, his jacket sharp and clean, although the ratty white converse throws the whole look off. It makes me huff out a laugh.

I scroll through my manga app, reading while tucked into bed, when a call comes through.

Stupid Fuckface, it reads.

“What,” I answer, knowing that if I don't pick up, I’ll be in trouble. And being in trouble with him means a lot of really unpleasant things.

“I sent you a plane ticket to come out and visit. I have an event I need you to attend. You’ll miss a day from school, but that’s fine.”

Deciding every move, like always, father.

“I’m doing great; thanks for asking. How is my new step-mommy? Did she enjoy her nineteenth birthday recently?”

“Watch that fucking mouth of yours.” His cold, bitter voice makes me clench my jaw.

“I got it from my father.”

“No, that's all from your whore mother.”

“Well, you both have that in common, don't you? A match made in hell, you two.” There’s a long silence that has me suppressing my chuckle knowing I got under his skin with that jab.

“Check your email for that ticket. I expect you there. This isn’t negotiable. And you better drop the attitude when I see you.” He hangs up.

I keep the phone to my ear, talking as if he’s still there. “I fucking hate you.”

I let it slide down, not bothering to do anything with it. I reach over to my dresser, picking up a carton of cigarettes and a lighter while sitting up.

I don't bother opening my balcony door. Maybe I'll accidentally burn the house down.

Smiling with that thought, I light a cig and let the smoke lull me into a calm.