Page 16 of We May Be Fractured

Nyle’s eyes nearly popped out as he looked back and forth between Aaron and Landon. “Seriously? You two are the oddest people I’ve ever met.”

“Not because we have criminal records?” Aaron joked.

As the group piled into the shop, Aaron and Landon hung back, finding a quieter spot away from the queue that snaked outside.

Landon eyed Aaron suspiciously. “So, you’re allergic to chocolate.” Though neither a question nor a statement, Landon’s tone bordered on an accusation. “I don’t recall seeing you agonising after eating chocolate biscuits the other day.”

Uh, oh. Aaron shifted uncomfortably. “Well, it’s a bit…complicated.”

Landon’s eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, crowded Aaron against the wall. Resting his hand on the brick wall beside Aaron’s head, he leaned in, studying him intently, eyes locked on Aaron’s. “You still don’t square with me. I don’t like it.”

“Apparently, you don’t like much of anything,” Aaron retorted, trying to hold his ground.

“Indeed. But liars claim the top spots.”

Now, inches apart, Aaron caught the scent of coconut and cigarette smoke on Landon. This close, he should have felt intimidated, but he didn’t.

Aaron met Landon’s gaze firmly and didn’t budge an inch. He tried to convince himself he was standing up to him, proving he wasn’t a coward. But what if pride had nothing to do with it? A weird flutter stirred in his stomach whenever Landon came close or paid him attention.

Aaron liked the thrill of getting a reaction out of Landon, breaking through his usual indifference. Or maybe, as Maeve had pointed out, Aaron’s sense of self-preservation was somewhat skewed.

“It’s just that, um, my parents always told me I was allergic to chocolate,” he explained. “And even after knowing that wasn’t true, I never dug into it. I don’t want to explain everything to people, so I stick with the allergy story.” The admission made him feel foolish.

Landon studied him as though attempting to decipher the truth just by looking at him. “And what about Australia? Is that for real, or is it another tale you’ve spun?”

“No, Australia is real. It’s been a dream of mine to go there for a long time now.”

“Mm.” Landon didn’t seem entirely convinced. He took a step back and fished out a cigarette. “Just so you know, me helping you out doesn’t mean we’re mates or anything.”

“Never thought we were,” Aaron replied coolly.

“You see, our last housemate was a pathological liar. Said he needed money for his family, spun a story about bad luck, and even brainwashed Luzanne. Turns out his family was fine. He was just blowing cash on gambling. Can’t have you playing the same game, not with Nyle this time.

He’s weak, especially for pretty faces.”

Aaron didn’t know what to think of both Landon’s comment about ‘pretty faces’ and the hint of a protective streak. “So, you do care about your family.”

“He’s my cousin.”

“I thought he was just your ‘birth mum’s sister’s son’.”

Landon huffed. “So, parroting is your thing, uh?”

“What can I say? I live to impress.”

A cloud of smoke framed Landon’s face. “I don’t think you’re a pathological liar like him. But you…you have a way of bending the truth. Maybe it’s a coping mechanism or something. Makes things more interesting, doesn’t it?”

Discomfort twinged at how much Landon had seen through him. “Maybe,” Aaron conceded, not quite meeting his eyes.

As Landon took another drag of his cigarette, Aaron spotted a tattoo of a bone on his middle finger. Quite clever. But the letters across the knuckles of his other hand really grabbed his attention: TNEY.

“What’s that stand for?” Aaron nodded them.

Landon used the glowing tip of his cigarette to point at each letter as if spelling them out. “Mind. Your. Own. Business.”

Aaron chuckled. “Not exactly subtle, is it? If you didn’t want people asking, you could’ve picked a less obvious spot.”

“My hand, my choice. Not like I’m questioning your fashion sense.”

Aaron glanced at his outfit—a dark grey hoodie over a light grey T-shirt, paired with black jeans. “What’s wrong with this?”

“That brown hoodie and the washed-out pink tee? Not exactly a fashion statement. Even the mice in Cinderella could do a better job.”

Aaron looked down again, thrown off, transported back to that classroom, surrounded by laughter, his artwork with a purple sky and brown grass on display, and the sting of embarrassment when others pointed out his odd colour choices.

Quietly, he admitted, “I’m colour-blind.”

Landon wrinkled his forehead. “Bullshit.”

“I’m not lying.”

Landon took the last puff of his cigarette, then crushed the butt under the sole of his shoe. He crossed his arms on his chest and threw Aaron a challenging look. “What colours am I wearing?”

“Black hoodie and black jeans.”

“So, you can see.”

“Being colour-blind doesn’t mean being blind. Black is the only colour I’m sure of, but I struggle to distinguish others because they’re similar.”

“What colour is this?” Landon pointed to the sticker attached to the wall behind him.

Aaron rolled his eyes; that question again, the same one they always asked. Every. Single. Time. He understood the curiosity, but the teasing and jokes? Not so much. He’d hated when kids handed him unlabelled crayons or tricked him into thinking his clothes were the wrong shade, just for a laugh.

“I’m not into the ‘what colour is this’ game,” Aaron said. “I know the colours, but I see them differently, or sometimes I mix them up.”

“Not sure if I buy that.”

“Colours are just a trick of light anyway.”

“Next, you’re gonna hit me with ‘there is no spoon’ too?”

Aaron barely laughed at the Matrix reference. “No, but colours are deceptive. Take the sea, for example. People say it’s blue, but that’s just how we perceive it.”

Landon fixed him with a narrow gaze, challenging his point as he had done back at the bonfire. “Bad example. The sea’s tricky in more ways than just colour. It’s what you don’t see that’s the real danger.”

Aaron couldn’t resist a jab. “So, what are you afraid of not seeing, Landon?”

“I’m not afraid, just easily annoyed. And you excel at that.”

“I thought nothing bothered you.”

“Minus one” was Landon’s cryptic answer.

Aaron, puzzled, waited for an explanation.

“In old-school video games, you get three lives,” Landon explained. “I’m giving you three chances before I lose my patience. You just used one up.”

Aaron caught the playful yet serious look in Landon’s eyes. “And if I hit minus three?”

Landon’s expression softened slightly, now seriousness with a playful edge. “You’d better not find out.”