Wednesday, 17th January 2018

The new week rolled in with its familiar rhythm, steady and unrelenting. Every morning began with crisp drills on the training pitch, the air still freezing enough to sting the lungs. Lessons stretched on, seemingly longer than they should, and a growing mountain of coursework towered over Jean, waiting to be conquered. She was doing her best to stay on top of it all, but by the time lunch rolled around, she was running on fumes, her hunger matched only by the frayed edges of her composure.

She stepped into the Sixth Form student lounge, greeted by the warm scent of hot toast and the low hum of chatter. There, by the window, bathed in sunlight like he belonged in a gallery portrait, was Oscar.

He was sprawled out at one of the corner tables, half-reclined in his seat with his long legs crossed beneath him in a way that looked both accidental and staged. A tablet rested in front of him, his fingers moving over it. A half-eaten energy bar sat discarded beside him. Plain, utilitarian, and utterly joyless. His expression was cryptic, brow ever so slightly furrowed, eyes flicking across the screen at a pace that felt more agitated than focused.

From a distance, he looked like a boy perfectly in control of his world. Poised, self-possessed, with that detached confidence that made people either admire or resent him. But up close, Jean noticed the faintest tension in his jaw, the way his eyes flicked rapidly between lines of text, too fast to be just skimming. The screen glowed, but his mind seemed elsewhere.

She dropped into the seat opposite him with a dramatic sigh, letting her bag slump to the floor.

"Working lunch, is it?" she asked, pulling her packed lunch box from her bag. "Because I'm absolutely starving. You don't mind, do you?"

Oscar didn’t lift his gaze right away. He nodded once, a small, barely-there movement before responding in a flat tone.

“You don’t need my permission. Do what you’ve got to do.”

Undeterred, Jean clapped her hands together and announced cheerfully, ‘Itadakimasu,’ flashing a grin before unwrapping her sandwich.

His eyes flicked up—just a beat too fast.

A flicker of surprise crossed his face, fleeting but genuine, before it disappeared beneath his usual blank veneer.

“Forgot you were Japanese,” he said after a moment, tilting his head slightly, studying her with new curiosity. “You don’t really look it, though.”

Jean arched an eyebrow.

“You’re the first person to say that. I reckon I look more Japanese than half my white mates.”

He gave a soft snort, the corner of his mouth twitching, just barely.

“Please. With eyes that colour? You definitely look more white.”

Jean laughed lightly, unfazed as she took a bite of her sandwich.

“You’re mixed too, aren't you?”

Oscar leaned back, folding his arms as a sliver of interest warmed his usually impassive tone.

“Go on, then—have a guess.”

Jean studied him more carefully now, her eyes tracing the subtle nuances of his features. His striking jet-black hair was artfully tousled, framing his face and providing a sharp contrast to his flawless, pale complexion but not lacking warmth. His eyes were dark, almond-shaped, and there was a stillness to him, but it was the kind that made you feel like he was cataloguing everything, quietly deciding what to care about and what to discard.

“Full Chinese?” she guessed.

Oscar pulled a face.

“Miles off. I’m mixed—half white.”

“Oh yeah? Which side, then?” she asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Danish.”

Jean gave an approving nod, leaning back slightly.

"Nice. I’m French. Well, half. There’s loads of mixed kids in this school, isn't there?”

"Yeah," he replied, finally setting his tablet aside. He propped his chin in his hand, studying her properly now.

"You're the new Captain for the girls' football team, right?"

She smirked.

"Ooh, you've done your homework, haven't you? Are you a bit impressed?"

“Not particularly,” he replied, flat as ever, though the faint lift of one brow betrayed a glint of amusement. “I’ve got a lesson with Julian. Saw you two talking once. I figured there were only two reasons why Julian would be talking to you.”

Jean narrowed her eyes, unsure whether to be intrigued or insulted.

​“Oh? Let’s hear it, then—what's the other reason?"

​Oscar’s grin was faint, more implied than visible. He leaned back further in his chair, arms crossed like a judge delivering a verdict.

​"That you two were a thing."

​Her groan was automatic, but somewhere beneath the surface, that familiar ache in her chest flickered again.

​"We're not! People seriously need to stop jumping to that conclusion."

​Oscar shrugged, a lazy motion that didn’t quite mask the calculation in his eyes.

​“That bloke keeps himself to himself. That's why people assume things. Pair him up with anyone, and it'll turn heads—especially someone like you."

Jean paused for a moment, she didn’t have a reply to that. Not one that didn’t sound defensive. She chose to brush it off with a dismissive scoff, returning her attention to her lunch, but the cryptic comment lingered in her mind, a subtle seed of unease planted beneath the surface of their casual conversation.