Thursday, 18th January 2018

The very next day should have unfolded like any other ordinary school day, though Jean had barely slept last night, perhaps four hours at most before it was time to get ready. She even skipped her shower, desperate to steal a few extra minutes of rest before officially heading out.

As the relentless cycle of lessons and activities wore on, by midday Jean could scarcely keep her eyes open.

Her single evening's dalliance was catching up with her. Limbs heavy, mind fogged, and every part of her aching for rest.

So when the lunch bell rang, marking a brief respite from the day's demands, she didn’t even hesitate. She all but collapsed onto the nearest sofa in the student lounge. Just ten minutes. Fifteen, maybe. Anything to silence the growing throb behind her eyes before football practice began.

Oscar had watched her from a distance at first, amused by the way she melted into the cushions like someone who hadn’t seen a bed in days. He wandered over, textbook tucked under one arm, his school bag slung over the other. Jean didn't even hear Oscar approaching near by, her profound exhaustion muffling most of the noise from the ever bustling student lounge.

“Oi! Wakey wakey! We've got graft to do!” he called, giving the sole of her trainer a gentle nudge with the side of his foot.

Jean cracked open one eye, her expression the definition of deadpan misery.

“Just give me ten minutes, yeah? Please?” she mumbled. “Mind lending me that broad shoulder of yours for a bit?”

Oscar sighed dramatically, feigning reluctance, but the faint curl of a smile betrayed him.

"Alright, go on then," he conceded, "just this once."

Without another word, Jean slumped sideways, her weight settling against him with a trust that felt strangely intimate. Her head came to rest on his broad shoulder. Within seconds, her breathing began to even out, the tension in her frame dissipating as she drifted somewhere halfway between consciousness and sleep. 

Oscar held his tablet loosely in one hand, trying to concentrate on the screen, but his eyes kept drifting downward to look down at her, his gaze drawn to her face.

He found himself staring.

She looked so different like this. So still. So close.

For the first time, she felt so real to him, not just a collection of half-buried memories from last summer that he kept so well disguised. Not the ghost of a girl from leadership camp who floated through it all like she belonged nowhere, to no one.

No, this was different.

Her weight pressed gently into his side. The warmth of her seeped through the fabric of his blazer. Her breath, soft and rhythmic, grounded him.

She wasn’t a ghost anymore.

Oscar tilted his head slightly, studying the way her lashes rested against her skin, the soft curve of her mouth, the gentle rise and fall of her breath. That's when he noticed it. A tiny mole just beneath the left side of her lower lip, a small imperfection that somehow only enhanced her allure. Subtle. Almost hidden.

But now that he’d seen it, it was all he could look at.

“She really is beautiful,” he muttered to himself, the words slipping out before he could stop them. “Maybe it’s just 'cause she’s asleep in my arms...”

His hand, almost of its own accord, hovered near her lips. Fingers just shy of brushing that tiny mark. The moment felt like a surreal pause and he was afraid of breaking the fragile spell he was in.

But then it broke.

The spell had shattered.

Sanity returned in a jolt. His hand snapped back like he’d been burned.

What the hell was he doing?

Whatever had pulled him in, that strange, compelling fascination for her, just as quickly tugged him back, replaced by a sudden awareness of the inappropriateness of his actions.

He blinked, shook off the impulse, and cleared his throat, the sound jarring in the quiet space.

“Jean, wake up! You’re dribbling all over my arm.”

She stirred with a groan, her eyes fluttering open.

“Alright, alright. I’m up,” she mumbled, rubbing at her face. “Let’s just get this sorted so I can nick a quick kip in the kit room before practice.”

Oscar wrinkled his nose, raising an eyebrow as he caught a faint but unmistakable scent clinging to his blazer where Jean had napped on his arm. It wasn’t unpleasant, but it definitely wasn’t fresh linen either.

“What were you even doing last night? You smell a bit… skunky.”

Jean grinned, unabashed.

“Whoops. Just hanging out with a mate.”

“Right… a mate,” he echoed, scepticism colouring his tone, though there was something else buried underneath it.

Curiosity, maybe.

She gave him a sidelong glance, her smile turning sly.

“Yeah. I smoke now and then. I’m not wired the same way as you all star athletes are.”

Oscar scoffed, tossing his head back a little.

“What? I might not dabble in the same way you do, but I’m no saint, you know...”

Jean sat up, intrigued now. 

“Oh! This has definitely caught my attention. What sort of naughty habits does Oscar Zhang have, then?”

He smirked, slipping effortlessly into his evasive charm.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” Dodging the question with practised ease.

That made Jean laugh. An amused chuckle that seemed to settle in his chest more than it should have.

Oscar turned away, pretending to focus on the screen again, but the place where her head had rested still felt warmer than the rest of him and her teasing question lingered, uncomfortably close.

The air between them was now filled with suspense.

Her question eagerly waiting for his answers.