Thursday, 18th January 2018

The very next day should have unfolded like any other ordinary school day, but Jean had barely slept. She’d managed four hours at most before the alarm blared, dragging her into the grey morning. She’d even skipped her shower, splashing cold water on her face in a desperate bid to steal a few extra minutes of rest before officially heading out the door.

As the relentless cycle of lessons and drills 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 finally rang, marking a brief respite from the day's demands, she didn’t hesitate. She all but collapsed onto the nearest sofa in the Sixth Form Student Lounge. Just ten minutes. Fifteen, maybe. Anything to silence the growing throb behind her eyes before football training 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 bag slung over the other. Jean didn't even hear him approach, 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, sitting down beside her. "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 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.

He found himself staring, his gaze drawn to her face.

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

For the first time in months, she felt 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. 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 the 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, reality snapped back and the spell had shattered.

Sanity returned with a jolt. His hand pulled 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 exactly where they were.

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

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

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 training.”

Oscar wrinkled his nose, raising an eyebrow as he caught a faint but unmistakable scent clinging to his sleeve where Jean had rested. It wasn’t unpleasant. It was faintly sweet and earthy but it definitely wasn’t fresh linen either.

“Christ. What were you even doing last night? You reek.”

Jean grinned, unabashed.

“Whoops. Just hanging out with a mate.”

“Right… a mate,” he echoed, skepticism 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 star athletes.”

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 straighter, intrigued now. The sleep vanished from her eyes.

“Oh! That 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.”

He dodged the question with ease, turning back to his screen. Jean laughed, an amused chuckle that seemed to settle in his chest more than it should have.

Oscar pretended to focus on his work, but the place where her head had rested still felt warmer than the rest of him.

And her teasing question hung in the air around them, uncomfortably close, waiting for an answer he wasn't ready to give.