“Oliver,” Paola’s voice reached us as we entered the gym for P.E. class. She stumbled towards us, Oliver having waited for me for some unknown reason after he got changed, and she smiled rather nervously up at Oliver. His wounds had begun to heal, turning his face all the more handsome and pleasing to look at. 

Oliver slowed his steps and gazed down at Paola, making my stomach squirm. How close she stood to him, twinkling her eyelashes at him even though he scared her, I wasn’t sure how to feel. Why did it bother me, seeing these two together? All they did was talk …

“Did you talk to the teacher by chance?” Paola asked in a stutter. “She changed our grade, we all got an A for our presentation.” 

Oliver stared for a moment, as if he had no idea what she talked about, but then, it clicked. “Ah … Yeah.” 

Chewing on the inside of my cheek, I was forced to look away. Why did Paola lean into him, now, with a smile atop her lips? 

“You really didn’t have to do that,” she mumbled. “Seriously, thank you.” Was it just an excuse to touch his biceps, to let her fingers graze past his muscles as she passed him, smiling at him the entire time? Oliver watched her, even, making it all the worse, a nauseating acid rushing up my throat, shutting it tight. 

They look good together — and perhaps that was the worst of it all. 

In the end, though, his eyes fell back onto me, warming me from within. Almost puzzled, his expression was, barely understanding Paola’s sudden touchy-feely attitude, and he let me know exactly that with a twitch of his shoulders, making me smile. 

“What did you tell the teacher?”

“To take my name off the project. Paola was upset about her grade.” 

“But—That means—“

“Yeah. I got an F.” 

“You shouldn’t have done that, Oliver … It’s not like you skipped class on purpose or something. You should have asked for a chance to make up your part, present it separately to change the grade!”

Like a scolded puppy, almost, did Oliver’s eyes look at me as he flinched backwards. “It doesn’t matter to me,” he mumbled. “I didn’t really want to do it, anyway.” 

“But an F…?” I sighed, shoulders drooping forward. For him to sacrifice himself that way when he hadn’t skipped, when he’d been in the hospital during that time, was unfair. Couldn’t the teacher be just a tad more understanding, more forth-coming? 

“Sorry,” Oliver whispered. 

“Why are you apologizing to me? It’s your grade,” I chuckled. That silly little word, every time it came crawling out of Oliver’s lips, made my heart beat faster, louder, forced electric jitters all across my body. 

With red ears, Oliver rushed past me, and we entered the gym together. Another day of volleyball awaited us, but this time it was a full hour of just playing in teams, with Oliver picking me as his teammate, and letting me pick everyone else. A few matches were played, only for me and Oliver to be tasked with cleaning up the sports hall while everyone else could already get changed. 

It was awkward, watching everyone leave the gym as Oliver and I collected the volley balls spread across the hall, and dropped the net onto the ground in order to fold it, and hang it in the appropriate spot within the storage room. 

“Sorry,” I mumbled at the end of class. “I’m not that good at volleyball.” Oliver had done most the work on our team, rushing to save the ball whenever I, or our other teammates, failed. Matt had been on our team, who’d wanted Sophie on our team, who’d wanted one of our friends on our team, and so, it had been all on Oliver’s shoulders to achieve our victory. 

“It’s okay, I had fun.” Our voices echoed in the empty hall, only to turn dull every time we entered the storage room. Oliver came pushing a wheeled basket into the storage, filled to the brim with volleyballs, when it spit out of me, my thoughts having drifted that way the entire time as I watched Oliver play, and noticed Paola’s eyes stuck on him. 

“Do you think she’s pretty?” I stomped into the hall, reaching for the volleyball net on the floor. Heavier than expected, I struggled to carry it over into the room, and struggled all the more at lifting it onto its hooks. 

“What?” 

“Paola, I mean.” In the corner of my eye, I noticed Oliver approach me in his tight shirt and joggers combo, heating my face almost immediately. 

“Uh…” Oliver’s eyes flickered about as he came towards me. “Sure, I guess.”

“You haven’t given it much thought?” Why am I asking these things? 

“Not really.” 

My heart was set ablaze when Oliver stood behind me, his arms appearing next to mine as he reached for the volleyball net, helping me lift it onto their appropriate hooks. His chest pressed into my back, his arms twice the size of mine, his fingers longer and thicker than mine. He was more tan than I was, and his dark hair was much more prominent on his arms compared to the blond hairs glittering atop mine. 

I gulped, and I thought it echoed across the entire hall, all so he could hear it loud and clear. His legs pressed into mine from behind, all so we could reach the hooks, while I stood there, as stiff as a board, unsure of how to react. 

He was warm. 

His sturdy arms were, his chest was, and his fingers … burning hot. Atop mine, he held the net and my hands together, even though there could have been other spots to hold this damn thing. Rough palms, and calluses dug into my skin, scratched the backs of my hands. 

In a stutter, I exhaled. 

“Who—Who do you think is the prettiest in our class?” 

Finally, we hooked the net up onto the wall, though rather horribly in my distraction. My heart raced and raced and raced when Oliver’s finger slithered down my arms, tickling my elbows, before finally letting go of me. 

Calm down, calm down, calm down. 

But his voice made it impossible. 

“Why do you ask?” In a deep scratch, his voice brought a chill down my spine, vibrated my ears, and froze and heated me all the same. His breath rustled through my golden locks — why was he so close?

“I—I was just curious,” I stuttered, twisting around on my feet, only to have a heart attack right after. When I practically bumped into his chest, I stumbled backwards right into the volleyball net we had just hung up, and Oliver followed, one of his hands digging into that very net. 

He stared.

Right at me, right through me, right into my soul. Those dark eyes I lost myself in melted me, warmed me, horrified me. 

“Finn,” he called for me, goosebumps layering over my arms.

“Y-Yeah?” My eyes rushed across his face, but I couldn’t decipher any of his thoughts. His jaw was tense, teeth grinding against one another. Down his throat, a large vein poked through as he stiffened up, almost as if he was too nervous to proceed. 

Beside me, Oliver let go of the net, and instead, his fingers reached for my upper arm, his fingertips gently tapping across my skin, slithering down to tickle my elbow, caressing me. Now, he avoided my gaze, lowered his head and stared at his fingers on my arm. 

Finally having built up the courage to speak, his mouth opened once more. Dry lips asked me a question I never, in a million years, would have expected from him. 

“Do you have a boyfriend?” 

Oliver didn’t even dare to look at me, now, and my mind turned into a haze and a mess impossible to comprehend. 

“N-N-No.” I shook my head at the very same time. “I—I mean, no, I don’t …” 

He didn’t answer me, now, too focused on his fingertips fiddling with my elbow. Biting his lower lip, he was eerily quiet, as if I could hear dust fall, and the light bulbs buzz. 

“Why—Why do you ask?” 

“Just because.” A deep breath followed through his nose, deeper and deeper as if no air was possibly enough for him. His eyes flickered back towards me face as he lifted his head, forcing a flinch out of me. All too clearly, I could see him gulp.

His hand dropped lower, leaving nothing but cold behind on my skin. With both our heads lowered, we stood so close to each other, my hair tickled his chest, my breath mixing with is. I watched, with a heartbeat so loud, even he could listen in, how his pinky finger would extend towards mine, but never fully reach me. 

“Do you have a girlfriend…?” I whispered. 

“No…” 

Ever so slowly, my head turned upwards, meeting his gaze immediately. As if he’d watched me, this entire time, with eyes so intent, they could have knocked me off my feet. How close his face was numbed my everything, dried my lips, begging for his own to hydrate mine. It flushed over me so suddenly, in such a confusion, like time stood still. 

I found myself tiptoeing, trying to get closer. 

And all the harsher, we were knocked back into reality, our gym teacher’s voice like a bucket of cold water being dumped on me. 

“You ready, boys? Get out, before I lock you in there!” 

Oliver and I slithered away from each other, my head burning up. Multiple times, Oliver cleared his throat, the tips of his ear glowing red, his neck blushing in embarrassment as he rubbed his hand across it. Turning away from me, his last few words imprinted an everlasting impression on me. 

“I don’t have a boyfriend, either.” 

All I could do was hide my face from him for the eternity to come, as we changed back into our regular clothes in silence, all by ourselves, his burning gaze melting holes into my back. 

I never knew how overwhelming it could be, closing your jeans button and zipper, when your hands did nothing but tremble.