Badboy for a Boyfriend

Chapter 12.1

“You don't have much time left, do you?" He looked down below us and to the buildings to the right. 

He didn't have a wrist watch on. I glanced down on mine and saw that I still had lots of time. Lunch breaks were always an hour. Unless I didn't have to do anything except for smoking and lunch, I'd really had enough spare time. 

I often reserved them to be alone and not to be with him. My friends were used to me missing in action because of my obsession with solitude. Meanwhile, this guy…

I wanted to know the answer as to why he's doing this but seeing he had no intention to, and that he was obviously dismissing it, I didn't want to force him.

"I'm not stealing your lunch," I quickly said as I knew he would give it to me. He chuckled in amusement. He recognized his own statement.

"You'll starve," he said.

"I'm used to it."

"Your family doesn't look like the type who'll die starving."

But there's lot of reasons people starve. And food wasn't the only thing that resulted in starvation.

"I won't insist, but you should take this…," he put the fries in front of me and a bottle of water. "I don't let myself starve, so."

He took a big bite of his chicken with a smile. The rice followed suit. 

Speechless, I slowly devoured the fries. I could hardly take my eyes off of him. We didn't have much food in front so we finished in no time. He took a piece from my remaining fries.

"Are you done?" he asked after I drank from the bottle. I nodded as he replied. Before I could put it down, he gently got it from me and drank—in the same bottle.

My lips parted as I gaped at him. The sun was bright behind him but it was not blinding. The sky was a little clouded and the wind was gentle. I blinked several times watching his throat bobbed.

"You…“ I trailed off.

He realized. His eyes moved back and forth to me and the bottle in his hand. "You believe in indirect kiss?"

I looked away and frowned. I don't. My friends and I sometimes did this, too. Especially if we're trying a new flavour of something and we couldn't decide which had a better taste. 

Razbill Silvero and I were not friends, yet. It just felt weird. 

The following day, we met at the same spot at lunch time again. We didn't talk about it the other day. We simply waited until it was time to separate ways and headed to our own buildings. The silence was uncomfortable at first until it became natural as if we had done this together before—to sit idle next to each other and staring at the horizon.

I came back only to see that he had brought a bench up here. I studied the chair. It wasn't broken like the usual they bring in this building. I think he got it from an outside field somewhere on campus.

It was facing the sky and was a little moved back for the shade. He turned when he noticed me. He smiled and moved further on the side to gesture at the space on the left. 

Walking up close, I saw his lunch, the same from yesterday, was laid out on the chair. But there was a plus: a chocolate sundae and another bottle of water.

"You have no lunch again?" 

I glanced down on my empty hand. He shook his head, bit his lower lips, and glanced down on his food as he thought of something. He didn't share those thoughts with me.

I said nothing. I put down the bag on the side of the chair and sat. The food was in between us.

"It'll taste better with this," he said as he moved the fries to me. He then opened the sundae and placed it next to the fries. "The manager said it was a trend."

Fries on sundae?

He chuckled at my reaction. I tried to keep the opinion to myself so as not to offend him. But he noticed.

"I haven't tried it yet, too." To show proof, he picked a piece of fries and dipped it in the chocolate before throwing the whole piece into his mouth. I waited as he studied the table.

"It's good! It's actually good“ he praised. "But that's too little for lunch. You'll be too thin, will you like that?"

Avoiding to answer, I mimicked him and took a piece of the fries. I dipped it into the sundae, too, but they hardly touched as I was reluctant.

Razbill Silvero held my hand and guided me to dip it deeper. His hand was gentle. It was barely there. Had it not been for the warmth, I wouldn't feel it at all. 

When he lef go, I had to pretend it was nothing and put the fries in my mouth. It got lost in me that he was watching. Although my eyes were also on him as we anticipated for something.

"It's weird… but nice," I admitted. My mouth was empty as I had finished it all before speaking. He patiently waited for me to take my time and savoured the unfamiliar taste.

"It's good."

"It's good," he repeated.

We had the same lunch again. I didn't want him to offer his lunch to me because I would surely just refuse it. Other people would insist. Especially Dayshawn. Though we never had less food on our table during scheduled dates. 

He ate with gratitude for the little food but it didn't look like it was the first he'd eaten again after a long time. I could see it. He didn't look like he had been starving, either. I could see he was simply enjoying his meal.

"Why don't you let yourself starve?" I added.

He smiled and stared as if saying: 'who wouldn't want to starve themselves? Unless it was part of their diet?' But instead smartly asked, "Why does your mom bring you packed lunch when everyone knows you have money to buy yourself food whenever your stomach demands anything?"

I blinked. It wasn't an offending and rude way of answering a question with a question. He simply wanted to show his point. 

The truth was at the tip of my tongue, ready to appear in front of him. But I got dazed by the harmless question.

It sounded easy but actually difficult. There could be no wrong answer but one closest answer would be the best correct one. 

"She doesn't want you to skip meals," he answered for me. "Look at how you settle for anything. Even fine with nothing. You're not an enthusiastic food consumer. Moms indeed know best."

I was offended. His innocent words were like daggers aiming at my chest and after several times, after hitting every part of my body, finally hit its target. In the end, I was numb and lifeless to even feel the last shot. 

He was not to blame. I wouldn't realize it would hit me this hard, either. And as a surprise.

"Your mom doesn't want you to skip meals," I pointed out as the answer to my question. I glanced down at his food.

But why not pack him a homemade lunch instead of going to a fast-food restaurant?

"She's very strict when it comes to eating on time. We used to fight about it. Soon, I understand it's for my good."

On the third day, we met again. We had a table this time. And it was a different take out from the previous days. 

I recognized the familiar logo of a high-end restaurant on the box. It was located a few blocks outside the campus. There were two servings of it on the table.

"I knew you'd come empty-handed again," he started. He was always punctual. "Fries really fine with you?"

It was a statement rather than a question. It didn't really demand an answer. 

"You don't have to treat me for lunch." I sat down at the table and studied the table. He also probably got somewhere. It was made of thick wood and was square in size. Just enough for two, and would be crowded for four.

"I insist. I feel bad eating by myself. Had it not for my mom, I'd offer you everything."

I stared again. I didn't know. It was all about his mom, then. How… charming.

"But these are too expensive. I'll treat you next time," I offered but without asking for permission. I was determined to do it.

"Money is not a problem to our families, isn't it?"

I shrugged. He was right. There were far more problems than money. 

We ate in silence. I was getting used to the silence. Sometimes, I wanted to open up about the deal he wanted between us. But I didn't have the heart to break the silence that I liked to savor, too.

"You didn't smoke yesterday and the last time," he suddenly stated while he was cleaning the table. 

I was weighing the situation and wondering how I could help him with it, but he moved at ease. He could do it alone. Until he said what he said.

My eyes moved from his long fingers as he put everything in a plastic bag to his face. He noticed so he met my eyes.

"Don't worry, I have enough pictures. I won't take a shot of you again."

"You're not sorry at all."

"I'm not," he shrugged unapologetically. "We shouldn't be sorry for things we meant. You're free to hate me for it though."

I blankly watched him. He's surely unpredictable.

"Then why have lunch with me when I have reason to hate you?"

He looked ahead of us. His eyes squinted to the sky. Or it could be because he was frowning about something. Out of nowhere, he produced a stick of cigarette and put it in between his lips. Without lighting it.

I looked away to check my bag. I could almost see my new case and the lighter. But I didn't reach for it.

"I'll wait 'till you leave," I whispered.

"Or you can take pictures of me, too." His fingers locked the stick and stole it from his lips. He blew into my face with invisible smoke. My eyes barely closed as I wanted to stare. The wind was the smell of our lunch.

I scoffed and grabbed my bag. "You don't even light it."

"I don't."

Our eyes met again. 

"My mom doesn't want me to smoke. But I'm addicted to mint. As long as I don't create smoke, maybe it's still good?"

"My parents would hate me for this," I shared as I finally brought out my things. They lingered in my hand but I didn't move to start a smoke. "I'm doing this behind their backs, so I guess I'm still good. You don't play unfairly with your mom?"

He was looking at my case and the lighter. I knew my original case was still with him. Then he looked up at the sky again. "I'd feel bad. I hate feeling bad."