His dark messy hair clouds his forehead and his upper cheeks appear pale red, like his little pointed nose now frosty red-as if he's rubbed it plenty of times.
Seeing me his glassy tired eyes flare up. "If I'm dreaming this must be a pleasant dream." He coughs covering his mouth.
So this is how the hotheaded wild Damien Frost looks like when he's sick. "May I trouble you?" I ask lifting up the paper bag. I still don't know why I ran off to the pharmacy right after I heard Zeb. Hmph...this is so unlike me.
"Not unless you want to get it from me too."
I press my lips hard showing no interest of leaving.
"Well, I would be a terrible person if I don't let in the one who brought me medicines."
"You already are a terrible person," I say undoing my shoes.
"You wound me Saint Angel." He shakes his head dramatically. "Why are you here anyway?"
I follow him to his room without answering him. He lives alone that's for sure. His books are scattered all over the table and a lot of reversed clothes on the couch. A coffee mug on the small table beside his bed-unwashed.
"You urgently need either a wife or a mother," I remark opening the paper bag.
"I have one right now," he smirks.
It's like both of us knows how to play with words like knights with swords.
"Your friends didn't know much about you being sick. Neither your family. How despondent people becomes." I sit at the right of the couch where the pile of clothes is a bit less.
"I'm not sick! It's just a littl-achoo!" He couldn't even finish his sentence. Then he coughs up again.
When he's about to drink some water I suggest, "Take the medicine if you have eaten something beforehand."
He nesciently twists the bottle cap. "I take it as negative?" He's very careless..
"You didn't tell me... Why are you her-achoo!!" He sneezes again. "And why have you brought me medicine?"
I ignore him. But he speaks again, "What's your intention?"
Seriously? My intention? I should be the one wondering that all the time.
"To get you drugged and if possible-give you an overdose of sleeping pills?" I press my lips together maintaining a sly face.
He frowns rubbing his forehead.
"The headache won't be gone if you don't take the pills you know," I cross the couch to grab the mug from his table.
"What are you..?"
For a brief moment I feel him quiver when I stand closer to his body. What was that?
"Kitchen is that way right?" Shaking off my thoughts I head there. Why am I tending to this musclehead?
Yuck! His kitchen's messier than his room. Two more unwashed plates and a glass with a little bit of juice still inside. The pots and bowls-here and there. Ugh Damien! Why are you even living alone? A guy like you without a girlfriend is making things tough for me right now. I guess I'll have to make something for him now.
I open the wooden cabinet after finding nothing except a wasted pizza slice, some vegetables, eggs and expired breads in the fridge. I discover two packets of macaroni and a bunch of empty packets of of instant noodles. How is he still alive eating those everyday? Goodness! Does he even know how to cook anything other than instant noodles? Something more healthy? Like salads and waffles and pasta? Why did he buy these macaronis then for? Late night pillow talks? Good thing I know how to make it cause macaronis are my fav.
"What are you doing there?" Damien shouts when I'm already boiling the macaronis in the pan. "There's nothing in the fridge. I couldn't go to the market."
"You need a pair of glasses too, Damien."
I hear no complaining for the next 15 minutes. I add the seasoning lastly before stirring them lightly. Then turning off the oven I serve two plates of my creation. What? I'm not letting him eat it all alone. I have made it. I want to taste it too. Plus there's enough for us.
When I walk into his room I see him sitting on the couch. He's cleared some of the stuffs from there. "Hmm I smell something delicious-salty and spicy."
"I see your nose's still working." I hand him the plate as I plop down next to him on the couch.
"Saint Angel can make something this delicious looking—impressive." He takes one piece with his bare hands and puts it into his mouth.
I swat on his hand. "Don't you see the fork?"
He grins mischievously. "Someone said no touching."
I make some space between us and start eating.
He takes a mouthful. "Mm..this is really good."
"Unlike someone who probably only knows how to boil plain water to make instant noodles. All talk and no work."
He pulls up a face. "Why did you make it then? And why are you eating with me?"
"I pity those who eat alone. Also, did you think, like a maid I'd only prepare food for their master?" I retort.
He says nothing more and continue to eat. I have broken my own condition twice. What am I doing?
To get rid of the awkward silence I ask, "How did you catch a cold?"
He shrugs nonchalantly. "No idea." Then after some unintentional thinking he claps. "Oh maybe... Can a cold bath at 12.30am be a possible reason?"
Why would he do such thing? "Do you often do that?" I regret asking that.
"Not if one gets furious enough. Well, some gut twisting foul words, ignorant remarks and constant squabbles can make anyone furious easily."
So family issues I suppose. That makes sense why he lives by himself. He's short tempered-I can imagine him trying to cool himself down with a cold shower.
He finishes his plate quickly then holds out his palm.
Right...the medicine. I hand him the pills and watch him swallow them quietly.
"What about you?" He asks collecting both of our plates. "Your reason of coming here..? That night you looked like you wanted to punch me right there."
"Don't sweat it Frost. It wouldn't be so gentlemanly if I let my partner die."
"I wasn't dying!" Just then he sneezes loudly. "Okay, maybe a little bit."
After some seconds he bares his teeth grinning like a child.
"What's so funny?"
"Atleast now you consider me as your partner."
You!!! I grit my teeth and get get up from the couch. "Just because you're unwell doesn't mean you can lie down all day. Be a little productive."
He lies down folding his body like a worm the moment I said that. "How? Will you sing me a song so I can discover what hidden gem you are that everyone whispers about?"
"Then play the guitar when I do so." I pick the guitar from its place and give it to him. "Show me."
"Alright. Sing for me, Saint Angel."
—Have you ever sung in rain?
But the rain's too gloomy
The wavering clouds unyielding
Have you ever danced in rain?
But the melody is dampened
The breeze flutters aimlessly
Have you seen my laugh?
When I watch you smiling back at me
Look at the blazing sun
The sun's for me
Look at the golden sun
The sun is for me—
When I finish singing both of us gawk at each other awkwardly. Like we're a bit surprised at the same time. Indeed he plays the guitar like he's been doing it for a long time, like he's interacting with the instrument-it's flawless, refined and penetrative.
"Perfect lead vocalist in a breeze."
"Huh?"
"It'll make things easier for me."
"Hah?" What is he saying?
"So did you try to make some random tune while doing something like I said last time? When your mind's relaxing and stuffs." He asks with a gleam of hope twinkling in his glassy almond eyes.
"Yes. But nothing really...worth mentioning. Some random tunes I tried to hum."
"Excellent," he exclaims. "Let's listen to some soundtracks today."
••••
When I reach home my mind still argues with my head. Why did I care about him when he did that to me..? He literally threatened me to be his partner without acknowledging my opinion. He's bad, reckless and a bit of a moron. I really hope he doesn't leak that picture-whatever he took anyway. Otherwise I'll kill him for sure.
While entering I see a pair of familiar looking sneakers upside down. What is he doing here?
"Mom?" I look into her room as I call out. She answers from the kitchen. "I'm here. Chris came just a minute ago," she says realising that I was gonna ask her. "I told him to wait in your room."
Oh mom why! I conceal my grimace and head upstairs. I see him lying on his stomach with earphones plugged in. Seeing me he puts aside his phone. "Oh you're home already."
"What do you mean already?" I remove my wristwatch while stretching.
"I heard you went to Damien's."
"How did you know?!"
"I didn't. Just guessed it after seeing you leaving school a bit early today," he says squaring his shoulders.
Ugh! Donna's guessing habits are influencing Chris too.
"Anyone else knows?" I cock my eyebrows.
"Not yet..."
I give him a cold stare. "If you plan to blackmail me into telling others about it in exchange of making me forgive you for what you did..."
He cuts in between, "I have no such intention. Jesus Christ Saint! What do you take me for? I'm your best friend."
"Best friend who helps plotting their friend's enemy's game?"
Mom enters with two cups of milked tea. "Whoever said to make tea?"
"I did," Chris cuts in again. "Thanks auntie." He takes the cup from her hand.
"Sein you look mad..." Mom puts a hand above her mouth hiding a grin.
"I'm not mad!" I assert giving my best to prove her wrong. I'm famous for my cool exterior-one who can control his emotions. Losing my temper will be something that'll be opposite to my year's facade-charming calm demeanor of Saint Angel, the angel everyone seems for.
"Take care of my son, Chris. He never tells me nothing about his school or classes let alone friends or gossips. If anyone bothers him let me know."
What am I mom? A 12 year old kid who gets bullied for his extraordinary good looks? "Mom," I sigh. "I'm not a kid who needs to be taken care of."
Chris laughs out. "Who'd bother him? Ha ha..." He puts a hand on his chin. "On second thought...all the girls..."
"Ahh.." I gently push mom out of my room. "I'll be fine mom. Don't you need to rest?"
Chris winks at me sipping his tea. Mom plants a light kiss on my right cheek in front of Chris. "Ahh... mom, I can take care of myself you know."
"Aww you're still my baby boy honey. Trust me, everyone needs someone to take care of them once in a while."
After she leaves, Chris stifles a laugh typically. "Baby boy huh?"
"Ugh! Shut your mouth already Chris. You'll spill the tea."
"So...my best friend's talking to me again. I'm glad."
"What would you do if I still didn't?" I ask.
"I'll find some way. I'm his closest friend after all," he smirks.
"But you're also Damien's friend," I remind him. "And you didn't tell me when did you two become friends? I remember you saying something to him that day...in the arcade. It's as if you knew he couldn't do it. And I have still no idea what he did or didn't. You know him well, don't you?" I offer my tea to him cause I don't like tea, but Chris likes milked tea.