amoureux garçon

Chapter Three: The Day I Die By The Rich

word count: 1.6k

I cleared my throat finding it harder to look him straight in the eyes, I would avert them towards anything except his. Men didn't bother me that much but his presence didn't seem to fit in that field, his perfume was so pleasing and the look of his skin—so well taken care of, so clear almost glass like—seemed to be exceptions to my usual likings.

In situations like that, I'd know what to say but at that moment I didn't know any better than keeping my mouth shut, it was like one of the "wrong time, wrong moment" situations where whatever happened, happened. He was definitely slightly younger than me. I think I've seen him before, I thought and I asked myself what did they feed the previous generations for them to look that mature?

"If you've got nothing to do, go train, instead of talking to volleyball players who are not in your same field, Pierre." A tall man who passed by, he looked like he was in his late twenties, blonde straight hair, walked by me and the guy that I, from then on happen to know name's Pierre.
At the sound of the man's voice his attention diverted towards him. I let out a breath, my chest sank down but I hated not having his attention on me so I teasingly called out his name: "Pierre?" I smiled looking up at him.

He softly hummed as if he was just called by someone he loved and I melted. He turned towards me and his face hardened as he pulled his eyebrows together and he looked at me straight in the eyes, his electric eyes, eyes that seemed to read deep inside of me without my permission. I cleared my throat and pushed against the lockers behind me trying to take a few steps back that I already couldn't, swiftly passing my fingers against the cold metal and then I brushed my index finger downwards at the fish-straight-scale part of the locker.

I gathered up the courage and drowned away all the anxiety I was feeling and eventually looked back into his eyes; I smiled challenging his method of intimidation or maybe that was in his nature but not for a moment did I think that. Not for a moment did I let him intimidate me. "Should practise together?"

I mentally begged him to agree. A sweaty basketball postworkout get to know each other, just he and I, sitting on the basketball court ground, legs spread, my arms possibly stretched backwards, so my head tilting trying to catch my breath. I would slowly throw my head down just to get a look of his exhausted face and that would be nothing but pure nirvana. Only if he agreed.

A grin plastered across his face, he sucked his lower lip in almost as he he had listened to my thoughts and I took the chance to reach my hand forwards, he slightly moved backwards dropping his hands from the side of my head, without thinking twice he reached his hand towards mine. "I guess we should." Firm hand shake, his hand dry and slightly built and rough, it gave me a slight confidence as my hands in my volleyball group were known as the roughest—due to me sporting since I was a little girl. I looked back at our hands slammed against each other palm against palm, leaving me with a wide imagination, I noticed he wore a thin silver ring on his thumb and index finger—I furrowed my eyebrows pulling them together to the similarity it had to my ring which was exactly on my index right index finger— the metal felt pleasing warm. Looking back into his eyes, he smiled and so did I and I felt a slightly hesitation as I let go.

As we were both stretching outside—I was just simply doing some lunges in a fixed position whereas Pierre was doing a few lumbar spine lateral flexors. The basketball court was empty, it was just he and I, who was determined to stay balanced without falling over to my side as I did lunges; with every stretch, I'd hold it for a few seconds contemporarily looking towards Pierre trying to understand what type of person he was, just by looking at him and getting lost in my thoughts, nerves buzzing. As Pierre moved from doing lateral flexors to torso twists, his hair brushing his heated face as he twisted his upper body, I wondered how old he was, he could have been of my age, maybe a couple of months younger or maybe a year younger, not much. He acted old with a cold, distant persona and exterior. There was almost nothing childish to him. He acted very maturely, in other words, he was much a grown-up when compared to me, who was more of a unfeeling person and anyone I had ever known, his feelings were well bottled up. As he turned his head towards me, this time with the acknowledging my presence, I raised my eyebrows in alert and quickly dropped them down. I wondered what his hair and skin smelled like.