Call It What You Want (BounPrem-Reimagined)

viii

"What're you up to?" I heard that small voice croak as the door of my study room cracked slightly, a small stream of light peaking through the crack that he pushed. I've been locked up in my office for hours to no end, only going out to either go to the bathroom or prepare Prem and I's meals. I do feel bad for not being a good host to him, though, seeing as I left him in the living room by himself the entire day as he busied himself with the crappy TV shows that the thing was airing. I didn't have that much of a choice, though. My mind has been spilling out so much ideas for my book and I am just eager to type them down - scared that if I do it later, I might forget about some information, whatnot.

I closed my laptop instantly. "Writing, as usual." I mumbled as I shrugged my shoulders, smiling at him innocently. That's another thing why I have to stay up here, away from Prem - the story is mainly inspired by him and his stories. To put it literally, it's basically about him but in more lowkey way, if that makes sense. If he finds out about this, he'll most probably freak out and think that I'm some stalker. I don't want that.

"I haven't read any of your stuff yet." He mumbled as his feet softly paddled across the room, his eyes roaming the dimly lit place, as if he's curious - as if there's something to be curious about in this plain, boring, study room.

"You're not the first one to actually say that." I laughed.

"I bet you're a good writer, though." He said, walking across the tall book shelf that I have situated in the far left side of the room. "I don't read much but I bet you're a good writer."

"I'm okay, I guess." I laughed.

"I think you're humble, too." He said, voice calm and serious, no evidence of sarcasm or humor, which surprised me, really. Ohm made fun of my writing way back when I still used to publish my stuff online. I have to say, I wasn't really proud of my earlier works but they served as my stepping stones that lead me to where I am right now: a slightly recognized writer of slightly crappy, barely bearable reading materials. "I like this room." He then added, making me laugh a little.

"It's boring; it reflects my personality, really." I said, slightly spinning my office chair, eyes still fixated on the curious teenager in my room.

"These notes are way over-due." He commented, disregarding my previous statement, his fingertips skimming through the numerous sticky-notes hanging on the wall.

"Yeah, I don't really throw any of it away."

"I used to like using post-it notes but they always, somehow, get lost. I gave up on them eventually." I laughed at that even though he was still sounding serious. Prem is a very interesting kid, actually. We've had a couple of small conversations, most of which were held during meals, and the way that he tries to make conversation is something that never fails to allure me. He has a way in words that I couldn't really begin to explain. He could hold my attention without even trying and that's coming from a person with an attention span of a five year-old.

I laughed at his mini story, not really knowing how to respond to that. "Was that funny?" He asked, turning to look at me with a curious expression, his eyebrow raised and his eyes wide and pretty, as always. I stopped for a moment, reading his expression, scared that maybe I offended him with my reaction.

"Yeah, actually. It's funny to me." I said, my light laughter subsiding. His shoulders dropped slightly, a breath escaping his lips and that familiar, small smile making an appearance once again.

"Oh. That's cute, then." He commented, making me look at him curiously and weirdly.

"What do you mean by cute?"

"I think it's cute that you found my story funny. I don't think I'm funny." He explained, making me feel weird and just.. weird. I cannot explain the feeling but it's weirdly comforting. I didn't speak for a while, trying to make my brain work - trying to find that word could help me in explaining the feeling. I found no appropriate word for it at the moment, though.

"I think you're interesting, actually." My mouth decided to speak for its own, making the guy in front of me smile more. He walked to my desk, standing in front of me with the table in between us. Almost like how a student would whenever they need something from their teacher or professor.

"You do?"

"Yeah, I honestly do." I smiled up at him and he nodded - mostly to himself. I don't know why he had that moment but I took the small amount of time to just look at him. At that very moment, he looked so happy and contented and proud and accomplished. It's weird to be seeing that sort of reaction from a person. I only said a few words, I don't get why he would react the way he did, though. Nevertheless, I used the moment to savor the sight of him in front of me.

"Thank you. You're too nice." He said, smiling genuinely. Before I knew it, he's walking to where I am, crouching down a little to level my sitting position, hugging me tightly. "Too nice." He mumbled against my shoulder, once again, triggering that certain indescribable feeling inside me.