Living with Hope ✓ [ boyxboy ] [ Completed ]

18

Ivan Petrov

Hope is relentless. No, actually.

He's ditched school for an entire week now. He thinks I'll feel alone, apparently. Doesn't he know how much Prince time I'm giving up for him?

Besides, I can read Hope like a book these days. An open book and the pages aren't torn and frayed.

Ever since he slept with Jamie Smith's girlfriend, things have been rocky between the two of them. It's been months and Jamie's still not over it. I can't entirely blame him, though. They were together for more than three years.

Smith was ignoring Hope in the beginning. But now, he's throwing insults at him. Unprintable words and terrible correlations to his past.

How do I know this? I saw some of his notifications as they kept appearing on his screen. He'd left his phone on the bedside table and all I could was stare at it. I intend to ask Hope about it, but it never seems right. He's always talking about avocados and vitamins and other things I cannot comprehend.

Like right now.

I have a bowl of kale salad in front of me and Hope behind me to finish it. "It's got Calcium, good for your bones."

"I swear, Hope. I've had this all week. Give me a break!"

"I gave you a break only yesterday! Ivan, I'm only doing this for your speedy recovery."

I glare at him. "You gave me a break by replacing kale with spinach! And please stop sounding like some fifty year old greeting card."

He laughs. Then he scoops a small portion of the salad into the spoon. "Alright, finish up." He brings the spoon next to my mouth.

I stare at him. He's been feeding me throughout the week because my left hand is in a sling. With my dominant hand gone, I can do practically nothing. I can barely shoot, not that I've tried recently.

"Look, I don't know if you like feeding me or something, but I can't have more of this idiot salad."

He feigns offense. "Is my cooking that bad?"

"It's a goddamn salad, Hope. You can't cook it. I just hate kale."

"And tomatoes and cauliflower and brussel sprouts," Hope finishes for me. "Did you just eat potatoes before you came here?"

"I ate everything. I didn't really have a choice then."

"Well, I'm not giving you a choice now either."

'Hope," I whine. "Please, I'll eat them later."

He eyes me suspiciously. "Don't move." He takes my bowl of kale salad to the kitchen. He returns some time later, same bowl in hand. "Close your eyes."

"I know what kale tastes like. Closing my eyes won't make it taste any better."

"Just do it."

Sighing, I shut my eyes. I hear his spoon scrape against the bowl and I open my mouth instinctively. I feel the spoon slip through my mouth and try to bring my lips together as Hope slides the empty spoon out.

"Taste better?"

I chew on the salad and it does taste different. Better, even. "What did you do?" I'm sure simply closing my eyes didn't do the trick.

He laughs. "I just added some honey to it." '

My eyes open immediately. "You what?"

"Honey," he repeats.