𝐁𝐑𝐎𝐊𝐄𝐍 (𝟏)

𝐂𝐇𝐀𝐏𝐓𝐄𝐑 𝟏𝟗

"Are we friends?" She whispers: and suddenly I'm aware of how closely pressed our bodies are, How heavy she was breathing, how her wrists fit in my hands so perfectly. I jump back startled, and try not to focus on how blue her eyes are.

"What?" I furrow my brows, half shocked and half confused. Shocked at how close I made us, and confused about the hot and heavy feeling coursing down my body. She exhales a breath, and my eyes follow her hands as they hide themselves behind her back.

"Are we friends?" She repeats, her voice is more clear now. And I can't help but notice how light-hearted and eerily sweet it sounds to my ears. What the fuck? I furrow my brows, still confused. "Why are you asking me that?"

She shrugs and smiles sheepishly. "I don't know. I just feel like we hang out a lot and, Um, talk a lot. So maybe we would be friends?" I catch her hands fiddling nervously behind her back, and for some reason that unsettles me. That fucking unsettles me?

I raise my brows. "I train you. We have to hang out?"

Her pink, pouty lips, dipped to a frown. She furrowed her brows and folded her arms across her chest, taking a big step towards me. "Okay, but you don't have to talk to me." When she steps closer towards me I'm aware of just how close she is to me, and when the sun casts a golden hue onto her skin I notice how tanned and olive toned it is.

I don't step away when she nonchalantly inches closer to me and tips her chin up when she looks at my face. Her big and round eyes are narrowed as she studies my expression, and I can't help but stare at how big her eyes really are. They are the biggest pair of fucking eyes I've ever seen. And they reek of compassion and youth. "Then how will I teach you anything?"

She frowns deeper, a sour expression morphing her face. "Rowan, You know that's not what I meant." She whines, throwing her head back and groaning in obvious frustration with me. It made my lips twitch and my eyes narrow at her. "You whine a lot."

She narrows her big blue eyes at me, I think it's an interesting thing to look at. "I mean, you constantly talk to me about your drawings, and you always tell me about them and what inspired them. That's talking to me, right?"

I scoff, folding my arms across my chest to mimic her annoyed body language. "You do most of the talking, Isadora. The only time I even utter a word, is when you ask me something about my art." I dip my down to look at her through my lids. "Half of the time you're ranting about my art, or your day, or the dream you had the night before."

She shifts between feet, grimacing sourly at my statement. "Well, you listen!" She points out, a smug expression on her face and a confidant tone in her voice as she juts her chin into the air, like she was proving a point.

In a way, she was right. I did listen. I listened to her go on and on about her day, telling me about how interesting her dream was, or how hot it was outside, or even how tired and frustrated she was because of her ability not channeling. And I listened intently because everything about the girl intrigued me. How she could talk so much but be so quiet at the same time.