Something About Him

Must be Black Magic

--Arthur--
What is going on with me? Why does my chest feel like this why- why do I keep thinking about him? Why does his smile make me smile like that why did I- why did he make me want to see him again? Why did I invite him to my house? I hate having people over, I didn't want any friends I don't understand what's happening to me. I don't even know him. How is Oliver doing this to me?
...
Maybe he can use magic.
That seems to be the only real conclusion other than-
No.
No no.
Absolutely not. I don't even know him. Of course I've done my fair share of dating but.. But...
Love is for those who are stupid and small children who read too many fairy tales. Love isn't a real thing.
But he... He believed in love. He wasn't stupid or childish. He was... Unique. Incredibly so. Besides his physical individuality, (like his bright pink hair and soul piercing blue eyes) his mind was truly one of a kind. He was filled with such wonder, and the way he thought- I couldn't follow it.
He was so different from me in every way. Where he was artistic, I had no skill at all. Where he liked people, I hated them. Where he believed so whole-heartedly in love and the power it had, I thought it to be something weak, something for other people, maybe. Love to me was only real in fairy tales.
Yet there Oliver was, still on my mind even hours after the project that morning. I couldn't believe I invited him to my house. We could've very easily finished that essay in class on Monday, but I just blurted out that he should come over. I didn't want to admit this to myself-but I wanted to see him again. However, in that moment, I told myself that it would be easier to work in the quiet of my home.
Partially accepting my explanation, I watched Oliver exit the room, very red-faced and in a hurry. Shaking my head at my own flustered mind, I hurried to my next class.
Just as I was leaving, however, I felt someone jog up behind me.
"Hey dude wait up," The American from yesterday.
I stopped in my tracks and faced him. "Yes? Do you need something?" I asked him. He had a very handsome face with deep blue eyes with thick glasses, his face framed by (styled) messy light brown hair.
"Oh- uh yeah. Listen," He started, walking up to me. "Oliver-"
I held a hand up. "If you are about to warn me about him and how he is evil and-"
"No no no I'm not, I swear," He said, throwing his hands up in the "I surrender" gesture.
Narrowing my eyes At him I nodded. "Fine, say whatever it was you were planning to say,"
"Okay well listen, that kid, he is super lonely. But he's also really really sweet and I get seriously pissed off when people are mean to him, so just- Yknow. Be nice to him," He said.
"I haven't seen you speak to him once, and you're telling me to be nice?" I replied, very annoyed.
"Well look, I can't! I have friends and if I started talking to him they'd all abandon me and- and nobody wants to be alone. But I just hate seeing him like that cuz Yknow. He's nice. He never did anything wrong. And I don't like seeing good people in bad situations," He stated, putting me at a loss for words. Who is this? Quite the sense of heroism in him though.
"Okay, calm down, Captain America," I said. "I wasn't planning on abandoning him anytime soon, and if you really don't like seeing him so alone then you should talk to him anyway. If your "friends" leave you because you start talking to someone else, who happens to be very alone in this world for no good reason, then they aren't friends worth having. Also, if they are the reason why you don't speak to him then you aren't much better than they are." Huffing, thoroughly annoyed, I spun on my heel and headed to my next class before he could say anything. I just left him in the hallway, stunned, frozen, and looking like I'd slapped him.
Good. Serves him right.
The rest of the day went by without incident but my mind still floated to Oliver when I wasn't really focused on my school work.
Who is he, really? What's his story? What's his favorite color? What does he do in his free time? What is his favorite animal? Does he like to read? Does he have any siblings? Does he like me?
The last question caught me off guard. Why did I even ask myself that? It didn't matter wether or not he liked me. We were partners for this project and I was being friendly toward him. That was it.
Was it?
~T I M E S K I P~
Walking to the library a bit quicker than I would ever admit to, I lugged my very heavy bag over my shoulders. It now had three textbooks, several notebooks, and an empty tea mug from earlier.
Walking into the library, I looked for Oliver. I quickly found him however, right in the back where he was seated yesterday. "Hi," I said, reaching the table he was at. "You ready to-" I stopped when I noticed how focused he was. He had the sleeves of his sweater rolled up past his elbows and he was hunched over a very large sketchbook- it almost covered half of the entire table. To my utter astonishment, his hands and much of his arms were bright shades of pink and purple. The sketchbook he was working in had a large and very detailed close-up of a flower. It's petals were a bright and beautiful shade of pink and the color itself was so deep, I was amazed that he was able to produce something so vivid. He looked up at me, smiling wildly. "I'm sorry, I'll be done in just a second, I've just got to clean up," He said.
"No it's not a problem, there's no rush. Here I'll help," I said, dropping my bag and grabbing some baby wipes from the librarian's desk. I noticed there was a thin powder scattered across the table, so I started to clean up.
Oliver had rummaged through his bag for a moment before pulling out-
Hairspray?
"What in god's name are you doing?"
He looked at me as if it was obvious before turning his huge sketchbook and spraying the drawing he had just done with it. "I'm making sure it doesn't smudge. I've been using chalk pastels, and they're quite messy but they give you a really bright look, and if you don't um... Seal it with something, then it just smudges everywhere and then you've got yourself quite the mess," He said. "Meaning your project's ruined." He stated, as if the project being smudged was incredibly worse than making such an awful mess on his clothes and skin.
He finished spraying his paper before setting it down and helping me with the table. After that was done he closed his sketchbook, tucked it under his arm as best his could, and then smiled up at me.
"I'm ready when you are," He beamed. I nodded to him and looked away, his excitement lighting up his face and making mine blush. we started to walk for the exit, heading for the student parking lot. There a moment of silence that followed as we walked and I tried to find a way to break it.
"So, um... You know your hands and arms are still pink?" I said, gesturing to them.
He waved me off. "Oh that's no problem. It's not going to hurt me. Plus I enjoy the way it looks," he said. "It's interesting. Makes people wonder what I've been up to," He added mischievously.
I raised an eyebrow at him, holding a smile back. "What if someone just thinks that you've gotten yourself into some paint or something? Or that you're just dirty,"
"Then so be it," He was in very high spirits.
"You seem to be in an good mood today. Better than this morning I mean," I added as we finally reached my car. I opened the door for him, making his face turn a light shade of pink.
No that's just from his art piece, not me.
"I'm excited," He said. "And happy. So yes I am in a good mood," He looked back at me and flashed me one of those megawatt smiles again. My chest did strange things at the sight of it and I quickly turned on the car and started to drive, glad that I didn't have to face him.
"What I meant was, why?" I said, paying careful attention to the road.
He fidgeted in the seat beside me before answering. "Well I've never been to someone else's house like this before. Of course Ive been to others houses, how stupid of me to word it like that I meant that I um-" He rambled, playing with his shirt sleeves.
"No it's okay, I get it," I said. Which I did. He had never been to someone else's home as a friend before, visiting.
I grabbed his hand and squeezed it quickly, unsure why I had done so, and sad that I let it go. The touch sent a rush into my spine.
He nodded and looked out of the window as I drove for a couple minutes, the two of us sitting in comfortable silence.
"Can I turn on the radio?" He asked.
"Sure," I shrugged. "I don't normally use it so, go ahead," he squealed happily and sat forward, fiddling with the buttons before settling on a station. The voice that erupted out it was that of a gruffly man.
"Well, folks, you're listening to the number one 80's and Oldies station in the country, we'll be here for the next hour with all your favorites," He announced.
Oldies? I didn't picture him to be the type to listen to old music. Maybe something like Death Cab for Cutie or even something like My Chemical Romance but "80's and Oldies"? He is full of surprises.
Just as the announcer finished, the music started to play. A mournful guitar strummed a few chords before a man started to whistle.
"Oh my gosh I love this song," Oliver wiggled in his seat, whistling right along with the song until the singer finally started to sing.
"Shed a tear, cuz I'm missing you, I'm still alright to smile,"
Oliver rested his head on the back of the chair, closing his eyes, smiling to himself. I did everything I could not to stare at him, looking so relaxed and happy. I continued to drive, stealing glances at him when I could. When that song ended, another began to play instantly and Oliver almost fell out his seat.
"Oh my- good gosh holy cow I love this song even more than the other one," he turned the radio up as a something that was clearly older than both of us came on. It was more upbeat than the last, and had almost a mysterious element to it and a very infectious beat that made me like it instantly.
Then Oliver did the best thing. He began to sing. It was very soft, and just barely above a whisper, but his voice was clear and sweet and he sang well.
"I took my troubles down to Madam Rouge, You know that gypsy with gold tattoo?"
I took another route home, the long one, so I could keep listening to him.
"-I told her that I was a flop with chicks," He continued, making me laugh outright. Hearing that, he turned to face me, smiling widely. "Been this way since nineteen fifty-six. She looked at my palm and she made up her-" He mumbled the next words, making it obvious he didn't the exact words, making me laugh again. "She said what you need is: love potion number nine," he finally said, poking my shoulder as he said so. Rolling my eyes, I turned back to the road, trying-and failing- to hold back my smile. He kept singing the song however, growing a bit louder and becoming less nervous with each verse. The song was simple enough so by the end, I was able to chime in on the last line.
"Love potion number nine," I whispered more than sang. Oliver looked back at me, smiling widely.
"I love that song," He said, the smile still in his face.
"I could tell," I laughed. Looking at him, I returned his smile, surprised at how easily it came. He went red in the face again, and I turned off the car as I pulled into my driveway, hoping he didn't notice that we drove past it twice. "Well, here we are. Home sweet home."

A/N:
For anyone who wants to know, the songs are:
-Patience by Guns N' Roses
and
-Love Potion number Nine by The Searchers