• BURN ME •

• 11 •

CONCRETE JUNGLE 

 ⁓ Bad Omens

Flame

Mentally, I run through the packing list for Spain, ticking off items like a drill sergeant. Gear. Clothes. Ammunition - metaphorical, for now. As far as I can recall, everything's accounted for. A sharp edge of sound cuts through my internal inventory - Aiden's voice, strained, urgent. Close. Too close. Like he's right outside my damn door. His words are muffled by the wood, but the frantic pitch bleeds through. "Nathaniel, where the hell are you?" Then silence, abruptly cut off. Nathaniel. Who the fuck is Nathaniel? I push myself up from the bed, pulling on a pair of sweatpants. I sit back down on my desk chair, facing the closed door, listening. Whatever this 'Nathaniel' thing is, Snow sounds pissed. "Are you stupid?" Snow's voice is sharper now, laced with an edge of... worry? "She's at university, asshole. How bad was it? The fight, I mean." Another silence. "Okay, it'll be okay, Nath." Snow's voice softens, just a fraction. "But your sister knows? About... all of this?" The quiet stretches out, heavy, charged. Then, without warning, the door to my room swings inward, and Snow is standing there, framed in the doorway, staring at me. I meet his gaze head-on, crossing my arms, a silent challenge. Why the fuck is he looking at me like that? He closes the door behind him, the click echoing in the sudden quiet. A frown pulls at his pale features as he moves towards me, slow, deliberate steps. "You..." He points a finger, in my direction. My eyebrow arches, a silent question. "You... you talked to me," he says, the words laced with disbelief, a ghost sighting. Saturday night. The bike. His head on my shoulder. "Oh, so now you just... keep quiet?" He spits the words out, accusing. "Act like you didn't say anything? Shit, what the fuck is your problem?" A low laugh rumbles in my chest, involuntary. He actually sounds... angry. "Stop laughing," he snaps, his voice tight. "I'm serious." He takes another step closer, closing the distance between us, his body tense, coiled.

"I thought you forgot," I say, blunt, cutting through the pretense. His eyes snap up to mine, sharp, questioning. "I did," he admits, grudgingly. "But I... I remembered." A small, sharp nod. "And...?" I prompt, watching him, waiting to see what he'll do next. "And... what are you doing now?" I ask, my voice low, even. "What should I do?" he throws the question back. "I just... I want to know why. Why the fuck did you decide to talk to me?" He's demanding answers. As if I have one. "Because I wanted to," I say, the words flat, emotionless, even though I'm still wrestling with the same goddamn question myself. Saturday night, keeping him from falling off my bike. Yeah, there was a reason then. But now? Now, standing here, facing him, the air crackling between us... No logic to it. He snorts, a sound of pure disbelief. "Are you kidding me?" The audacity of this Snowflake. A laugh catches in my throat, a dark, humorless sound. Damn snowflake. "No," I lie, watching his face, watching the confusion flicker and shift in his bright blue eyes. "I just... I didn't want you to fall off the motorcycle." His brow furrows deeper, suspicion hardening his features. "Motorcycle?" He repeats the word, confusion blanking his expression. He's actually forgotten that too? "Yeah. Motorcycle. I brought you home on my motorcycle." His eyes widen, pupils dilating, a spark of something like... horror? "Oh my God..." he whispers, the words barely audible, breath catching in his throat. "So... it wasn't a dream?" He looks back at me, his voice hushed, awed. Dream. Dios. What kind of nightmares haunt this kid? "You... you carried me?" He finally manages, his voice small, disbelieving. A sharp nod. Yeah, I carried him. Like he weighed nothing at all. "You're really light," I say, blunt, dismissive, trying to downplay the memory, the feel of him in my arms. "You should eat more." His confused expression shifts, morphs into a flicker of... hurt?