Endless solo of solitude | Lookism various x reader

Wind, Courage, and Wings.

You're not sure of the exact moment it happens, but eventually Duke starts to invite you over more often. His skin regains its natural tan, his smile shining much brighter, and he helps around his grandmother's food stall. He's completely carefree and doesn't comment on his period of absence. If anything, he scolds you about the many hours you spend at his place. You pout and don't think it's an issue, but he scrunches his face up with a raised brow. Maybe you're the one who should avoid him like the plague, instead of the other way around.

You lay on his bed, piles of paper spread around the surface. Duke sits beside you, his gaze intently focused on the different equations as he diligently works through them. You've never quite enjoyed doing school work on your evenings off, so you move onto your side and fixate at the expressions he makes. Without your classmates around, it's easy to relax and look at him. It's much quieter, after all. They'd usually have started snickering in the background, spreading rumours about the relationship you shared. It's shocking how desperate others become for a good piece of gossip. Duke tells them there isn't anything going on. They take it the wrong way. You tell him to stop because it only encourages their behaviour, but he can't help with worrying over your ruined reputation. You never do let him know of what happened that day he was absent from school. He already has enough on his mind. You'd like to think his lack of awareness is your way of being there for him.

"Duke, you should take a break," you say, your arms snuggling around his waist. Duke spares you a glance, his eyes going back and forth between the papers and your embrace.

"Okay," he replies, his voice soft and low. "What do you want to talk about?"

Are you that obvious to him? He's too smart for his own good. Smarter than you. You've thought it over hundreds of times. The most annoying part is you still haven't settled on how to say it. He can see something is on your mind, and it makes you wonder if he's always been so motivated to know the truth. He's always adapt at reading situations. It's part of why you're fond of him. At least you know you'll have to tell him after avoiding it for so long. Once he picks up on any unsaid words, he squints his eyes until you decide to give up.

"I'm moving schools," you mumble into his hoodie.

Duke places his hands over your arms, letting you embrace him. "I know."

You blink. He blinks back. He opens his eyes wide to give you an affectionate gaze. Your lips part slowly, and he laughs. Moving his left hand to pat your head, he turns to bundle up all the papers he's finished. You let go of him, your arms returning to your sides. You're about to ask how he knows, but he talks first.

"I overheard your conversation, you know," he says, a grin present on his face. "The one with grandma, when you told her you were moving. I was awake."

"Huh?" you ask dumbly, more at yourself than anything. "You heard that..." you trail off and recall the words you spoke.

"Yeah," he tells you with a nod.

"Duke—" you start, but he doesn't let you. He stands up from the bed.

Duke pats down his clothes, smoothing out the wrinkles. He stands before you, holding his hand out to help you up. You look at him dazed, placing your palm against his and letting him take the lead. He easily lifts you. Neither of you say anything, both looking down at the ground.

Standing still, your eyes desperately dart around his hands, his shoulders, his own eyes, and his lips, to find any sign of displeasure. It's a bit too quiet for your liking. He doesn't seem to take it as harshly as you thought he would've. Your hands twitch, begging you to do anything but remain motionless. Not even the cheers of his grandmother's customers can be heard from the room. You'd usually hear a bang or two, or some sort of noise. But with the gravity held in the tense moment, not even the soft breezes of wind make themselves at home.

"I'm not a child," Duke says weakly.

Your eyes widen. "I know that!" It comes out like you're reassuring yourself, rather than him.

"I can handle myself," he continues. "The reason you didn't want to tell me, it's because you think I can't."

"I—" you gasp slightly.

You want to apologise, to tell him you've never seen him as weak or unable to protect himself, but you refrain from doing so. You're not sure why, but the words don't leave your mouth. Maybe a small part of you agrees with him. You've treated him as someone that needed you, rather than someone who wanted you. But he's your friend. You've never once thought of it in a way meant to harm him.

"I'm sorry," you say, your voice cracking awkwardly.

If it were your choice, you wouldn't have chosen to move schools. After finding out about what happened with that boy, your parents decided against letting you finish your education in such an environment. The guilt consumed your insides when you saw the tears in your mother's eyes, and the self-loathing words your father spat at himself for not noticing sooner. So you let them. You let them change your school as they wished. It wouldn't be the end of the world for you, but you worried what would happen to Duke. You guess it didn't call for so much thought.

Duke remains wordless, his lips pressed together tightly in thought. You feel his hand grip your own, his way of telling you it's okay. He forgives you.

Your lips part in awe at his ability to remain kind.

"Take care of yourself, on my behalf," says Duke, as he rests his other hand on your cheek, and smiles down at you. "And make friends, okay?"

"I already have friends—" you pout. He raises a finger to silence you.

"I know you were always too busy defending me to actually make any friends from our class," he says knowingly, challenging you to rebut him. "So this time, make friends. Plenty of them. And I'll do the same, okay?" He tilts his head.

"Fine," you agree, but your voice trembles as you choke down any complaints you have. He has a way of making sure you comply. You're not sure how. He's just always like this. Looking out for you in small ways, and if you were anyone else, you wouldn't have noticed. But it's there when he argues against false rumours that slander your name, it's there when he makes sure you eat properly, and it's there when he leans against you to explain the class work you can't understand. It must come easy for him, you think, to get along with those he cares about and to look out for them so easily.

Duke opens his mouth, and it looks like he's going to say something else but he decides against it. You want to know. You've always been the curious one.

"I guess I should get going," you decide to say instead. Duke's hand settles on his nape.

"Okay."

"This isn't goodbye, so don't think it is," you reassure clumsily, fiddling with your fingers.

Duke shakes his head, facing you as your feet drag against the floor. His face betrays any emotion, his voice showing nothing.

"Come visit me again." He grabs something from his table. He holds up his notebook. The one he'd write in all the time. "I'll tell you about it, next time."

You can't find the right words to reply, so you nod with a strained, straight smile and open the door to leave his room.

(Duke's room is very lonely without you, in his opinion. He watches with a dazed look as you walk out without sparing another glance, and he knows it's his fault for not asking for more. It's cold. Colder than when you lay down next to him).

He supposes the next time you see each other, his notebook will have a couple more pages for you to read through.