Endless solo of solitude | Lookism various x reader

Land of Dandelions.

"I'm so hungry."

Jake squints his eyes, trying to discern whether you're exaggerating the extent of your anguish. The gleam in your orbs looks more like a dull grey than its usual colour—usual liveliness. He continues to examine you, noticing the fatigue in every step you take, but he elects not to mention that. Instead, he tightens his grip on your hand, enough to stop you in your tracks, but not so hard it makes you flinch, and his other hand settles on your shoulder.

"Have you been skipping meals?" he asks, serious.

Your eyes go wide. "Huh? No way. I just didn't get to eat that much yesterday."

He leans forward, stare narrowing. He's so close, you nervously avert your own gaze to the ground. It feels like you may explode. May lose your breath. His eyes continue to drift across your face. Eye-bags all over the rolls of your skin; dead and unseemly. Borrowing your mother's makeup, you tried your best to cover up any traces. However, Jake's expression evidences that you didn't exactly do a good job. Then, his hand moves from your shoulder. And you think he might poke your forehead, scold you, or slap your cheek (in a friendly manner. It doesn't necessarily hurt, because he doesn't exert force with his touches), but—

"Idiot," he grumbles, pinching your nose.

You gasp in faux offence. "Hey! Let go, ow, ow!"

"You deserve it," Jake replies, with a small grin too obvious to ignore but not enough to grace you with his forgiveness. A total pain, is what he thinks you are. Sometimes, he whispers those words, when you pretend to fall asleep on his shoulder. However, when his eyes glint in reluctant fondness and you feel the gentle touch of his slender fingers against your shoulder, you're sure his actions tell you otherwise. A total pain, he calls you, but unsaid words linger in the shallow gusts of wind, that I can't seem to hate. A cute, total pain.

"I swear it was just this once," you say hastily, still glaring playful daggers his way. Sounding awfully pitchy, due to the lack of oxygen, you continue, "I usually eat proper meals."

Jake dips his head slightly. His short eyelashes flutter with every blink, reminiscent of the celestial glow held by withering stars fading into darkness. As always, his determination-fuelled silence is difficult to understand when you're so used to battling with his stubborn unwillingness to back down. But he's kind. Kind enough he can't leave you helpless. So he accounts for this by graciously giving you a few moments of peace to think about what he's communicating. How cruel, and how characteristic of him.

"And I'm the president of South Korea," he remarks sarcastically.

"With that attitude? Good luck," you mumble.

It's warm outside as the two of you walk together. Like yesterday, the day before, and the day before that; most days, it's you, Jake, Jason, and Brad against the world, whilst on some days, it's just you and Jake. You remember gazing at the busy morning streets, nervous and shaken with thoughts too large to handle. You remember Jason's comforting arm around your own, Brad's funny attempts at making you laugh (he always succeeds, but it's usually because his jokes are so ridiculously terrible), and Jake's lack of expression, signalling his acceptance of the 'three morons' who are his friends. You remember the first day of school. You remember staring through the windows of stores you passed by. And, throughout all, thick and thin, you'd notice your life is much brighter. Much happier.

"The weather's changed again," Jake comments. He finally frees your aching nose of his grip. You resist the urge to return the favour and give him a taste of his own medicine. In fact, you'd usually do so, but you don't. He has nice hands, you note, instead, and his face isn't anything to laugh at either. Puberty has done him well. Your eyes meet his as he finishes his sentence about how much he dislikes the cold.