Guitar Boy

◔ End of 2017 ◔

*September*

It was lunch break, and she was going to wash her hands with her friends. He hadn't been feeling well today, so he had excused himself to the sick room after the first period. But when she stepped out the class, she saw him surrounded with all the girls, unable to move forward —partly due to sickness and partly because there was no space left to move.

"You guys go ahead, I'll be right back," she said to her friends. With a determined look on her face, she charged towards the immature girls, who seemed oblivious to his discomfort.

"Alright, break it up. He needs space." Her voice was calm but firm.

The girls turned to her, some giggling nervously, while others gave her a challenging look, clearly unwilling to move aside. She crossed her arms, narrowing her eyes. "He's not feeling well, and you're all crowding him. Back off, now."

One of the braver girls, probably thinking she could stand up to her, huffed. "We're just talking to him."

She stepped closer, standing tall. "And now you’re done. Move." Her voice left no room for argument.

Slowly, the group began to disperse, though a few lingered, casting side glances at him before walking away. Once they were gone, she turned to him. His face was pale, and he looked drained, struggling to stay on his feet.

"Are you okay?" she asked, her tone softening as she reached out to steady him.

He nodded weakly, though it was clear he wasn’t fine. "Yeah, just... a little dizzy."

"Why did you come back if you're still not feeling okay?"

"It's lunch." The nurse had asked him if she should sent someone for his lunch box, but he had insisted that he was fine, and could get it himself. "Plus, the room smells of disinfectant. I needed some fresh air."

She sighed, wrapping her arm around his shoulder to help support him. "If you've had enough fresh air, let's get you back to the nurse. I'll bring your lunch —you should eat something."

As they started walking toward the sick room, she could feel his weight leaning on her more than before. His exhaustion was worse than he let on. They walked in silence, but she could sense the relief in his posture as they left the crowd behind.

"You didn’t have to do that," he murmured after a moment, as they neared the sick room, glancing at her from the corner of his eye.

"Of course, I did," she replied without hesitation. "You needed help. That's what classmates do."

He wished she would say "friends", but they weren't there yet. He smiled weakly, but the gratitude in his eyes said more than his words.

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*October*

As they entered the class, she placed her bag on the second bench, where she usually sat, and noticed him settling into the desk behind her.

"That's not your place," she remarked, confusing clear in her tone.

"It is now," He replied with that familiar cheeky smile, the one he often directed at her, as if everything she said amused him. She could practically feel the tease —and the impending torment she'd have to endure.

'Ugh, I should’ve never gone easy on this person. My mistake for helping him out', she thought, already regretting her earlier kindness.

During the third period, as the History teacher lectured about the Mesopotamian Civilisation, she suddenly felt the back of a pen lightly stroking the length of her neck. She stiffened, a shiver running down her spine. She had a feeling he'd pull something like this, but it still caught her off guard. With the teacher right in front of her row, she couldn’t turn around to give him the stink eye, so she just edged forward, pressing her chair flush against the desk.