Cold and Charisma (BoyxBoy)

Chapter Twenty-Six

Riley's Perspective

Every single fucking time I think Archer Wilson is out of my life for good, he bounces back stronger and more perfect, more charming, than ever. 

He's like a goddamn rubber-band, hitting me in the face over and over again until I'm used to his presence, and can't live without it.

I'm used to it by now–maybe even, fuck, like it a little–when he does. I can spit in his face, maybe even kick him in the balls, and he'd just come running back to me. Like he always does.

Which is why it was no surprise to me when he bent down to retrieve the hoodie that I'd just thrown on the floor. I admit, I was acting like a child, and he just kept playing the role of the calm parent.

It shocked me when he told me he washed it for me – even more so when he picked up what I threw. I was throwing a tantrum, and being so disrespectful, and he just.. Took it.

And without arguing, too. Either this idiot was a masochist, or he'd just gotten used to it at this point. As he stood back up, he said nothing. Archer just stood inches away from me, calmly folding the hoodie I'd thrown on the floor,

Even worse? He had to just fucking show me just how far that golden-boy, gentleman persona really went, by folding it into a neat square. Archer handed it back to me with both hands, gently motioning for me to take it.

"Here, Riley," he said quietly. "I know you don't want anything to do with me right now, but please just take your hoodie. It's yours."

He was calm. Gentle. And for a split second, I almost felt—

No. No. I'm not doing that. I don't feel bad. Why would I? Not over a golden-boy goody-two-shoes like him. I clicked my tongue and looked anywhere but at his face. 

I couldn't look at him — not after he handled me like I was something delicate. Not after he didn't even look mad. Just... steady. Unbothered. Like nothing I did could shake him.

I aggressively grabbed it from his hands, shoving it quickly into my backpack, before turning back to face him. I stood silent for a second – which is unusual for me. I would've been down his throat by now, screaming at him, begging he left me alone.. But this.. This was different.

After seeing how he handled me when I was in such a state of raging hatred just made me wonder if he deserved it – but I knew the answer – he never did.

 Archer Wilson has never once deserved any of my freak-outs, but he took it like it was his fault every single time.

"Um," I scratched my neck awkwardly, for once at a loss for words. Archer looked down at me patiently, and for a second I could've sworn I saw his eyes widen slightly in shock at my silence.

"You didn't have to do all of that." I said, breaking the silence. 

"I know, but I wanted to." He said softly.

 "Oh. Okay." I gulped.

This was harder than I thought it was. For the first time in forever, I wasn't screaming at him; it felt so foreign to me, that I choked on my own words.

"So.." I tensed up, "You better have not put it in the wash with the rest of your clothes. I don't wanna go around smelling like you." I gave him a look of disgust – but this time, it wasn't real.

Archer chuckles, dimples on display, and god, I almost broke my barrier at the mere sight, "I don't think that'd be a bad thing. I smell quite good." He charmingly joked.

Before I knew it, we slowly slipped back into the flow we had before. My threats were empty, my grimaces a facade, and his words came with a big smile. I could feel every ounce of defiance crumbling at his laugh.