Shades of Cool

t. w. e. l. v. e.

"Falling back on forever, I wonder what you came to be..."

It's a usual Friday morning here in hell, when a certain floppy haired boy decides he has a death wish.

I'm sitting at a table in the cafeteria sipping my chocolate milk and swirling my spoon around in my Cheerios, staring off into space.

A scrap of an incoming chair forces me out of my daydreaming. In front of me, sitting with the chair turned around and legs straddling it, is Finn.

A really sleepy looking Finn.

"You look dead." I point out between sips of chocolate milk.

"I've always loved your compliments." He rests the side of his cheek on the top of the chair and closes his eyes. "They really stroke my ego."

I go back to zoning out and it just so happens to be that I'm staring at his face.

We haven't talked about that night at the water tower since that night and it's weird. It's not as if he's acting like it didn't happen, I think. He's being his usual self, but his usual self was always flirty and playful.

"Are you staring at me?" His eyes remain closed.

"Yup."

He cracks an eye open at me.

"I have to make sure you don't turn into a zombie."

He lifts his head up and rest his chin on his hands, both eyes know peering at me.

"We have to make a pact, Bliss."

I look at him suspiciously.

He laughs at my look and holds his hands up pleadingly. "Hear me out," he chuckles. "When the zombie apocalypse hits America, because it will, we have to make a pact with each other."

"What kind of pact?"

"If I turn into a zombie you have to promise, no swear, that you will kill me so I don't turn into one of them."

"Only if you make the same promise."

His eyes narrow at me. "I couldn't kill you."

"I'm sure if I'm rotting and trying to eat you, you wouldn't have a problem."

He looks at me for a couple more minutes before nodding. "I'll be apologizing the whole time."

"I'll forgive you."

He smiles at me and then takes one of my Cheerios out of my bowl. I smack his hand, causing it to go into my bowl and spill everywhere.

"Hands off, Wiley."

"You really aren't a morning person."

I out a bunch of napkins on the spill and dab it. "I'm not really an "any time of the day" person."

He grabs some more and puts them on the spill. I dab the spill.

"It's okay; I got it."

"Are you okay?" I look up and see his eyes trying to catch mine.