write me

1:31 p.m.

February 19.

I snuck a glance at him. "Oliver?" It still felt weird saying his name. "Why are you talking to me? Don't you have other friends?"

He stopped chewing. "Do you not want me to be your friend?"

"Shouldn't I be asking why you want to be mine?"

We met eyes and I almost fell over. His gaze was intense. Too intense. It was a little scary.

"I could stop y'know," he muttered. 

He wasn't looking at me anymore. But I kept staring back.

"Do you want the other half?" He was referring to his peanut butter and jelly sandwich.

I nodded and took it. There was more peanut butter this time.