The Styles Triplets

Chapter 4

"Okay," I announced dramatically, stretching out on the couch, "I vote we watch a movie."

Marcel glanced up from clearing the lunch dishes. "Sounds good to me. What do you want to watch?"

"Do you have any chick flicks?"

He froze mid-step and slowly turned toward me. "You're kidding."

"You didn't answer my question," I said sweetly.

Marcel sighed like a man accepting his fate. "Yes. We have chick flicks."

"Perfect." I grinned. "I'll pick."

I wandered over to the movie shelf, scanning titles until I spotted the obvious choice. The Notebook. Was it cliché? Absolutely. Was I still going to watch it anyway? Also absolutely.

I slid the disc into the player and returned to the couch just as Marcel sat down with a bowl of popcorn. "Prepare yourself emotionally," I warned.

"I'm already concerned," he muttered.

Halfway through the movie, I was already fighting tears. I'd seen it countless times, which somehow made it worse because I knew exactly what was coming. Marcel and I sat close together, sharing popcorn, our shoulders brushing every time one of us moved.
Without really thinking about it, I rested my head against his shoulder.
"Is this okay?" I asked softly.

"Y-Yeah," he stammered. "Of course."

I smiled to myself. Marcel's nervous stutter had always been endearing—it appeared whenever he felt overwhelmed or unsure.
I linked my arm through his. "Thanks for putting up with this."

He chuckled quietly. "I actually kind of like it."

I tilted my head to look at him. "You're lying."

"I'm not! It's... good." He shrugged, slightly embarrassed.

By the end of the movie Marcel and I were in tears just balling our eyes out together.
Marcel wiped his eyes openly. "That's... really sweet."

I buried my face against his chest, laughing through tears. "It gets me every single time."

His hand moved gently along my back in a comforting rhythm.
"A-Are you okay?"

I lifted my head, meeting his eyes. They were soft—warmer than usual, "Yeah I'm okay. Just emotional damage."
I grabbed a napkin and carefully dabbed under my eyes. "Do I look okay? My makeup isn't everywhere, is it?"

He leaned back slightly to study me.
"Y-Yeah...you look gorge...I-I mean, you look fine."

"My make up isn't everywhere?"

"No...it's not."

He's having trouble speaking today...
I leaned back against him again. "Today was fun."

"Yeah," he said quietly. "It really was."

For a moment, everything felt easy. Safe. Like we'd slipped back into childhood without all the complicated high school drama attached.

"Marcel?!" a voice called from the entryway. "Marcel?!"
Edward walked into the living room, tossing his keys onto the table before stopping short when he noticed me, "Oh—Alex. Have you been here all day?"

"Pretty much," I admitted. "I may have... left school early."

"I noticed," he said knowingly. "Why'd you leave?"

"I wasn't in the mood for school."

He raised an eyebrow. "So you ditched?"

"Yeah?"
What's the big deal here?