Cracked Up

Ace

I've never called anything beautiful before. But God, those murky gray eyes were beautiful. Unlike my own, that were also gray. Mine look dull, empty. The ones Connor drew were so filled, with what, I have no idea. They just looked full. And beautiful.

I shouldn't be thinking this.

Sure, Connor's great at art. But, beautiful? That's a bit much.

Right?

---

Oh god, he's so close. Is this breaking the unspoken rule of boundaries? I have no idea.

I can feel Connor's body heat roll off of him in waves that nearly drown me. He's leaning over me, trying to see what some kid beside me is doing. We got new seats in Art, and he sits next to me.

I gulp as I feel my ear start to burn. Connor's hand is on the handle of my seat and his other hand is on the table. His chest is almost touching my ear.

He finally sits back down in his seat, allowing the bubble of personal space rebuild itself. I let out a breath I didn't realise I was holding.

Then suddenly, a shiver. Another. Within seconds, I'm covered in goosebumps. The absence of Connor's warmth settles in. Cold air washes over me, and I feel the cold rasp at my lungs.

What is this?

I look around me. Connor looks fine, and so does the person beside me. But they both are wearing jackets. And I'm not.

My teeth chatter. Air conditioning. Or, maybe Mrs. Kelly left the window open? The snow is bound to drift in.

What month was it? January. So, it's plausible. But this morning it wasn't so cold. And it wasn't before Connor leaned so close.

What is this strong feeling of absence?

Maybe I adapted so quickly to Connor's heat that without it now, I can't stand the cold.

But that's so odd.