We'll Be Fireproof

Chapter Seven

"We're going to be working on the same assignment today. You'll be in the same spots, with the same partners. Go ahead," the teacher says, almost bored as he looks through papers in a mess on his desk.

"To the library?" Baz asks. I look up from my desk. He's smiling and his eyes look different. Darker, somehow. And it hits me. He's wearing eyeliner.

"U-Um...yes. Let's go."

It's black, with a subtle wing. Christ, it looks so damn good. His lashes are coated with mascara. Fuck me, he looks so fucking good. I can barely take my eyes off him as we walk down the halls.

"Did you have a good night last night?" he asks, his eyes scanning the halls.

"Mmm, yes, I did. It was a nice change," I smile.

"A change? From what?" he asks, already heading to the back of the library.

"Oh- um, you know. Stress and um- you know. Regular teenage stuff." I slide into the same seat as yesterday and Baz does the same. He cocks an eyebrow at me, a smirk playing gently on his lips.

"Regular teenage stuff?"

"Yea. I went online. Looked at, um- stuff."

He laughs and pulls out his pencil case. I get the paper. "You're being very vague," he says.

"I mean- I listened to some music and I talked to this guy."

"Guy? A friend, or?"

I turn to face him. "A- a friend."

His eyes flick down to my shirt, then back up to my eyes. "Twenty One Pilots?"

I break into a grin and nod. "One of my favourites. Do you listen to them?"

"I was introduced to them recently," he says. He looks...shocked. His lips are parted and his eyes are a little wide and they keep flicking from my shirt to my eyes.

"Oh?" I smile. "What songs have you heard so far?"

"Oh, um, just their hits. But I like them so far. Any you would recommend?"

"Kitchen Sink, Truce, and Be Concerned," I suggest, pushing my glasses up my nose. "At least, those are my favourites."

He nods, thoughtfully, and then smiles. He still looks off. Panicked, almost.

"Are you okay?" I ask.

"Hmm? Oh. Yes. Thank you." He smiles again, this one seemingly more genuine.

I stop for a minute and think. Black hair, shocked by my shirt, nervous. It couldn't be him. Could it?