Truth & Lies [boyxboy]

2. the new kid

Are cornered me at lunch. We were behind the school, where I'd planned on eating my lunch in peace and quiet—with a tiny amour of sulking involved—and then he was in front of me.

"Look, man," he started, staring at the ground in front of his trainers instead of at me. "About this morning—"

"Don't bother." Really don't bother. I didn't want to hear about him and Mikkel. The reminder made me loose my appetite.

"Can I explain?" He spread his arms wide.

"What's to explain?" Anger boiled under my skin. Anger, hurt, jealousy, whatever. It was all one big mix of emotions. "I saw all I needed to see. I saw more than I ever needed to see. There's nothing you can say to change that." Unless he professed his undying love for me. That would be good.

He sighed, but didn't say anything. Instead he looked around, lost for words.

"You knew we had plans. You knew I was coming over."

"I'm sorry." He folded his arms behind his back and bowed his head. "I— I forgot."

"Clearly." Some best friend you are. "Of all the fucking people in school, you get with Mikkel? A guy? A freakshow?"

"Don't call him that." He bristled now, on the defensive. "He's not."

"Not what?" I had to goad.

"Not that. A freakshow. He's not."

Defending him. They must be serious. Fucking hell.

"Yeah, well. Good thing we don't have the same taste, eh?"

I was the one who walked away. Again. Only this time around we'd actually had words—which was more than could be said for earlier. There hadn't been any words, just moans. And the sounds sex itself made. Because it did make sound. Lots of sound. Skin slapping against skin, the creak of the bed— lots of sounds. But no words.

And I don't want to think about it!

I went down to the basement. The only people who used the basement was the music classes. I knew none of those weirdos, so there wasn't much of a chance of striking up conversation if I were to meet someone.

I didn't meet anyone. But as I wandered the hallway—angry, hurt, dejected—I heard a piano and a soft voice coming from a partially open door ahead of me. Most of the rooms down here were storages of some kind, but three of the rooms were used for music, by those who played instruments or sang.

My curiosity was piqued by the sounds. My trainers made no sounds as I slowly walked up to the door. I wanted to listen properly to the music, not interrupt whoever was playing it.

It was a blond boy. He sat at the bench, long, slender fingers running over the keys, and he sang softly to the haunting melody he created. His voice wasn't loud, his voice could hardly be heard over the piano, but I heard it. I liked it. His voice was soft and a bit hoarse, and it made chills of through me. The good kind of chills.

He wasn't singing in either Norwegian nor English. I had no idea what language it was, but it was beautiful.

Blond hair curled in his neck and over his ears and his fringe fell over his forehead, almost into his eyes. Eyes I couldn't see the colour of from this distance. His face was tanned, so was his bared forearms. He wore a tight T-shirt, loose-fitting jeans—or at least so they looked, but I couldn't be sure as he was sitting—, and trainers. Overall, he looked good. Attractive even. In a cute, adorable kind of way. Not in the buff kind of way Are did. This one didn't work out like we did—not with weights and bench press and sole focus on how much weight we could lift and how much muscle we could build. He was lithe, toned, but it seemed natural. Like he didn't have to work for his body. The fucker.

His voice died down and the playing stopped. I hadn't meant to alert him to my presence, but my palms clapped together of their own accord.

He jumped on the bench and quickly turned. His eyes were wide as he looked at me, and he almost tumbled off the bench completely. He caught himself, though, or it would've been embarrassing.

"W-what are you doing here?" He stammered and blushed, his face flushing red.

"Listening." I took a step inside. "That was good. You're good. What language was it?"

He swallowed, seemed to get over his initial surprise and fluster, and now his gaze didn't stray from my face. "German. It was in German."

"Cool." I stepped up to his side. His fingers ran absently over the tangents. "So where'd you learn German? You taking classes?" If he did, he must be doing a lot better at them than I did in French. Even after two years of the wretched class, I still couldn't manage to hold a proper conversation in the bloody language.

"I've lived in Germany." He played a slow, brief melody. "We just moved back here this summer."

"Oh." Maybe that explained why I'd never seen him before. Not that I knew—or remembered the face of—everyone at school... but I'd have remembered his face. "What's your name?" Maybe that would ring a bell.

"William." He shot me a glance. It seemed his first name was all he was willing to give.

"I'm Gunnar."

"I know." He stared back down at the tangents.

"You do?" How could he know me, but I not know him? That was simply unfair.

"Well, yeah." He shrugged. "You're popular, aren't you?"

"Not that popular." And he was lying. Or holding something back. I was good at seeing those signs, considering I held a lot of things back from a lot of people. "Anyway, you're a real good singer. You've got a good voice. And you're a good pianist." Praise had to be given where praise was due.

"I know." He smiled wryly. "But thanks."

He seemed shy, but he was fully aware of his talents. Interesting. It reminded me a bit of Remi, except Remi's skill lay in a totally different direction. As I got to experience earlier.

He still played softly on the piano, but then the bell rang overhead. He shot to his feet. "Got to go." He hoisted a rucksack over one shoulder, then slipped past me and disappeared out the door.

Well, damn.

I stared after him.

Yeah.

See you around.