Blinded by Perfection

31- The Million Dollar Question

Chapter 31 | The Million Dollar Question

Currently editing some other chapters at the moment, because they suck, like really bad XD Besides that, here's a question of the chapter. What's your favorite song? I have a lot, but my favorite from Pentatonix's new album in Are You That Somebody× New Rules

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"Bro, Taylor and Carolynn were totally fussing over you," Axel exclaims as he ducks into the front seat and behind the wheel of Noah's car.

Before we had left the hospital, we made sure to check in with the rest of the crew. On speaker, we let them know about Noah's confirmed concussion and they decided the best course of action would be to take him straight home.

Like Axel had mentioned, Carolynn and Taylor were fussing over the phone to make sure Noah was okay during the exchange, which I guess for some reason Axel's so excited about.

 Anyway, here we are now, about to trek the twenty minutes to Noah's house from the hospital parking lot.

"I'd like to have chicks flocking over me to baby me. On top of that, YOU GET OUT OF WORK IN SCHOOL!" Axel shouts enthusiastically, expression positioned in envy. It's as if Noah is now his new idol, just because he's hurt and lost the ability to do certain things.

I dramatically roll my blue hued eyes at Axel's words. "Yes Axel, I'm sure Noah loves this new life," I say sarcastically, flicking him on his thigh as a signal between us for him to shut up while he's ahead.

Unfortunately, I've learned there's no changing his immaturity. Boys will still be boys, no matter how old or wise they may be. I've learned from experience with my silly dad, so I doubt Axel would ever change in the coming years. Not that I want him to, he's fine the way he is, it's just sometimes he's a bit. . . extra.

In the side mirror, I observe Noah copy me and roll his tired eyes, dark circles yielding just underneath. Guilt flushes my face for the hundredth time today, even though the two guys had attempted to make me feel better. I'm transported back to their words in the doctors room, letting the conforting echoes calm me down.

"Mhm. . . for sure," he says, interrupting himself during the middle of his sentence with a splayed out yawn. After he finishes, I suppress my own. For whatever reason, whenever someone yawns I feel the need to do the same.

"You should go to sleep," I suggest after I'm sure a snippet of the built up yawn won't escape. This time, I'm sure it's safe for him to. The concusion is bad, but not to the extent he won't be allowed to sleep.

Unsurprisingly, Noah doesn't bother to listen. He reaches between the from seat, hooking up his phone to the AUX. Before I have a chance to argue, Eminem is blasting through the speakers.

"Oh, you didn't just do that," I growl in a low tone, playfully shooting daggers at him through the reflection of the rearview mirror.

"Do what?" He asks innocently, his head tiled to the side so his messy dirty blond hair falls to one side.

The amount of energy in this boy amazes me, and I'm in envy. If I was him, I would've been out like a light, but here we are, fighting once more on what gets played in the car.

"Give me your phone," I demand, quickly turning myself towards the backseat with my hands outstretched. I hope to catch him on the unawares, which I manage to do with the help of his disorientation, which is a side effect from his condition. I'm aware I'm playing unfair, but desparate times call for desparate measures.

"You need to rest mister," I sternly scold, turning the music down a couple notches while I do so.

"I'm fine."