The Power Within [Narry]

--Chapter 11--

Yeah, I'm terrible at updating. How long has it been? D: I apologize for the long wait, school started up a few weeks ago and I have been flooded ever since. :--( But I hope you enjoy this chapter nonetheless .x

The minutes fly by as Damien and I play 20 Questions. We chat as if we're not at some school built to train people with superpowers—we laugh and talk as if we're just two normal human beings with normal interests and normal lives.

“What's with you and food? I've answered at least five questions about what kind of cheese I like.”

“. . . It's of the utmost importance.” His eyes search my face before he shrugs and gestures that it's my turn. “Um . . . what can't you live without?”

“Plaid,” he said in a heartbeat, gesturing to the blue and green plaid shirt he's currently wearing.

“Really?”

“Duh. There's no Damien Rourke without plaid.” He smiles and points to the massive pile of clothes that's sitting atop a chair. I glance at the mess and . . . wow, that's a lot of plaid. I unconsciously wrinkle my nose; there's probably enough plaid fabric in that pile to create twenty thick quilts. He might just be as obsessed with plaid as I am with food. Maybe.

“Is there a problem with plaid, Mr. Horan?” I blush at his using my surname. He must've caught me scrunching my nose.

“No, it's just that I don't wear plaid; I can't pull it off,” I shrug dismissively, trying to make the blush fade away.

“Are you kidding me? You're totally kidding me. There's no doubt in my mind that you can make it work. Here,” he grabs a faded red and purple plaid shirt from the gigantic pile and tosses it to me, “put that on. Go on, prove that you're wrong and that I'm right.”

Holding onto the thin piece of cloth, I stare at him weirdly. He stares back at me with a look of faux innocence, tapping his foot repeatedly to show that he's waiting. Sighing, I tug off my hoodie and quickly put the thin fabric over my gray v-neck.

He comes up to me and fiddles with the shirt collar, curling his lips into a quirky, lopsided smirk that's admittedly really adorable. “I was so fucking right. You don't just make it work, you make it complete a triathlon. C'mon, you look absolutely great.” Fuck, I hope my face doesn't look like a firetruck. I'm not used to strangers giving me compliments—well maybe besides Harry, but that's not the point.

Before I can weakly mumble out a thanks, a knock on the door is heard and Damien steps away to answer it.

“Hello?” He raises his eyebrows inquisitively at the girl who's standing in the doorway.

“Hey, 'M here for Niall Horan. I'm supposed to be his guide for his orientation,” she says casually, lightly kicking her combat boot against the wall. Oh, so this is my guide? I thought that a middle-aged lady would be showing me around, but this is pretty cool. The girl has startling, bright silver eyes and long, curly honey-colored hair that reaches her mid-waist. Her clothes give off a rocker vibe, and overall, I would probably be drooling over her if I was straight.