Figuring You Out

Chapter Eleven

I flip my phone nervously in my hand in the deserted student common room, where we'd agreed to meet. I'd text Liam earlier to say that I was staying behind to do maths catch up with Fryday. It wasn't a complete lie, I guess, I just wasn't going to be doing it with Fryday. My foot is doing its nervous tick thing; my worn Vans tapping relentlessly on the cheap carpet. I look up as a presence fills the doorway, it's him. Standing with a wad of books in his hands and a goofy grin.

"Coffee?" he suggests, smiling, I gulp down a huge ball of nerves and nod.

"Coffee sounds good," I reply, standing and pushing my now heavily fingerprinted phone in my pocket. I shuffle uncertainly, half out of nerves he'll find out I'm gay, which I'm aware is compeltly irrational and the other half is fear he will find out I've fallen for him.

"I'll just drop these at my locker," he says, lifting the books he has in his hands.

"I'll come with you," I say, strolling beside him, he turns and insists I meet him at the gates again. I find it strange that he's so defensive but agree nevertheless and walk a few hundred yards on, to where I rest against an old tree as I wait for him. I eventually see him emerge from the building with just his leather satchel at his waist. I stand up fully as he approaches.

"So, what's been going on?" he asks, stepping in line with me.

"I guess it's just everything," I begin, sighing at my own frustration, he pauses almost pondering my response.

"Narrow it down," he says critically.

"The team, the pressure of not failing my GCSE's again, all that fun stuff," I mumble out as we walk along the streets.

"Greggs has good enough coffee, let's grab some," he suggests, avoiding my answer, I nod and offer a smile as we walk into the nearby bakery. I let him through the walkway first and then follow him to the counter where a girl only a few years older than us, wears a hair net and is ready to take our orders.

"I'll have a black coffee, please and..." he turns to me, clearly expecting my order.

"Cappuccino," I answer, the woman nods and retreats to get our orders, "I didn't have you down as a black coffee kind a guy,"

"I didn't have you down as the type of person to be hanging around with people like me, so I guess we have both surprised each other," I'm taken aback by his sudden shift in tone, its cruel almost and for a minute I think I've crossed a line yet I don't know how or which particular line I seemed to have overstepped. The woman behind the desk hands us our respective coffees as Red hands over a few coins and we walk out into the bustle of London once more.

"Where to?" I ask, trying to lighten the mood again, whilst sipping at my coffee which was a definite mistake as it burned my tongue.

"Well, I've got a Chemistry mock tomorrow, so I should really be at home revising," he chuckles, lightly, "Thorndon forgot to tell us until last period so I need to do some serious cramming,"

"I'll walk you home," I say,

"It's fine," he replies coldly, cutting the conversation dead.

"Sorry," I say, realising I've crossed a line, he looked up at me through his glasses which I kind of hated because I couldn't see his eyes all the time.

"No, don't be," he replies, soothingly, his hand brushing against mine as we walked, I tense at the contact but it seems to go unnoticed by Red.

"Then let me walk you home," I insist, teasingly although beginning to question his closed nature.

"No,"

"Why?" I challenge, sensing something wasn't right.

"You'll hate me so no," he says, firmly a heat rising to his cheeks, I raise my palms in defence but decided that I would follow him anyway, I kind of wanted to know what he was so afraid of. Little did I know. He turned corners and caught the tube to Knightsbridge, an area I had never been before apart from one posh dinner Mum was attending where I had to step in for Dad. I followed him on the opposite street, lingering behind Land Rovers and Mercedes. I look up and he was suddenly surrounded by a group; they all had bikes, not quite balaclavas but some had weird ass shit covering their nose and mouth and of course a cigarette emitting smoke from their mouths. I see him turn in desperation but they had him surrounded, then it begins.

At first, it's one, delivering a punch so hard even George the captain of our rugby team and the strongest man I know would stumble at, Red being a hell of a lot less strong than George Burton fell to the floor. I couldn't stand, not a single second of it, watching him get beaten to a post, so I start speed walking towards him only then realising how incredibly stupid this was. One against six? But impulse soon takes over and I grabbed the guy who had punched Red and drag him to a wall.

"What the fuck?" he splutters, I throw him to the ground and they all scarper, which I was genuinely quite surprised at, technically they could have beaten me in a heartbeat. I turn my attention to Red, who was still laying on the floor, still breathing heavily and nursing a bloody nose.

"Are you ok?" I ask, crouching down, he jumps up and that alone scares me.

"What the fuck?" he seethes, I'm confused for a moment and then he bursts into tears and I know he's not really mad, well, I think he is but at himself. I engulf him in my arms, for a bare second because I didn't know how else to comfort him but pushes me away. I stood back, wounded.

"Not here," he whispers, a sense of relief washes over me knowing he wasn't completely mad at me, "361"

House numbers, he tosses me some keys and unlock the door with him following me and I open the door to a practical mansion. The muted grey tone almost stops me but with a bleeding teen behind me, it doesn't.

"Sir? Are you quite alright?" comes a concerned voice and then a figure appears at a doorway.

"Quite alright, Susan, just tripped," he mumbles, whilst trying to stem the flow of blood spouting from his nose.

"Again," she mutters, smoothing down her apron, me and Red both glare at her but she makes no attempt at meeting our gaze.

"You're dismissed," Red says, after an awkward pause, she nods obediently and unties her apron and grabs her camel coat from the rail I didn't notice by the door. Red lets out a grunt and I manage to guide him to a sink.

"Put your head down," I say, spotting a huge freezer to my left and begin pulling open draws to find some ice. I eventually find a bag and a nearby tea towel that was folded neatly on the marble countertop, and wrap some ice into the tea towel.

"Come here," I say gently, taking a cautious seat on the bar stool, he approaches me and I press the bundle to his nose, trying to stem the bleeding. I make a conscious effort to not make eye contact, he already thinks I'm weird enough. My right hand finds its way to the back of his head as he continues to squirm away, "Stay still," he relaxes and I remove my hand from his hair, I miss it somewhat but swallow the large lump of affection back down to my stomach promising myself to not let it resurface again.

We remain in silence as I nurse his bloody nose the best I could, I eventually get up and begin to rinse out the tea towel.

"Who were they?" I ask, wringing out his blood from the towel.

"People who don't like me very much," he says, standing at the mirror towards the end of the room to see his nose.

"Tell me what's going on," I push, keeping my head down, there's no denying the desperate tone in my voice but I manage to not turn it into a beg.

"They don't like me, have been bullying me for a while, now," he says, his tone not faltering for a second.

"You could have told me," I say, hanging my head a little as the bloodied water runs through my fingers, I see him turn to me for a second and then look away.

"You should go," he says, quietly, "I need to revise,"

I nod solemnly half in shock as I wring out the towel for the final time, leaving it in the sink. I send a final, desperate look to Red, he is still nursing the blood drying around his nose.

"I'll text you," It comes as more of a question than anything else, turning halfway out of the door.

"I'd like that," he smiles, his expression and tone softening. I turn to him a final time, standing with his glasses sliding down his freckled nose and the faint spots of blood running on his nose and chin. I just can't seem to figure him out and maybe I don't want to.