Figuring You Out

Chapter Eighteen

"Any plans for the weekend?" I ask, causally, stepping in line with him after one of the most intense revision sessions I have ever experienced.

"My dad is actually home this weekend so that will be insanely dull," he states.

"Is your dad not at home much?" I say cautiously, fleeting a glance to his face rather than the floor.

He shrugs, "He works in LA and Sydney a lot- he's an investment banker. Trust me it's as boring as it sounds," I let out a small chuckle, "but he earns enough money to keep the housemaid and cleaner employed,"

"Fair enough," I say, we reach the gates at the point we separate and it becomes awkward, "I'll see you Monday?"

He nods and we both turn when I feel a slight tug on my elbow, "Hey," he says, I turn back around and try and contain my childish beam, "I'll text you about revision, yeah? You need to keep revising ok?"

"Yeah, I'd like that," I say, we smile at each other for a moment that lingers before parting. I head home when I see Dad getting into his car.

"Emergency meeting with Dan, producers have decided to be annoying fuckers and want a complete scraping and rewrite of the second half of the film, the bastards," He fumes, informing me and frightening me at the same time. I approach him carefully just as he slams the door, I catch it as he rubs his hands over his face, frustrated.

"It will be ok," I say, struggling to find something sombre to say, he offers me half a smile, it probes me to carry on, "You and Dan will figure it out. You're like super smart,"

"I should teach you how to compliment better, you'll need it when the girls are falling at your feet," he comments, shutting his door and revving the engine, I stop and smile as he drives away leaving me in the dimming light of London. I press open the door and find yet another note from Mum saying that she had an emergency meeting in Paris for something that I don't know because I don't even bother to finish reading the note. I open the fridge and find nothing but a salad and some week old orange juice, I slide my phone out and call Liam.

"Yo," he greets, I roll my eyes.

"I'm coming to yours, our house literally has no food and I'm starving," I say, sprinting up my stairs two at a time, then shoving all my rugby gear into my bag.

"Cool," he replies, "The doors open so just walk in, I'm doing business work upstairs so just let yourself in"

"Alright, cheers," I say ending the call. I make my way to Liam's he lives in a small house just around the corner. I let myself in as he says and walk straight to the fridge.

"Hungry, Oliver?" a voice comes from the living room, that was Liam's mum Diane, she is a God- her brownies are the best thing to ever exist.

"Yes," I reply, scrounging through her fridge, moving the old cheese out of the way, she chuckles softly.

"I baked some cookies there by the breadbin," she says, I bound to the other countertop where the breadbin is and ravish the Tupperware that had a stack full of chocolate cookies in, I take three in my hand and say that I'm going upstairs.

"Thanks, Mrs Walkers," I call.

"Welcome Oliver," I step up the stairs two at a time all whilst munching on one of the cookies and barge into Liam's room.

"Hungry?" he says, stealing one of the cookies from my hand.

"You sound scarily similar to your mother," I say, laying back on the bed then discovering that isn't the wised idea when eating food, "Still doing coursework?"

"Yeah," he sighs, turning back to his laptop that was situated on the desk along with scrambled paperwork and books. He types for a few seconds then lets out a large groan and places his head in his hands, all while his foot is tapping rapidly on the floor- this was kind of Liam's thing; if he was stressed, he would tap, if he was angry, he would tap, if he was heartbroken (Paige Winters) he would tap. I sigh a little and then break the remaining cookie in half and lay half of it by his keyboard. He emerges from the sound of my movement and looks at the cookie then back up to me.

"Sappy git," he says, shaking his head but nevertheless eating the cookie, I laugh and then slouch in his beanbag that was near the window, "What's brought you here anyway?"

"The food," I comment, stretching out.

"Apart from the food?"

"Dad's got a meeting or something and Mum's in Paris working and they have literally left me no food so I decided to pay you a visit,"

"Fair," he relents, closing the web and his word document, before spinning around in his chair to me, "Xbox?"

"Unlike you to suggest a game in which you will lose," I comment, smirking as he joins me on the beanbag beside me.

"You think I'll lose," he smirks.

"No," I say, his expression lightens into a smug twist, "I know you'll lose,"

"Put your money where your mouth is," he challenges, leaning back to grab a ten pound note from the side of his desk, I raise my eyebrows and also pull a crisp note from my wallet, "First one to lose gets the lot,"

"Deal," I smirk, clicking on the controller.