Jordan almost vomited,
the act of kindness a testimony on worksheets;
it was almost tempting enough to burn.
The writing was close,
so close that Jordan knew it was practiced,
with only a few mistakes such as the lack of dash for the tops of 'i's,
and the violent slashes for the 't's,
otherwise it might as well have been done by Jordan.
"You did my homework."
The heat rising to Charlie's cheeks acted like weights,
dropping Charlie's gaze to the floor,
blonde hair drooping - hopefully - covering the redness.
"I, I thought it'd be nice."
"It was nice. Why'd you do it?"
"I thought it'd be nice."
Jordan was biting at chapped knuckles,
a habit that was either because of the chapped knuckles or was what caused it,
and that hazel eyed gaze never left Charlie's downturned face.
"You . . ."
Jordan hiccupped, and shuddered because of it.
Charlie was good,
and sometimes Jordan forgot that.
In fact, Jordan forgot it all the time,
pushed it aside,
made it disappear.
Charlie was good,
not deserving of Jordan's dismantling,
because Charlie was good.
Jordan liked to make that disappear,
just like Jordan liked to make Charlie's self-esteem disappear.
"You messed up the t's and the i's."
After saying that,
Jordan promptly got up and ran to the bathroom.
The entire way there, Charlie's eyes were on Jordan,
and Jordan knew that --
.
