Baseball Bae (lol ima change the title later)

Much Ado About Guys Who Say You're Into Them And Snap Their Arms Like Glowsticks

The car ride is disturbingly silent, the only sounds being the engine gently whirring in Owen's mom's white boat she calls a car, and the gentle melody streaming from the radio. My hand is wrapped in Owen's, smothered with the warmth of his palm as he squeezes it. His lip is still quivering in shock, and his eyes are closed tight, as if expecting someone to punch him in the face.

The events of today replay in my mind, the hit, running into Viking, Owen's arm pressed around my waist. He was just doing that to make Viking jealous, right? He wasn't serious, was he? Perhaps I'm just overthinking it. Perhaps. The car juts to a stop and we walk into the hospital, Owen's hand still entwined in mine.

Owen's eyes scan the reception room. Everything is white, the color of purity. Even the carpets and flooring, which is a bad design choice in my opinion. White makes everything stand out. Especially blood. I've tried scrubbing blood out of a white carpet. It's harder than it seems.

"Follow me, children." We follow a lady in a form fitting nurse's outfit down a glaringly white hall, peeking through the windows of the doors while Owen's mom is talking with the receptionist. In one room, a little girl with blonde pigtails is getting a checkup. In another, a guy hooked up to an IV. And in another room further down the hall, a long flat beep echoes down the hall.

Owen winces at the room the lady leads us to. He was never fond of going to the doctor at all. He hasn't been since the incident 3 years ago. It probably brings back many memories.

"I'll be back in a moment." The nurse leaves the room, leaving me alone with Owen. In the light of the fluorescent white light bulb, Owen's nose is a deep red, and his eyes are swollen. He takes a deep shaky breath, and looks into my eyes as he and I sit on the bench, while still squeezing my hand. I focus on my hand in his. It feels... natural. Is that normal? He follows my gaze and looks down, realizing that my hand is still entwined in his grip, and let's go, blushing a red that almost matches his nose. His arm finds his broken one and holds it gently.

"You okay?" I say, trying to break the silence. He raises his eyebrows at me.

"Does it look like I'm okay?" He laughs. I laugh, blushing.

"Sorry." He smiles at me with a gentle smile, like always. Should I ask him why he told Viking I was his girlfriend? My eyes find his gaze again, that brooding brown-eyed look he has about him all the time. His soft-gazing eyes put my hazel ones to shame. My breath catches in my throat as I try to form the question in my mouth. The eyes are a trap. "Do you mind if I ask you a question?" I avert my eyes from his and focus on his soft lips as they move silently in hesitation. The whirring of the machines fills the silence in between us.

"Not at all." He gently bites his lip, but smiles.

"Uh..." I try to look away, but I find his gaze again. What did you mean when you said I was your girlfriend? I open my mouth, but nothing comes out. It shouldn't be that hard, can it? It's just like the other times we've had conversations, but why does it feel different now?

"What is it?" He asks, leaning in closer, till our faces are only inches apart.

"What did you mean when you-" I stopped. His lips turn up at the corners, and then the nurse comes in, with a doctor following not far behind.

-

If he is the sun, then I am just a shy buttercup in the field of roses, basking in the great handsomeness of the sun, for he would never notice me. There are so many other prettier flowers in the field for him to give his light to, and I am drowning in a sea of roses and dahlias.

A rather significant passage in one of Radin's finer works. We're studying poems and metaphors in class today. Ms. Berkeley mostly chose romantic passages from The Radin Poems, which is rather boring in my opinion. Brook seems to be loving it though. Brook's eyes are glued to her paper, her smile widening with every passage. I look around the room, and my eyes fall on Owen, who slouches in his chair across the room. He drums on the table with his left wrist, his white sweater sleeves rolled up to his elbows, showing off his cast. He plays the drums in band, but since he broke his arm, he can't play and has to sit in the back. He glances up and makes eye contact with me and gently smiles. He has everyone around him signing his cast, not bothering to pay attention to the lesson. I don't blame him.

After class, I gather all my things, and I hear his chuckle from across the room. I look up, and he's walking towards me. My breathing slows, and my mouth is dry. It's been more than a couple days from our moment in the hospital, but why do I still feel the same way whenever I see him? Maybe I'm just having a stroke. He finally reaches me and stares at me straight in the eye, holding out a black sharpie.

"Sign my cast?" He says, a gentle grin wide on his face. Behind him his friends are giggling like little school girls. Owen furtively glances behind him, a soft pink filling his cheeks.

"Yeah," I take the sharpie from him and pop open the cap. I let the sharpie glide across Owen's firm cast, making an unpleasantly satisfying sound. I add a small heart at the end of my sign. I glance up at Owen, whose confident smile is replaced with a nervous one as he runs his hand through his fluffy hair.

"Are you going to the fair tonight?" He asks. Is he going to ask what I think he's going to ask?

"Yeah, of course." I smile. His cheeks flush a brighter pink as he smiles at his cast.

"Uh... would you consider maybe..." He looks me in the eye. "Coming with me?" He immediately averts his eyes to something other than me. I lean in closer with hesitance. He actually asked. My breath catches in my throat as I try to form some sort of response. My heartbeat quickens and I feel hot all over. Why do I feel this way?

"I'd like that."

He looks back at me, and a surprised smile forms on his face.

"I volunteered for the kissing booth at 5:30 though."

He bites his lip and runs his free hand through his hair.

"That's fine." He rubs his cast. "Pick you up at 5?" Ms. Berkeley coughs, as if trying to urge us out of the room so that we can get to our next class. I nod and smile wide. Owen's smile widens ear to ear, and he skids out of the classroom, his friends not far behind, falling all over themselves with giggles. I gather my books and look up to find Ms. Berkeley smiling at me.