Charcoal Hearts

"You're staring," Jace sing-songed, leaning back on the bench with his hands behind his head, blonde hair catching the afternoon light exactly like the insufferable main-character energy he radiated.

"I am not," Chris hissed, whipping his head around so fast his red hair slapped his cheek. He was definitely staring.

Jace's grin could've powered the campus. "You absolutely are. Go talk to him."

"Shut up-"

"His brother's not even here. Viv's watching him today, and Viv's basically a golden retriever in human form. He won't bite your head off."

Christian's fingers tightened around the strap of his messenger bag. He could feel his carefully constructed goth composure crumbling like cheap eyeliner. "I don't have a reason to talk to him. He's drawing. People hate being interrupted when they're drawing."

"So bring him a reason." Jace nodded toward the coffee shop across the quad. "Hot chocolate. Artists run on hot chocolate and trauma. It's basically a law."

Chris opened his mouth to argue, but his brain had already short-circuited. Angel. Silver eyes that looked like moonlight on a blade. That mess of black hair that probably felt like silk if you ran your fingers through it-not that Christian had thought about that. Much.

Across the grass, Vivine chose that exact moment to look up from his phone, his white hair practically glowing in the sun, silver-blue eyes scanning the area with the kind of protective vigilance that made him look more like a guardian angel than a babysitter. He caught Christian's gaze, smiled beatifically, and gave a small, encouraging wave.

Christian wanted to die.

"I hate you," he muttered to Jace.

"I know," Jace said happily. "Now go before I do it for you, and I promise my opening line will be infinitely more embarrassing."

Chris stood up. His combat boots felt like they were filled with cement.

Just a reason, he thought, clutching his bag like a shield. One stupid reason to talk to the boy under the tree.

He started walking.