"Some things we don't talk about, rather do without and just hold a smile. I will be your guardian when all is crumbling, I'll steady your hand." —The Fray.

••

Being a girl, it is always necessary to have an extra pair of underwear in your possession. It'd be convenient for a rainy day, and today was in fact, a rainy day. Pun not intended.

I exit the bathroom and gently shut the door behind me. My hair is still damp from the shower, and I somehow managed to knot it into a quick messy bun, a few wet strays dangling at the sides of my face.

The aroma of cheese and hot noodles can be smelt from upstairs, and my stomach immediately rumbles with appetite. However, as I am about to head back down the staircase, my attention drifts to Blaze's room door which is partially opened.

The night of the party flashes before me, and I mince over and push it gently to the side, entering and looking around the meticulously organized space. His bed brings back fuzzy memories of when I had laid in it that night, and the mat we sat on when he had kissed me causes my face to tinge red all over again. I will never forget the events of that night; they will probably stay with me for a lifetime.

My eyes shift to a half-opened white box on the floor beside his bed, sheets of papers poking out of it, one of which has a crayon-colored drawing. My curiosity looms, and my feet gently thuds against the floor as I make my way over, bending down and uncovering the lid.

I discover that the carton holds a few art pieces, and they seem to have been drawn by a kid. Could they be Blaze's?

I take up the first one that pulls my attention—a drawing of a little boy; half of his face is crying while the other half is wearing a faint smirk. It brings my thoughts back to the Naruto depiction I had seen in English class, and I wonder if this is an actual portrait of himself. He seems to have a liking for creepy images with contrasting emotions.

There is a caption at the bottom, inexpertly written with black crayon, and I squint my eyes to make the words out.

Save Me From Myself.

I narrow my eyes. If Blaze did draw this at a young age, how on earth could a child come up with such a profound phrase? And more importantly, why does he need saving from himself?

I tilt my head to the side in thought, the statement and illustrations bothering me deeply. It seems he's portraying his emotions through his art.

Another intriguing sketch steals my interest, and I take it up to have a closer inspection. It's of a woman drawn with blue crayon, yellow, scribbly lines of what could be tears streaming down her face, and she's holding what appears to be a gun to her temple.

Realization dawns on me as my eyebrows furrow inquisitively. Is this Blaze's Mother?

"Harmony!"

I jolt at his voice, quickly putting everything back into the carton and sliding it under his bed. I get up hastily, grimacing when I almost injure my spine. I utter a whispered moan before blowing my lips out and leaving his room.

Luckily, he was calling me from the kitchen, and I scurry down the glass staircase, trying not to seem as if I was just prying on his personal belongings.

"You were calling for me?"

"Yeah, I thought you fell asleep in the shower. We should hurry if you want to be back at school by 4:30."

My eyes grace the two plates of cheesy pasta sitting on the marble-tiled counter, and I am impressed. It looks good, and it smells good. Well, at least I know now that Blaze can handle a little heat. That's one pointer I should probably jot down.

I prop my elbows onto the table, resembling a kid whose face brightens at the sight of new toys.

"You seem to use your hands well. It smells good." I beam brightly, the small dimples in my cheeks showcasing themselves.

Blaze stares at my child-like expression for a while with a faint smirk on his mouth, and my grin is still in place as I raise a quizzical brow.

"What?"

He says nothing to my question and instead, begins to move around the table. My expression is now morphed into one of confusion as he comes up behind me, putting his palms on both sides of me on the counter and barring me into the cage of his torso. Then I feel as he presses himself hard against me, and a soft gasp falls from my lips as the color spreads across my face.

Wh-what is he doing?

My smile has now faded into a nervous line as he nestles his face into the side of my neck, causing my body to liquefy against him.

"Of course I use my hands well. I gave you an orgasm whilst you were still wearing clothes."

My pulse races at the silvery pitch of his voice and I am suddenly unable to breathe properly. He sweeps away the wet strands of hair sticking to my flushed neck and my stomach leaps as he kisses my nape, his lips cool and wet against my already moist skin. His hands come up to grip my arms and then I feel as he presses himself harder into me.

I hold my breath. "Blaze."

"Mm?"

"I-I think that we-we should eat." I pinch my eyes close at the hard feel of his nature poking against my lower back.

He's being sexual again, and we are the only ones here in his house. It's not something my heart can handle.

My body is now quivering from anxiety, and I know he realizes this since my arms are shuddering under his grasp.

I feel him smile against my skin.

"Okay, let's eat," he whispers, and with that he moves away and returns to the other side of the table, leaving me almost breathless.

I grip the counter weak-kneed and gather my senses, climbing up onto one of the grey stools and reaching for the fork on my plate. I try to forget our sudden closeness just now and focus on the pasta as I swirl portions of the cheesy food onto my fork.

The minute my tastebuds go to work, I am rendered speechless. It tastes like heaven; not too salty and not too fresh, just the right amount of flavorings. Who would have thought that he could prepare something this delicious? I guess the saying 'never judge a book by its cover' is befitting for this circumstance. It's gratifying to discover something new about Blaze, and something tells me there are plenty of other surprises where he is concerned.

I beam between chewing my food, jerking him a thumbs up. "It's amazing!"

He smiles at this, putting portions of his own into his mouth.

"We should watch a movie while we eat," I suggest, and he nods his head.

"Yeah. That's what we were here for anyway," he agrees while he pours orange juice from a jug into two glasses.

We take our food to his couch and I sit down and coil my legs beneath me, not wasting a second to eat more of the meal. He sets his plate on the couch next to him and reaches for his remote, switching his TV on and beginning to skim through Netflix.

"What's your choice in movies?" He asks.

I shrug. "Um...romance."

"Shit no, I can't watch romance." He laughs.

I make a face, my jaws filled with food. "Why?"

"Come on, romance?" He shakes his head. "It's so fake."

I narrow my eyes, suddenly finding this conversation a lot more interesting than the plate of pasta sitting on my lap. "What's fake about it?"

"Two people, meet each other, fall in love, have sex then break up, then they make-up and live happily ever after. That's fake. I am sure that few years down the line, the guy is probably going to bang some random girl or the girl is going to cheat with some phony ass dude and then they break up for good and live their lives like they didn't exchange genitals inside each other."

"Well, it's called a movie for a reason Blaze. When the roll credits go up, the story ends."

"I know that, but I am saying that to say that producers and directors of romance films are deceiving the public. They make you think love is lasting or real. Love is a facade," he states simply. "People act like they love someone just so they can either have sex with them, gain their money, or some other fucked up shit."

I stare at him. Is that how he views the world? Does he not believe in love then? I am scared to know the answer so it'd be better not to ask. For normal girls, that'd be a bright red flag, a reason to keep their distance, but for someone with a pathetic need to see the good in people, I am still sitting here.

I have no idea what magnet this guy put on me. I just can't leave him alone.

"Okay," I say, twirling some of the pasta onto my fork. "Well, we don't have to watch a romance movie then."

"No, we can if you want to."

"No, I don't want to."

He narrows his eyes. "Are you sure?"

I nod. "Yeah, we should choose something else..."

He sighs and lays his head against the couch, idly fiddling with the end of my dress. "Did I turn you off from it?"

I shake my head, swirling my fork in the noodles but refusing to look at him. My eyes are too vulnerable at this moment, revealing things I'd prefer him not to see. "No, we can watch something else. I'm not feeling the romance vibe either."

"Okay, um..." He sits up and narrows his eyes at the screen. "How about Saw?"

I stiffen, finally look up at him. "Isn't that like, a horror movie?"

"It's more of a thriller movie, but it's not that bad. If you don't want to watch it we can choose something el—"

"No, let's see what it's like."

I absolutely hate horror and thriller movies.

"Are you sure, green eyes?" He's smiling at me, perhaps sensing my fearfulness, and I try to appear unfazed, shrugging my shoulders.

"Yes. I am sure. Let's see what it's like."

"Okay..." He nods his head, biting his lip to stop his smile from getting wider. Amusement is glistening in his eyes, and I begin to dread what is to come.

He clicks on the movie and it loads up while I stuff my mouth with noodles.

I think I will manage this. It can't be that bad right?

••

"Oh my God, skip that part!" I press my palms over my eyes, steering my head away from the screen and behind Blaze's shoulder as the terrified screams of the characters ring throughout the room.

Why did I ever agree to watch this with him?

While I am curling into a ball of terror, Blaze is perfectly fine next to me. He's laughing while filling his mouth with noodles and I am beyond flabbergasted. What is the humor in a thriller movie? Am I missing something?

"Now this is better!" He says with a grin. "This is a whole lot better than two people pretending to love each other on-screen. This is the real stuff!" He chuckles.

"Are you seriously laughing at a man torturing and cutting people to threads?" I position my palm at the corner of my eyes, looking up at the wide simper on his face.

He titters as he puts more pasta into his mouth, chewing away. How he manages to eat while watching gore is beyond me.

"Yeah, I mean they are the stupid ones to get caught in the trap of a man with a clown-looking face. Like, look at that blonde girl, she's sitting there crying when she clearly had the chance to run away. Damn, that's stupid, I hope he kills her first."

I gape. Is he serious?

"You are unbelievable," I mutter to myself.

A loud cry from the movie causes me to cringe as I bury my face between his back and the couch, feeling his body vibrates as he chuckles yet again.

I feel like I am actually missing out on something amusing, and so I take a chance and peek through my fingers, but then immediately regret it when I see nothing but pure blood.

I try not to gag. I can't eat any more of my noodles, not when people are being slaughtered on the screen in front of me. I rest the bowl onto the coffee table and Blaze glances at it before looking over at me. "You want that?"

"No, I can't watch that while eating, Blaze." I frown.

"Oh well thanks, more for me." He sends me a smile, lifting my plate and emptying the contents into his bowl, but not taking his eyes off the screen as if he doesn't want to miss a thing.

Wow. I have never met a person who finds amusement in a bunch of people getting tortured.

"I can't watch this."

I get up from my seat, and he quickly grips my arm with a throaty giggle, pulling me back toward him. "No hey sit back down, I like watching it with you."

"But I don't like it, Blaze." I cross my arms, and he smiles.

"Okay. Just don't look, alright? Come here." He pulls me down gently and I slide closer to him, keeping my gaze away from the movie.

"Sit with your back to the TV." He tells me. I turn around and coil my legs beneath me, and he puts his hand on my right cheek and guides my head down onto his shoulder.

"See? You can't see anything now," he whispers against my hair, and my lips spread into a soft smile.

I listen to his steady breathing while inhaling the fresh smell of him which is a fragrance I have grown to adore so much. It isn't cologne but a scent that only he has. It's natural and immaculate.

He's back to laughing again while he finishes my noodles and listening to his throaty chuckles is far more interesting than watching a movie.

~

"You're dancing around on my mind every second. I'm under control till you're in front of me. Maybe I'm scared, I don't care, I'm addicted." —James Bay.

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