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Jules gets confused over many things, like why Max has to bounce his leg whenever he’s sitting down or why the lady that cleans his room refuses to learn English even though she’s in America. He can’t reason why Wyatt always has his hands in his pockets or why people wear glasses without the lenses inside. And he never expects to understand why Julia insists on hosting charity events for random birds or why people like to watch scary movies knowing they’re going to crap their pants.

These things he will just never comprehend, his genius intelligence aside, these things just don’t make any sense, and he’s come to accept it.

Even though, there’s one thing that always leaves him the most baffled, and that thing is a person. And that person is Olimpia.

God, how the fuck does that girl’s mind work?

He’s leaning against his locker, waiting for Wyatt to appear in the swarm of faces. His foot tapping, impatient, and his arms crossed over his chest. Max had already rushed to class, the excuse of his teacher eating him alive if he’s late one more time off his lips. People with names that he can’t remember smile and nod in his direction, and he returns the gestures absently, chewing on the inside of his cheek.

Sometimes he wonders if he’s even held a conversation with most of these people.

Olimpia emerges from the crowd with a grin, his name forming from her mouth. He looks up and quirks an eyebrow.

“Yeah?” he asks cautiously. He’s learned that she is not a force to be reckoned with, and she could easily rip off his balls while proclaiming her un-denying love for him if she felt the need.

And he wouldn’t find this surprising at all.

She laughs a little, for no reason he can find, and plants a light kiss on his lips.

Jules uncrosses his arms and straightens out, jerking his head back and banging it against the locker. Cursing, he rubs the back of his head, eyeing her suspiciously.

“What the hell are you doing?”

“Just giving you a good morning,” she replies, winking, before walking away.

For a moment he watches her retreating figure, blank face the opposite of the emotions raging inside. His head turns to the left as he brings his fingers up, hovering in front of his lips.

Did she just actually…?

Immediately after this though his gaze darts across the hall, wondering if anyone has just seen what happened. He doesn’t know if he could explain it to them if they did, and he knows that there would be more than enough questions, because he’s still trying to figure out this himself. Thankfully, everyone appears oblivious, and he sighs.

This turns into a groan and he bangs his forehead on his locker, again and again. His mind winds back to the other day when Olimpia had somehow convinced herself that he’s madly in love with her, but he’s tortured by some nonexistent past and can’t show it. As if that makes any realistic sense at all, the girl watches too many movies most likely. And now it’s backfiring on him, of course.

Jules wonders if he’ll actually ever get to Olimpia, and if she’ll ever realize the reality right in front of her.

He shivers. She probably thinks she’s doing him a favour.

Only to him, really, she couldn’t latch herself onto some other poor guy with really nice hair. For all he knows, she probably climbs into his room at night and watches her sleep. She could’ve have raped him, without him even knowing it…

Jules is a deep sleeper too. His head meets the metal once again. He doesn’t even know if he should call the police.

“I would hold onto the small amount of brain cells you already have,” Wyatt’s voice pierces through Jules’s mind.

He looks up to see the familiar boy with an eyebrow raised, hands stuffed into the pockets of the school sweater and his backpack hanging off one of his shoulders. Really, Wyatt’s tough, he should be a body guard of some sort. Jules even doubted he slept anyways. Couldn’t this boy be good for anything?

“Why must I be so adorable?” Jules moans, pressing his palm against his chest as they set off to class.

“I knew you should’ve held onto the last of your brain cells.”

He thinks he’s so witty, that Wyatt.

“Ah,” Jules hums. “Is that jealousy I hear?”

“Is that your face meeting the locker I hear?”

Wyatt nudges him with his elbow and Jules pushes him back, almost forcing him to collide with a petite blonde girl. He grins victoriously as Wyatt only glares at him.

“Now that we’ve got that out of the way, I’ve got a proposition for you. Say, you don’t sleep, do you?”

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Never in his life would Jules think he’d actually ever look for Victor, finding most of the time he avoids him at all costs and spends the majority of his time making sure he’s no where near the boy.

If someone had told him that in the near future he’d be consciously searching for the boy, well, he probably would have laughed in their face at the sheer stupidity. And yet, here he is, the roles reversed as he tears through the halls, eyes narrowed and lips pressed tightly in a line.

A couple people seem concerned as he asks if they’ve seen Victor, or more demands. Most people shake their head no; they actually haven’t seen him in a while. There isn’t anyone he consistently hangs around for Jules to find and so he’s left searching in every space they’ve ever exchanged conversation.

Which is actually a lot more places than Jules first thought. It seems the only consistency in Victor’s life is being a prick.

Three days, since that little note on the board, it’s been three days. At first when he read the words, Jules panicked, searching across the room for any hint on someone’s face to confirm that it was meant for him. In the pit of his stomach he knew that it was though, he couldn’t explain why but really, why else would someone write that?

He found nothing, that was, until Victor waved in his direction with that shit-eating grin of his. Jules knew, with ever inch of his being he was positive that it was just another way of Victor to toy with him.

Another little part in his sick little game except it’s like he’s not even a part of it, everyone else is. He just sits on top of his throne and plays with everyone like little marionettes.

Jules doesn’t even know if he’s told anyone, he can’t even imagine what would happen if word broke out about his less-than-lawful attraction to Taylor. What would the people say, or worse, what would his father say? He can’t even imagine how he would take such tainting on his image.

He’s going to kill Victor.

Except he isn’t able to do this as Victor has vanished after that class, those skinny little legs of his have taken him somewhere far, far away and out of Jules’s grasp.

No matter, the blond decides that the next time he sees him he’s going to lunge at his throat and wring it until he gives everything up. Until he promises that he knows nothing, or at least buries his knowledge deep down to the forgotten chambers of his mind.

It sounds like the most perfect plan, and it had put him in complete ease. Of course, Taylor has been off at her dance practices and the two have hardly said a word, but he’s not the least bit apprehensive if something does develop. Soon, though, he knows. And no one’s going to find out.

Except that Victor has been oddly absent. The little bastard, he knows that Jules is going to skin him alive and he’s running like a little pussy. Well, not today he isn’t. He can miss his first period all he wants, but Jules is determined to find him, and as he breaks through the doors into the courtyard he scrutinizes his surroundings.

Finally, he finds him, leaning against the brick wall on the side of the school. Not a soul is in sight and it’s disturbingly quiet. No birds chirp or breezes whistle by. They must know Victor’s here.

He smirks as he sees Jules advancing towards him, and brings the cigarette burning between his fingertips to his mouth. The wisps of smoke bleed past his lips as he waves the nicotine in the air as a greeting.

“Hey Jules, haven’t seen you in a while,” he says, amusement tied into his voice.

Jules glares. “Where the hell you’ve been hiding?”

“Oh.” He thinks for a moment. “I’ve been terribly sick with a cough.”

He turns his head to the side and forces a cough into his hand, the one pouring with smoke. His lips are twisted into that grin, though, the one that makes the Jules’ blood boil beneath his skin.

Sick his ass.

Before he can really comprehend his actions, his fingers are wrapped around Victor’s throat and the boy’s pulled up against the wall. His other hand is pulled backward, forming into a fist. Jules seethes.

Victor barely seems to be caught off guard in the slightest as the cigarette drops from his grasp, falling onto the concrete underneath them.

“And I always thought it was Wyatt with the temper,” he chokes out with a grin, coughing as he pants for air.

“What the hell do you want?” he asks, grip tightening on the boy’s neck.

“Whatever do you mean?” Victor shrugs as much as he can and raises his hands in question, taking a deep breath, eyebrows knitting together.

Jules can’t stand it, the silent undertone to his words, the little hints hiding behind his voice. The innocent little act he plays, as if he’s as oblivious as everyone else, as if he’s normal.

Finally he lets go, retracting his hand and allowing Victor to fall to the ground. He does so, his hacking polluting the air as he crouches and tries to regain a steady breath.

“I know you wrote that crap on the board.” He tries to sound firm, threatening, but somehow he knows that Victor’s aware of the slight break in his voice.

He doesn’t know what he’d do if Victor told anyone. And that scares the shit out of him.

“I know? Oh, what do I know then, Jules? What is the knowledge I hold about you?” he forces out through a pause in his coughs. The blond can almost hear the smile in his voice, the delight formed thick around his words.

“You little bitch,” he spits.

Jules grits his teeth and pulls his fist back; digging his nails into his palm, he brings it down. He can almost hear the crack of his knuckles against the boy’s scalp, the satisfaction is on the tip of his tongue.

Inches away from Victor’s head, a hand wraps around his wrist, stopping the punch in mid-air. Confused he rips his arms from the grip and curses.

“Now, now,” Victor begins as he turns and straightens out, his voice steady and not even hinting that moments before he was gasping for oxygen. He appears completely unperturbed. “Let’s not be hasty.” He brushes off his pants.

“Just keep your mouth shut, alright?” Jules turns his back, fists still tight at his sides as he stalks off.

He doesn’t know if he’s lost or won but it’s always like this with Victor, and all he can do is hope that he likes playing their little game too much to cut it short and spill. It’s all he can do, and it pisses him off, but it’s true.

For the rest of the day he goes home, not bothering to tell anyone except for Kevin who drives him home. Jules doesn’t feel up to droning through another class, and needs to keep himself entertained to get his mind off of that stupid chalk board.

He finds comfort in the television, specifically the movie channels. By the time night falls, he’s already ordered four movies, three of which were worth it. He knows that his dad won’t care for the bill, though, so he doesn’t mind. He can faintly remember Julia fluttering past, telling him that dinner’s ready, but he brought that into the living room and ate alone.

Victor has also been delightfully absent from his mind, and as he climbs into this bed he’s actually feeling quite satisfied. Tomorrow and how he’ll deal with it is far off as the only bridge he has to cross is getting to sleep, which is easy enough as he can already feel his senses shut down.

He barely hears the rapping on his door; only the second time does the sound actually register in his mind. Stirring from his bed, through half-lidded eyes he’s able to make out a figure in the darkness with the door clicking to a shut.

“What?” he murmurs, voice layered with sleep.

“It’s me,” a voice says and he can tell its Taylor. Knowing this, he falls back onto his mattress with a lazy smile spread across his face.

“Mhmm?”

“I can’t sleep,” she admits, toying with the sleeves of her shirt.

He hums and waves her over, ripping the sheets off him and patting the spot beside him. Taylor doesn’t hesitate as she slips under the covers, turning towards him and resting her head on his shoulder.

“How was your day?” she asks, and he can feel her breath wash over his neck.

If it were anyone else disturbing his sleep, he would’ve thrown some harsh profanities their way and swat at their presence until it left, but with her it’s different. She’s the only one he knows that actually cares about how his day went, and so she’s the only one he actually tells.

“Some kid was being an ass and I almost hit him.”

“But you didn’t?”

“No, I didn’t.”

She lets out a light laugh and continues to draw swirls on his chest. “I’m proud of you.”

He smiles at her words, giving her a gentle squeeze. “And yourself?”

“You know, the usual,” she sighs. “Just dance.”

And then everything is silent, but it’s comfortable, and all that’s heard is their steady breathing. Jules doesn’t know what he’d do without these moments, and he doesn’t even want to think about what would happen if they were torn from him.

But in this moment he doesn’t have to think about anything except for sleeping. He’ll cross those bridges when he comes to them.