The Class Prince

by I.J Hidee

This place could burn to hell and I’d still sleep like a baby."

The sunlight that slanted through the windows kissed his cheeks, illuminating his defined features. He was asleep, so I took the opportunity to study his face. My eyes lingered on his thick brows before descending to his dark lashes that rested over the dark circles beneath his eyes. He had flawless, ivory skin, and high cheekbones. The closest word that could describe him — and even then, the adjective felt lacking — was beautiful.

My heart fluttered when his gaze met mine, and a playful smirk pulled on his lips as if he had known that I had been admiring him, which in turn caused that all-too-familiar warmth to rise to my face.

“Back off, hoes,”

“To quote our king Harry Styles, ‘we’re all a little bit gay.’ Oh, but don’t worry, I only date tops.” Tops? What ethnicity was that?

"I’m not talking about your summer baths with your rubber duckies, boy.”

"Desmond, can't you be more like your older brother?" he sighed.

"No, but I do have an ear disease that makes it hard for me to hear bullshit.”

Do you see it, you good-for-nothing twat-faced bimbo?

Rick’s nose flared so wide, I thought I was going to get sucked into his nostrils.

I’d have to do was breathe, eat, shit, and live.

“Why can’t you love me for who I am? Why is it always about Arthur? Why does it always, always, have to be about him? What about Desmond? Your youngest son? What about me?”

"Either you get on my back, or I’ll carry you bridal-style; your choice."

Oh, hoe, you did not just admit that you enjoyed sniffing a dude.

Great, not only did I have to spend the night at Ivan’s place, but I also had to spend it with him alone.

It was the first time he had said my name, and I suddenly wished that he’d say it more often.

It wasn’t like I stared at his face while he was asleep in class. No, that would be creepy. I studied his features for educational purposes, wondering how someone could have such vivid eyes like he did. I also liked his lips. They were looked soft, like cotton candy, and I wondered what they’d tasted like...

Why was I sniffing his clothes like I was obsessed with him?

Why were my toes so ugly?

“I shouldn’t have called you a twat-faced bimbo yesterday,” I mumbled. “I suck at apologies, so, unfuck you or whatever.”

No, ofc not! I hardly even know him! Besides, I'm straight. Trevor: And I’m Batman.

(And the Class Prince, wink wonk).

I wasn't stupid; I just wasn't good at math. There was a difference.

“I’m only here because getting an abortion goes against my mother’s moral code.”

“I’m sleeping on the couch, aren’t I?” I said, pushing away my inner thoughts. "No, you're sleeping with me." "What?” “You, me, bed." Ivan pointed at me, then himself, and finally to his bed.

“What are you doing?” I heard him sigh. “Building a wall.” “Who are you? Donald Trump?” he snorted.

"Ivan?" I croaked. “Are you asleep?" "Yes." "Your arm,” I said stiffly. “It's around my waist." His arm had found its way around my torso, and the only response I received was his head against the nape of my neck. His hair tickled my skin, and the warmth of his breath sent goosebumps down my spine. I tried to squirm away, but he refused to let me go, pressing my back against his broad chest to keep me close. “Ever heard of personal space?” I hissed, the warmth of his body driving me crazy. “Never.” "Ivan, you're too close.” "You're too far," he whispered, tightening his grip around me. I felt his warm hands slip up my shirt, his fingers tracing up my abs.

"You feel like home."

I said, and I told them everything that had happened, skipping the part where he and I cuddled in bed, and the part where I may have liked it.

“Who hurt you, child?” I pouted, putting my hand over his. Of course, it was only a playful gesture of fake compassion, but Ivan looked down at our hands and I realized how awkward it was. I was about to pull away, but he raised his fingers and threaded them between mine.

Unknown number: Are you home? Me: Stranger danger rule number one, don't talk to strangers. Unknown number: Strangers don't cuddle in bed.

“Relax, Des, I’m not going to kiss you.” There was a pause. “Unless you want me to, of course.”

“Why do we feel? All we do is get hurt. We hurt because we feel. Why do we do that to ourselves?”

“I’m in love with my best friend,”

"You don't mess with someone's feelings like that! You don't cuddle with them in bed, you don't call them to say that you miss them, and you don’t kiss them! Why didn't you tell me you had a girlfriend? If I knew, I wouldn't have…I wouldn't have..."

"I wouldn't have fallen for you, damn it!" I shouted furiously. I tried to convince him and myself that he had manipulated me into liking him, but we both knew that that wasn't true. I knew the very moment my eyes laid upon him that something inside me had shifted as if a sudden revelation had surfaced inside of me. Before we had even spoken a word to each other, I was obsessed with every detail of his body, the finesse of every curve that defined him, the traces that molded him. I observed him from close and afar, awake or asleep, he consumed my thoughts. When I saw him, I thought to myself — I had never known the true meaning of beauty until him.

“Des," he sighed in frustration. "I was never messing with you. Everything I said and did was genuine. I hugged you in bed because I liked you, I called you because I missed you, and I kissed you because I felt like I’d lose my mind if I didn’t.”

"NO, SIR, I WOULD BE HONORED TO BE YOUR MOTHER!"

"I want you to be honest, you prick! I want you to tell me that you were worried sick you couldn't sleep at night, that you missed me and that it killed you not to answer my calls or texts, that you spent hours thinking about me and missing me!” I shouted, pushing his chest, shoving him back, desperate to get any other reaction than the rigid expression plastered on his face. "Why can’t you be honest with me?” "Because you're going to hurt!" He shouted back, looking at me with pain in his eyes. His voice faltered into a whisper. “And I don't want you to get hurt, Des. You were right about me, I'm an arrogant, manipulative, deceiving jerk, it's who I am." "And despite it all, I still love you!" Ivan’s jaw ticked and he took a step back, shaking his head. "Don't," he choked. "Don't what? Love you? It's already too late, dumbass!”

“Everything you said and did was a lie, wasn't it? You saved me from Rick’s gang because I was Arthur’s little brother. You carried me home and took care of my injuries because I was related to him, and you didn't tutor me because you knew how hard I tried, that was all bullshit! Nothing you did was genuine, none of it was for my sake," I spat in disgust, my face contorting with anger. "You did it all for Arthur." “No-” “Like hell it isn’t! I was a replacement and you know it!”

"YOU. ARE. ENOUGH,"

He was wearing a bold, red sweater with the word 'Xaddy' knitted in green.

“Had, Desmond, I had feelings for him. It was all in the past. I meant it when I said that he and I were nothing but history. Do you want to know the real reason to why I agreed on helping you? It’s because I felt indebted to him. He was there for me when I had no one; even if you can’t understand that, he was all I had and that’s something that neither you nor I can ever change. But falling in love with you? That has nothing to do with him."

"How could you be a replacement when you two are so different? You’re nothing like him. The way you act, the way you think, the way you speak, everything, but despite it all, I fell in love with you. I like how you blush whenever you're flustered, how your voice quickens when you're excited, how your eyes brighten when you're happy, how you stand up for yourself and don’t take shit from anyone, how you can be stubborn sometimes. Yeah, that’s right, I even like how frustratingly stubborn you are! You’re so stubborn that you pick fights with people you can't win against. What kind of idiot does that?!"