Four – Oliver

Despite it being my usual, this time I'm not the one who's late, Calvin is. I wait on a leather couch and attempt to keep my eyes open. God, I'm sure I'm great company, because every time I've been with him these past few weeks, I've barely been able to stay awake. If I cut myself some slack, I am alive most of the time that we are together, especially if we're out in the car or walking around town. But I only seem to remember the times that I am brain dead, probably because I feel guilty.

My head drops down. Today is one of the days where I didn't have caffeine so my withdrawal is kicking my ass. I also didn't have a nap in sixth period like I usually would because I cannot stand maths anymore. My eyelids get heavy and I let out a deep exhale, the first sign that I'm going to fall asleep at any second so if I don't want to collapse on a couch for the whole library to witness, I should probably find something to do with myself. I pick up a magazine and try to focus on whatever it's trying to communicate. The cover alone would be enough to give me a headache. It can't decide if it wants to talk about a conspiracy on a famous Upper-class baby, the most recent scandalous show or rumours of a stalker. I know that I would prefer anything from the shelves over this horrible collection of articles on dramatic Upper-class celebrity break-ups and what not, but I don't think I have the energy to go get a book without face planting. I also know that I could literally just steal away to our little corner and fall asleep but I want to wait by the door so I can see if Calvin has shown up or not.

Since day dot, we've known that we probably won't know whether the other person can't make it or not until it's too late, but I blame class regulations for that. Domestic communications are blocked between the zones. The only way the two classes can message or call each other is a special plan that you have to trade an arm and a leg for which allows you to receive or send messages so long as one of the two are in the Middle. Otherwise, it's pointless. And I definitely don't have the money for that plan, so Calvin and I have to make do.

I flick through: scandal, scandal, scandal, advertisements, dieting, scandal, relationship advice that I'll never take, models. One magazine and I've seen everything. After a few more minutes of hopeless flicking I give up on the magazines and let my head flop back and rest against the couch. The sound of tires on gravel makes me turn my head to the side and I watch a stark white, handsome Mercedes roll into the park. And the equally as handsome Calvin Wood steps out and pushes through the library door, making his way over to me.

He looks different today. His hair is still slicked neatly to the side, but there is something new about him. That's when I noticed his clothes. He's wearing a white sweater and shorts, which seems a lot more casual compared to his normal expensive look. But that doesn't make him look any less of an Upper-class. You could probably dress him in rags and he'll still look like an Upper-class.

"Sorry, I got caught up," he says as he looks down at my lifeless blob, "You seem a little tired."

"If I can recount correctly, I don't believe you've seen me with energy," I smile at him.

"Well now that you say that I don't think I have."

We wind through the shelves to our little hide-away. I walk behind him so I can admire his new look without getting caught, something which he has been doing way too much recently to not raise questions. I'm just glad he hasn't raised questions. His figure looks a lot more relaxed in these clothes. His sweater isn't too tight, nor is it too loose. And his shorts are simple light khaki, that somehow make the entire outfit look effortless. Like I said, there's not much that he can do to take away his Upper-class look.

Calvin sits down with a long sigh.

I sit next to him and watch him with a cautious eye. He's not usually someone who gets frustrated. "You okay? You seem a little worked up."

"Oh, yeah, I'm fine." he answers and I raise a questioning eyebrow at him. If he thinks he can avoid this question with 'I'm fine', he has another thing coming for him. His head falls to the side and I meet his gaze with an expectant expression. "It's just my so-called friends. They stole my keys then cornered me trying to get me to tell them why I'm not answering their texts or going to their parties and what-not. It's stupid really but I just really can't stand them anymore.

"And that wasn't the worst of it, after I snatched my keys back and stormed off, my ex, if you could even call her that, was leaning against my car door trying to chat me up. She's been trying for months and just won't get the message."

Calvin looks over to me and his face drops once he realises what he just dumped on me. "I'm so sorry. I didn't mean to be so… you know."

I know what he means but I play dumb. "Open?" I say with a coy smile.

"Oliver," he scoffs, "come on, you know." He whacks me in the arm and I laugh. '

We stay quiet for a little bit, just so he can wind down a bit. I watch him, even if I shouldn't. Calvin stares out, scouting through the shelves, admiring the place and soaking in the ambience. It's nice to see.

"You can always rant to me, you know that right? I may have my own problems, but I can still listen."

He looks at me through the side of his eye, without moving his head. Something about the way he looks at me tells me he knows I have been watching him, but that might be the anxiety talking. Calvin's gaze softens and he smiles, kind of like his way of saying thank you.

He looks forward again. "Not trying to be mean or anything, but sometimes, I just want to hit my friends with a car."

What he said was so unexpected that I lost it. I fold over laughing. "Please don't hit them with your car, I would cry if it got dented," I manage through giggles.

"It would be a lot more than dented," he says.

"Jesus christ Calvin… how hard are you going to hit them?"

We both stare at each other, one smirking, the other slightly concerned. Then we burst out laughing again. Our laughter seemed so foreign in the usually quiet environment, so we tried to shush each other, and failed. We lent in close and tried to keep our laughter in but as soon as one laughed, the other generally followed suit.

When we finally calmed down, I realised just how uncomfortable my beanbag had become. I tried to shuffle myself to fix it, but the awkward weight distribution made me fall backwards, evidently causing more laughter.

It never seems to be boring around Calvin, not that I've been around him very long, but he's not the type of person who would let things be boring, even if I'm half asleep and he's reading. And the silence isn't usually that awkward, it's like we're just enjoying the fact that we're together. Or that's how I feel around him, I have no idea if he feels the same.

Once I'm securely back on the beanbag, I turn to face him and pick up conversation again, "People in Lower-class aren't much better."

"Is that why you say you don't really have friends?" Calvin asks.

"Well that, and because I'd rather not be friends with suicidal teens whose favourite pass-times include drugs they can't afford. I've already got enough on my plate."

He seems to mull over my answer, opens his mouth to say something, but then decides not to. Calvin changes his path of conversation, laying back next to me. "That sounds exactly like Upper-class, except they can afford anything and aren't afraid to show off about it."

I laugh, "Looks like class law didn't work that well after all."

"For two reasons," he says and I look up at him, clueless to the second reason. He gestures down at us, specifically focusing on the little space there is between us.

I scoff and shove him away.

A lady walks by us. She hesitates slightly then turns around and looks directly at Calvin and I. She has a preppy Upper-class look to her and looks a bit older than our parents would be, meaning she's probably a strong class law endorser. All people that age are. She pulls her bold, black sunglasses down and narrows her eyes, scrunching her nose at us. I can feel her scrutinising us. Calvin sits up and glares at her. I sink into the beanbag hiding my face in my hands. She gives us one last dirty look before walking away quickly.

Calvin and mumbles something under his breath, then he looks over at me. I don't look at him.

"I hate people like that. Privileged asshole thinks she can smother people with her opinion." He pauses and puts his hand on me. "Are you alright?"

I look at him and smile a fake smile, "It's fine. I'm used to the judgement."

"It's not fine, people shouldn't have the right to do that." He pulls me up on my lie and tries to soothe my anxiety. "Come on, are you really going to take that from her?"

"Are you suggesting there's going to be two dents in your car?"

He laughs lightly, "Maybe."

We watch each other but do nothing.

"I don't think she stuck around long enough to have details to report us." I say in an attempt to reassure myself more than anything, I know how much trouble I would be in if I got caught out with an Upper-class.

"You can have my sweater if you want. It might help with the weird looks we get," he suggests softly, "you know… spice you up more."

I'm confused. "Like to borrow?"

"No."

"No?"

"No," he repeats again, "you can keep it so you can wear it when we're out in public."

He wants me to have his sweater?

"Oh no, you don't have to do that. I don't need another sweater to fuel my addiction. And I wouldn't know what to do with it when I'm not with you." I try to push off his offer.

It obviously doesn't work.

The next thing I know he's grabbing the bottom of his sweater, and pulling it over his head. He has a plain black t-shirt underneath so I'm not worried. But in the process, that starts to come up as well, then the panic sets in. He has abs? I mean, the more you know, but also, it is really not helping my case today. I already know I'm on thin ice. I force myself to look away before I become too of a flustered mess.

"Here," he says as he pulls his shirt down.

He must have noticed I looked away because he's smirking slightly when he holds the sweater out to me.

"I don't need it." I say, sounding as convincing as I can without sounding mean.

"Oliver, it's a sweater, it won't hurt you."

I laugh, "I'm not that dumb."

"But you're stubborn."

"Exactly, that's why-"

He turns to face me on his beanbag, levelling me with a determined gaze. He's not going to give up quickly. "Put it on, just for now."

I took it from him.

"Don't you need it?" I unravel it and look at it. I almost laugh at the fact it's a Calvin Klein sweater and smile at him smugly, "Wearing your own merch, I see?"

He half laughs, half sighs, "That's what happens when all of your friends and family find it hilarious that there's a brand that has your name in it. Every birthday, Christmas or anything, I have to get something from Calvin Klein. Now, basically my entire closet is Calvin Klein. The end. But to answer your question: No. I really don't need it."

"Well, you can count on me not to join that trend," I joke.

"It's also a little small on me so I'm sure it'll fit you better."

I access the sweater. It looks new, really new… and clean. It's also a crew neck, which is practically the only sweater type I wear these days, except maybe the occasional hoodie. I don't own very many clothes that are white, but that's mainly because I'm too lazy to separate the colours when I wash them all. And the brand isn't obvious, there's only a small 'CK' embroidered into the fabric, so I should be able to wear it around the house without my parents, or more correctly, my mum interrogating me about where it came from.

I look up at him once again. "But I'm already wearing a sweater." This is the final excuse I have, so please work.

"Are you wearing anything under it?" Calvin asks. I shake my head softly and drop my gaze. "That's okay, just take that off and put mine on."

Smooth Calvin but do you really think I have the composure for that?

I groan, "Fine."

"I'll look away if you really want me to," he teases, turning around anyway and blocking anyone from seeing me.

I just roll my eyes.

There is no way I'm doing this. I never have the confidence for this. I turn my back to him to quickly strangle my current sweater off myself then pull Calvin's on. It easily slips over my shoulders. The neck of the sweater is a bit bigger than most that I wear so it exposes my collar bone, which I'm not exactly used to. I quickly attempt to fix it up.

"Seems a bit big." I say and then look at Calvin who turns back to face me. He looks flustered. A light red blush rests on his face.

He clears his throat, "It looks expensive on you."

"It is expensive," I pause to feel the fabric, "And soft."

He looks me up and down carefully while I pull at the fabric and fix it up, probably hoping I wouldn't notice, but sadly for my composure, I did.

"Thanks for this by the way," I say, only slightly embarrassed of how much of a sook I was being about it before, "If you ever need it back-"

"I won't", he smiles.

Now he's the one who's being stubborn.

I flop back onto my beanbag, using my sweater as a pillow. I cross my arms over my eyes to hide from the bright light pouring through the rafters.

Calvin nudges me. "It looks good on you."

I roll over and hide even more, tucking up into a ball. "Shut up."

A yawn brings my attention away from the happy swirl of chemicals I'm trying so hard to hide from Calvin's awareness. I stretch out and shut my eyes. I hear Calvin move but don't bother to open my eyes.

"Did you want some coffee, Coke, Pepsi or something else with caffeine in it to keep you awake?" He asks.

I open my eyes, "I'd have a Pepsi but I don't have money."

"Good choice, one Pepsi coming up." he walks off towards the front of the library.

"You don't have to do that…" No response. "Calvin?"

And he's gone.

When he comes back, he has a coffee in one hand and a can of Pepsi in the other. He smiles at me and holds out the Pepsi. I take it begrudgingly.

"You didn't have to," I say as I open the can, careful not to get any on the sweater.

"But I did, and besides, I don't mind spending money on people."

I laugh, "Clearly."

We sit there in silence, enjoying our drinks, until he notices me watching him sip at his coffee.

"Are you a coffee drinker?" He asks.

"Only crappy instant coffee. I don't usually buy coffee either; energy drinks are better."

"Have you had a coffee from the barista here?" Calvin questions and I shake my head. He gawks at me, "Really?" Then he holds out his cup, "Here. Try some."

"Stop trying to give me things," I tease, but he remains persistent. I put my Pepsi down and slowly took the cup from his hand, "Are you sure?"

He nods.

"Do you want me to take the lid off?" I ask just in case.

"It doesn't matter."

I look at the cup for a while then up to Calvin. He nods at me slowly. I hold it up to my mouth and take a careful sip.

It's not as bitter as I remember, and it's sweet, but not overpowering. It must be a mocha or special latte for sure. There's no way that this is just a regular coffee otherwise I've really been missing out. It's nice. Warm… creamy. Much better than Pepsi.

I get a little lost in the moment and almost completely forget that I'm drinking from Calvin's cup. The cup he was drinking from. He's definitely setting me up for disaster and I cannot tell if he's doing it deliberately. Why am I such a mess for him? The warmth from the coffee is then recreated by my face, which I can imagine, is nearing bright pink. So, I take action, swiftly giving Calvin his drink back, and then I wipe my mouth with my hand (and not the sweater), making a solid attempt to suppress or hide the warmth in my cheeks.

God... I really am a mess.

Calvin looks at me, "So? How was it?"

"If I tell you the honest truth you're probably going to try and give it to me or something like the selfless prick you are, so I'll just say it was very good," I say from behind my hand before slouching into my beanbag.

He laughs, "Can I just ask you what in the world would keep you from the luxury of coffee?"

"Mainly my mum, because she always gets annoyed when I 'waste her money'," I say.

He thinks it over then nods, "What is your mum like?" I tense up and he notices, "Sorry, I know that's probably a bit personal"

"No." I sit up a little too fast and my head spins. "It's just… She's…" I don't know where to start. "We don't get along."

Unsure of what to say, Calvin just listens.

I know I've mentioned slight things about my mum to him before, but I usually stop myself from saying too much. People don't exactly know how to react to the words 'abusive mother' so I don't really say them anymore. But now, I find myself opening up to Calvin more and more. So, even though I really don't like dumping my feelings onto people, I tell him the basic idea of what my mother and I are like.

Calvin really does make me feel like I can tell him anything, and it's so nice to have someone to rely on, but I decide to stop myself. Maybe I should change the topic.

I sigh, "Sorry, this is probably really depressing for you-"

Calvin interrupts me, "No way. I'd listen to whatever you had to say. Like how you listened to me complain about my friends."

I smile apologetically, "But I don't want to be a burden-"

He shushes me comically, lifting the mood a little, "You know there's really no reason for you to live under the impression that you are a burden, right? I mean, if you never talked about it, it would be worse than telling someone everything," he pauses briefly, "and besides, how could you be a burden if I would willingly give you anything?"

His words seem to linger in the air while I recover from the shock of them. What Calvin said took me by surprise because that's honestly the most thoughtful thing anyone's ever said to me. The sweetest even. I'll admit it is kind of weird to tell Calvin about all of this and actually have him listen to me, because he's almost like a lovely stranger to me. Although I guess I have known him for a few weeks. I feel like I should have known him so much longer. But I'm just glad to finally have someone to talk to.

After a while, we started talking again. He goes out of his way to make me laugh and take my mind off things, even if that's kind of his usual. It works anyway, and it's not until he's driven me to the train station that I realise I was even sad.

I stand there watching him through his car window. This is when we say our routine goodbyes but I really don't want to. I want to spend more time with him… be closer to him. But I should be getting home.

"Goodbye Calvin Wood," I say with a horrible, rich British accent.

He rolls his eyes at me but laughs, "Goodbye Oliver Night."

Right now, I want nothing more than to hug him and thank him for everything, but I don't. I watch him pull out of the waiting bay and speed off down the road, out into the darkening sky. Then, reluctantly make my way into the station.

I drop down on a bench and pull the collar of Calvin's sweater over my nose. It smells like him. I let myself sink into my seat, lost in the thought of him.