The Casanova's Class Clown

Chap. 14: Strictly Platonic

STRICTLY PLATONIC...

Emma was excused from work, but she was having none of it.

After getting over her medial shock to the incident, Oliver had escorted her to Fluorescent for her to speak with Michelle. The heartthrob had informed her that she would most probably be excused from work after the incident, and she threw a fit that could make a toddler's tantrum seem mild about it. She was getting paid for the week and she was going to earn the money fair and square. No argument.

And when she was like that, everyone knew she was going to put up a fight that was better off being lost, and her moirail knew those facts better than anyone else, and conceded for her to meet with the Heir. Kat didn't tag along, Emma coaxing her to keep doing her usual activity of reading the rest of the afternoon away, and Aaron went off to tend to, and Emma quoted, "more important matters."

She promised to never bother talking to him again after he exited the clinic.

Now she sat on Michelle's favorite couch, waiting for the prep's and her manager's entry to give her the final verdict.

What would it be though? Surely Michelle would look upon her hardheadedness in admiration. The Heirs always respected those who go down fighting, but Emma had no intention of going down. Come what may, she was going to work and deserve her pay.

She had an entire debate starter ready in her mind when Oliver, Michelle, and Aiden came out of the manager's office respectively.

What made her entire essay blow out of her head was the fact that Oliver was wearing an apron.

"Wha..."

Aiden cut her off with a raise of his palm, then gestured respectfully toward Oliver. "If you are going to insist on working, then fine. But not without proper supervision."

"N-no way..." She looked from Aiden to Oliver to Michelle then back. "Y-you told them?" She asked dumbfounded toward her moirail.

Oliver ignored Aiden's and Michelle's brows of inquisition, and decided to change the topic. "Emma, I'm sure you know how serious your case is right now."

Emma didn't understand. "My case?"

"Someone tried to hurt you."

She instinctively stepped back when his tone glowered. His voice was as cold as ice, matching the sudden steal shadow that casted over his eyes. She gulped. She hadn't seen him this mad since they were in Junior High, and that was when her first love became her first heartbreak. Oh God, she hoped it wouldn't come to that scene again. That was a dark day for everyone, mostly for her.

"So," Oliver continued, regaining composure. "I'll be watching over you for the rest of the week, longer still if things don't cool down until then."

A sudden tug came on her chest. The same feeling she had when they played dodgeball earlier. For some reason, she thought she and Oliver were in lockstep, as though this has happened before, and Oliver knew full well of it. But when? And what was so similar or so different now?

A lockstep... a routinely, unchangeable action, in rhythm with each march, with each movement. Inflexible.

"Emma?"

She stirred back to life when Aiden called him, his voice as forceful as it was forced to sound commanding. "Yes?" She answered in a tone too hurried for her own taste.

Aiden cocked a brow before nodding toward Oliver. "We'll leave you two to talk."

"Oh..." SERIOUSLY!? She nodded despite her frustrated thought. "Okay."

Aiden and Michelle did as they said, and the door's light closing seemed as loud as a grenade to Emma's ears in the silence that was left between her and her moirail.

"So..." Emma sounded. "How are you?"

Oliver crossed his arms over his chest, a movement that seemed so effortless it looked graceful to her. "Breathing." He answered, eyes narrowing toward her. God, he should just drop high school already and work as a supermodel. She hated when he gave her that you-almost-killed-me look of his. He only ever gave her that look when she did something that could risk her life, figuratively and literally.

As if it was her fault! In fact, she was the one that almost got killed, didn't she? She knew he was just worried, and she was grateful he wasn't blowing out huffs and puffs of shouting. His composure wasn't gonna last unfortunately. "Uhm... So, you gonna help out at the Café from now on?" It was supposed to be a statement, but came off sounding like a question.

He breathed in, his chest getting bigger a tad, then breathed out. They were close enough for her to smell his minty breath. "Emma, you're not taking this seriously, are you?" He snapped.

She frowned. "What's that supposed to mean?"

"What I mean is," He gestured his palms toward her. "You're not reacting right."

She was completely dumbfounded. "Not acting right? How am I supposed to react?"

"I don't know!" He reacted by throwing his hands in the air. Composure out the window, flying four hundred thirteen miles per hour. "You're supposed to act scared or traumatized or-or-or... or something! Emma, someone tried to hurt you!"

She looked at his crystal blues head on, not even trying to mask the surprise in her eyes when he suddenly grabbed her by the forearms. She knew he was worried, and he had all the right to let out steam. She knew he wouldn't hurt her, so there was no reason to react negatively.

"Of course I was scared." She admitted, and the cold steal shadowing his irises slowly faded back into their usual, beautiful sapphire selves. "You think I wasn't?" She challenged.

"W-well..." He muttered, then acted as if only then did he realize their position. She didn't back away though, so that must have been why he didn't let go. "After you threw away the sheets, you just... breathed, and smiled." He gripped her arms tighter. "We were so worried about you Emma. I'm still worried about you..."

Oh God, what terror did she put him through?

What if it was him?

What if it was him? If it was him, if he was the one that almost got killed by some unknown entity, how would she feel? To just walk into the clinic like that, and see him unmoving in the bed...

Oliver's eyes widened when Emma hugged him. Her arms went under his and clasped his back tightly, tugging at his shirt, and in-between his breaths, he could feel her tremble. This must be her real reaction, late as it may be, it must be. Good. She was finally reacting normally. This was good, he thought. He should reassure her everything was all right, too.

Emma exhaled when she felt his arms wrap around her, a thumb rubbing the small of her back, his breath on her ear whispering honeyed words of reassurance that all was well. This was good, she thought. She would never forgive herself if something had happened to him, so she shouldn't dismiss his actions as overreacting so quickly. They were the best of friends.... and it was supposed to be normal to worry about each other.

"Oliver?" She whispered over his chest, glad he couldn't see her flush.

"Yeah?" He answered, his breath blowing a bit of her pink hair. He was ecstatic she couldn't see his face at the moment.

"We're the best of moirails," She voiced. "Right?" His hold tightened. "Right?"

"Yeah." He forced out of his system. "You're my dear, sweet, wonderful, beloved moirail." Each word was stressed, underlining its inflexibility.

"Yeah." Emma breathed out. "And you're my sweet, dear, wonderful, sweet moirail."

Moirails were the best relationship in the trolls' quadrants of romance. It was the best because she could love him with all her heart, but don't have to be pressured into anything sexual. It was the best because their relationship would be based on emotional support, and complete mutual trust of each other's feelings.

It was the best quadrant because they were, and might as well always will be, strictly platonic.