Topping the Jock

Chapter Fifteen

A.N. Thought I'd shove a quick pic of Jaspar in here, considering he becomes a total bitch in this chapter - Enjoy! And if you do, vote and comment, and I'll see you guys next time! 

CHAPTER FIFTEEN - REMY'S DARLING P.O.V

"I need sex," I moaned, dropping down pitifully opposite my friends at our regular lunch table.

"Don't we all," Jaspar sighed. He was looking especially bleak today, which I didn't usually notice.  Jaspar, amongst all of his wonderful qualities, liked to keep secrets. And he was absolutely great at keeping secrets - only if they were his own. He could hide anything from you, and the raw way he just sat there openly looking like he was homeless was the most unusual thing in the entire world.

"I'd usually make a move on you right now but I feel like you haven't showered," I told him. I liked to tell the truth, what can I say. I was a truthful kind of person.

"Ugh," he groaned. "Don't bitch, Remy, I'm so over you're sass."

"Not possible."

"Yes possible," Oliver interjected.

"Wow," I gasped. "Why are the two of you acting so bummy this morning? I mean, Oliver, I can understand. But Jaspar, sweetie, I hate to break it to you, but you look like shit."

"Gee, thanks pal," he said, groaning, hiding his head in his hands.

"Really, it's a compliment to our friendship because you now know I'll always tell you the truth. Our next step is obviously doing each-other's make-up and talking about cute boys and styling each-others hair. Speaking of styling each-other's hair, maybe we could do that right about now, because I'm kind of embarrassed to be seen with you walking around like that."

"Fuck you."

"It's for your own good. And trust me, if anyone knows hair, it's me."

Oliver giggled a little, his rare but still bitter giggle. Oliver's problem was that he didn't know how to let loose, and if he didn't, he'd wake up one day and realise that life's already passed and he's too fucking late.

No one really knew much about him, even those closest to him. Ever since I'd been friends with him, I'd never been to his house, met his family, had any deep conversations, or anything like that. I actually knew very little about Oliver other than what he put on show. I hate to give into stereotypes, but he practically had no soul. And what is that saying about gingers again? Something to do with souls.

"What?" I asked him, suddenly really curious. I mean, he hardly ever laughed, especially not because of me. "What are you laughing at, Oli?"

"It's just... how do I put this nicely?" he asked, ruffling his spikey red hair with his fingers. 

I mean, being ginger, one might think Oliver had enough to be mad about - but he was one of those rare gingers that pull off the hair so dazzlingly well that you kind of forget that he's a red-head. There are two kinds of gingers: either really ugly or mind-blowingly delicious. I'd always liked red-heads, really.

"Put what?" I asked, as he looked at me with his dark brown eyes glazed over in thought.

"You waltz in here on your mighty high horse in dungarees, without a shirt underneath I might add, and start judging everyone else, and to top it all off, you really can't get any gayer than you." 

I raised my eyebrows at him, but he still continued.

"You can keep claiming that you don't define yourself and blah-blah-blah, but Remy, at some point you're going to have to face the fact and notice that not only are you the most camp kid I've ever seen, but you are actually gay. You aren't bisexual, pansexual, heteroflexible, homoflexible, any other kind of flexible. You are a fully and completely 100% skinny white homosexual with above average good looks. No ifs, no buts, it's just fact at this point."