𝐔𝐍𝐅𝐈𝐋𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐄𝐃

64 | nothing more and nothing less

I take slow steps towards the volleyball court when I see Beatrix practicing her sets, while Rika is focusing on her aim. Carson and Astrid are doing box jumps together. Everyone tries to polish their skills while I'm the only one who's contributing to nothing.

A bitter feeling stirs in my stomach, and I clutch my jacket as I make my way to the bleachers. I take a seat on the bench and place my bag beside me. Nobody notices me and for some reason, it makes me sad that not one person came to ask how I am doing. I usually talk to Rika and Carson, but right now their hands are tied with practice. I also hate how I'm being a total child, as if I need someone to hold my hand and tell me that everything is going to be alright, because deep down I know that that's the stupidest thing someone could say for encouragement.

And somehow, I crave to hear those meaningless words from someone.

Anyone.

That's when I notice a dark figure near the fence, scrutinizing our team from afar. At first, I thought it was Elijah, because he usually drops by the court to bring me food and some water; he knows I forget my water bottle at home. But this guy is skinnier than Elijah and he rarely wears baseball caps, or hats for that matter. He lifts a lighter to light up the cigarette hanging off his lips when he inhales deeply before exhaling a cloud of smoke. I get off my seat and practically limp towards the side of the fence he's lurking when his dark eyes clash against mine.

"Yoongi," his name falls out of my mouth in a hushed breath. A small smile creeps up to his face when he sees how shocked I am to suddenly see him here.

"Nox," he says swiftly, gazing down at my foot. "How's the ankle?"

"A little sore." I manage. "Um, are you waiting for someone?"

"I'm waiting for you." His directness catches me off guard and I find myself instinctively stepping back. "I'm sorry, are you free right now?"

I shrug. "I can't exactly practice with my busted ankle."

"Would you like to go for a drive?"

"My father told me not to enter strangers' cars."

"Your father's a wise man." Yoongi states. "Only, I saved your life a few days ago. Can't say that I'm a stranger now, can you?"

"I guess I can't." I say in defeat.

***

Yoongi is lucky to have a driver's license.

He has a glossy black Jeep Cherokee with tinted windows. It smells like leather and cigarettes. I think I also catch a whiff of marijuana in the air, but with the windows rolled down, the smell fades away into the atmosphere. The backseat is a total mess because he has paintball guns and some type of equipment sitting in cardboard boxes. I'm confused as to what I'm doing with this boy in his car, but right now I'm happy I don't have to worry about my Literature paper.

Ever since I was a little girl, I wanted to get my own car. I always enjoyed car rides whether they're quiet or filled with discussions or with music blaring from the speakers. I've always wanted a convertible. I wanted to enjoy the sun's gentle kisses on an early morning and then the cold caress of the night. I wanted to jam out to my favorite songs with someone and then eat some delicious takeout. I don't have a lot of friends, but I wouldn't mind going on a drive alone either.

"I hope you don't think I'm weird for showing up at the volleyball court." Yoongi says, shattering the peaceful silence. I watch him as he holds the wheel with one hand while the other is resting on the window with a blunt. Excess smoke escapes his lips as he talks and I cling onto the window of my side for dear life, because I can barely breathe.