The Jock, The Nerd and The Geek

18

Marcos smiled at him. "Abuela and Elise made it yesterday. And it tastes really nice—"

Paris' eyes slanted now. "You ate my cake?"

"Smudged it. A little," Marcos said with a small tilt of his head. "It's fine. You won't notice. Abuela would cover it up." Then he set the cake on the desk next to his bed and peered at Paris. "You look like a ruffled chicken when you wake up,"

"Okay, that's it." Paris snarled, "I'm hanging up. This is why you fucking have zero friends. Thinking because you look 'oh, so perfect' with your pretty eyes, and nose, and skin. You can just hate on us, uncute mortals."

"Did you just admit that I'm cute and you're ugly?"

"Die," Paris said with as much venom as he could muster before hanging up and laying back down on his bed, returning back to his dreamless sleep.

The next time he was awake, he saw messages from the male, which he read and ignored, but out of habit, some bad inane habit, he checked Alex's.

Nothing.

Of course, birthdays weren't really important. Only children celebrated them. He didn't need such things.

He changed into a white turtleneck sweater, black leather jacket and pants before heading down for breakfast. For the first time since his Father's talk with Alex, he was now on the table with him.

Sebastian's blond hair now had streaks of white, and it was clear whatever he was doing exhausted him. Paris wanted to ask, but the moment that thought came up, he pushed it down.

It was none of his business.

"I hear your grades are better,"

Paris said nothing. He knew what words were coming after. They were better, but not enough. That his so called arch nemesis had brought him back home half asleep once. That he was probably the weakest thing since slugs.

"Good."

He froze now, his fork stopping midway before turning to his Father. Sebastian didn't bother to look at him, and those were the last words till he was done eating and left the house.

"It's fucking weird," Paris said.

It was recess now, and since he didn't exactly have anywhere else to sit, the pretty Spanish boy was his only option.

"That he complimented your school work?" Marcos asked. He had on a large turtle neck sweater as well with ragged jeans and converse sneakers, the butterfly clips still in place and the crescent ring on his index finger.

"Exactly," Paris noted, before looking at Marcos. "Where's Ace?"

He shrugged, putting a spoon of pudding into his mouth. "Called in sick."

Paris rose an eyebrow. "Then how'd you get here?"

"Bike," Marcos said with another shrug.

"Anyone who trusts you with anything is really stupid," Paris said, even though the first day he had seen the full extent of Marcos' hacking and gaming skills (which Paris lost five times) caused him to ignore him for three days.