Bigger Than Life

deux || une faveur

I have never been the best of friends with Nixon. Sure, he said hi with me and we've had a couple of laughs together, but that's how he interacts with everyone. I don't think there's one person at our school who can genuinely claim that they've never had a conversation with Nixon. It just doesn't work like that- at least, it didn't back when Nixon was his normal self. After his fall? Well, let's just say that no one has really been able to be around him the same way.

That's why I don't think it should be too much of a surprise that when I first realize who is standing outside my door, my jaw drops in shock. If Nixon Young is going to turn up at someone's house after three weeks, it shouldn't be mine. It should be Denny's, or Tristian Connors', or maybe even Stella Burestchi's, but not mine.

I stutter for the first couple of seconds, and I probably would have for even longer had Nixon not taken the initiative to speak first. "Hi, Chantelle," he grins, his easy-going smile confusing me and relaxing me all at once. "Can I come in?"

Come in? "Um-um... Okay?"

Nixon's smile increases and he thanks me. I nod, stepping aside and letting him inside. Nixon's pale eyes flicker around the house quickly before he takes off his shoes and his spring jacket, making himself comfortable by hanging the jacket on the coat rack and neatly putting his shoes by mine. I close the door behind me, stuttering, "Um- where have you been?"

Nixon laughs- I feel like I can almost detect a hint of bitterness in it. "Where haven't I been?"

I want to yell at him- he can't just turn up at my house, practically let himself and then feed me with riddles. I can't yell at him, though, because as soon as he turns to look at me, I know that there's no way I could stay mad at that smile. Jesus, it's almost dangerous.

"Is there something you... need?" I ask him hesitantly.

Nixon nods, leaning against the wall. "I need a... favour. If it's not too much trouble."

Is he serious?

As I study his face I see that Nixon Young is, in fact, serious about this. The small smile on his face is still there but his eyes aren't gleaming with amusement- they're serious. "O-Okay," I stutter out. "Um... Okay. Do you- do you want some water?"

Nixon pushes himself off the cream-colored wall, smiling. "Sure, Chantelle. I could go for some water."

So that's how Nixon Young ends up in my kitchen, sitting in a bar stool at the kitchen island, sipping on a glass of water. I'm leaning against the counter, wringing my fingers together awkwardly as I keep my eyes downcast. Nixon taps his fingers against the glass, humming quietly, seeming a hell of a lot more comfortable than me right now in my own home. I don't know what to say or how to act- I've never been that good around people I don't really know- especially not someone as intimidating and... talked about as Nixon Young. Even after his 'downfall', Nixon still feels unreal to be around. Finally, Nixon breaks the silence by bluntly asking, "So, Géroux?"

I frown, looking up to see him casually looking up at me. My eyebrows furrow. "Yeah, that's my last name. Um, why?"

"Is it French?"

"Yeah."

"Do you speak French?"

"Oui," I reply to prove it. "Pourquoi? Est-ce que tu parles le français aussi?"

Nixon chuckles, taking a moment to formulate the words in his mind. "Um... Le peu."

I laugh, still a little awkwardly, but at least more relaxed than before. I wonder if he can sense how tense I am, but if he can, he doesn't say anything, just continues to look at me curiously. "Un peu, not le peu," I correct him.