FIFTEENTH
CHARLIE
I never expected Jack, the transfer student, to become the school's new celebrity. Seriously, this guy could charm his way through a brick wall. Whether it’s his rugged good looks or his annoyingly perfect confidence, he’s got everyone’s attention—much to my irritation.
As usual, he's following me. It's lunchtime, and unfortunately, that means it's his lunch break too. I’m buried in IT, lost in the world of coding and networks, while he’s in Accountancy, probably charming the pants off numbers. It’s like the universe decided to drop a supermodel with a brain into my life just to mess with me.
Today, as I weave through the crowded cafeteria, searching for a quiet spot like it’s a hidden treasure, I feel his eyes on me. I pretend not to notice, laser-focused on finding an empty table. But just as I sit down with my lunch tray, there he is, sliding into the seat across from me with that infuriatingly charming smile.
"Mind if I join you, Charlie?" he asks casually, as if he hasn’t just ruined my plans for a peaceful lunch.
I glance up, trying to suppress a sigh that could probably launch a small boat. "I guess not," I mutter, accepting my fate.
He grins, leaning back in his chair like he owns the place. "Great. How’s your day been so far?"
I glare at him, my irritation bubbling just beneath the surface. "Fine," I reply shortly, stabbing at my salad with the enthusiasm of a disgruntled woodpecker.
Jack, of course, is unfazed. "Just fine? Come on, Charlie, I’m sure it’s been more interesting than that."
I shoot him a look that could freeze lava. "Interesting isn’t always a good thing."
He chuckles, completely unfazed. "You know, you’ve got a way of making even the most boring things sound dramatic."
I roll my eyes. "Don’t read too much into it," I caution, though I know it’s a lost cause.
For the rest of lunch, we engage in banter that teeters between playful and tense, like a tightrope walker with a flair for drama. Despite my initial resistance, I find myself gradually relaxing in his presence. He’s persistent, I’ll give him that, but there’s something disarming about his charm that’s harder to shake off than glitter at a craft party.
"May I ask? Do you know what MBTI is?" I inquire, trying to steer the conversation into safer waters.
He nods, looking intrigued. "Yeah, I know it."
Great.
"Are you an ENTP?" I ask, narrowing my eyes.
His eyes widen in surprise. "How'd you know?"
I roll my eyes again, this time with a touch of smugness. "I figured. You're so annoying, that's why."
He chuckles, clearly enjoying this more than he should. "And you?"
"INTP," I say shortly, hoping to end the conversation there.
"Damn, that's sexy," he says teasingly, his grin widening. "I like weird women."
I sigjhed, shaking my head. "You’re impossible, you know that?"
"Yep," he replies, still grinning. "But you wouldn’t have it any other way."
And, annoyingly enough, he might just be right.
****
I can't believe he's still here.
Every day, like clockwork, Jack follows me home from campus, trailing me like a lost puppy. And every day, I shut the door in his face, hoping he'd get the hint. But Jack being Jack, he never does.
Today is no different. I slam the door behind me, leaning against it as I hear his footsteps stop just outside. I wait, counting the seconds, hoping he'll finally give up and leave.
"Charlie, come on," his voice calls through the door, as persistent as ever. "You can't avoid me forever."
I groan, sliding down to sit on the floor, my back against the door. "Watch me," I mutter under my breath, though I know he can't hear me.
An hour ticks by, the minutes dragging like molasses. I try to focus on my coding project, but my mind keeps drifting back to the guy standing outside my apartment. It's getting late, and I can't shake the guilt gnawing at me. What if something happens to him?
With a heavy sigh, I get up and walk to the door, my hand hesitating on the knob. Finally, I pull it open, revealing Jack leaning against the wall, his arms crossed. He looks up, his face lighting up with that infuriatingly charming smile.
"Finally," he says, pushing off the wall and stepping inside without waiting for an invitation. "I was starting to think you'd never let me in."
I roll my eyes, closing the door behind him. "Don't get used to it."
He chuckles, looking around my apartment with curiosity. "Nice place you got here."
"Thanks," I reply dryly, heading to the kitchen. "You want something to drink?"
"Sure," he says, following me. "Got any beer?"
I shake my head, opening the fridge. "Nope. Water or soda?"
"Water's fine," he says, leaning against the counter as I pour us both a glass.
We stand there in awkward silence for a moment, the tension between us palpable. I take a sip of my water, trying to figure out what to say.
"So," I start, breaking the silence. "Why do you keep following me home?"
He shrugs, taking a sip of his water. "I like your company. And I think you like mine too, even if you won't admit it."
I scoff, but there's no real bite to it. "You're delusional."
"Maybe," he says with a grin. "But I'm also persistent."
I can't help but smile, shaking my head. "You're something else, Jack."
"That's what they tell me," he replies, his eyes twinkling with mischief.
We move to the living room, sitting on the couch. The awkwardness starts to fade, replaced by a comfortable silence. Despite my initial annoyance, I find myself relaxing in his presence once again.
"It's getting late," I say after a while, glancing at the clock.
"Yeah," he agrees, but makes no move to leave.
I sigh, knowing I should kick him out but not really wanting to. "You can crash on the couch if you want."
His eyes light up with genuine surprise. "Really?"
I nod, standing up. "Just don't make a habit of it."
He laughs. "No promises."
I just stare at him. It's been weeks since he confessed who he really is. We don't chat online anymore—what's the point? And I'm still working as a Chatter, same old routine.
His smile fades. He stares back at me, and for a moment, the room feels heavy with unspoken words. Suddenly, he gets up, crosses the space between us, and wraps me in a tight embrace.
My eyes widen as my face is buried in his chest. The warmth of his body, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat—it's overwhelming. I feel a rush of emotions, a mix of confusion, relief, and something deeper, something I haven't allowed myself to acknowledge until now.
His arms tighten around me, as if he's afraid I'll disappear if he lets go. He buries his face in the crook of my neck, his breath hot against my skin as he inhales deeply, as if trying to memorize my scent. "Charlie," he whispers, his voice thick with emotion. "I missed you."
A shiver runs down my spine at the intimacy of the gesture. I close my eyes, letting myself sink into the moment. For once, I don't push him away. Instead, I let the walls I've built around myself crumble, just a little.
"I missed you too," I admit softly, my voice barely above a whisper.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look into my eyes. His gaze is intense, filled with a mix of longing and vulnerability that takes my breath away. Slowly, almost hesitantly, he leans in, his lips brushing against my ear as he whispers, "Forgive me for hugging—or even touching you."
My heart pounds in my chest, each beat echoing the tumult of emotions swirling inside me. "I-It's okay but..." I begin, but the words catch in my throat.
He presses a gentle kiss to the side of my neck, his lips lingering on my skin. "This is better than I imagined; you're more beautiful than your model, I hope you know that," he murmurs, his voice low.
I swallow hard, my resolve crumbling under the weight of his touch. "I will call the police," I finally say, my voice trembling. "I know Judo, don't make me kick your ass."
He laughs softly, the sound vibrating through his chest as he buries himself deeper into me. "I am willing to take it, Charlie," he replies, his voice filled with a mix of amusement and sincerity.
For a moment, we stand there, locked in an embrace that feels both fragile and unbreakable. His fingers gently trace patterns on my back, and I can feel the warmth of his breath against my skin. Despite my threats, I can't help but feel a sense of comfort and safety in his arms.
And in the back of my mind, the song "Please Please Please" played. Argh. That damn song!
'Heartbreak is one thing, my ego's another. I beg you, don't embarrass me, motherf**cker, oh.'
"Tsk." I just hugged him back, closing my eyes tightly.
****