Derrick
"Excuse me? Disturbing?" He put down his cup, his body tense, like he was ready to fight.
"Well, if the other person doesn't want to talk to you, then… you are disturbing them, right?" I made sure to watch his reaction closely.
"Just like what you're doing to me right now?" He clutched his hair with both hands. "This is making me furious!"
"Ouch," I whispered under my breath. Then I forced myself to focus. "Then… what really happened back there? You weren't causing trouble?"
"We saw Earl alone on the bleachers, alright? He looked so lonely, so we just—kindly—asked him if he wanted to hang out with us. But he ignored us. Those idiots I called friends started acting up because of his attitude, and that's when the other guy came." He spoke all at once, urgency pouring from his words.
"Ahhh… so that's what happened," I finally understood now.
"You judged us so quickly just because he looked pitiful… making fun and threatening us? I could just… poke your eyes out." He gestured like he was actually going to poke mine.
"Show some mercy," I said, hiding amusement behind my words. "I'll take care of the misunderstanding, so don't worry."
After that, he began to relax a little, his anger loosening—maybe it was me, or maybe it was the alcohol talking.
His shoulders finally dropped, the tight line in his jaw easing as he grabbed his cup again and swirled what little remained inside.
"You're unbelievable," he muttered, though without the bite from earlier. "Who the hell kidnaps people out of a misunderstanding?"
"I have to know the truth," I said with a shrug. "Even when it comes delivered by someone threatening to poke my eyes out."
He let out a short, sharp laugh—like it escaped before he could stop it. He immediately looked away, annoyed at himself for softening.
"Don't get used to that," he said, pointing at me but missing his mark by an entire forehead-length. Yeah… alcohol.
"Too late," I teased. "I already feel honoured."
He rolled his eyes, but there was no heat behind it anymore. Only the tipsiness creeping into his expression, loosening all the edges that earlier were sharp enough to cut.
"You're a pain," he grumbled.
"And yet," I leaned forward, watching him over the rim of my cup, "you're still talking to me."
He didn't respond immediately. Instead, he stared at his drink, brows furrowed like he was wrestling with something he'd never admit out loud.
"…Maybe you're not as annoying as I thought," he finally whispered—so low I almost missed it.
But I didn't.
And judging by the way he avoided my eyes afterward, he knew I didn't.