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It was Friday, last period. John Price sat back in his chair. Finally, almost time to leave, he thought. He glanced around the classroom. His eyes landed on a boy. His name was John MacTavish. Everyone called him Soap, though, to not confuse him and Price.
They've only talked a few times, but Price has a massive crush on him. Just a look at the other boy makes his heart go whoosh. Price was sure Soap wasn't gay, and if he was, Price was sure he wasn't Soap's type. He realized he was staring just a little too much and looked away.
Five more minutes. His eyes slid back to Soap. He was drawing in that journal of his. Price was too far away to see what it was. As much as he wanted to see Soap's skill, he couldn't bring himself to talk to him. Ah, well. He shifted his eyes to Soap's face. He had a scar running over his left eye. Price wonders how he got it. An accident? A fight? Questions he wanted answered.
The scar brought him to Soap's eyes. The most beautiful blue Price had ever seen. Like the sky and the ocean had a baby...fuck, he was in too deep.
Soap's black hair was always styled in a mohawk. It looked so soft. Price found himself wanting to run his hands through it. He really was in too deep.
He looked at the clock. Two minutes. Time to pack up. Price closed his notebook and put it in his backpack along with his pencil. Standing, he slung his bag over his shoulder. Other students followed suit. Soap glanced up, packed his things away, but stayed seated. Damn, wanted to see that ass, Price thought.
The bell rang and all the students rushed out of the door. Price waited. Soap filed out after most of the crowd had passed. Price glanced back at his seat to ensure he didn't leave anything. In doing so, his eyes passed over Soap's desk. Was that his journal? Price walked over and picked it up. He left the classroom and opened the cover.
Property of John "Soap" MacTavish
Even his handwriting is beautiful! Maybe now he'll be able to talk to him! Price held the journal tightly. Before he returns it...he could take a peek inside...no, he shouldn't. But, he was curious.
"Curiosity killed the cat," his friend, Macmillan, would say. He shrugged. Would he ever get a chance like this again?
He flipped the journal open to a random page. He was greeted by a drawing of a gun. An M1911, to be exact. It was pretty good. Price had always been a military kind of guy and plans to join after high school, so this was a nut-buster. This guy was really after his heart.
Price flipped through a few more sketches of guns and other military weapons. After a drawing of a knife in a watermelon, he paused. He stared at himself. Well, a drawing of himself. The picture was smiling, arms crossed. He ran his finger over it. When was this? Where was it? It looked just like him, with shading, stubble, and everything in between.
In the upper left corner of the page was his name. It had yellow hearts around it.
Oh, shit.
Oh, fuck.
Yellow hearts? Hearts? That are yellow? Price's stomach was doing flips and his heart was doing somersaults.
Soap wrote his name in yellow hearts? That must mean Soap liked him back, right? Does this mean he could finally make his move? He contemplated these questions while walking through the halls. He swerved around people. Would Soap even still be here? He hadn't the foggiest idea.
He sat on a bench outside, waiting for MacMillan to pick him up. Setting the journal in his lap, he pulled a pencil out of his bag. Price opened the journal to the drawing of himself. He paused, then nodded.
Under his name (In yellow hearts! Yellow! Hearts!), he wrote:
Gorgeous drawing. Doesn't compare to you though. Call me.
He wrote his number with the note. Damn, he really did that. Good job, Price! Patting himself on the back, he put his pencil away and looked around. He spotted MacMillan's Jeep and stood. Then, his eyes drifted and landed on Soap. Wait. Soap? Price can give his journal back!
He sent a 'wait' signal to MacMillan and jogged to Soap.
"Hey, Soap!" He said. Soap turned his head to Price.
"Oh, uh, hey, Price," if Price looked closely, he would see an ever so slight blush in Soap's cheeks. Price's heart was racing as he held up the journal.
"You dropped your journal in the classroom. I've been looking for you, so I could return it," there was a pause that stretched a little too long. Price felt his confidence starting to slip. Can he take the journal now? Soap looked from Price, to the journal, and back to Price. His face turned a deeper shade of red.
"Oh! Oh, my God! Thank you so much! I tried to go back for it but the room was locked," Soap took the journal. As he did, their fingers touched for a moment. It took all of Price's willpower to not blush.
Price nodded, "you're welcome. I presume it means a lot to you, judging from how much you use it."
"Haha, yeah," Soap laughed.
"Well, I've got to go, my, uh, my friend is waiting for me," Price was ready to eradicate himself. Why did he say that?
"Oh, uhm, yeah, same. I'll see you later, Price," did Soap sound disappointed?
"Yeah, for sure," as Price turned away, he decided to say, "you're really good at drawing, by the way." With that, he took steady strides to Mac's Jeep. He didn't dare even think about turning around.
He climbed into the passenger side of the vehicle and let out a breath.
"Who was that?" MacMillan asked as he pulled out of the parking lot. Rats. He had hoped MacMillan wouldn't have seen the whole thing. Now Price would have to explain himself.
"That, uh, was Soap, a classmate. He dropped his journal so I gave it back" Price stated.
MacMillan nodded, "and is he just a classmate or do you have a crush on him?" he wagged his brows. Price sputtered.
"I don't have a crush on him! He's just a classmate that happened to lose his journal and I returned it. A simple good deed. Is that a crime?"
"Yeah, okay, mate. You can believe what you want but I think you've got a thing for him," MacMillan laughed. The death stare Price was giving him gave him all the answers he needed.
After a while, Price spoke up again, "I gave him my number." Price was fighting very hard to not go cherry red. He took a quick glance at the older man, seeing his eyebrows raise.
"Go on, I want to hear all the details," MacMillan insisted.
"Ugh, you sound like a girl. Soap's got this journal, as I told you. He draws and stuff. He dropped it today and I couldn't resist. I took a look in the thing," Price paused.
"Okay, and?" Mac was persistent.
"He's really good at drawing. Like, really good. Almost professional. He draws a lot of military weapons, by the way. But then, you'll never guess what I found," now Price stopped for the tension.
"What?"
"Myself."
"Yourself?"
"Myself. As in, I, as in, me, John Price. It looked just like me too. It was crazy. And, and, get this...he wrote my name...in yellow...hearts. Yellow fuckin' hearts, Mac!"
MacMillan could feel the excitement radiating off of the younger man and smiled, "well, Price. That's wonderful for you, but when do I get to meet him?"