I turn to face him, a cautious look on my face and tentatively I ask him, "What was your dad like?
His expression darkens the slightest bit and before I can dismiss my question, he lets out a sigh and quietly replies, "I wish I could tell you that he was a deadbeat and that I am secretly glad that he is gone, but he was amazing actually. I remember how full of life he always was. He would come home from work tired and still have the patience to help me with my homework whenever I needed it."
My eyes widen in surprise. When he told me that his father abandoned a family as lovely as his, I assumed his father was a deadbeat too, but with the way Kai is speaking about him, there might be more to the story.
"Every morning when I would wake up super early to try and catch the moment when the stars would become invisible to the naked eye, I would sometimes catch my parents being affectionate with each other in the kitchen as they cooked breakfast. They were never affectionate with each other in front of us. They were always trying to be... modest, to say the least. I miss that… I miss him."
"When did he walk out on your family?"
"It was when my sister was still young, maybe eight or nine years old. I was still in high school. I don't know when exactly things changed but there came a point where all that my parents were doing was fighting, and arguing about money and other issues. I guess the constant tension and conflict just became too much for my dad to handle."
I nod solemnly, listening intently. "Is he… the reason why you started… you know, getting into drugs?"
He runs a hand through his hair, a mirthless chuckle escaping his lips. Then he reluctantly admits, "I suppose that is when it all started going downhill for me. Smoking weed in the beginning did not seem like such a big deal and then at some point doing much harder drugs did not seem like such a big deal either. I was so angry at him, not for leaving my mother but because in the process of leaving her, he chose to leave us too. It pissed me off that he didn't feel the need to keep in touch with his children. Turning to drugs was my way of coping with that feeling of rejection."
We both sit in contemplative silence for a moment, the weight of his words hanging between us. There is a distant look in his eyes, a faraway gaze that seems to peer into another realm beyond the confines of this world. I imagine he's remembering his childhood when his dad used to be around. For him, this seems quite fresh unlike with me. My dad passed away years ago and I have had time to come to terms with it.
Without thinking, I reach out to place a reassuring hand on his. The touch seems to startle him and his gaze suddenly snaps back to the present, locking onto mine.
For a moment, we simply stare at one another, the air thick with an unspoken tension. He blinks as if only registering my presence and then a soft smile tugs onto the corners of his mouth. Then he turns his hand over to intertwine his fingers with mine and I glance down at our hands, mesmerised by how soft his skin feels. Squeezing it gently, I search his face, hoping to convey through that simple touch that he's not alone.
"I'm sorry you had to go through that," I murmur, offering him what comfort I can.
He nods with a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth and for the briefest second, something akin to gratitude flickers across his jade-brown eyes. "I mean, even though he left, I still remember the good times and that's what I choose to hold onto now because those are the moments that truly define a person."
I grin slightly to mirror his expression. "That got deep real quick."
"Yeah," he murmurs with a bright grin stretching across his face, flicking his eyebrows up and then he leans down to take a sip of the raspberry slushy. He swiftly changes the subject by asking, "What is your love language?"
"What? I don't know."
"How don't you know your love language?"
"Mate, I don't even know what the love languages are. I think the only one I know about is physical touch or something along those lines. What is your love language?" I ask instead.
"Physical touch," he admits with a little snicker.
"Oh, no."
"What?"
Playfully, I say to him, "I can't lie, if your love language is physical touch, we might have a bit of an issue."
"How come?"
"I just don't like touching people or just being touched in general," I explain to him.
Pushing his slushy back on the table, he turns around to face me earnestly and I narrow my eyes when I see a bit of mischief glimmering in his heterochromatic gaze.
"So, you're telling me if I did this," he starts lowly and shockingly runs a hand down the inside of my thigh, "you'd hate it?"
A small shiver runs through my body and after glancing around to make sure that nobody is looking our way, I scoldingly slap his hand away. He winces, rubbing his hand with a petulant pout but I don't miss the small smirk tugging onto his lips when he grabs his cup and continues to suck the drink up the straw with the same look of jest in his gaze. He offers me some when I look at him with a small frown for a bit too long, but I merely stare at him before shaking my head and I resume consuming my ice cream.
"You're not wearing your bracelet," he points out and when I glance at him, I see him looking at my bare wrist. Instinctively, I roll my wrist around and I can't help but find it weird that I don't hear the familiar trinkets clinging against each other.
"I mean, it did not go with my outfit." My gaze wavers down to the table as I brush my hair out of my eyes only for the same strands to fall back over my forehead.
I feel his fingers gently touching my wrist where the bracelet would usually be and when his palm lingers there, I too glance down.
"That's a lie. You could pull anything off if you wanted to." His curious stare burns into me and has me growing a bit timid. "Are you not wearing it because of what I said last night?"
"No," I lie and blatantly it seems.
"Liar," he immediately says, and I grow quiet unable to dispute his astute observation. "That's really sweet, but you don't have to do that."
"But you said—"
"I know what I said, but that was before you chose to be with me. And even if you didn't, you shouldn't feel pressured not to wear your bracelet," he tells me reassuringly and then the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. "I appreciate you doing that for me though."
Before he can see the blush threatening to stain my cheeks, I instantly avert my gaze and reach for my spoon from the cup to nervously gnaw on the tip of it.
"Hmm," he murmurs behind his throat and I direct my gaze back onto him to see the thoughtful manner in which he is observing me. "Definitely not words of affirmation."
"What?" I mumble.
"Your love language. It's not words of affirmation," he explains to me.
This has me furrowing my brows in confusion at what he's talking about.
Intensely, he stares at me as if examining a specimen underneath a microscope and then adamantly, he says, "I'll figure you out by the end of the night."
"I have no idea what you're blabbering about."
He has a belly laugh over my bemusement and when I notice the tiny droplet of raspberry slushy on the corner of his lip, I shake my head affectionately and reach for his serviette to dab it away.
"So, I'm guessing Dominic is your first love then," he muses after I have placed his serviette back down on the table.
"He was definitely the first boy I ever had a crush on. The sort of crush which was kind of superficial because I liked him for his looks more than anything. I seriously doubt I could love someone who I wasn't in a relationship with."
"So not the first boy you caught feelings for?"
"Nope. That was James Lamar in the eleventh year."
"First kiss?"
"Some girl when I was a kid."
"Damn, okay," he drawls out wearing a look of being impressed while bobbing his head up and down. "You had rizz like that when you were kid?"
I scoff wordlessly, my widened eyes negating his statement. That is severely far from the kid I was growing up. I wasn't interested in being with anyone, even when everyone was huddled up and talking about dating, I was either too busy reading a book or scaring Jodie with my spider toy.
"What about you?" I ask him, turning around to face him and I fold my leg on the seat.
"What about me?"
"Who was your first love?"
For a few seconds, his eyes merely stare into mine blankly and then he proceeds to take a long sip of his drink, acting as if he didn't hear my question.
"Wow," I exclaim with a large grin on my face and hesitantly, his gaze sweeps back over to me. "So, I tell you all my dirty, little secrets and you don't even want to tell me who your first love was?"
"It doesn't matter who my first love is."
"I still want to know."
Instead of telling me, he leans into me and plants a quick kiss on my lips. He wants to silence me, I realise.
"That's not going to distract me from wanting to know who your first love was. Was it Sabina? Is that why you don't want to tell me?"
Again, he leans in, tilts his head and presses his lips on mine. This time though, he moves his mouth against mine and when I taste the raspberry flavour on him, my tongue slightly darts out to lick his bottom lip. His breathing hitches from my actions and his hand travels down to grip the end of my hoodie, tugging me closer to him but before he can turn this into a fullblown makeout session, I find enough willpower to disconnect our lips. With soft pants leaving me, I swallow a gulp down my throat.
He, as usual, still has his eyes fluttered shut and I assume he is trying to gather himself. With a little smile twitching on his lips, he tiredly rests his forehead against mine and confesses, "I was meant to distract you and, in the process, I ended up distracting myself."
After calming myself, I playfully say, "I still want to know."
He groans, rolling his eyes.