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A is for Apple, as he grabs yours from your desk, and twirls it around in his hands, pressing softly to feel how ripe it is before taking a bite of the ripe red skin. “When you eat this, we’ll be sharing our first kiss!” he exclaims, sitting it back on the desk and walking out of the classroom. You consider throwing it out, but then take a bite anyway. On the edge of the skin he made contact with, it tastes faintly like strawberry, possibly a lip balm he’s wearing.
B is for Banana, and you’re sure he’s fucking with your head, on purpose today, as he unsheathes the skin and makes eye contact as he feeds it further, and further, and further down his throat. You wonder for a moment if he even has a gag reflex, or how much he’s been practising. He winks as he rubs the tip up against his cheek, and you see the slight bulge. You look away, face crimson. When you make eye contact again, he’s giggling like an idiot.
C is for Cherry, as he pops one in his mouth from the punnet, letting the red juice seep to the corner of his lips. When he opens his mouth, he sticks his tongue out and produces a perfectly tied stem. “I bet you’re wondering what else I can do with my tongue,” he whispers, as he walks past you to sit back at his desk for next period. Well, shit, if you weren’t then, you certainly are now.
D is for Donut. As his friends are all distracted, he licks his index and middle fingers, and inserts them in the hole, making a scissoring motion you’ve only but seen on your computer screen, and you know exactly what he’s insinuating by that. He stretches the hole a little until the dough begins to crack, and then licks the icing off his fingers, one at a time, slowly.
E is for Espresso, the smell familiar to your overworked body. You don’t think he needs the boost since he’s energetic without it, but he shots it back and smiles at you sweetly, almost like he’s sympathising that he knows what’s in your thermos mask.
F is for Fettuccine, in a plastic Tupperware container, which he is dancing a plastic fork around. He slurps the pasta loudly, a little bit of the red sauce splattering on his chin, and he grins as he dabs it away with the napkin beside. You can’t help but be an odd mix of annoyed and charmed at the mess he is creating; how nice it must be to live so carefree.
G is for Gingerbread Man, which he proudly made in Home-Economics earlier in the morning, adorning it with a bow tie made of a pebble and white icing. He shares them with his group of friends, who all compliment on how good it tastes, and he slyly drops one off at your table. “I’m not trying to poison you,” he murmurs, and you look at it wrapped in a paper towel. Yours is anatomically correct, too.
H is for Hamburger, which you’re sure is his favourite food since he’s half American, and that’s the stereotype, isn’t it? Dripping with cheese and fat, your stomach grumbles unhappily at the thought of something so disgusting entering your body. You wonder how he manages to stay so slim regardless of his otherwise terrible eating habits. But, it’s down the hatch in one go, and you wonder whether it’s appropriate to be impressed at such a big mouth.
I is for Ice-cream, as his tongue nimbly darts along the white, creamy liquid that’s threatening to drip onto his hand. He licks the cone, letting it dance on his tongue for just enough time to melt into a puddle of warmth before swallowing it down. The cream thaws a little, dripping down the cone, and he catches you watching as he slowly licks the drip from base, back to the top, and then bites his lip and cocks his head to the side. Adorable.
J is for Jellybean; he shows his playful side once again by tossing them into the air one-by-one, catching them in his mouth. You watch the whole show from above your novel, hoping for a little Schadenfreude so you can laugh at him. Because at least when you laugh at him he returns your attention, albeit negative. When did he become so endearing?
K is for Kebab. This one is fruity, adorned with Kiwifruit, Raspberries, Bananas, and other things. You watch as his teeth lightly graze the wood of the skewer, as he picks one more fruit off the stick, and chews it thoughtfully. Today, he’s a little less hyperactive, but with the sugar rush about to hit, you know you’ll wear it after school, and you’re not sure you mind anymore.
L is for Lemonade, as he sips on the bubbling beverage. What you’re reading today has something citrusy on the very page it’s open to, and you can’t help but wonder if the stars are aligning this way for a reason. You blush; the BL novel has a fake cover… Hearing a burp coming from the blond, and a giggle from his friends, you wonder again why you feel this way about such an idiot.
M is for Marshmallow, which he has a jumbo bag of at his desk. One of his idiot friends has challenged him to a game of “fluffy bunny.” He jams Marshmallow after Marshmallow into his mouth, and you begin to marvel at how big the space really is. Although after the theatrics of a few lunches ago, you’re not really surprised, but still. “25!” the brunet friend yells, as the blond sprays the marshmallows all over the desk and the friends howl in disgust and humour. Gross.
N is for Nuts that he’s eating from a Pick-N-Mix bag. “These aren’t the nuts I want in my mouth, but they’ll do for now,” he mumbles out of earshot from his friends, as he passes by you to put his coat back on the hook down at the back of the classroom. You gulp a little, and wonder for a moment what kind of nuts he was referring to, and your cheeks become flush as a butterfly flitters in your stomach.
O is for Oden, which is your least favourite dish in the world, but he’s clutching the cup anyway because it’s horridly cold, and for a moment, you’d consider ignoring the taste if it was dancing on his lips. You quickly shut that thought down and turn back to your computer, where you’re meant to be writing emails that require your utmost attention.
P is for Pineapple, which is the centre of the argument between the group of friends, who were in the midst of planning their evening meal. “There’s no way Pineapple should ever go on a Pizza!” one of them screeches, while bickering, and the blond saunters up to you, and asks “what do you think?” You reply with a “fuck off I’m busy.” He growls at your response, but leaves you alone, regardless.
Q is for Quiche, which he’s pronouncing wrong. You wonder how, considering he just made it in Home-Ec. But, it does look quite appetising regardless. You get up to head to the bathroom, and grumble in his ear “it’s ‘keesh,’ not ‘queue-che,’ you dimwit,” but it’s nowhere near as hate-filled as your usual 3pm fights.
R is for Rice, that’s sitting in the bottom of his bento untouched. You wonder why, because he’s the last person on earth that would leave food lying around. But you realise, today he’s a little down, and you notice his wrist is bandaged underneath the school blazer. Who did he pick a fight with today? You’re a little mad - only you get to hurt him. The bruises you give are a branding of who’s the top in your social hierarchy.
S is for Sushi. He seems a bit more upbeat today, as he pops them in his mouth and smiles. The bandage is gone, but there’s still a purple haze covering the area. His face is smiling until one hits the tip of his tongue, and you figure out why – the brunet has emptied a packet of wasabi onto it when he was momentarily distracted by looking at you. His face turns the deepest shade of red and he reaches for the water, which doesn’t seem to help as he sputters, and the other idiot friend laughs. You crack a smile, glad that his spirits are back, and glad that the world seems to be right again for just a moment.
T is for Tea, which is the topic in todays’ history lesson. First you learn about why, and how Tea became important in Japan, and then there’s a Tea Ceremony, where you kneel and participate in your countries’ tradition. He’s sitting beside you, of course he is, and you waver as you notice out of your peripheral vision he brings the tea to his lips. His eyelashes flutter just a little bit as the hot liquid touches his lips, and your heart flutters just a little bit, too.
U is for Umeboshi, which he crinkles his nose at as he takes a bite of the rice ball where it sits inside, noting the sour on the tip of his tongue. “Who invented such a dumb fruit?” he asks, as he washes it down quickly with water, too quickly. He ends up coughing a little as the water hits his lungs instead. It’s an acquired taste, you’ll admit. Just like the blond.
V is for Vanilla, which is the scent you get from his Home-Ec baking. You peer at the muffins, which are adorned with blueberries, and you’re curious where he picked up the ability to make things that looked so delicious. He leaves one at your desk; it doesn’t look like it has been tampered with, and you take a bite, teeth sinking into the still-warm dough. He smiles a little when he realises you’re not following up with an insult. You smile as much as you ever let yourself. Maybe it is okay to be falling a little for him.
W is for Watermelon, god knows why he’s brought the whole thing into class, but he swiftly shares the fruit with all his friends. He offers you a piece, which you wave away, as it’s not really your thing, and he spits a seed at you in retaliation. You have half a mind to deck him, or shove the watermelon so far up his ass he can taste it again, but you just roll your eyes and look out the window instead.
X is for Xylitol Gum, which he’s always chewing as he sits behind you. It’s a strong mint, and you don’t mind the smell, but it’s a constant struggle to contain yourself, and not spin around and smack him silly for the continuous chewing noises during class. He really ought to be trained better. Maybe you could teach him a thing or two about being a civilised human.
Y is for Yogurt, which he’s spooning out of the container, dragging the spoon on his tongue slowly. His idiot brunet friend reaches over and tears the kid off the small container, and sticks it to his nose with the remaining yogurt left on the plastic. His eyes cross as he stares at the dairy on his nose, and then he lets out a laugh, and tackles the other boy to the ground, pouring the rest in his hair. The pair get caught by a teacher, and sent to the principal’s office, and the girl in the group tuts. As if you can’t expect any different from him.
Z is for Zucchini. Why does he have an entire Zucchini, you wonder? Although, why does he do anything in the first place? He’s joking around with his friends, one of them has produced a condom, and they’re trying to roll it over the prickly vegetable while trying to make sure the condom doesn’t split. They impressively get it over the whole thing, and someone makes a crude joke about how your mother likes them that size.
It’s on that day, he comes over to your table, Zucchini still in hand, and says “hey, I know you’ve been watching because I’ve been watching you, too.” You clear your throat to tell him to get out of your face, as you famously do, but he quickly leans in while nobody’s watching and shuts your lips with a quick kiss. “I like you, Richboy,” he mutters as he turns back around to join his friends who are none the wiser...
And you notice that taste of strawberry lingers on your lips again.