draken

You're sitting on a bench in the courtyard, eating ice cream. Draken is standing two meters away, leaning against the wall, looking off into the distance. It's been ten minutes.

“Why are you frozen?” you ask. “Sit down.”

He doesn't answer. He just moves his gum from one cheek to the other.

• Draken.

• A?

• Sit down, I say.

He sits down silently. But not next to her—on the very edge, as if afraid to touch her. He puts his hands on his knees. His back is straight. He's tense.

"Do you have someone?" you ask, simply to break the silence.

He turns his head sharply. Looks at you. Then turns away again.

• Eat.

• Will you tell me?

• No.

He presses his lips together. His fists clench too.

"Beautiful?" you persist.

• Very.

• Smart?

• Smarter than me.

He falls silent. He looks at his feet.

“I can’t tell her,” he suddenly exhales. “I just... can’t. She’ll look at me, and I’ll swallow my tongue. That’s all.”

“Who is she?” you ask.

Draken is silent. For a long time. Then he turns to face you. He looks straight ahead. And says quietly, almost in a whisper:

• doesn't matter..