#normally I’d wear a brown sweater underneath but it was being washed- so I went with purple

[robo-milky]

Saw this and immediately had to do it- What vibe does the fit give off?

[blackvelvetwriteson]

𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐑𝐘 𝐒𝐖𝐄𝐄𝐓 𝐓𝐎𝐔𝐂𝐇

                                        (  ~ Levi Ackerman x Gender Neutral                                                             Reader Insert ~ )

GENRE: Fluffy Fluff!                                                                  

FANDOM: Shingeki no Kyojin (Attack on Titan)

TRIGGER WARNINGS: There really are none for today, it’s just fluffy fluff!

SUMMARY: Reader-Chan and Levi go on their first date together!

WORD COUNT: 3746

(Headers are mine, but the art inside of them are not! Please don’t steal or repost without credit!)

     You didn’t know too much about Levi up to this point; he was fairly mysterious and that little inkling of secrecy about him was what drew you to him- you thought. Many of the others teased you when you came out about your crush for Levi, but it was mostly in good taste, right? Just friends teasing friends… You hoped. You always looked into his office when you passed by, you always lingered a bit back to watch him in action during training, always asked him for tips so you could be like him; so you could fly like him, probably learn to excavate titans from the premises like him as well. He just had a way of moving, a way of speaking, even the way his sharp eyes washed over your gaze seemed so seamless and easygoing. They’d always crack jokes about how his expression never changes, or how his eyes looked dead, or how his voice was quiet and gruff, but you didn’t care about all of that. You had a way to tell what he was feeling at any given time and you’d been fairly accurate with your guesses.

So it goes without saying that you had the courage one day and, without telling anybody, you went to meet him in his office. Before him, you were a shy little thing, fumbling with your own fingers as you spoke slowly and you tried to not fumble over your words or he’d never let you live it down. You explained to him your infatuation with everything he did- with less words, of course- and the only response you seemed to get were raised eyebrows and parted lips. But he knew now at least. That was a good thing… right?

You then started to pick up on his tells, rather quickly, and kept them to yourself. His gaze was a little less intense when he looked at you, he spoke a little slower around you, he seemed a little more relaxed when it came to you, and this time, you didn’t know what it was for, but you noticed that he didn’t carry the same energy as before and you could tell that he was hesitating or holding back… But for what?

So when he called you into his office after hours, you knew something was up, but you didn’t know what. Your heart beat against your rib cage in anticipation, though, and you just had a feeling that you weren’t in trouble. Not yet anyways. Or maybe your optimism was just peaking, maybe you were stuck staring at life through your mostly unscathed rose tinted glasses with faint cracks in the lenses. When you approached his office, you stopped in the doorway out of habit. You saw the golden glow of the sunset through the window cast over his face as he halfway sat on the window sill, a small tea cup in hand, his bangs fighting the urge to fall in his face, his longing, soft gaze spread over the plain just past the two-paned glass that made up the window. As expected, everything was clean, neat, orderly… Utterly pristine just as he liked it. The light reflected around the bright colored room leaving you in the shadow just behind the door. You gently knocked on the door and his head elegantly swayed in your direction after stalling for a moment, his gaze meeting yours as you stepped into the gilded glow. The corner of his lips turned up into a half smile for a fleeting moment before he walked over and placed his cup of tea on one corner of his desk, moving to the other side of it so he could sit. “Close the door,” he commanded as he crossed his arm and let his head bow a little. You, naturally, did as instructed from your superior and you stood there just as shy as ever as you watched his eyes linger over your body. He took a sip of tea before starting to talk and you listened close to ever single syllable.

“With the… State of the world we’re forced to live in, there’s not much we can do for leisure… But-“ he paused to look at you- “I think I have an idea… If you would agree to meet me…” He trailed off, his eyes never leaving yours. You could tell he was dead set serious, but you never expected this. Was he planning this since you exposed yourself? You were too scared to ask him so you just stood and nodded a little, picking at your nails gently before you spoke up trying to register the words that came from his mouth.

“Um… S-So like a… D-Date,” you asked quietly as you let your head drop. You heard his footsteps approach you and his gentle hand tilted your head up, his grey eyes glistening a little as he tried to form a smile for you.

“Yes. Exactly like that… Meet me at the front of the building within the hour if you accept. If not, we’ll act like this interaction never happened and continue business as usual. I’m looking forward to meeting with you, though, cadet,” he said quietly as he collected his cup of tea and made his way out of the office just leaving you there in the dimming golden light, your heart fluttering. You were rooted to your spot, and he really didn’t have to do much of anything to make you feel special. All he had to do was talk to you like that, so sweet and so kind even if others didn’t register it that way. You knew he was gentle, you knew that he just had a hard time with showing what it was that he wanted directly or just a little TOO directly sometimes.

Eventually, though, you were able to move from your spot and from there you went to your living quarters, washing up quickly, styling your hair, all of the goods, before you went to meet Levi at the front of his office building. You collected a single flower on your way wanting to give it to him. You spotted him right where he said he’d be looking as beautiful as ever. He was wearing a black turtleneck sweater with the sleeves rolled neatly up to his elbows, his eyes soft and longing as he looked out along the horizon. He was also wearing nice dark blue jeans and black shoes, a brown woven basket hanging off of one of his arms. So this is what your fearless leader looked like dressed in casual.

“I’m glad you chose to meet me,” he said in that sweet voice of his that managed to make your knees buckle and your heart flutter even after he said just one word. “I have decided we’ll have dinner by the lake… We can talk for a little bit-“ he turned to look at you with a half smile on his face, his eyes glimmering with the sunlight that remained outside. His smile, above everything else, made you even more in love with him, but you wouldn’t admit it. Not just yet anyway. “And then… I’ll walk you back to quarters if everything goes to plan,” he said as he approached you slowly, his fingers playing at the stem of a flower he’d collected for you along the way. He brushed your bangs back with his slender fingers, pushing the flower to rest just before your ear before offering you his arm. “Now, if you will,” he said softly. “Why don’t we get going while we still have daylight left, hm?” Of course you took his arm even though you knew he wasn’t too keen on contact with other people.

Eventually, you both made it to your destination and it seemed like he had everything set up already. There was a blanket set up underneath a tree with pretty flowers and even some small vines with a view of a flowing creek complete with a small waterfall. You paused and took in the scene and he slowed to a stop next to you just watching your expression as you looked over the area. “I hope this is adequate,” he said softly as he tilted his head a little. You reassured him that this was more than enough and allowed him to lead you to the small pad. It had two pillows that you hadn’t noticed until you got there, but you decided it was even more perfect.

You both made it to your spots right beside each other and he set the basket down in between the two of you with a soft sigh as he looked down at the water. He waited a moment before opening the basket, his eyes flicking to yours for a fleeting moment before he pulled some candles out and sparked the wicks, making sure to keep them out of the way so they didn’t accidentally get knocked over. He looked up at you with his stoic expression but it was softer than normal. You couldn’t help but to get flustered every single time he stared at you like that. You shifted a little and looked him over, your face burning up as you sighed softly. “…W-What is it h-heicho,” you asked softly before he hushed you.

“We’re off the clock. We’re equals,” he said as he laid down on his side, one of his legs curled over yours, his head propped up on his palm as he sighed softly and brushed his bangs out of his face. “Just call me Levi.”

Those simple words, his basic gestures; each and every single one made your heart leap. You bit your lip nervously before you felt his hand reach for yours, his fingers stroking your knuckles gently. “There’s no need for you to be so shy… Formal… We’re on a date,” he said softly, gently kissing the back of your hand. As you watched him, you felt your eyes water a little and you tried not to make your shaky breathing apparent. He was intimidating, yes, but in the best possible way.

“L-Levi,” you whispered softly as you looked down at him. He was trying to hold himself back; his being touch starved infinitely more apparent. His skin was soft and his touch was tender despite his muscular frame. “H-How long… D-Did you…” you trailed off hoping he’d understand what you asked. A soft and low deadpan chuckle from him sort of answered your question.

“This set up? I’d say it was probably… Well… Since you confessed to me,” he said quietly, positioning one of the pillows under his arm. “I’m going to be real honest with you,” he said as he squinted a little and he looked out at the violet horizon again. “Since even before you confessed, I’ve felt… Drawn to you. I kind of forgot what that felt like, yknow,” he said as he let his bangs fall in his eyes. “You’ve been my right hand in… Everything. Even if you’re lower in the ranks.. You still have the skill and uh… What’s the word?… Hospitality. And the strength that’s needed to lead a team,” he said as he sucked in a deep breath.

“… Levi,” you say softly, hesitantly running your fingers through his hair to get his bangs out of his face so you could see his dark, pretty eyes. “What are you scared of?”

It was apparent that the question caught him off guard, his eyes widening a little, his eyebrows raising as his lips parted some. He bit the inside of his cheek before reverting back to his normal lifeless expression, sitting up just a little. “Well… Um…” He sucked in a sharp breath and fumbled with the fabric of the blanket below you two. “I… I’m… Look,” he said softly. “I’m… Afraid of… Losing my team,” he said as he furrowed his eyebrows pressing the palms of his hands together. “I’m afraid to even learn their names because the very next day, they could be killed by a titan and…” He felt himself start to slip so he trailed off and shook his head. “I’m afraid… Of getting attached I guess,” he mumbled to himself, never really having to think about that because he’d never been asked. You couldn’t help yourself, your body moving in closer to his before you gently kissed his forehead. He grunted softly looking taken aback but his hardened expression quickly softened as he looked at you again.

“You know… In our uh… Line of work, we shouldn’t be scared to be blunt. That’s what I always loved about you; you never cared about what people had to say, and you’re the leader of the best squadron to date, heicho,” you said softly before he looked away trying to fight a faint blush from his cheeks. “We kind of can’t help being attached to certain things, Levi. We’re human… Whether we like it or not… And I know that I’m attached to you… Through training… Through our small interactions… We’ve known each other for a long time; and as long as we’re under your command, I know that one day… Soon… There will be a life where we can live freely without fearing the titans… I just know it,” you whispered softly, your fingers massaging at your scalp, your eyes glistening. Of course, that caught his attention- as if his attention weren’t on you already- and he rested his head on your thigh, his eyes carrying a small ember behind them. He looked up at you as you continued to massage his head and he shook his head a little.

“Cade-“ he cut himself off and he closed his eyes so that he could speak more casually. “(L/N), are you aware of that one saying that they used to say a long time ago… before the titans came… The one about it takes two to tango or something like that?” He opened one of his eyes halfway just to stare at you and you nodded, interested in what he had to say. He closed his eyes again and took another deep breath, his nose catching the faint and refreshing scent of sea foam in the air causing a momentary plain smile to cross his face. “Well… That’s what this team is,” he said quietly. “In truth, I never cared much for the popularity or status of my… Well, title. I don’t like that almost everybody knows my name… I don’t like that I’m always being asked questions or interviewed because in truth, you wouldn’t be alive if you didn’t have the will to be alive, the strength to be alive, the compassion… To be strong even when everything seems so unreachable… When it seems like nothing matters… (L/N), that has absolutely nothing to do with me,” he said quietly as he opened one of your eyes to see your face, your eyes wet with happy tears, your eyebrows furrowed a little, your free hand rested over your lips that were barely parted and quivering. “It has everything… Absolutely everything… To do with you,” he whispered out with a vague squint, his eyes glistening as he sat up and pulled your head against his shoulder. You obliged happily and watched as he pulled out a small container of grapes offering it to you, and you accepted, having it rest in your lap as you embraced his warmth and his sweet, musky scent and the even sound of his breathing, a soft breeze wafting through the clearing to cool you down.

“That means a lot coming from you, yknow,” you say softly once you’re finally composed enough to speak again. “Not because you’re my heicho… But more because you’ve been the light at the end of the tunnel for me… And you’re cunning… Witty… Strategic… Things that I’m not so great at,” you mumbled softly. He chuckled softly and kissed the top of your head gently, his hand resting on your lower back gently, watching the stars above twinkle.

“Don’t sell yourself short,” he said quietly. “You’ve saved my ass, admittedly, in multiple situations. Especially against Kenny,” he growled softly at the name but then he shook it off. “There have been so many times that I’ve felt like it was the end… And you were there to help me; not just as a member of our battalion, but also a… Confidant,” he said as he leaned forward, gently tapping his chin. You giggled and fed him a grape that he happily accepted, gently nuzzling into your hand after he stole the grape from your fingers. “You’re beautiful, (L/N) (F/N,” he said softly as he looked up into your eyes. Again, a squint played at the corners of your eyes and you looked at him about to speak, but he just hushed you. “Not just… How you look… Those eyes, your… Body; but your mind… You fixed that brat Eren’s ODM gear on the fly… And even made it propel him faster… Now we’re changing the design to how you did it- or a similar variant of it- so that we can retreat out of foreboding situations quicker… Your personality… Everything about you… You’re beautiful, and I mean that,” he said quietly, turning your head to him again. He leaned in a little and then he stopped himself, his eyes meeting yours. You hoped he didn’t pull away, you loved how his slightly quivering breaths felt against your lips; you loved how it felt to be this close to him, and if he pulled away now, you wouldn’t have the confidence to ask him to get this close again. Even in the face of your interprid, lion-hearted captain, the one who never faltered in the face of Titans or in life and death situations, somehow you were slowly unravelling him whether he wanted to admit it or not. You could tell by how his lips trembled ever so slightly, how he hesitated for the first time, how his hand caressed one side of your face as if you were fine china and even one movement would break you. “(Y/N),” he whispered softly against your lips, his eyes locked on yours. “…. Can I please… Kiss you,” he spoke slowly as if to make sure you understood what he was asking. He let out a shaky breath as you fed him another giggle and rested your hand over his.

“Yes, heicho. P-Please kiss me,” you whispered softly, only to feel Levi’s soft lips barely brush past yours in one small, soft kiss. Then he got a little more confidence in a third peck, then a fourth, his eyes closing only after yours did, his body leaning into yours as one of his hands rested on your thighs, the other resting on your cheek, his fingers gently stroking at your cheekbone. He nibbled your bottom lip asking for entry and you obliged, whining softly already just because of the surge of emotions you were feeling off of the soft, loving, vulnerable kiss. Your fingers ran through his silky hair again, traveling to the back of your captain’s head, your fingers finding the fine, fuzzy and soft hair that was normally hidden under his long hair. You couldn’t help but to massage your fingers over the fine hairs, enjoying the texture of it against your fingers while pulling him closer in the process. His tactful tongue explored your mouth, your velvety tongue massaging against his in a slow rhythm. He allowed you to have the lead, still making sure to keep everything tame and slow. He let out small whines and grunts of his own as he kissed you, his body on fire, the tips of his ears red with a flush of embarrassment. He was worried he wasn’t doing a good enough job for you, but he still allowed you to have control over the kiss. As your tongue ventured further into his mouth, his followed suit, leaving no area neglected while leaving his flavor for you to savor in place. Soon though he needed to part to catch his breath, and when he did, you sucked on his tongue and nibbled his lip before you both separated. His eyes widened a little as he panted with soft even breaths, his eyes glistening as he tried to compose himself.

“W-Who would’ve known you were a great kisser too, cadet,” he said with a slight smirk before he kissed the top of your head and he laid back down, his mind not able yet to rip itself away from how you felt against him in the intimate kiss. “No but,” he said with a soft shaky sigh, gently pecking your lips again with a soft hum. “I’ve wanted to say this since you were introduced to my squadron… I…” He looked away for a moment and gently took your hand in his, gently kissing the back of your hand before looking into your eyes with that intensely alluring gaze of his. “I lo…ve you,” he said in a breathy whisper, laying back down, pulling your head down against his chest, his arms capturing in a loving embrace. “I love you…” He echoed quietly as he looked out at the water. “But now that I said that… You can’t start cutting yourself some slack,” he said with an obviously tight jaw, his hold on you getting a little more protective. “You need to live… I watched everyone close to me die… Mostly at the hand of these titans… Killing them is what keeps me going… And… I loved one of my friends once… That was the only other time I felt like this, but even with you it’s more of a vibrant feeling…. I’m sure you can feel and hear my racing heart,” he said quietly, the soft vibration of his chest as he spoke almost luring you to sleep, his voice like a sweet lullaby. He was right, you could feel his chest pounding against his ribcage and shaking his core. “Live for me, (Y/N), he said in a soft and shaky voice, his throat getting hot with tears that he refused to let fall as he thought about his fallen comrades. “I want to grow with you… We’ve been through so much already,” he said as he kissed the top of your head, his tense body finally relaxing into the pillows underneath the both of you.

[breathinginthevapor]

“Can I sleep here tonight?”

Summary: When faced by the loneliness of staying on campus for spring break, you decide to pay a visit to your best friend Jacob. Only, it seems you’ve forgotten he’s with his parents, but luckily, Jacob’s roommate and fellow drama major, Tom, is there, and offers you some company. 

A/N: This is written for the lovely @bringmethehorizonandpizza ‘s writing challenge in celebration of her 21th birthday, so happy birthday, Anne! I chose the blurb “Can I sleep here tonight” and I personally think the result ended up pretty cute. Feedback would be very much appreciated!

Word count: 5200+

T/W: Swearing

Masterlist

It’s raining outside, pouring, even. The sky is dark, and the blackness creeps onto you, making you shudder. You’ve always hated being out in the dark, especially while alone, and not even the beautiful full moon can make you feel better. It feels like every shadow is lurking on you, and the yellow light from the street lights only makes it worse. You curse yourself far away for watching that serial killer documentary, knowing that your brain would process the horrific details and let them surface in a moment like this. 

The rain soaks through your clothing and hair, making everything cling tightly to your skin. If it wasn’t for your vehement hatred against umbrellas in general and your lack of raincoat because you were stupid enough to forget it last time you went home, you wouldn’t have been so surely catching a cold. 

But well, stubbornness and stupidity brought this on you, and a cold luckily won’t kill you. It won’t even be as bad as staying in your own dorm room, listening to every footstep outside your door and getting more and more scared while the extreme stress of all your unfinished assignments and loneliness lays just underneath the fright. 

Still, you are about to turn on your heel and run home when you finally reach the dorm, relief shooting through your body. 

As soon as you step inside the hallway, the smell of junk food, sweat and boy hits you, but more importantly, a warmth that makes you realise how your teeth are clattering and goose bumps covering your skin. 

A rap song you faintly recognise but wouldn’t know any words of plays behind one of the doors, and you can hear the sound of a shower a little down the hall. It’s still audible when a brunette walks out of the door, only clad in a white towel hanging dangerously low on his hips. He has a deliciously toned stomach, you acknowledge, a sight for sore eyes, for sure. 

“Y/N? What are you doing here?” the guy asks, just as you’ve realised who it is. You immediately feel your cheeks turn hot while you try not to look at his exposed torso. Surprisingly, he doesn’t seem anywhere near as flustered as you. 

You wonder if it’s an actor thing, not being as easily ashamed as “normal” people, because Jacob’s exactly the same way.  

“Hey Tom,” you mutter, glancing at a shabby concert poster on the wall instead of him. You can’t make yourself look at him, not now, at least. 

“I was just- I wanted-,” you start, but you don’t know what to say, really. The reason for your visit seems both embarrassing and stupid now. 

And then, to make matters much, much worse, you start crying. At least the tears are a little warmer water than the rain that’s already slid down your face, but opposed to the rain, your cries make the whole situation far weirder. 

“I’m just really lonely, and I watched that creepy new documentary on Netflix, and then I thought Jacob would be able to cheer me up, but I’ve just realised that he isn’t even here, and I really don’t wanna go back to my dorm, but I guess it’s my only choice,” you sobbingly ramble, the hurried and uncontrolled way the words leave your mouth reminding you of the feeling of puking. 

Fortunately, you’re 95% sure you didn’t actually puke. That would have been the cherry on top of your bad day, truly. 

You’re absolutely certain that Tom will respond with something awkward and then close the door to his dorm room in your face, but instead, he walks to you and engulfs you in a warm hug. 

In spite of the uncomfortable feeling of your soaked shirt against his bare chest and the clear awkwardness of hugging a hot shirtless guy whose lower body is only hidden by a towel, it’s a nice hug. Especially because he doesn’t let go of you after the usual few seconds that such embraces last. 

You cry into his chest as he soothingly caresses your back, and miraculously, your eyes stop dropping tears, and your breathing slows down. You can feel your body heat rise, the warmth of his body affecting yours. 

“Thank you,” you mumble, the unfamiliar feeling of your lips moving against his naked skin causing goose bumps to rise on your skin once more. It reminds you all too much of your dark fantasies, the ones you’d never admit to anyone, the ones where your lips move against his skin just like now, but under much different circumstances.

He releases you and eyes you with a soft, worried expression on his face. Your focus shifts for a swift second to a pearl of water that runs from his wet hair down the side of his face, leaving a shimmering trail. His skin looks flushed, perhaps he rinsed it while showering, and his forehead and chin are a little spotty, but it doesn’t make him any less handsome. 

“I know I’m not Jacob,” he says, biting his lip and pulling your focus back from his facial features, “but do you wanna stay in my room for a while? I don’t want you to go home like this, especially not in this weather.”

You can’t believe how sweet he is, first letting you cry your eyes out against his chest and then offering you his company. It’s not at all helping you get rid of the crush you have on him, and perhaps it would be healthier for your budding feelings to go home, but you only have to think about laying alone in your dorm room for a second before you make up your mind. 

“Are you sure? It’s my own fault for forgetting that he’s with his parents, and I don’t want to intrude.”

He grins widely at you, grabbing your hand and pulling you after him. “Of course! I’m sick of watching Friends on my own anyway.”

You laugh, feeling happier than you have in what feels like a terribly long time. At least ever since most of your friends, including both Jacob and your roommate, went home over spring break and left you on campus with long-ass assignments, nobody to talk to and one hell of a mess in your room. 

You’re also pretty sure your roommate had some sort of existential crisis before going home as she kept mumbling about breaking up with her boyfriend and how he would hate her for it and then if she had remembered to pack her favourite yellow dress, although she’s told you about a hundred times that she hates wearing dresses. Besides, you’ve never seen her wear anything that wasn’t black. 

Her mental state resulted in a terrible mess in your room, at you just can’t bear to look at the scattered school books, crumpled pieces of clothing or half-eaten packs of jelly beans anymore.

“Well, make yourself at home. I’ll- uhm, I’ll put on some clothes,” he tells you once he’s closed the door behind you, clearly remembering how little he’s wearing. 

“I’ll just turn around and cover my eyes,” you stutteringly assure him, following your own instructions and adding a small joke to try to ease the tension, “I promise I won’t look.” 

He chuckles, sounding a bit more relaxed. You hear him shuffle around and then exclaim a muffled sound, similar to the ones you let out when you get stuck in a shirt or sweater. 

“Are you stuck?” you giggle.

“I was, but I’m good now,” he answers, sounding out of breath. “You can look, by the way, I’m fully dressed.”

You remove your palms from your face and turn around, sitting down on Jacob’s bed. Tom’s wearing a grey sweatshirt and matching sweatpants, and he looks so soft it takes everything in you not to jump into his arms or squeeze his cheeks. You have to remind yourself that you don’t even know him that well, that just because you’ve heard so much about Tom from Jacob, it doesn’t mean that you’re, by any means, close with the boy. You wish you were.  

He crooks his head and looks at you with furrowed eyes, glancing up and down your body. 

“D’you want a towel to dry off? And maybe some dry clothes? I don’t want to overstep, but I’d also hate myself if I was the reason for you getting sick.” 

The apple of his cheeks grows to resemble, yes, (red) apples, as he scratches his neck and shoots you an uncomfortable glance. 

A lump forms in your throat, amazed at his hospitality and kindness. You nod, “You’re not overstepping at all. Actually, you’re being scarily sweet. Sure an alien isn’t possessing you?”

He laughs, “Yeah. Pretty sure. Just naturally this charming,” he winks at you. 

“That’s what someone possessed by aliens would say, though,” you point out, trying to ignore how flustered you got at his gesture. He shakes his head at you with a big grin.

“Careful now, if you’d like to avoid the flu,” he jokes, picking a green towel from the cabinet and throwing it at you. “Tee or sweatshirt?”

You shrug, already drying of your hair with the towel, “Don’t care.”

You’re barely able to catch the blue hoodie that flies through the air, inches from hitting you in the head.

“Shorts or sweats?” he then inquiries, holding both a pair of football shorts and a pair of sweats that looks identical to the ones he’s wearing.

“Shorts,” you decide, this time ready to receive the black fabric. 

“Do you want me to wait in the hallway while you get changed?” he offers, closing the cabinet and smiling softly at you.

You shake your head, returning his smile, “No no, just turn around.”

“You sure?” he checks, and you nod, assuring him that you are. He turns around, drying his brown locks in the white towel he’s already used in the shower as you quickly slip off your wet garments and put on Tom’s instead. 

When you pull the shirt over your head, the smell of Tom hits your nostrils, a delicious mixture of citrus, musk and washing powder.

“All decent,” you tell him once you’re fully clothed, and he turns to you again, walking to his own bed and sitting down. 

You’re facing each other, the narrowness of the room causing your knees to be just inches apart, so close that your bare legs can feel the warmth radiating from his. 

“Do you wanna talk about what upset you, or should I just ramble about something completely else?” he offers, a sweet smile on his lips. 

You bite your lip, feeling out of place even though you’ve been in the room to visit Jacob countless times.

It’s a nice and cosy place, much tidier than most boy dorm rooms. There are movie posters on the wall, both old, classic ones and newer comedies. It smells good, too, like masculine deodorant with only a tiny and actually not all-too-bad hint of sweat, perhaps caused by the few pieces of sports clothing discarded on the floor. 

Tom quickly rises from his seat on the bed to put it in the laundry basket when he notices you eyeing the stuff. He continues with quick, clumsy movements to clean up after himself, almost tripping over his own feet.

“Sorry it’s so messy,” he sheepishly apologizes. 

You shake your dismissingly, “Don’t think you’ve been to Mark Smith���s room if you think this is messy.” 

His gaze is still shy, stuttering as he replies, “Do-do you- erhm- do you spend a lot of time in Mark’s room?”

“No,” you deny, noticing how his shoulder relaxes at your words, “Not really my type, to be honest. Just did a group project with him a couple weeks ago.”

“Oh,” he mutters, sitting down again. 

“To answer your question from before, I’ve just felt really lonely during the break. Don’t really wanna talk about it, though.”

“Fair. Wanna watch a movie instead?” he proposes, and you nod. He stands back up, fetching the laptop from his backpack before dumping back on the bed for the third time, kicking his feet up and getting under the duvet. 

He shuffles close to the wall, patting the space next to him on the bed. “Do you wanna sit here? Unfortunately, my laptop isn’t as big as a telly, so you’ll see much better over here.”

You feel your palms grow sweaty as you nod, leaving Jacob’s bed in favour of joining Tom. You sit down on the duvet, legs touching through the cover and your shoulder bumping into his while the back of your hands almost brush, laying side by side.

“What do you wanna watch?” he inquires.

“Dunno,” you shrug, “Maybe that new Thor movie?”

His features brighten, an excited grin on his face. “Yeah? I’ve been wanting to watch it for ages but haven’t gotten around to it.”

“Then let’s do it,” you smile, your gaze switching from the screen to his face while he finds the movie.

You don’t think you’ve ever been this close to him. Being so near to him makes you able to stare at him without getting interrupted, and you realise he’s even more handsome than you thought.

Or, maybe he’s not, because he surely looks almost angelic, perfect, even, from afar, but of course he isn’t any of those things. He’s human, and he’s got moles and acne and zits and scars like everybody else, but you can’t help but think that these small imperfections just make him look more attractive. Unfair.

Then, the opening music of the movie plays, and you turn your eyes to the screen again.

You’re completely captivated by the story unfolding for your eyes until the very end, only realising how tired you’ve become when you yawn while the ending credits roll. 

“Well, I guess it’s getting kinda late,” Tom trails off, looking unsure. His words immediately send you back into a different mood, replacing the content, relaxed one. 

“Uhm, yeah, I guess,” you mumble, looking down. You’re barely able to hold back the tears, every fibre of your body feeling uncomfortable at the thought of returning to your own room. 

“I- You… I completely understand if you say no, and you have every right to, but I was just wondering,” you pause, suddenly losing to courage to ask. 

“Yes?” he encourages you with a smile.

“Can I- Can I sleep here tonight?” you whisper, your heart sinking when his eyes extract into a surprised expression and a surprised sound, almost like a small gasp, leaves his throat. 

He runs a hand through his hair, but it gets stuck for a few second when he hits a knot in the tousled locks. He seems to fight it, his focus turning from you to his hair for a moment before he bites his lip, looks down and nods.

“Yeah, of course,” he assures you. “Of course, you can,” he repeats with a low voice, sounding like it’s something he tells himself rather than you. 

“Are you sure?”

This time, he seems more convinced, eyes meeting yours, “Wouldn’t have said yes if I wasn’t.”

You shoot him a smile you hope looks grateful, and it’s quickly returned with a grin of his own. 

“Anyway, it’s not the first time you’ve slept here, is it?” he points out, changing both the subject and atmosphere to a more easy-going one.

You giggle, hit by memories of drunkenly dropping down on Jacob’s bed and not having the energy or self-restraint to get up again before you woke up the next morning with a massive headache and killer breath next to the Hawaiian/Filipino boy. 

“I guess it isn’t,” you agree. 

“Before Jacob met Alyssa, I thought,” he pauses, swallowing, looking at you expectantly like you’re supposed to know what he’s hinting at. But you don’t, and he seems to realise that as he elaborates, “That you two were… a thing.”

You can’t help but laugh, “Me and Jacob?”

Tom nods, confirming.

“Oh god, he’s like a brother to me, that would be disgusting!”

“Dunno, you just seemed really close,” he explains.

You shrug, “Well, we are really close, but we aren’t exactly each other’s types. There’s never been anything more than friendly between us, ever.”

“I think you’re everybody’s type, Y/N,” he blurts out, looking horrified afterwards. 

You can feel the heat rush towards your face, wondering what exactly he meant by that compliment. 

Because it is a compliment, right? It must be.

“I didn’t mean- I don’t- I-,” he starts, a panicked look on his face, before he calms himself down with a deep breath that you try to match to get your own heart under control. “Erhm, yeah, just can’t really comprehend how anyone wouldn’t think you were absolutely amazing.”

You can’t believe how courageous he is, telling someone he barely knows something so personal. And yeah, you already knew he was brave, having seen him perform in plays and knowing that he dreams to become an actor, a profession that takes insane amounts of courage, baring yourself to strangers every day, but this seems different. This isn’t a job or a dream or an artform. This is the real life, and it’s scary. At least you think so.

Though perhaps you aren’t as unfamiliar to each other as you have convinced yourself you are. 

You think back on all those mornings hungover with Jacob, and you can’t come up with one where Tom didn’t go with you to get breakfast, terribly chirpy and energetic while telling you about some prank his brothers had pulled on him once or a weird audition he went to. 

You recall some of those small comments he made when he studied in the room while you were hanging out with Jacob, seemingly keeping up with the conversation enough to add his thoughts every once in a while. 

And you remember those parties where you and Jacob managed to convince Tom to tag along, watching him dance surprisingly great (it took a while before you found out he had danced a lot growing up, even starring in Billy Elliot), loose fatally in beer pong and shy away from all the girls who made a move on him, shooting you desperate glances before you saved him from their drunk persistence with an apologetic smile to the girl and a tight grip on his bicep.

“Thank you,” you mumble while you feel your skin heat up, something it does an awfully lot today. “That’s really sweet of you to say.”

He offers you a small smile, “Just telling the truth.”

No need to say, you blush even harder.

But before you can reply with a compliment of your own or at least explain to him how much his words mean to you, he abruptly changes the subject, “We should probably get ready for bed. I don’t have a spare toothbrush, and I’d offer to lend you mine if it wasn’t, you know, terribly unhygienic and gross.”

You chuckle, “Thanks for the thought, but I’ll manage with my finger if I could just get a bit of toothpaste.”

“Of course.” 

You brush your teeth side by side in the claustrophobic miniature bathroom, once in a while catching each other’s eyes in the mirror before shyly looking away. It’s like a game, and you can’t stop playing, not when his words from before are repeated in your head over and over again.

“Have you asked Jacob if it’s okay with him that you sleep in his bed? I’m sure it is, and I’ll just take the floor if it isn’t, but I’d just rather that he knows.”

You nod after spitting out the toothpaste, “Just sent him a text.” 

Not even five seconds later, your phone buzzes with a text from your mutual friend.

Jacob: Of course! 

You turn your phone to Tom to show him that Jacob has agreed to your arrangement, but then you see Tom’s eyes enlarge and a blush creep across his cheeks and look at the phone yourself.

Jacob: Just don’t get frisky in my bed, lovebirds.

You can’t believe him. That really wasn’t needed, especially with the tension already so weird. You try to laugh, but the awkward cough-like sound doesn’t even convince yourself, and you abruptly go quiet, making it seem, if possible, even more fake. 

Luckily, Tom acts like nothing happened, asking you if you’re ready for bed. 

“Feel like I’ll collapse soon so it’s probably for the best,” you agree.

He smiles at your comment and returns to the dorm room, plopping down on the bed. You don’t know what to say, and the silence is thick and unpleasant as you lay there in your respective beds, staring at the ceiling. 

Then, Tom clears his throat and turns of the bedside lamp, leaving the room in darkness.

“Goodnight, Y/N,” he says.

“Goodnight, Tom,” you whisper back, feeling your heart pumping in your chest while you inwardly curse yourself being such a coward. Usually, you’re good at taking the first step when you’re interested in or intrigued by someone, but this feels different. Like a no from Tom would be much worse than a no from all those other sweet, pretty guys you’ve had a crush on.

But you take a deep breath and try to calm your nerves before speaking up with a low voice, “Tom?”

“Yeah?”

“Thanks for letting me sleep here.”

“No problem,” he assures you, voice soft.

“I’m really glad you were here today,” you start, convincing yourself not to chicken out. “I feel like I’ve kinda gotten to know you a bit because of Jacob, and I know we don’t really talk that much just the two of us, but,” you take another deep breath, knowing that your next words will possibly make it terribly awkward for you to visit Jacob, “I wish we did. I just never know what to say because you’re this sweet, funny, hot drama major, and then I just chicken out.”

Although it’s dark, your eyes have gotten used to it, and you’re thereby able to make out his features when he turns around to face you, laying on his side. There’s a small smile on his face, his brown eyes glistens and his hair is a mess, but an incredibly cute one. 

“What’s my major got to do with anything?” he just asks, and you almost tear up. He clearly doesn’t like you, he wouldn’t have asked about something like that if he did, and you try to tell yourself that at least you know now, and that you can move on instead of spending most of your day thinking about Tom. It doesn’t really help all too much, though.

You chuckle half-heartedly, “Dunno, you’re just all so confident and brave, and that’s kinda intimidating, I guess.”

He doesn’t answer, and instead you lay in silence looking at each other, until Tom turns back to laying on his back, and you’re sure that you’ve ruined everything there was to ruin between the two of you. You mentally prepare yourself to the prospect of having to go home to your lonely dorm room, catching a cold in the rain and your only company for the rest of the break another stupid Netflix series while you cry your eyes out.

“You think I’m hot?” he then inquires, and at least he’s not ordering you to leave yet.

“Um, yeah? Half of the school does, to be honest,” you bitterly acknowledge, recalling all those times where you caught girls (and every now and then a boy, although the boys in general seem less interested) looking dreamily at him or slipping him their number or even those parties where you saved him from other students flirting with him. You get mad at yourself for thinking that you were better than those people, thinking you had just a slightly bigger chance than them, just because you know him and talk to him regularly, when in reality, you’re just as hopelessly crushing as the rest of them. Perhaps even worse because he’s an actual part of your life and not just a cute guy on campus. 

He laughs quietly, “Then I think you should get your eyes tested ‘cause you’re clearly blind. People don’t find me attractive.”

“It’s true. Don’t pretend you haven’t noticed how people throw themselves at you. I have to rescue you from at least two at every party,” you remind him.

“They’re just drunk. I could be a 70-year-old with a Gandalf beard, and they would be too pissed to notice,” he protests, making you roll your eyes. Fortunately, he can’t see as his gaze is still fixated on the ceiling. 

“No, they aren’t. And even if they were, what about that redhead in the cafeteria last week, or the boy with the glasses at the diner?“ you argue, his only response a muffled sound, seemingly agreeing with you. He doesn’t really have a choice, though, because everyone who was there with you at the diner when the guy asked Tom out jokes about it. Tom’s perplexed reaction made it almost too easy for you to make fun of him, really. 

Then, there’s another minute of silence before Tom faces you once more and slowly, almost carefully as if he’s tasting every word, asks, “Y/N, do you like me?”

Now, you tell yourself, you’ll get thrown out, and you’ll never get to hear another of Tom’s stupid jokes or clever comebacks to Jacob’s joking insults and you’ll probably also need to find another place to crash when your roommate is fucking another girl as she does at least once a week, and it’s just terrible. 

But you still answer his question truthfully.

“Yeah,” you whisper, closing your eyes to avoid seeing his face when he rejects you. 

“As more than a friend?” he checks. 

“Yeah,” you repeat, scrunching your eyes even closer together. 

Then he starts laughing, the act surprising you so much that your eyes fly open to look at him, although it’s still too dark to see his features properly. At first, you’re confused, but then you just feel even more humiliated. Are your feelings really so strange he has to make fun of them?

However, he proves you wrong when he turns on the light and stands up energetically, looking almost giddy. You can’t look away, and you’re just awaiting the deathblow, but it doesn’t come. 

“I don’t even know what to with myself,” he chuckles, the grin on his face so bright you’re sure it could light up the room, if the light wasn’t already turned on, of course. “I’ve been pining after you for so long, and I didn’t believe Jacob when he said that you wouldn’t reject me if I made a move, but this is, like, the dream!”

Your tiredness causes you to become confused, not understanding what he says immediately. And then, your lack of confidence and the long time you’ve spent thinking that Tom didn’t feel anything for you but friendship, forces you to tell yourself that it can’t be real, that he must joking.

“I’m sorry, am I coming on too strong? I’m just really excited,” he explains, this time calmer. 

“I don’t- I don’t understand,” you whisper, shaking the covers off and slowly sitting up on the bed.

“Are you making fun of me?” you then ask, because although it seems unlikely as Tom is one of the kindest and most considerate people you’ve ever met, the other alternative is even more unlikely.

“No! No, no, I would never,” he desperately assures you, sitting down beside you, his upper body turned against you as he bites his lip and looks you in the eye. “Why would you even think that?”

You shrug, and he takes your hand in his, and although his palm is sweaty, you can’t help but feeling that you’ve never experienced anything as amazing as the feeling of his palm in yours and his thumb caressing the back of your hand.

You look down at your joined hands, the realisation slowly hitting you. He likes you. Tom likes you.

“I dunno. It just never seemed like you liked me back,” you mumble, a thousand thoughts and feelings shooting through your head, driving you to the point of dizziness. 

He looks bewildered at you, like you’ve said something unbelievable.

“Are you telling me you haven’t noticed how I stare at you for literally hours and that I always tag along when you and Jacob hang out? Not to mention how I not even an hour ago blurted out that I thought you were everybody’s type.”

It makes sense when he puts it like that, but you still don’t think it’s that simple.

“Yeah, but then I told you how amazing I thought you were, and you just asked me why I mentioned your major!” you shoot back. “And you didn’t notice either how Jacob and I hang out here waaaay more than in my room, and that I always beg you to come party with us and that I’m acting like a creepy stalker all the time, watching over you like a hawk and becoming overly jealous and miserable every time someone flirts with you!” 

You almost spit the words out, wanting to point out that you’re not the only one who’s been oblivious, but it looks like it has the opposite effect. Tom looks taken back by your outburst, watching you with wide eyes, and you absolutely hate yourself for being too much, like you always are, and it’s just so typical you. 

But before you can do or say anything to save the situation, there’s a warm pair of lips pressing against your own. When you don’t react, too shocked to move any part of your body, the lips disappear almost as fast as they came and makes you wonder if it even happened at all.

 Luckily, Tom’s guilty expression and next words assure that the kiss was real, “I’m so sorry, I should have asked you first, I’m really sorry-”

“No!” you cut him off, only making him look more terrified, so you decide it’s probably best to tone it down a little and speak with a calmer voice, “No, don’t be sorry. I just thought I had scared you away and ruined everything with that stalker-thing, so I was a little surprised, that’s all.” 

His face slowly softens, a relieved noise leaving his mouth. 

“It was nice. The kiss. Dreamt about doing that for a long time, to be honest,” you sheepishly add, making him smile.

“Me too,” he admits, and then he kisses you again. He releases your hand and grabs your face again while you bury your fingers in the small curls in his neck. His mouth is warm against yours, and you can’t believe it’s really happening. 

You break apart first, panting a little as you rest your forehead against his, grinning.

“I really really really like you,” he admits happily, making you laugh just because you’re so tremendously ecstatic. The world feels light and so full of possibilities, completely opposite to how sad and lonely you felt a couple hours ago.

“I really really really like you, too,” you answer, and you can’t help but kiss him again, this time slipping your tongue through his lips, letting it taste the tip of his. 

And well, when Jacob a couple days later comes home to you and Tom making out in Tom’s bed and sighs knowingly, you must admit that staying on campus for spring break wasn’t the worst decision you’ve made.

[wordydelights]

first chapter of the first book i ever tried to write

When Galaxies Collide

11:39 AM, November 29th

As I tapped my no. 2 against the side of my desk, I could tell others around me were becoming annoyed. But, that didn't seem to bother me much. The ticking of each second passing by echoed throughout my eardrums. The day was going slower than normal.

It was torture.

I'd usually be scribbling something on the corner of my notebook by now, but the inspiration I needed wasn't present at the moment. I was just waiting for it to walk through the door.

11:43 AM

The classrooms' temperature caused my hands to numb and drift asleep.The dull environment, dry with boredom, painted the students' faces with clear disinterest. Blank sheets of paper sat on each desk, patiently awaiting to be written on, alas no one could find the strength to lift their fingers.

The teachers here refer to us as a lazy generation, concluding we only spend our time watching 'screens' all day and don't know how to socialize, on account of being caught up in our make-believe worlds. They also believe that the public school system is a well established institute for education...and our school's sports teams don't suck. So who's the real loser?

My yawning began to fog the glasses now resting on the tip of my nose. I gently removed the specs, carefully wiping them off with the knit sleeve of my sweater. I'd occasionally wear contacts but I was usually too lazy to deal with carefully shoving plastic underneath my eyelids.

I had sat in the back of the classroom, three rows to the left, giving me a perfect view of my fellow peers, the white board and the lovely scenery of the school's totally non-crappy parking lot, outside the window.

A faint sound began to tickle my ears. As it grew louder I was able to make out my name. Don't worry, I thought. Hearing your name being called is the sign of a healthy mind. Either that or I was becoming schizophrenic. But, unfortunately this wasn't a figment of my imagination, let alone a psychotic voice in my head.

"Jackson."

I snapped my head up towards the front of the classroom, like being resurrected with a sudden jolt. My eyes met the shiny forehead, wrinkled with distress of The Professor. He was a World History teacher at Oakwood High. No one seemed to refer to him by his real name, honestly, I think most of us had forgotten it.

The Professor had always made a huge deal about universities, how hard it is to get in and statistically most of us will end up at a dead-end community college with a degree in flipping burnt burgers. To make matters worse, he constantly bragged about his past employment at Harvard.

The big question he hadn't answered however was 'how he got from Harvard to a low budget public school in Forest Grove, Oregon.' Bigger question, 'how he was removed from Harvard's distinguished faculty?.'

Never once did he object to this sarcastic nickname which was used to describe his unhealthy obsession. As a matter-of-fact he took pride in it. Probably because it reminded him of the times he once had a bigger paycheck, respectful students and a school with an IQ average larger than 60. Or partly because he was an arrogant asshole, who enjoys dwelling on the past.

"Daydreaming again, I see," he said expressionless. His specialty.

"No s-s-ir," my voice cracked.

I heard snickers from multiple students around the room.

Damn you puberty.

"I was just looking for a bit of inspiration."

"Inspiration," he smirked. "How is that related to the lesson?"

My eyes darted across the whiteboard, searching for the title of today's topic, written in it's general bold letters.

The Age of Enlightenment.

"Well sir, during the Enlightenment period, inspiration was what all people were searching for."

"And have you found any inspiration?"

"Not yet, it hasn't seemed to arrive."

He squinted his eyes as if trying to read to me. Scanning my body language, then absorbing the information obtained. I knew I was about to be asked to explain to the class something complex, that I obviously don't know about the Enlightenment. It was his typical routine for making me look like an idiot, not like he had to try.

11:47 AM

As soon as he opened his mouth to speak, the words on the tip of his tongue, the door swung open. Inspiration had arrived.

"Hi sorry...you would not believe the hallway traffic."

She was on her usual time. Not too late to be counted absent, but late enough to piss of The Professor.

"Pass?" The tone in his voice was dripping with frustration.

She walked up with a certain confidence in her stride. Not the prideful, vain kind. The bold kind. Too bold. So bold it was a cover up for something dark lying within.

She pushed the hair out of her face, and flashed a smile, a fake, phony, I-hate-you smile, proceeding to hand over a crumpled up hall pass.

The Professor snatched the piece of paper out of her hand, quickly analyzed it and sighed,

"Just go sit down."

"Gladly," she'd snap back without missing a beat.

I watched as she made her way to her desk dropping the bag to the floor and whipping her classic black and white chucks up onto the empty seat in front of her, then continued to twist the stained silver ring on her finger.

Some days were better than others. She never truly disrupted class. She just threw on a show whenever she came in.

Never once did she acknowledge my presence this entire year. I doubt she even vaguely remembered me.

She had changed so much since the four-foot-three Serene Easton from elementary school.

No longer did she wear that burgundy ribbon in her hair, candy bracelets or fuzzy scrunchies on her wrists. She moved away one summer just as we were about to start the seventh grade. I don't know where or why, but I do know I bawled my eyes out for a month straight.

I just couldn't bare the thought of her not being there for me when I needed her most. I don't even really remember much of the time we spent together. It was mostly Halo dragging me along her wild goose chases, getting busted with Halo for tagging along those wild goose chases, and brief moments with Noel during those wild goose chases, probably only lasting half a second, that had been sown in my being.

I told her to write. She didn't. I told her to call. No calls received. I told her to send a damn email. No emails sent.

Her response to each of my requests was a half smile, followed by a nod and sincere look in her eyes. I was like a puppy being left at the local Humane Society, thinking, surely their owner will be back for them.

But, they never were.

Oddly enough, my parents thought it was good, healthy even, that the only friend I had was leaving. My mother was afraid I would become too dependent on Halo if our friendship sustained. And I'm fairly certain my father was becoming worried about my sexuality.

Being a young boy, who wasn't quite as athletically gifted as others and only able to maintain one friend who happened to be female, caused him to raise some suspicions. Also, my incriminating actions might have come into play. Such as, not being able to change in front of other boys or perhaps stumbling upon gay porn on their computer, but I swear, it was already there when I went to use the laptop.

Nevertheless, my family supported me through thick and thin, but at the same time, had awkward conversations about how they accept me for who I am and will always love me not matter what.

Despite my parents' 'words of wisdom,' I will never forget Halo's last words she said to me before she left.

"The story continues."

She said it cryptically, like it was my job to decode the message behind it. The mystery bouncing within the light of her eyes.

Halo had never found pleasure in saying goodbyes, as a result she would say things like 'see ya later' or 'until next time.' In her own words; goodbye is too permanent. But, this time, this saying was different. What did she mean by 'the story continues'? What was the story? Was it her life? Was I just a mere chapter or an adventure to move on from? Or was the story both of us? How we have future journeys lying ahead, just waiting to be ventured upon. Maybe her moving away was just an example of the plot thickening.

I might never realize what she truly meant, however, it gives me hope.

Lunch at Oakwood was pretty much what you would expect for your customary high school. Freshman sitting with freshman, sophomores with sophomores...yeah, you get the gist. Girls on one side, guys on the other, then a couple of mixed tables scattered across the sea of pubescent bodies.

It's a small school. Our last graduating class contained about 136 students. Out of a total population of 584.

Everyone had a place and if you didn't it's because you chose not to have one. That was just my theory at least. I'd always been that shy, quiet guy.

I had become a master of blending in, being overlooked by almost everyone was my speciality.

"Jackson, mah brotha from anotha motha!" Ravon announced as he approached the table. His feign, early 2000's, ghetto slang caused me to cringe. The buttons on the back pockets of his acid wash jeans scraped against the seat next to Aditi, as he began to sit down, creating a group of three. He advanced to unraveling his brown, paper, lunch bag, revealing his masterpiece of a PB&J.

"Hey," he pointed. "Check out that spicy chocolate mama."

Ravon drew Aditi and I's attention over towards Jasmine Baker, senior class president. We watched as she made her way over to her pretentious, intellectually gifted friends. Her hips swayed with each step followed by the sound of her high heeled boots clicking against the marble floor.

"Bow-chicka-wow-wow," Aditi exclaimed.

His thick Indian accent made it hard not to burst into laughter. I snorted.

Aditi was a foreign exchange student from India. He didn't know much English, so he would say words completely irrelevant to the topic, however, I was surprised to hear how much he had improved.

"M-m-mmm," Ravon drooled. "That's one stone cold fox."

I awkwardly shrugged, picking at the glutinous macaroni and cheese, now glued to the paper tray.

"Aw, hell nah."

Ravon stared at me with an almost how-dare-you expression slapped across his face.

"What?" I asked.

He moved closer to my face. So close, I could smell the potent peanut butter aroma permeating the air from his mouth."Did you just diss the chocolate mamas?"

"No, I just don't find Jasmine very appealing."

Which was true. I didn't find girls who covered up their insecurities with false confidence very attractive. Girls who lived for themselves instead were more my type.

I finally looked from my pathetic excuse for a meal and up at Ravon. His dark skin in piercing contrast with his coral polo shirt. He blinked twice. I couldn't tell if he was about explode into a full-fledged rant about how dissing the 'chocolate mamas' was like sucker punching his future love child Tyron. And nobody touches little Tyron. Or laugh it off, pat my back and put this insignificant feud behind us.

Ravon was an interesting character. For example, using words which were televised in the late 90's and dressing in similar fashion to a cast member from a Fresh Prince rerun.

The tension in the air was becoming too thick to breathe. Luckily Aditi broke the ice.

"Bay-gull," He exclaimed in his way of saying the word bagel. At least, so we think..

"Yes, Aditi," Ravon hesitated. "Bagel indeed."

There was something uneasy about the way he spoke, nonetheless, I disregarded it..

Out of the corner of my eye, I captured a glimpse of Halo eagerly walking towards the outdoor lunch patio. I guess I made it obvious as to what I was staring at, because I received unnecessary commentary to my vision.

"Hellooo," Ravon flirtatiously said, lifting both of his eyebrows. "Vanilla mama."

"You're obsession with comparing women to pieces of candy is becoming disturbing," I mumbled while burying my face into my palms. Through the cracks of my fingers, I spotted the back of Halo vanishing behind the corner of school, racing to the usual spot where her group of 'juvenile delinquents' sat. Gone, once again.

I spent the rest of the period listening to Ravon ramble about getting to second-base with a girl waiting in line at the mall. On the other hand, I'm pretty sure I saw him there the other day groping a mannequin.

It was relatively easy pretending to pay attention to Ravon. All you had to do was nod and half smile occasionally. He was that type of person who lived in a false reality. Choosing not to believe the fact that the only people he had to speak to included someone who obviously couldn't care less and someone who didn't understand half of what he was saying.

The problem with me was that it became so hard to connect, to feel any emotion whatsoever. It's better when it's just me. My mind and I, we go well together. We agree about everything. It's really all I need. Friends come and go, leading to grief. Why waste all that energy on the expected? So yes, I'm not actually friends with Aditi or Ravon. They just happen to be people in this specific chapter of my life. By the time I'm thirty, I probably won't even remember them. Sad, but true.

I just prefer thinking realistically.

With a hop, skip and jump in my step, I was dumped on the side of the road, attempting to avoid slamming into the bright, red stop sign. I was possibly the only junior at Oakwood who still road the bus to school instead of driving their own 'set of wheels.' The stop was half a mile away from my house, which was far, but not too far to walk home. It happened to be very calm and reflective. I don't know why, but there is something about walking alone that just helps you forget all of the pesky problems in life. Cars passed by me leaving a gust of wind to be remembered by. Puddles were dispersed across the road, which wasn't quite unusual when living in Oregon. The trees were almost bare, only few Amber and ruby colored leaves attached to the claws of their branches. Every now and then I'd see someone I recognize from school, but I don't think I'd look as familiar to them as they do to me.

About a quarter of a mile away from my destination I'd pass a small white house. Its curtains closed, concealing secrets to the curious eye. It looked like your average suburban home. A welcome mat by the front door, wind chimes hanging from over its porch, and a lawn in slight need of a good mow. It definitely did not appear to be the type of home you'd expect Halo Easton to be living in.

I wasn't quite sure if she was home at the moment, there appeared to be no activity coming from within, except for the slight flickering of a light, most likely from a television screen, piercing through the closed blinds. Then again, Halo was the type of person that never seemed to be at home.

By the time I had arrived, my mother was in the front yard hauling what had the appearance of tacky couch from the 70's, from our family pickup truck. One end of the abomination was tilted against the driveway, the other leaning against the tailgate of the vehicle.

"Oh! Jackson, honey, could you come help me with this?"

Sweat poured from the top of her head, as she wiped her face with the white apron she normally used for cleaning.

I made my way over towards the hideous piece of furniture, it's yellowish piss coloring, velvet fabric, with brown and white stripes outlining it's unflattering frame.

"Mom, did you buy this?" I asked while trying to hide my horrified expression.

"No, sweetheart you know me better than that," She paused, catching her breath.

"I found it in of one of our neighbors front yards! Can you believe someone was just giving it away!?"

My mother was a hoarder. As hard as she wanted to admit it, she was. She liked collecting junk, adding to her insatiable collection of stuff she will most likely never use. I guess she thought she would sometime, in the near distant future, fix her junk up or put it to some sort of benefit, unfortunately she never did. So, now we had achieved a garage filled from bicycles missing wheels, to the largest world collection of disfigured beanie babies. Even though she was a bit crazy, I sort of admired her for it in a way. She was able to see a beauty, that no one else did, in the things she found. After all, I had to get my artistic side from somewhere.

"Ok, one, two, three, lift."

The nonexistent muscles I had in my arms, were straining. I was unprepared for the amount of weight I was now lifting. I felt my heart beating twice as fast, almost as if screaming, 'Shouldn't have skipped gym you weak bitch.'

Somehow we managed to tilt the 'couch from hell' rightside up. Mostly because I let it fall to the ground at the last second.

"Good, now help me move it into the garage."

I might've started screaming bloody murder, if my little sister Gracie hadn't opened the front door and shouted, "Daddy's home!"

Slowly, my father's blue minivan rolled up the driveway. Gracie, with a sheet of notebook paper covered with multicolored scribbles in her hands, ran towards the door of the car, excitedly tapping on its window.

My father calmly walked out, but I could tell by his constant glances over towards the new piece of furniture we now owned, which he now had to help move, was ready to burn mother's garage full of trinkets.

"Daddy look." Gracie held up her art, stained with a bit of 100% grape juicy juice.

"Aren't I just as good as Jackson? It's abstract. Just like the one drawing you guys really liked that he did, except mine has color!"

"It's beautiful," my father faintly smiled, but the reassurance in his voice wasn't very prominent.

I smirked at her jealousy of the talents I possessed. She always looked up to her big brother Landon, but he had been away at college for the past few months, so I guess I was her backup plan. However, she didn't hold the same sort of honor she had for me as she had for Landon. It was that 'middle child honor.' The type of honor that truly does look up to you, just doesn't like showing it. The type of honor that likes to bring up embarrassing moments that will haunt you for the rest of your life, steal your towel and clothes while taking a shower and eat the last bite of your favorite cereal.

Luckily, I had my revenge planned. When she really pisses me off I can finally tell her the truth about her unplanned conception.

"How was work dad?" I never usually acted this interested in my father's occupation, mostly because it involved unclogging the shit out of people's toilets, but I was trying to avoid carrying the monstrosity of a sofa to the garage.

"Eh," his common response. He wasn't the most emotional person, especially on days when he was in one of his 'moods.' This was one of those days.

He made his way towards mother, despite her stockpile-syndrome, you could tell he loved her more than life itself.

"Hey hon," he said, softly pecking her on the lips.

It was like her insanity was a part of him that he adored. The part that kept him young, helping him remember their early blossoming romance. They were complete opposites, yet each mirrored the other. Each bringing out the other's character.

As I see it, everything needs it's opposing pair. It wouldn't be whole without it.

What would the moon be without the sun, the light without darkness, bitter without sweet, grief without joy, love without hate? These forces balance each other out. My parents are like that.

My mother smiled, then began, "Hey! Oooo, do you think you could help me move thi-" mother began but was cut off.

"I'm already on it," my father laughed, lifting one side of the couch, clearly exhausted.

I started to walk into the house, the straps of my backpack now chaffing my shoulders. We had lived in this house for about 18 years. Apparently after mom found out she was pregnant once again, they figured it was best to start searching for a place other than the one bedroom condo they were already living in. They found our home thinking it would be a proper family home. Instead, it turned out to be infested with termites, gnawing away at the wooden beams supporting our ceilings. Of course, an exterminator was hired. After that slight bump in the road, a paint job and serious cleaning, it turned out to be the domicile we would spend the rest of our childhood in. All of our precious memories, which we held dear, lied within it's walls.

I raced up the stairway to my room. The house, unlike our garage, was rather neat. My Father and I had always shared a passion for order. I guess I wasn't quite as uptight as he was, although I did become slightly OCD about a backwards roll of toilet paper.

My bedroom was whitewashed with well. . .white. Colorless and bland.

It's not that I was a boring stick-in-the-mud, I just didn't want to ruin the elegance my room pertained. It was like an empty canvas, a blank sheet of paper. Having so much potential. Potential that could easily be destroyed.

My fear was screwing things up.

As an aspiring artist, you might find it odd how I'm exceptionally organized, rather dull and basic. Not all artists have to be these messy slobs, using vibrant colors, seeing things differently than others.

I saw things for the way they were.

I laid my backpack down by the side of my bed, it's zipper clanking against the metal frame. It was time for my daily procrastination. I rolled open the drawer to my drafting table. Its polished wooden frame, still held the freshly cut pine scent, regardless of how old it was. Delicately choosing a pencil from my collection. It needed to be ideal. It's lead not too stubby, so I didn't have to find the energy to choose a new tool, yet not too sharp so it wouldn't break during the process. I tried taking a few short breaths. Attempting to clear my mind.

I liked playing a game with myself. The first thought which popped into my head, I would draw. I counted to four. Not three. Not five. Four. It was the number in between, commonly overlooked as a number to count to.

Just like me.

One....Two....Three...Four.

The gears in my brain started turning, sorting through the files of my mind, seeking for the perfect thought. It scanned through the alphabet.

A...B...C...D....E...STOP!

Yes, E.

The word became clear, its letters floating about.

Emptiness.

Beginning is always the hardest part. It is the foundation for everything. All the work you do from that point on stands upon the structure you created.

The first thing that came to mind when picturing the word was someone hiding behind a mask. Disguising their pain.

I proceeded to sketch a young girl, probably around Gracie's age. Her hair, hiding half her face. Each strand, unkempt, and untamed. She was smiling, yet the crinkles near her eyes told another story. A vacant heart.

A label was printed across her forehead. Numbers, like an ID.

18, 5, 10, 5, 3, 20, 5, 4.

Each number representing a letter. Each letter forming a word. A word that was the root cause of all emptiness. Being rejected.

She could fool anyone who was gullible enough to believe her false sense of contentment. Only those who looked close enough were able to see the agony beneath her facade.

Later that evening, while shading the striking features of the girl's face, darkening her glassy, tear-filled eyes, I was called down for dinner. My creative flow now interrupted, I made my way downstairs. My family each in their traditional seats. We use to have a big fancy dinner table, for guests, but I guess after the first awkward dinner with the Peterson's, and the fact we rarely ever had guests over, we sold it and bought a table much more accustomed to the size of our family. We only had one extra seat, of course in the garage, which was for Landon when he returned from (insert school name here). I plopped into the last available chair, my nose meeting the delicious fragrance of chinese take-out.

Egg rolls, white rice with baby shrimp, teriyaki chicken and those oh-so-sweet stargoons. I guess mom was too lazy to cook tonight. Again.

But, I wasn't complaining.

It was at that moment when I realized just how starving I was. I had forgotten I didn't eat my lunch.

I commenced to quietly dip my egg roll into a small packet of 'duck sauce' or whatever the hell it was and continued to stuff my face with a bite far too large for my mouth.

"So, Jackson, Gracie, you're father and I have some news."

I raised my head, my cheeks puffed out like a chipmunk trying to store his precious supply of nuts. Haha, nuts.

Dad just sat idly by while my mother eagerly took his hand. He seemed clueless. As if he was a random passerby who had just won a lifetime supply of pastries for buying the millionth funnel cake.

"Landon's coming home for the weekend," she exclaimed.

Gracie enthusiastically shrieked like a mating dolphin from the top of her lungs.

"Not inside the house Grace," Dad grimaced.

"Jackson, honey, isn't that great?"

I guess the lack of emotion on my face and the fact I had said not a word might have given the impression I wasn't thrilled to be reuniting with my dear brother, who I had profoundly missed, or was taking his trip home for granted. No, it wasn't either of those things, I was only slightly busy attempting not to choke on the rather sizeable amount of egg roll I had just consumed. The lump in my throat felt as if it was the size of golf ball. The shells' sharp edges slowly slid down my throat.

Amazingly I was able to swallow the choking hazard.

"Yeah mom, that's awesome."

Lately my parents had been acting more attentive towards my needs, assuming I'm depressed or unhappy with my circumstances. I suppose they have noticed my increase in afternoon naps, deadpan smiles and most of my life being spent in my room.

Perhaps they thought bringing Landon back home for a little while, might help recover the 'old Jackson' whose absence had been accounted for.

Yes, I admit it. Landon leaving did make things difficult. But, it was my fault for getting so hung up on the situation. I knew he was leaving. I couldn't help but also feeling slight resentment towards Landon.

He left me. However, Landon wasn't to blame. This was a step he had to take in life. I never expected for him to stay home to tend to his emotional brothers' needs. It just gave me a taste of the truth. Even family will not always be there for you.

Although, I did begin acting unlike my common self around the time when Landon left, he wasn't the only factor that had come into play of my mysterious change in personality. I guess his disappearance was just the gateway to all of the crap I had been storing in my heart for years.

Think of it like Jenga, the more blocks you pile up, the more come tumbling down.

I was never the type of person to talk about their issues and receive perceptive insight, causing my life to magically become picture perfect, solving every single one of my problems, then rolling the credits with the Friends theme song.

Because life just wasn't that simple.

That night was probably like most. Laying in bed staring at my ceiling, weary yet unable to let loose and drift away. All that was left for me to do was think. Think about the inevitable fact that I would soon fall asleep, unfortunately I would have to spend the next few minutes, before that happens, and suffer. I guess this was mother nature's way of letting you reflect on your actions, those humiliating moments we regret, causing us the gut-wrenching feeling of condemnation.

But, there were no moments belonging to me I had to ponder. I could only ask myself, what the hell happened to her?

Halo was a mission impossible movie. There was always something exciting and adventurous just around the corner. Her motto once was there would be no rules without rebellion. She'd then emphasize the statement saying how technically she was enforcing the rules by breaking them. She was one of those people who would have an idea, not take a second longer to think about what had just entered her mind and do it. From what it seemed, her impulsiveness had not changed much or her thirst for an adrenaline rush. No, what had changed was the wholesome tone she use to have in her voice. Each word was now filled with no meaning and each action was driven from a burning desire to fill the void in her soul, only enlarging.

If only I could just find enough courage to talk to her.

But, what would I say?

"Hey, uh, remember me? Jackson Novak. We use to hang out when were like ten, and I've noticed you recently moved back into the neighborhood this past year. Sorry if you ever caught me stalkerishly staring at your house, I was just wondering if you were home and what you might've doing."

Oh yeah, she'd probably just fall right into my arms after that glorious soliloquy.

Actually she might just jackslap me in the face for even considering speaking to her. After all, she had made it very clear she either never wanted to talk to me again, or suffered a terrible case of amnesia, causing her to lose about four years worth of her memory.

In all fairness, we were young.

We have matured quite a bit since our last rendezvous. She definitely wasn't that flat chested little girl from the fifth grade anymore. So, maybe it's possible she didn't recognize me?

That's ridiculous, I hadn't changed that much. I was still rather freckled face, sustaining your basic non-aerobic physique, just a foot and a half taller and different pair of glasses. I couldn't have changed to a certain degree making me unrecognizable.

Yes, it had been about five years, I'll give her that, but wouldn't she find me the slightest bit familiar?

Maybe, her life just didn't have enough room for me at the moment. She was already busy with her other friends, she just hadn't found the words to say to me yet.

Or maybe, my special gift of blending into the crowd was becoming better than I intended.

"Yeah, that was it," I tried telling myself, sinking into denial. Even though I hadn't chosen a possible theory to which I agreed with.

It was sometimes easier to deceive yourself than accepting the facts.

But, what's the point? She's moved on.

I wanted to hate her. To hate her for planting seeds of hope. For making me wish she would look at me and smile, reminiscing on a moment we once shared. She left me in suspense, on the edge of my seat, eagerly waiting to see what her next move would be.

But, I didn't hate her. No matter how hard I tried, I couldn't.