platonic, 𝐥𝐨𝐮𝐢𝐬 𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐭𝐫𝐢𝐝𝐠𝐞

sixteen

All Y/N could hear was her heart thudding in her ears as she waited for the door to open.

She waited a thousand doors for that door to open and then waited a thousand more.

She felt old and tired by the time that she saw the flicker of a person behind the frosted glass of the front door.

Her pulse beat hard in my head as she heard the unlocking of the bolt. Her hands shook uncontrollably as the handle was turned. Her stomach twisted and turned as the door began to open, revealing Oscar standing behind it, looking irritatingly gorgeous. His hair was slightly messy and drooped over his forehead. Y/N always loved it most when it was like that. His hands were dug into his jean pockets and the blue hoodie she got him for their first Christmas together hung loosely off upper-half. He looked exactly like the day Y/N left for England.

Oscar looked at her expectantly and to Y/N's dismay, when she opened my mouth to greet him, nothing came out. She could not even produce so much of a "hello". She felt my cheeks turning scarlet as she stared awkwardly at the boy she hadn't seen for months, and he looked back at her with his mouth set in a straight line and a blank sobriety in his eyes.

She swallowed and finally found her voice. "Hi," Y/N said.

"Hi," Oscar replied in a voice that matched his expression perfectly.

His voice sounded different to how Y/N had played it in my mind the months he hadn't talked to her. It was deeper, less friendly, less loving.

"Come in," he said, moving to the side to allow me entryway into his home.

She stepped inside, giving him a fleeting half-smile before walking further into the house.

Oscar's house was a beautiful but humble home. The front door lead into a well decorated hallway full of family photos and minimalist decorations. Y/N remembered the first time she came round to this house, Angela, Oscar's mother, insisted that she show her pictures of Oscar in younger intervals of his life, eating large piles of ice-cream or covered from head to toe in mud or grinning a wide grin from each ear.

"Is your mum home?" Y/N asked Oscar, the thought of Angela making her wonder.

"No," Jack said as he closed to door.

"Okay."

The uncomfortableness hung in the air between the awkward couple like a bad smell: nasty and unwelcome.

Oscar didn't say anything as he walked past his girlfriend, just crossed silently through a door that Y/N recalled lead to the family's lounge. He gave her no instruction but Y/N knew to follow him. Oscar took a seat on the sofa, leaving a place for Y/N next to him, which she took. As she sat down she felt a hard object pressing against her lower back. She felt behind the cushion and brought out a familiar phone, which had an even familiar lockscreen: the hills and water at Hollywood Reservoir.

"Who's phone is this?" Y/N asked Oscar and she thought she saw a flash of shock cross his otherwise flat features.

"My mums," Jack replied, snatching the phone out of Y/N's hand and tucking it in his pocket.

"Your mum leaves her phone here when she goes out?"

"She must have forgotten it- So? Why are you here?" Oscar said, swiftly changing the subject.

Y/N closed her eyes for a second and took a breath. "Why do you think, Oscar?"

"'Cause you live here?" Jack replied, shrugging.

Y/N's original nerves were suddenly replacing with hot infuriation. She had not bought a £9,000, 11 hour plane ticket halfway across the world, made Sam hate her and given a point up to Ivy for Oscar to be blunt and rude to her. He was the one who had stopped talking to her; he was the one who had made her overthink and stress for months; and he was the reason she was here.