rooftop lovers

the taste of you

The week that follows is their Monday and Thursday week.

The week was riddled with tension.

Tight, strenuous, tension.

Recently, their talks have been awkward. Skeppy would usually be heard fumbling in and out of breath while Bad could never get his words straight. The words would never portray the right emotions.

It was clear why they were so anxious on Thursday. The day after would be the Formal.

Skeppy hadn't necessarily done anything special to prepare. He knew that tonight he was going to iron his tux, take a nice, long bath and have many hours of sleep. The morning of, he wanted to do something nice with his hair. In his mind, he had envisioned having it slicked back, combed with gel. But what he had also envisioned was Bad's patronizing giggles when he would see him.

It was 8 P.M when Skeppy started the water. He let it run while he brushed his teeth. The steam from the bathtub eluded down to the mirror, fogging up the reflection Skeppy had been staring at for an unhealthy amount of time.

He was playing with his damp hair, figuring out something fashionable. He had taken Dream's advice to heart. Bad had liked him for being him, so he didn't want to change anything authentic about himself. But these hair-. No, he shouldn't dwell on it.

After tearing himself away from the mirror, he forces himself in the tub, shutting off the faucet. The water burns horribly. He blames his redness on it.

His heart pumps and pumps and pumps and doesn't stop. It feels like he's going to explode. He's tearing himself inside-out just thinking about the things that would happen tomorrow. He's excited; excited to see Bad, hang out with him. But the place they were going, the things they would do.

Skeppy was not prepared to embarrass himself in front of Bad. He had distant thoughts about practicing his dance moves, but every time he'd try, he'd catch a glimpse of himself in his bedroom mirror, realize how stupid he looks and jump in bed to bury his face in his pillows and pretend he didn't see that.

The horrible part about the Formal was that it would happen after school.

He would have to get through the whole day at school, spending the whole time worrying about what would happen during the dance.

He mumbled words of reassurance to himself in the bathtub. He'd tell himself not to sweat it, he should just be normal and Bad would enjoy that.

After Skeppy's not so soothing bath, he brought himself to bed, letting his bed sheets and covers soak in the water from his barely air-dried hair. It was around that time in the night where he should be trying to force himself to fall asleep, but it was an awfully hot winter night.

Skeppy had his hand gripped to the board of the bed and another under his pillow. There the wood cooled his hands and the pillow gave him support.

As he lulled himself to sleep, a flame bubbled so brightly within him, it burned him.

———   

It was a rough night. Occasionally - often, actually, he'd wake up in a cold sweat unable to coax himself back to sleep. He'd toss and turn to no avail.

All this for Bad?

He shouldn't be this nervous to take him to the dance - they had casual one-on-one time almost everyday. And yet, here he was getting himself worked up on an event that would probably turn out lame. Still, everytime he reminded himself that this was nothing to get riled up over, his heart only started beating faster when he thought of Bad.

He hated it yet it felt so good.

The thrill, the adrenaline - the rush of blood every time the thought of Bad crossed his mind. It drove him crazy.