𝑭𝒂𝒄𝒆𝒍𝒆𝒔𝒔 𝑭𝒊𝒙𝒂𝒕𝒊𝒐𝒏 {𝘚𝘢𝘭 𝘍𝘪𝘴𝘩𝘦𝘳}

What Kind of Music Do You Like? [1]

"You're sick and close to die,
but, shit,
I don't care..."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Standing in front of my bathroom mirror, I hold my glasses out in front of me, using the light fixture above to see any smudges on the lenses. 

Frowning, I pull my sleeve over my hand and wipe the left lens, then lift it up to the light again.

No matter what I do, they can never be smudge-free.

I don't normally wear my glasses-- they're a last resort-- but I'm out of contacts and I don't have the money to get more. So these will have to do for now.

I'm startled out of my minor frustration by the sound of Sally Face's reverberating laugh in the living room. His video must have played randomly because one of Ash's old Youtube videos was playing just minutes ago.

The sound of his laugh, no matter how beautiful it may be, makes me want to punch a hole through my wall. Makes me want to stomp my foot like a child. Throw my TV over the balcony. 

It makes me want to physically release all of the hurt he's caused-- but, it shouldn't hurt this much. It's not like I ever really got to know the guy, his words shouldn't affect me. 

It must hurt more because he's hot.

Sighing at myself, I walk back into the living room, fixing the frames of my glasses on my face until they feel comfortable. It's nice to see clearly.

My phone begins ringing, making irritation flare up within me again. I pause, pinching my lips together as I make a b-line for my kitchen, snatching my phone off of the counter.

I've spent my morning watching Ash kick ass at Among Us, joined by Larry, Todd, and unfortunately, Sally Face. So, to say the least, I've had mixed feelings. I've caught myself staring at Sally Face's hands every few minutes and I have to snap myself out of looking any harder. Everywhere his hands go, my eyes follow. 

When he runs his veiny hand through his soft-looking cerulean hair, fixing his fringe. Or when he loses a game and leans back in his chair, huffing out a breath and throwing his arms behind his head. It always gives me a pretty view of his neck, showing off light scars on his jaw.

And my favorite part of that losing position of his? It definitely has to be the tattoo of a shattered sword on the side of his neck. Every glimpse of it makes my mouth water and I forget to fight the losing battle of doing my best to fucking look away.

I bite my bottom lip, groaning in aggravation as I finally answer my phone. Lifting it to my ear, I answer with a harsh, "Hello?" as I push the bridge of my glasses up my nose.

"Damn! Someone piss in your cheerios this morning, y/n?" It's Ash, and she's as chirpy as ever.

It's not her fault Sally Face is a prick. 

Sighing, I put the tips of my fingers on my forehead and close my eyes, "Yea, babe," I murmur sarcastically. "The pisser in question happens to be your awful excuse of a friend."

I hear Ash suck in a quick breath before she hisses, a clear sign that she forgot all about the crappy things Sally Face said in her last video. "True..." she forces out, her voice delicate, soft, and quiet. Like she thinks she's in trouble.

"Seriously," I say, pacing the tiled floors of my kitchen. "Where the hell did you find this guy?"

Ash smacks her lips on the other end of the line. "Well," she starts gently. She stays quiet as a little mewl filters through the phone call.