45 | irl + insta

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tw/cw: body shaming


CALIFORNIA
*:・゚✧*


















THE SOUND OF her heart thumping echoes in Lindsey's ears. Had it always been that loud? So aggressive it may shatter her rib cage and bounce right out?

She hadn't been this nervous when she was drafted to the Women's National Team. Nor when she first made her debut. Or when Noah kissed her in the kitchen last week.

So why is her heart three seconds from failing?

"What are you doing here?" she whispers, fingers tightening around the strap of her bag.

Foolish allows his brows to pinch, a gleam of concern glittering in his dark irises. The flowers poking the underside of his chin are slipping in sweaty palms. The flowers are aggravating his nose ("Stupid allergies," he'd grumbled) and there's a strange itch to sneeze every three seconds but those are mere issues. Had he created a problem by coming here?

"Should—should I not be here?" He's weary, rightfully so. He thought she'd be excited—or, as excited as Lindsey gets anyways—to see him. Maybe even get a smile at the flowers he'd picked up; a hug if he was lucky. "Are you okay?"

"I-I'm just—I'm just surprised," Lindsey confesses as she slinks over. "Why are you here? These are so cute," her hand brushes over the Kuromi plush that sits dead center of the bouquet, "Are they for me?"

Foolish's brows furrow further if at all possible. He tucks a strand of pin-straight hair behind Lindsey's ear, relishing in the soft glow illuminating her dark eyes. "Has no one ever bought you flowers?"

"Dad has for birthdays and comps but I'm not sure those count. What are you doing here?" she repeats, glancing up.

"What's wrong?" His voice is gentle, a whisper lost in the breeze blowing Lindsey's hair around her chest. She's wearing a burnt orange sweater that is nauseatingly horrid. No one should look good in orange. It's a hideous color. Yet she does.

"It's been a long week."

Her voice wobbles. Tears prick the corner of her eyes and a fierce desire to scoop her up and hide her from the world worms it's way into Foolish's chest.

"Do you want to go cry in your car?"

Lindsey nods and Foolish gently presses the bouquet of lotus and baby pink and white into her hands. Her fingers encircle around the stems, crinkling the wrapper under a grip harsh enough the skin of her knuckles whiten.

By the time Lindsey's done half-telling, half-sobbing her tales of the week, Foolish is ready to murder a quarter of the students in her grade. Lindsey tells him the LAPD would not take kindly to that.

So what 300 college students wind up mysteriously dead? At least his girl wouldn't have to deal with fucking idiots in the days leading up to her graduation. She is far too mature and short-tempered to endure anymore mindless pranks.

Who the hell sets up a 1800 gallon fish tank with a dozen pufferfish in the middle of the Athletics buildings banquet hall anyways? The idea alone belonged in a Mr. Beast video, not some college campus in Los Angeles.

"Home?"

Twenty minutes later Lindsey angles her car into the driveway. A mere twenty seconds after she's scrambling into Tina's arms albeit they're occupied with bouquets. Their reunion is all excited squeals and a flurry of congratulations.

Foolish watches with a fond smile as their foreheads mend and they share a quiet giggle. He wants to be upset he hadn't gotten a similar reaction from Lindsey, but Tina's her best friend, things will always be different. Foolish has been second to Tina for seven months, and he'll probably be second to her for eternity. Fine by him. Tina is his best friend too; everyone else comes after. Even the girl who makes his heart palpitate like he'd run an impromptu marathon.

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