macchiato | blake yumi

5. who the fuck invited you?

you had to admit, your second favourite thing about your bestfriend was probably his honda fit. an annual tradition; valentines day always calls for a trip to the beach.

tux had been here for five days so far, and a mere five days was enough to make your bestfriend progressively more agitated.

tux; the boy you both had worked with since you guys started, who you also happened to perform mariah carey with- much to blake's unknown disapproval.

lina always used to say he was your version of her blake. you often wondered if your best friend had ever fully grasped just how much lina liked him. or loved him? judging by the amount of times in which lina had brainwashed you with all of her encounters with blake, that thin line was distorted.

a mirror to your current situation. "i call shotgun!" you declare, as the winter sun cradles your eyes and enhances your complexion in blakes favor. this valentines was a little different, as there was no failed date to cry over, and no tears to weep.

only a honda fit, packed full with seven people.

tux laughs at response to this as larry and tanner make an effort to avoid awkward silence. if isaac could paint speech bubbles over everybody's heads, in this specific moment, "who the fuck invited tux?" would be the one he'd emphasis with any means of any grammar that could come to mind.

blake kind of had a point- why the fuck was tux taking up all the leg room, and who was he to you? you worked with him for like six months. nowhere near was it on par with the shared history of all the others in the car and yourself.

isaac bit back his laugh as he made eye contact with the boy who was hopelessly devoted you, wishing that there was a camera to capture these kinds of things. amber sun now providing ample colour, opportunity and feelings that were only captured in stolen glances and the bass of whatever song you chose to play.

the tradition between you and your best friend began when you came home on the 14th of february, hopelessly blabbing on about your love for some stupid blonde boy (blakes words, not yours.) "mimu. there's gonna be like 5000 other people out there for you, who are 5000 times better than him." despite your refusals to open your mind to that possibility, blake carried you to the car, in hopes that the cool air and sea spit would provide some sort of resolution.

a happy medium, if anything.

"god, blake. i don't think anyone will ever like me like that- do you agree? so you see that too?" at this moment in time, blake wasn't really certain that you were for real. the honda had mirrors for a reason- had you seen yourself, properly, ever?

"my heart hurts. It's like hurting. blake-"

"i'm not gonna answer that. you're gonna piss me off if you keep this up mimu, don't let your heart hurt over some idiot named miles."

your teary eyes paint the images of his hands on the steering wheel, and you think you'll always want to make a note of how pretty he looks, all the time. you matched, unknowingly, both in black and both with red shoes.

sure, blakes might have been comfier, but you might've had to fight your heart to stop itself from convincing you that times like these were nothing if not kismet.

anyway, on this february 14th in particular, you two thought it'd be a great idea to use up all 25 cartridges and create an entire polaroid collection, full of you two. blake thought it would be a good idea to look breathtakingly pretty every minute since stepping out the honda.