macchiato | blake yumi

8. radio

it's been two weeks since that stupid swimming pool event, and you've started to have less space in your bed, and isaac and blake are talking their silent language furthermore. sunlight keeps shining on the three of you, and lavender spongebob bedsheets.

you're caught in blakes grasp unnecessarily vice gripped, facing isaac as they both snore louder than when you play your favourite song. you try to wind yourself out of it, but it's to no avail.

"if i find you guys in my bed tomorrow, i will blow this house up. this is my bed." you state, rabbit kicking the both of them, but of course it's no use- they're like dormant rocks much to your dismay.

"mi, shut up! it's too early!" leaves isaacs stupid mouth. "fine." maybe you could fart on their heads- "isaac, if mimu does what i think they're going to do-" blake attempts.

"why do you guys threaten each other all of the time?" when did larry get here? "HEYYY SAVE ME!!!!! they won't leave me alone. please larry." larry smiles at you, "well, i mean nick wants to film so you all kind of need to get up." "yeah? well, i don't!" you remark.

ʚ ✮ ɞ

"both of you! get out man. i'm going to go insane!" you plead.

you eventually rose from your extra stinky pit, thanking the weather for the cold floor tiles- a change from the disgusting heat that had been following texas around.

midnight kissed the sky in a handsome way when you were all in a discord call on a sticky summer night. it had been your idea to play GTA roleplay and film for Isaacs channel, your user being 'sixty9mimu' was a great thing to make fun of, according to everybody in the group.

the only person not playing was blake, but that was 'cause he was on a target run, searching for pancake mix and a new cap. he had left the house in black shorts and a black hoodie, hair hidden under the hood and a cap. of course, his cheesy smile was with him everywhere.

however, his favourite thing (little to your knowledge,) was to watch and listen to you play games, so he joined the call in his stupid Fit. "oh, my god!! it's blake yumi in his awesome junk car!" you exhale with enthusiasm. "shut up, mi!"

maybe it's the lavender diffuser oil, or the way the fresh air seeps through your open windows, but he looks so pretty; desirable. you could eat him. "everybody! sing the national anthem!" nick yells into the mic, bursting your ear drums in the process. you roll your eyes, "why do you alwaYS HAVE TO YELL?"

nobody responds to you, but you put on your heart and you prepare to sing west coast. "OH SAY CAN YOU SEE?!!!" the autotune kicks in, and then isaac ballsacks voice does too, "what so proudly we hailed!" and all you can do is stare at blake. his hands on the steering wheel and his stupid, stupid smile.

how much money would you pay to kiss his smile awa-.. and how much does it cost to replace the gear stick of a honda fit? is there any way you could be the gearstick?

"you find the most stupid things attractive" larry had once said to you. "yeah, but literally only on 1 man!" you had argued in contradiction. which was true, because right now, driving only looked that good and attractive because blake was the one driving.

and your logic kind of served for anything blake did. if blake was doing anything, even standing in the middle of the room or sharting his pants, it was blake doing it.

the bright pink on his hair had now faded to a pale pink, and the edges of his smile were particularly pulling at your heartstrings. you crack your knuckles as you spawn your sakura pink porsche 991. the sticky breeze filters through your window and blows your hair in whirlwinds.