Mr. Sweet

Make It Up To Him

The rest of the day went somewhat smoothly. You and Mr. Sweet ended up watching a movie in the living room, curling up with all the pillows you placed around, it was comfy. But... something seemed off. Mr. Sweet's mood changed from rather delighted to quiet and teary eyed. You look over at him, drifting your eyes away from the movie.

"What's the matter?" You ask him. He looks over at you, and inhales deeply. "I wish you wouldn't have chosen such a... a sad movie. His whole family... they..." Mr. Sweet trailed off and looked away. Perhaps choosing to watch The Pianist wasn't a good idea. It was the only movie you have never seen, so you weren't aware of the sad storyline.

"We can turn it off and watch something else?" You say, a guilty voice crack making its way up your throat. "No, it's alright. I'm just going to get to bed." Mr. Sweet muttered and stood. "Feel free to finish the movie without me." With that, the tall man walked out of the room and into his. You hear a door close, and you realize he probably won't come out of his room for the remainder of the night. So you spend the rest of the night cleaning up and putting away cds, before retreating to your room which was up the stairs. Finishing unpacking, you set your clothes in the antique drawers and your necessities on the night stand and desk.

While pursing your lips your mind begins to wander off. Mr. Sweet has always talked about enjoying the color white, and it was evident in his house. Whenever you entered his bedroom, the main things that stuck out were his white walls which seemed strange compared to the rest of the house's walls, which consisted mainly of dark wood or tints of grey drywall. Though his floors were wood, he had white carpentry and art on his floor and ceiling. 

Oh, that's right. Mr. Sweet loves art. With your mind slowly coming up with these thoughtful ways to make Mr. Sweet feel better about your previous movie choice mistake, you realize what you have to do in the morning. Slipping into a sleek white nightgown you lay in bed, looking up at the ceiling. The guest bedroom was a familiar space, nothing too different. The only difference now was that you were going to be living in here instead of just visiting for a night or two as you have previously when you were a young girl. It brought back memories of when you were kids, which you lavished in as you slowly drifted off into a deep, relaxed sleep.

The sound of an alarm woke you up at a relatively early 8:30AM. You didn't want the store to be too busy, and you figured since it was the weekend it would get that way pretty quickly. Stepping out of bed, you walk into the bathroom that connected to your new room, which had a cute sink, toilet, and a vintage tub in the corner. Disrobing, you brush your hair and step into the shower, running your fingers through your locks. The water was warm and comforting as you felt it dribble down your body, making its way down your back, your legs, and feet. Using vanilla fragranced soaps and shampoos, you stepped out of the shower smelling like a bakery. 

While getting ready to go, you decided to do minimalistic makeup today. Mascara with a bit of lip tint, then some concealer and blush. Nothing too crazy. You put on a cute mini golf skirt - those textbook white ones - and a nice baggy shirt over it. The rim of the skirt was peaking out from under the shirt, which concealed your upper half and shoulders. Feeling lazy, you slid on some random sandals you had lying around, and walked to the front door.

Oh, maybe I should tell Mr. Sweet I'm leaving. You turn and walked towards his room, and knocked on his door. You heard music coming from the inside, the same music that you put on yesterday while making dinner. Despite knowing he was awake... he did not come to the door. Maybe I really messed up. Deciding to leave him be, you send him a text before you walk out the door.

Y/N: Hey I'm heading to the store for a bit, if you need anything just let me know! :)

Waiting for a moment, you see 'Read at 9:01AM' under your message, yet no response. Your eyes glossed over with guilt, and there was an ache in your heart that felt like someone was plucking the life out of it, one drop at a time.