Tides and Roseate Skies | Baxter Radic X OC

04 | ''We're just friends right now,"

THE SUN HUNG lazily in the coastal sky, casting a warm glow over the sandy shores as Rose found herself surrounded by Poppy and her friends. They gathered in a cozy nook, the sounds of the ocean providing a soothing backdrop to their casual conversations and laughter.

As the group chatted and shared anecdotes, Poppy, ever perceptive, leaned towards Rose with an air of conspiratorial curiosity. With a discreet whisper, she inquired, "What's going on with you and Bax?" Her words lingered in the salty breeze, carrying the weight of unspoken intrigue.

Caught off guard, Rose hesitated, her mind retracing the events of the party. When she remained silent, Poppy nudged her gently. "I saw you two getting pretty cozy at the party."

A blush crept up Rose's cheeks, the memory of that moment surfacing vividly. She lowered her gaze, a sheepish smile tugging at the corners of her lips. The sensation of being pulled onto Bax's lap lingered.

"Oh, that?" Rose stammered, attempting to downplay the significance. "It was just a moment, you know? Nothing serious."

Poppy arched an eyebrow, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "A moment, huh? Well, I've known you long enough to know when there's more to the story. Spill."

The sun hung low in the sky, casting a warm glow over the coastal haven as Rose and Poppy found a quiet spot on the beach to talk. The rhythmic lull of the waves provided a soothing backdrop to their conversation.

"I promise, we're just friends right now," Rose replied to Poppy's earlier question about Baxter, her voice carrying a hint of uncertainty. Her gaze wandered across the horizon, as if searching for clarity in the distant expanse of the ocean.

Poppy, ever perceptive, shot her a knowing look. "Well, if you would have said you did like him, I would've just told you to be careful, you know? Baxter's had many girlfriends, all of which dumped him, if that's saying anything."

The words hung in the air like an unspoken warning, and Rose felt a subtle unease settle in the pit of her stomach. Poppy's insight carried the weight of experience, a cautionary tale veiled behind the veneer of nonchalance.

Rose, caught off guard by the unexpected advice, didn't know how to respond. She wanted to brush it off, convince herself that her feelings were merely a passing attraction to Baxter's bad boy aura. Yet, somewhere deep within, a part of her acknowledged a lingering warmth, a connection that transcended the boundaries of mere friendship. Some part of her liked him.

As the waves continued their gentle dance with the shore, Rose grappled with conflicting emotions. The beauty of the coastal scene contrasted with the turmoil in her heart.

For a moment, Rose allowed herself to drift into the sea of her own thoughts, grappling with the currents of emotions that threatened to pull her in conflicting directions. The promise of friendship mingled with the uncharted waters of something more, and the coastal haven, once a sanctuary of simplicity, now held the potential for both joy and heartache beneath its sunlit facade.

-

That night, Rose dreamed of him.

It unfolded its mysterious tapestry, and Rose found herself entangled in the enigmatic realm of dreams. In the ethereal landscape of her subconscious, a peculiar vision played out. She stood on the periphery, an unseen observer, watching the boy she was inexplicably drawn to, the boy with the pink-dyed hair—Baxter Radic—lavishing affection on someone else. The dream was a melancholic dance of emotions, a symphony of unspoken longing that left her heart heavy with an indescribable sorrow.

As the dream unfolded in surreal hues, Rose felt an inexplicable ache, a sense of helplessness as she witnessed the boy she admired showering love upon another. The dream-girl, a mere reflection of Rose herself, felt the sting of unrequited emotions, an emotional storm that echoed in the recesses of her mind.

The sadness in the dream seeped into Rose's subconscious, intensifying with each passing moment. The visual poetry of the dream became so overwhelming, so hauntingly vivid, that it propelled Rose out of the dream realm and into the silent reality of her darkened room.

Gearing up from the disorienting haze of sleep, Rose found herself sitting upright, the remnants of the dream lingering like a haunting melody. The room, bathed in the soft glow of moonlight, offered a sanctuary for reflection. The emotions stirred by the dream were unexplainable, yet the sadness clung to her, demanding acknowledgment.

In the quiet solitude of the night, Rose grappled with the dream's resonance. The boy with the pink-dyed hair, the unspoken yearning, and the heartache manifested in the surreal narrative of her subconscious. The dream's impact lingered, casting a shadow over the peaceful facade of the coastal haven.

With a deep breath, Rose tried to decipher the cryptic emotions that the dream had unearthed. The night, now a canvas for introspection, held the promise of understanding the complexities of her own heart, even as the echoes of the dream lingered, leaving her suspended between the realms of sleep and wakefulness.