Three Phantoms of You [bxb]

Text. Call. Turn Me.

Nolan:

Unknown number: hello!!

My fingers trace aversely on the plain letters arranged on my phone's keyboard just to contact him. I need to talk to him. No. I needed to make things clear with him.

I thought that night was something we could build off of to get to know each other more. Yet, it's been a week, and we're far from the stage of exchanging words, let alone seeing each other. 

I don't know what happened, but I'm sure something's up. 

He hasn't tried going to the cafe after our date, which is peculiar since I know how much of a regular he is there. I even attempted to look at the school after hours, yet he's not there. Nor anywhere for me to feel him.

Kiev: Who's this?

He replies.

Finally, I got him after sending about ten hellos. He's really hard to get a grip on, and even stubborn messages don't falter him in answering. As far as I know, he even left the number that was disturbing him on read. Not even asking who it was. 

Unknown Number: It's Nolan

It took him about two seconds to reply. Okay, a minute. Hmm, eight minutes to be exact, and I even had to hit him up with another text to get his attention.

Unknown Number: I'm serious
Unknown Number: talk to me

Hopefully, I didn't waste about a hundred bucks buying a new phone just for him to chat with me. And yeah, I know it's dumb, but I bought it for that purpose alone.

The money wasn't really hard to earn—no, to steal because it was already there in front of me. It only occurred to me yesterday to try using my ATM card to get at least some money because I was running low. Being a barista doesn't cover all my bills and expenses, so I need an alternative. And surprise, surprise, it worked.

I managed to get enough money from it to thrift myself a few clothes, pay for the room I was renting, and buy this useless phone. It's useless because Kiev won't kill mold to not have my messages in here, waiting for him.

Kiev: Why are you messaging me?.

Unknown Number: no shit, I just told you why
Unknown Number: talk to me pleaseee

I may look dumb with the way I type, but it complements my character, so why not. 

Kiev: I'm too busy. Talk to someone else.

Who the fuck ends with a period when texting? I mean, that's creepier than what I saw disturbing him. It's psychotic. 

I can't really understand him if we stick to chatting because words are inscrutable to me. I'm used to watching, hearing, and seeing what the other person means, not the latter.

So I click on the call button and wait for him to pick up. Surprisingly, he did it within seconds.

"What do you want?"

His voice echoes in my ear, longing and hot as hell. He sounds muffled, as if he just got out of bed. He probably just had it, and his deep voice speaks to all the twisting ideas of him inside of me. 

"Just woke up?" I ask, trying to start a much smooter conversation.

He just humphed under his breath as if I were bothering him so badly that I ruined his day. However, silence reverberates again between us while I think of other things to say.

"I have fucking school today. So please, Nolan, just tell me what you want?"

"Fine. Can we talk again—?"

"No."

"Rude," I reply. He literally cut me off.

He giggles lightly, giving me butterflies fleeing out of me. His laugh really sounded horrendous when he just woke up. "Miss me already?" he teased.

I know I should be warned that whenever we talk, there will always be a moment of taunting between us, yet I never seem to expect it and react oppositely to what he's beckoning to me.

My smile once again burst into fullness, with him being the reason for it. He won't be able to see me here, at least. For once, we're both unreadable.

"I'm even dying here, waiting to see you again."

"Who's stopping you? Come now," he jeers. "My body's waiting." Shithead.

"God, I can't wait." I groan sarcastically. "Send me proof now; drive's going to take so long."

I can tell that he probably rolled his eyes from the huff he just exhaled, and I couldn't be more content with getting that out of him. "You're joking. Please tell me you are," he replies.

Normally, I say I'm not, but I need to give this to him. I want to talk to him seriously, even for just a minute. "Tsk. You're fast to fold. Of course, I am. Disgusting."

I know it's confusing to act as if someone who's hating it is actually enjoying it, but it's nothing more than a joke to both him and me, so I'd rather finish in hatred than be sweet to him.

"Damn it," he lets out, making me curious about what just happened yet. "I was about to skip school just to see you," he continues.

I can't tell if he's serious or not, but I really want him to be. It may seem desperate to get him alone again somewhere, but my phantom longs to know what he's thinking and what he wants me to think. 

"Let's meet, please," I plead.

He sighs on the other side, telling me that it will be too complicated for that to happen. It is too complicated for us to not be left just on words and to tolerate each other's presence between us. 

"I can't."

His words were piercing right through me. "Why?"

"I just can't."

"Fucking hell, would I know why when you "just can't?" I burst because I'm too caught at the moment for him to reject me.

However, he just sees my animosity as something entertaining, not something to take seriously. "You're overreaction always cracks me up, dude," he says, which I can assume to be genuine.

"Be serious right now. Fucking hell." I groan because there's nothing else to do but ask for him. It may be easy for him to keep up with me because he knows me better, but for someone like me to deal with his insensitivity? It would just be too tiring.

He could probably sense how drained I'm getting from the silence I give him even as he tries to ask for me through hellos. I'll just leave him in stillness. In this way, I'll know if he would either want something to happen or just hang up and leave me hopeless, giving up. Yet—

"Are you still at the cafe at 6:30?"

He asks even though he knows I'm out by six. But I can't refuse this. "Yes." I push.

"Good. I'll be there by 5:30; wait for me, okay?" Yep, he knows my schedule and messed with me instead. Will it cost him to be serious sometimes? God.

But at least I got something from it. "It's not funny," I say, finally giving up.

"I know. I'm just messing. Don't take me seriously all the time. I don't want you too," he counters.

My mouth just wants to scream the words "But I want you to" to shut him up, but I can't. I'm still confused about where we stand at this point and if I even need closure. 

"Fine. I get it," I say with a little more optimism to not let him know what I'm really feeling. 

He gives me a whiff more of a chuckle, which at least lightens me. I heard him giggle at least three times while talking to him, and one of them was even a wince of a laugh. I want to hear it more when I meet him.

"Can you at least change my nickname here? Unknown number is really weird." I add just to diminish any bad feeling between us before we meet.

"Sure."

Then he hangs up.

Kiev changed your name to "Asshole"

Asshole: asshole.