The sun has since set in the sky, as you arrive hand-in-hand with Sally at the building she calls home. It's... worn down and quite battered, but oddly enough, there's something about it that feels familiar. Sally fidgets every second or so. She sneaks a few glances at you, her face betraying nothing but fear. Fear of judgement, perhaps. Fear of abandonment, likely. A large part of you acknowledges the uncertainty that comes with discovery and acceptance. That's probably why you see yourself so differently with her: An escapism from the world. The brief smile you throw her way lasts a moment before you stretch, muscles sore and tired.
"What's wrong now?" Sally asks, gazing up at you. You're a lot taller than she is, and you have nice shoulders, she notices, gulping at her own pervertedness, and you're really damn cute.
You grunt, sighing dramatically; walking is always such a drag, but it's especially tiring when all you want to do is flop onto your bed and enter a never ending slumber to escape the pits of school.
"That was a long walk," you comment, pouting. She hums in agreement. Your lips purse as she eyes you. Sweat dribbles down your forehead. Is your makeup melting? Or is she just lost in thought? It's a simple question you choose to follow up with, "Sally there has to be some sort of compensation you can provide, right? My legs are dying!"
"Compensation?!" she exclaims, puffy cheeks darkening to a ripe red. She almost looks panicked, but then she slaps the back of your head. Classic Sally. Always the bully. Classic you. Always being bullied. Her continuous huffs roll one after another in sync, her words hurried, "Stupid! Do you not see the state of my home? Talking about some compensation I can give you... in your dreams, seriously."
"This is actually bullying!" you argue.
"You deserve it." Sally deadpans.
You gasp in offence. "Do not!"
"Do too."
"Do not."
"Do too—" Sally cuts herself off, deciding to just slap the back of your head again. "Shut up," she mutters, voice exhausted yet wilful. She's not sure why her heart is beating so fast or why she wants to hold your head to her shoulder, apologise briefly, and kiss the definite bruise she left behind the impact of her hits. Maybe because she wants to be your first. To be your favourite friend, to be the only person you'd look twice at. Your temporary boyfriend as she joked. That Warren guy from earlier really put her off. Did you like him? She saw the apologetic words you mouthed to him, not that you knew. Something ugly, dark brews inside her heart. How pathetic. How stupid and childish. Is this envy? Her heart only beats louder, her hand tightening around yours.
"You're so mean to me, Sally," you complain, forcing yourself to hold back a whine.
"So what? Maybe I am," she says back.
Silence. Sally guides you into the building, not bothering to give you a tour (and in that moment, you realise, a building, no matter its size doesn't amount to anything when the bitter loneliness etches at your soul). Finally, you're introduced to her room. She throws her bag to the side carelessly, gesturing for you to do the same. So you do.
As you settle into her bed, you quietly observe the area. It's cold, but the heat of her body comforting yours is enough shelter against the cool wind.
Sally likes staring at you.
And you do notice—ever the observant one, little miss perfect—but you don't bother to bring it up. She's thankful for that. She's thankful you're so amazing. She's thankful you're so mature. She really, really likes you. You may tease her once or twice, but then it gets lost in between the banter. Luckily for her, you know when to call it quits, and you don't cross any boundaries. Sally is pretty sensitive. Pretty pink smiles come easy for her, even when it's at the cost of her health. She hasn't ever been the type to stand up for herself. Being ostracised for her actions is something she fears with her whole being; despite this, you've taught her what it's like to love herself.
YOU ARE READING
Endless solo of solitude | Lookism various x reader
Romance"You're always so sad," he says, his eyes closing. She takes a moment before saying, "I know." "Why?" he asks simply. "I don't know," she whispers, "I really don't." Lookism various x Female reader. Most love interests listed in tags.
