𝐖𝐎𝐍𝐃𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐀𝐍𝐃, charles leclerc

𝙘𝙝𝙖𝙥𝙩𝙚𝙧 𝙚𝙡𝙚𝙫𝙚𝙣, maisie

❝ 'cause i loved you, i swear i loved you 'til my dying day.❞
⇄ ◃◃ ⅠⅠ ▹▹ ↻

"Morning, sleepy head." I wake up, Olive's face right in front of mine, frightening me.

I blink a few times, trying to remember why it feels so comfortable, so warm. My head is still resting on his shoulder, and it takes a moment for the fog of sleep to clear from my mind.

Then it hits me—I fell asleep during the movie last night. My heart skips as I realize I've spent the entire night leaning on him, and a rush of embarrassment floods my cheeks.

I sit up, carefully pulling away from him, trying not to wake him. "Oh my God." I scratch the back of my head as I stand up, cracking my back that feels dead.

"So, did you do it?" She gets straight to it.

I shush her, her voice too loud and his presence right here. I point to the kitchen, telling her to head there so we can talk.

She shows me the way and I follow behind. However, not before taking a quick look at his angel sleeping face. Even asleep he looks amazing.

She clears her throat, calling out for me and I rush away to her. "Before you ask again," I start as I close the kitchen door behind me. "No. We didn't do it." I beat her. "We just talked and watched a movie."

She sighs. I don't get why though. "Does he know about the bow in your hair?" She asks bluntly, bringing up a subject that wasn't at all on the menu.

"He knows it's for her. He doesn't know why." I mumble as I head to get a bottle of water from one of the cupboards.

"All jokes aside," She states clearly. "what are you doing? You just met him." I'm not doing anything.

Nothing happened between us and nothing is going to happen. We both know it can't.

"I didn't do anything. I told you, we just talked." I say as I bend down to grab a bottle.

"Okay, sometimes, talking can be much worse than actually sleeping together, Mais." She tilts her head, crossing her arms as she looks me straight in the eyes. Who would think she's sixteen years old? "Especially when he knows about her."

I let out a long breath, opening the bottle but speaking before drinking. "I just like talking to him. I feel like..." Like he's everything I've ever waited for. "I feel like I can tell him anything. He listens to me like no one does. He just feels comfortable."

"I listen to you!" She argues back as I take a gulp of water. She listens to me, everyone does, but him, he listens.

He makes me feel listened. Not like I'm just talking to anyone in the air about anything. He actually takes the time to focus with me and process my every word like it matters to him in a death/life situation.

I swallow down the water before arguing back. "Not like him." I shake my head, putting the bottle away.

"I remember every single conversation we've had since we first spoke together." She points out as if I don't already know.

I love her so much that I envy her brain so much sometimes. I'm a high school drop out and she's heading for Harvard at sixteen. Guess who's the family favorite.

"That's because of your photographic brain thing. He listens to me because he wants to." I tell her as I lean back on the counter.

She wants to roll her eyes, I can feel it. "You're still young. Don't fall for him. Love's a scam." She wants to end the conversation here it seems but I refuse to let her believe that love is a scam or whatever she likes to call it.