CASSANDRA HAYES is a hopeless romantic. When she has a crush, they'll stick around in her head for years. She's never been good at getting over them, either; her remedy for a despairing heart is to write songs about it.
Walker Scobell has been the...
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♡ 593 liked by walkies, lilypad, arianagrenade and more
nothayescassandra sneaky priv concert who?
walkies
guys I didn't sing
↪ nothayescassandra you did and I have it on camera
↪ walkies your lucky I like you
lilypad chat the fomo is killing me
↪ nothayescassandra whoops
arianagrenade
voice of an angel
↪ nothayescassandra SAYS THE ANGEL HERSELF??
"I completely forgot Ariana got my finsta," I sigh dreamily, stretched across the bed in a comfortable starfish. Walker is narrowing his eyes at me from where he's curled up on the edge. "What? We get coffee sometimes."
"You're literally, like, fifteen," he points out. "She's twenty-nine right now."
"Age is just a number," I say, and then burst out laughing. "We are not romantically involved, jeez."
He raises a brow, rolling over so his legs are swung over mine. I slide my cold feet over his shins, giggling. He gasps in outrage, shaking his head. "What were you writing about?" He asks me, arms supporting his head as he rolls to his side. I copy the position. "Earlier? It's not like my other songs. I don't know about showing it - maybe I'll let you hang out at the studio when I record it with Ger?"
He nods, understanding.
After that, the conversation grows less serious and more nonsensical. I move around restlessly, ending up turned completely around, arms in the air, gushing about Billie Eilish and RAYE. "And honestly, ice cream man. is such an empowering song. I burst into tears listening to it, and then RAYE herself hugged me. Hugged me, Walks! I don't even want to shower," I pretend to wipe my eyes, pushing up to rest on my knees. He's resting against the headboard, listening intently.
"I'm sure she'd understand if you erased her touch from your skin," he encourages me sweetly. "How come I don't get this treatment?"
"Darling, as comfortable as your hugs are, I like smelling like Vanilla. Not your latest cologne - as lovely as that smells, too," I hum, reaching out to pull his ear. "I only got to hug her once. I hug you, like, every time I see you."
"I think I deserve to be treated more importantly," he argues teasingly.
"Fine. I'll never wash again, and then you'll find my stench too appalling to chance an embrace, and then I'll die of loneliness."
"I suppose I can settle for the clean hugs," he grumbles.
"Walks, you are completely peculiar," I sigh, fishing my notebook from the bedside table and flicking it open to a new page. "Ugh, I was hoping to get two done."
"Doesn't writing a song take some people months?" Walker points out.
"I almost always write a song in one sitting," I clarify. "My voice gets all confusing and lost if I take too long."
He nods, even though he probably doesn't understand it. "How long are we gonna be in Vancouver for? I want to shop."
"Your obsession with retail should be documented," he drawls. "A couple weeks, I think. They're just reviewing footage."
We talk for a few hours more. By 3am, I'm exhausted and curled up on my side of the bed, eyes falling closed on me.
By 4am, I'm curled up in Walker's arms, legs tangled and arms encircling his waist, head on his chest.
