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𓆩♡𓆪
Jess Mariano hesitated at the front door, the task of entering a house he'd never been in before daunting as he stared at the house, two lights on upstairs but otherwise drowned in darkness. Crap, what if it was the wrong house? Scrambling slightly, he checked the back of 'Of Mice and Men' quickly, but he was stood at the right door. What if she was joking? He knew nothing of her family but she had mentioned a brother. What if he was six foot something and carried a knife. Jess, in a rare moment of nervousness, was considering walking away. Instead he turned the door handle and pushed the door ajar, shocked it was unlocked. Immediately two balls of golden fur swarmed him, escaping into the street and he was cursing loudly, trying to shepherd them back in.
"Fuck, no come back, shit. Uh. Crap. Snoopy?" He didn't know why he was whispering. Luckily, when he hopped inside the house, half to herd them in, half to escape them licking and jumping at him, both dogs followed eagerly. "Right." He breathed, shutting the door, and awkwardly patted them each on the head before looking around the silent house. Though actually, he could hear a faint voice, and music too. The house was bare, and though it was dark he could make out the distinct lack of photos or art or colour. Resisting the urge to snoop through the house, he made his way up the stairs carefully, dogs at his heels happily and much to his annoyance.
The door in front of him at the top of the stairs had the name 'Wren' painted in cursive decorated with a little bird and Nirvana's 'Lithium' drifting under the door frame. A ghost of a smile appeared on his face as he knocked, both dogs stood waiting with their tails wagging in anticipation. "Yeah?" Her voice was muffled and confused and he had a shit-eating grin on his face before he had even stepped in. "Shit, Jess, what the fuck, don't let the dogs in."
The words were not exactly the welcome he'd been looking for but he frowned and struggled to shove the fur-balls out of the room, shutting the door behind them. "Why?"
"Fumes."
"Of what?"
"Nail polish. And weed. I'll open the window." Wren shrugged, nose and cheeks tinted with blush. He nodded, simply accepting it as he watched her put the nail polish on a shelf above her desk and open the window by her bed before she turned back to him. "Why are you here exactly?"
"You said too."
"Not tonight, I didn't."
"I thought you were joking."
"And you wanted to check?"
"I need your help. And chalk."
"Of course you do."
Her room was not bare, unlike what he had seen of downstairs. There were pictures and clothes and nail polish and paint and posters and CDs everywhere and a corkboard proudly displaying layers of detention slips, both scrawled with 'Wren Waller' and 'Robin Waller' and one in the middle with 'Anna-Lou St John'. There was a chair under a mound of clothes and blankets and a desk covered in pens and paper and her bed was a mess of blankets and sheets and was lit up by rows of fairy lights. She stood, staring at him with an unreadable face, wearing blue plaid pants and a faded Guns'N'Roses shirt with purple nails and messy hair and he looked so weird in her room, she didn't know what to say.
