defect ➵ scömìche

eighteen

Mitch Grassi's POV

WHEN I WOKE UP, I STILL felt the tingling on my lips, and I didn't even actually kiss him. I looked at my phone on my bedside table, and noticed it had a few notifications. I checked them, and one of them was from Scott.

Scott:
we can probably get your hair dyed today if you want.

I let a grin plaster my face. I quickly texted back. He sent that about ten minutes ago.

Mitch:
sure. text me when you want to.

Scott:
now? i can pick you up.

Mitch:
give me 10 minutes

I hopped out of my bed with a yawn, forcing myself to put actual clothes on. Settling for skinny jeans and a loose sweater, I shoved my shoes on and waited for Scott's honk or knock. I ran a hand through my brown and eventually blond or purple hair in a way to tame it a bit and it didn't want to cooperate with me. I sighed, letting it be messy, a few strands poking out. It bothered me but there wasn't anything I could do about it.

I heard a few knocks, and I got back up again to go downstairs. Once I was down there, the door was soon opened and revealed a smiling Scott. "Hi," I smiled back.

"Hi. What color are you getting it dyed?" He asked as I closed the door to my small house, locking it. "Um, maybe blond or purple. I don't know yet."

"Oh," he mumbled. "You'd look really good with blond, I think."

I looked up at him with a smirk. "So you like blonds, huh?"

"What? No," he blushed. "Does it matter? I mean, I only like you, so—" and he stopped, his face getting even more red. "Let's go," he muttered, avoiding my gaze as I felt my insides explode. I couldn't help the massive grin on my face as I got in with him, and I was just staring at my lap the entire way to the salon.

"You're happy," he noted out loud. "Yeah, I am. Sorry," I shook my head, thinking I should stop being creepy. He glanced at me, a frown forming on his thin lips. "Why would you apologize for being happy?"

"I don't know. I figured I was being creepy or annoying," I played with my fingers. "Okay, well, you weren't. You were just being excessively cute."

He suddenly brought a hand to his forehead, "Sorry."

"Don't be," I blushed. "Thank you."

He nodded, not responding, and the car stopped in front of a glass salon, filled with some young women, children, and some guys. We both left the vehicle, closing the doors shut and a beep was heard from it as Scott guided me to the door, not that I needed any help.

I think I realized that I somehow liked Scott in more of a friendly way was when I was at the hospital and he seemed genuinely worried for me and when I imagined he was in my place and I suddenly felt the need to cry. I cared for him a lot, that's for sure, but I also knew that I hadn't just thought of him as only a friend. Eventually I snapped out of my trance when I saw a woman in front of me and an amused Scott staring at me expectantly. "Sorry, what?"

"What color would you like your hair dyed today?" She smiled at me. "Oh, uh, blond," I played with my fingers once more. "Like a platinum blond or your friend's blond?" She asked me, leading me to a chair. "His blond but a little lighter," I declared. "Alright," she said. "Sit tight, I'll be right back."

She left and Scott sat in the salon chair next to me, smiling at me with a weird look in his eyes. "What?" I inquired nervously. "Nothing, but I'm just imagining your hair pinned back with a clip, that's all. I don't think it'd look bad on you, to be honest."