A/N - before you read - I didn't bother to update in such a long time bc the last chapter ONLY has three reads and the previous has nearly fourty and I feel kinda insecure about this story bc everyone suddenly stopped reading it and I don't get why??? :-((( but anyway, here's chapter 12..
February 23, 2016.
It was officially past midnight, the clock striking loudly as Michael and I roamed the streets of London. The walk to the pizza parlor was ridiculously long, though I didn't mind it at all. Not only was the sight breathtaking as the sidewalks glistened from the laminating street lights, but I also loved feeling my fingers tangle between Michael's as though we were caught on some sort of a web and it was impossible to escape. While I wish that was the case, it isn't. Michael just thinks he's being friendly, though I still have high hopes that he's gay or possibly bisexual.
"Do you come to this pizza place a lot?" I asked Michael as we dined in for a table of two, the waiter seeming annoyed that we were coming in an hour before closing. It isn't my fault that they decided to close this shop at one in the morning. We're also hungry teenagers. What else can you expect?
"Occasionally," Michael answered as he scanned the menu with wandering eyes - the kind of eyes that were full of curiosity and joy. I loved watching him let loose a bit even though he's still quite blunt after midnight. I wonder if this is all an act and he's secretly some hyperactive giggly boy who really likes cuddling. That'd be nice.
"What are you going to order?" I questioned while sucking in my lip, realizing that perhaps I'm asking too many questions, as I usually do, though I can't really help it. This is Michael we're talking about. Any sane person would ask him hundreds of questions the moment they're breathing the same damn air as him and there's no denying that.
"Pizza."
"I figured," Calum answered as he dragged his thumb across the materialistic menu, it seeming shinier than the tables they rested their elbows against, which was quite depressing in his opinion. Did they not wash these things well enough?
"The waitress is coming over. Fair warning, she's a bit of an asshole at this time of night, but don't worry, she's usually a pretty laid back person."
"Okay," I reiterated, attempting to calm the nerves in my body that I didn't even know were there. Spending time with Michael really makes me feel some type of way.
"Can I take your order?" The female asked as she hovered in front of us, her name tag becoming blurry under my vision, though I was still able to make out Maddy. I wondered if her parents named her that because she looks so agitated, but perhaps that's just me over tracing my thoughts again. I tend to do that a lot.
"Can we just get a extra large pizza with whatever the hell you can put on it," Michael said eagerly without pausing for breaths, "and another extra large pizza with-" he paused to look over at me, waiting for my response on what kind of toppings I wanted. "Cheese is fine."
Maddy jotted down our order before picking up our menus and scattering away into the kitchen. I'd feel terrible if she was the only one working at this hour. That's unfair, really.
"Can we really eat two extra large pizzas on our own?"
"You'd be surprised."
-
I was nervous the moment we arrived at the parlor. But Michael somehow managed to calm my nerves and make this a night worth remembering. After getting our pizza and splitting them in half, Michael decided to fetch a couple of sodas with bendy straws so he could blow bubbles in them and it was oddly satisfying watching a glass of Coke splatter all over his nose that was quite adorable if you ask me.
He was so gentle and concerning with me as we ate, but still managed to joke around a bit as well. Michael found ways to tell me stories about his childhood without revealing too much and the scariest part about it was he didn't mention any names but talked about people - his old friends, his parents, his teachers that made his life so much better without realizing it, and I still failed to recognize who the hell he was talking about in the first place. Not that it mattered, but a couple of spare details would have been nice.
"So, where do you come from?"
"Australia."
"Weird, same."
"Small world," I rambled on awkwardly as I sipped on my bubbling beverage that was as clear as the glass I was holding.
"You don't look Australian, though."
"Eh, I get that a lot. I'm Kiwi and Scottish if that helps."
"Sure," Michael laughed, and I laughed with him, though neither of us were sure why the hell we were laughing in the first place but hey, laughter truthfully is the best medicine because we were having a great time. And everything is funnier after midnight.
"Hey Michael?" I questioned, knowing that if I were to ask the colorful haired boy if this is what I thought it was, it could ruin the night, but I wanted to take my chances anyway. I still had that small amount of hope within me that made me think Michael was at least ten percent gay. Or ten percent bisexual. Or worst case, only Calumsexual - not that I minded, but I wasn't sure if that was entirely a thing.
"What's up, my guy?" Michael pursed as he finished off another slice of pizza, making that his sixth piece out of the eight sitting on his tray. He was determined to finish the entire pie, though I gave up after five. My tummy could only hold so much.
"I was just wondering if this is a date."
Michael gave me this look that just screamed no, but his face softened when seeing my lips pout out the slightest bit out of offense, but it wasn't on purpose. I was just upset that a straight boy wouldn't give me a chance to prove that he isn't exactly what he thought he was. I guess I just don't hold that kind of power.
"If that's what you want to call it, then sure."
It wasn't exactly what I hoped for, but it was something. He was allowing me to call this a date, and maybe somewhere deep down in Michael's mind, he thought it was too.
That's the only thing I truly care about at the moment. Michael giving me a chance I never thought I'd receive.
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Philophobia | Malum |
Fanfiction"There was a boy I knew once who always walked on his tiptoes and wrote in broken cursive. Something beautiful about him, like the way he hummed to himself when he was bored or created fantasies about the randomest of things and laughed about it lat...
