Journey | Yogscast Lewis x Reader

9 - Lewis' Apology

You could have got yourself hurt - you could have got Lewis or Turps hurt as well, and it'd have been your fault. 

You should have kept your nose out of it.  

No, I shouldn't have, you think to yourself. My friends were in trouble. I was just protecting them. 

It's quite cool outside, in contrast to the heat in the hall. You can still hear the blaring music from inside. 

You take a deep breath. You can do this, right? It's meant to be a bit of fun. You should do this - it's a time to meet some people, just kid around, show off your superior nerdiness...

 But you're scared - what if there's other people like those? That man was ready to fight you - he would've done if you hadn't threatened to call the police. 

You breathe in again, taking in as much of the cool, fresh air outside; and then you move back in through the door and make your way to the toilets. 

You study yourself in the mirror - your eyes are red and wet with tear-like beards from tiredness, and you're glad you haven't worn make-up; by now, it probably would've been ruined. You can't just hide in the toilets forever, you tell yourself. 

You move to the door outside, and you're about to walk into the hall again when there's a hand on your shoulder. 

"Get off me!" you say automatically, twisting away, and you turn round to see who it is. "Oh... sorry." 

Of course - it's Lewis. His hand is still outstretched, and he's looking a little angry at himself.

 "It's no problem," he says quickly, lowering his hand. "I shouldn't have snuck up on you like that. Sorry."

"No, don't worry." You sigh. "What happened back there..."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. I was kind of just drawing attention to myself."

He frowns. "What do you mean sorry? You saved my arse back there - if it weren't for you, I'd probably still be on that table being grabbed by some fucking creep." He shakes his head. "If it weren't for you."

You sigh. "You make it sound like I was some kind of God. I just told them to fuck off, that's all."

"Exactly. And it worked."

"Look, Lewis -"

He grabs your hand and entwines his fingers with yours gently, playfully, and it silences you immediately. "Thank you," he says.

"You're welcome," you say, voice shaking slightly. Luckily, Lewis doesn't seem to notice.

"I've been a dick to you," he says, his eyes flitting up to meet yours, and you don't dare look away; "And you were the one who tried to apologise. You were the one who was nice to me. You forgave me, and I..." He shakes his head. "If I were you, I would hate me so much."

You're ever conscious of his hand, still holding yours - and you're only about half a foot apart from each other. You can feel his warm breath on your lips; he smells faintly of alcohol and mint.

"And now this," he whispers.

"And now this," you repeat.

He's wearing his blue and red-checked shirt again - the one he often wears for live action shoots, and for good reason: he looks stunning in it, and today is no different. His eyebrows are set in a slight frown, as if he's angry about something, but you can sense it isn't you. And he's slicked back his hair in his usual kind-of quiff.

Unintentionally, you moisten your lips with your tongue, biting it afterwards in embarrassment; but Lewis doesn't care, or doesn't see; his eyes are still on yours.