dark side. || r.s.l.

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part four.

_________________

     It wasn't before midday that I came out of my room. I looked around, but Ross was nowhere to be found. His backpack was gone, too. The only thing that was left of him, was the note on the kitchen table.

     Dear Dylan,
 
     i'm sorry. i shouldn't have put you in the position you were in. i'll find a place to live, i promise. Don't worry about me. Thanks for letting me spend last night at your place.

     Love, Ross

     The fact that he didn't know that 'I' is supposed to be in capital letters slightly annoyed me — yes, I'm that kind of person — and I couldn't help but worry about him. And that's what I did the whole day. Worry about a guy that I barely knew.

     Working in a bakery is a weird job. Sometimes I have to be at work at four in the morning, so I can make the bread that they'll start selling at six. Sometimes my shift ends at midnight, because I had to clean the kitchen. Luckily, my sleeping schedule has always been shit. So it was nothing new once I got the job.

     The day after I met Ross, my shift would start at three a.m. because it was a Sunday. Sunday's are busy at work. But I had gotten enough sleep the day before, so I decided to stay up all night watching American Horror Story — which I happen to do very often, actually.

     At a few minutes past midnight, my doorbell rang. I jumped —
perhaps watching AHS at night wasn't a good idea at all, I thought to myself — and stared at the door. The doorbell rang again, and I sighed. I got up and walked to the door. I was wearing sweatpants and an old, baggy T-shirt, my hair in a messy bun that was messy enough to cross the border between cute and absolutely horrific, strands of hair awkwardly peeking out on every side of my head. 

     I opened, and there he was. A very drunk Ross. He was wearing the same clothes as he wore when he had left, his rucksack on his back and a bottle of some sort of alcoholic drink in his hand. Like me, he looked like a total mess.

     "Ross, please—" I said, and the word killer popped up in my head. I sighed and wanted to close the door, but Ross pushed it open again.

     "Ross, you're drunk. Go to—" I began, but Ross cut me off. He fell to his knees and kissed my feet, which made me feel slightly uncomfortable. Perhaps it was because I was wearing socks with little pizzas printed on them. Who knows.

     "Dylan," Ross slurred. "I'm so sorry for leaving. I want to be with you. You're all I want, baby."

     I wanted to say something, but he got up and shushed me, pressing his finger against my lips. Then, he continued.

     "Once I sat down next to you in that train, I knew you were the one for me. You're so beautiful. So good at taking care of people,"
he slurred. "I love how you're afraid of" — he hiccuped — "spiders, and I want to save you from every one of them just so you can refer to me as 'hero'. I want to bake cute things with you and watch shows with you in the middle of the night before you go to work. I want you, Dylan. And I was dumb for not realising that."

     I stared at the blonde boy in front of me for a few seconds, and then sighed.

     "Ross, you're drunk. Go home."

"No!" he yelled, and now it was my time to shush him.

"My neighbours will kill me if you wake them up," I whisper-yelled, and I pulled him inside my apartment.

"That's okay. It's hotter when we have to stay quiet, anyway," he chuckled, and he began to kiss my neck.

"Ross!" I exclaimed, and I pushed him off of me. His smirk changed into a worried frown.

"What's wrong? Don't you want me, too?" he pouted. Puppy eyes.

I sighed and walked to the bathroom, Ross following me like a lost dog. I let the shower run cold and pushed him under it, having to shush him a few more times. He began to sober up, and wrapped his arms around himself to keep warm.

     "Sorry for ruining your night," Ross said. We were sitting on the couch. Him wearing his grey sweatpants and white v-neck, me wearing the same shitty outfit as half an hour earlier.

"Not that there was much to ruin," I responded, staring at the black TV screen.

"Why were you awake at midnight?" he asked. I still didn't understand why he cared so much. I told him I'd start work in less than three hours, and he replied with a short 'oh'.

"Where were you?" I asked, just to break the heavy silence that hung between us. Or maybe because I cared. Did I care? No, he's a murderer, a little voice in my head spoke. But he's cute, I thought. I was so busy thinking that I hadn't even heard Ross's answer.

"Sorry, what?" I asked, looking at him. He was looking at me with an amused half smile, one eyebrow slightly raised, the light coming from my $10 lamp from Target reflecting in his golden brown eyes.

"You're tired," he stated. I wanted to say that I wasn't, but I yawned instead. He chuckled softly, and got up. I watched him as he walked around the couch, picked up a blanket, and plopped back down on the couch, closer to me now. He held up the blanket.

"I'm not cuddling you," I said, crossing my arms.

Puppy eyes.

Damn it.

I rolled my eyes, and he leaned his back against the armrest of the couch. Five seconds later I was between his legs — no, not that way — with my head rested on his chest.

Next thing I remember is dreaming about a shirtless Ross.