h.s. ❁ one shots

// 21

worked pretty hard on this but the plot takes a while to develop so be patient!

WARNING: STRONG SEXUAL CONTENT

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[m/c pov]

"Is Mason coming?" I ask curiously, my toes perched on the cool, white surface edge of the large, luxury chair. I watch hesitantly as the first bold stripe of black runs the length of my toe nail, Mallory surprisingly being right about color choice. As much as I wanted to select my usual pink flesh tone varnish, Mal's hard headed self insisted otherwise.

"Yeah," Mallory sighs, sounding more upset than angry like I had expected. I look over at her seated in the chair next to me as she talks on, "I mean, it's my 21st birthday you know? As much as I don't want to see him there, I guess it would be even more rude for me to not invite him. I don't want to stir any more awkwardness into our current... status."

I listen as my best friend rambles about her sappy, ex boyfriend. After their break up, both had tried desperately hard to stay friends, not wanting to ruin the undeniable bond between. Even then, the relationship took a turn for uncomfortably odd. She would text him every day until I told her that might be too clingy, resulting in him sending her chocolates as an apology for an unknown wrong deed. Mallory even got sent bouquets of flowers, which were gorgeous, but made the situation even more weird.

I smile when her face animates excitedly at the sight of my toes, now glistening with deep black.

"You don't have to talk to him." I attempt to offer advice. Mallory is usually the one giving me the help, so it feels odd switching roles.

"I know, I know," Mal sighs, eyes landing in her lap, "I just... don't really want to think about this right now. I mean... who's 21 today?" Mallory's face visibly lights up, her perfectly waxed brows raised at me to answer her basically rhetoric question.

"You!" I squeal, smile appearing on my lips as I point my finger to her, poking her blouse clad shoulder lightly.

"That's right!" We both break out into giggles. Honestly, I'm happy because Mallory is happy. If she's stressed and worried, things typically go wrong, resulting in one of us crying and a mess to clean up.

Take her 18th birthday as an example. We had just graduated high school, Mallory being a late bloomer and turning legal in early June. Her mom rented a lavish ball room, only for it to be decorated more for a teenage party, correctly setting the mood. The times were set, everyone we wanted was attending, and Mallory's dress was hung perfectly in her absurdly large closet; it was the cherry on top of the perfectly set up cupcake. However, Mal seemed to freak about the littlest things: the desserts weren't 'age appropriate', the guests supposedly weren't having any fun, her shoes were a half size too small. All those things racked her stressed brain, ending in her having a complete meltdown in my junky 2001 Toyota Camry, and me being a shoulder to cry on. I don't mind being there for Mallory, not at all considering everything she has been through with me, but the party was ridiculous. It was perfect, but she was too focused on the small flaws to let loose.

"Victoria? You good hun?" I quickly turn my head to Mallory, finding her face fallen in confusion, brows furrowed.

"Ya! Ya, I'm fine. Just thinking about your 18th." Just as I get the words out, she flings her hand in the air silencing me.