Match Your Weakness With A Name

Um, Five? What Is This?

I cannot wait for Sunday.

When Sunday does come, I cannot wait for two o'clock.

I am wearing the Cobra Starship shirt and grey skinny jeans, and I spent an unreasonable amount of time combing my hair into a semi-decent state. I'm so nervous. Rebecca can tell I'm nervous. She is washing the dishes from lunch, looking over at me on the couch every so often. She doesn't say anything, and I don't mind.

I have the directions to his place printed out, and Awsten's favorite albums in my hand, so when the clock strikes one-thirty, I am ready to blast. His house isn't even that far away, but driving with one hand, though possible, takes considerably longer than normal. And if I'm late to this, the world will end.

To ensure the world doesn't end, I make sure I'm in the car by one-twenty-nine, and have it started up by one-thirty-one. Carefully, I back out of the driveway and follow the directions to his place. It's a relatively uninteresting drive. He lives on the outskirts of suburban Houston, where you can almost believe it's a small town.

Awsten's house is easily recognizable. It's the only two-story house on the street, and someone had decided to paint the exterior bright yellow. There are two massive oak trees growing in the front yard, and a large vacant lot to the left of the house. Some of the lot has been used for a garden, but a majority of the space is just untouched dirt and dead leaves.

The door to the house opens, and a lady pokes her head out. I wait for her to come out, but she doesn't, she just turns back and closes the door behind her. Moments later, the door opens again, and this time it's Awsten. Good. I am at the right house.

He waves to me, and I wave back. He's not wearing a sweater today-instead, he's wearing a red long-sleeved shirt and black jeans that look like they were supposed to be skinny jeans, but are still a bit too big for him. The bottom hems swish around his ankles as he walks up to my car, precariously unsteadily, like a newborn fawn. It's cute, in the way that newborn fawns are cute. You can't help but worry they'll fall and break their legs.

I am almost surprised when he makes it all the way to the curb without falling, and resist the urge to open the car door for him. I should be a gentleman, but I know he can do it himself.

As he climbs into the passenger seat, his hair falls slightly into his eyes, and I wonder why I'm noticing all these random little things about him. Maybe it's because I'm closer to him now than I've been all week, and I can just see him better from here? And maybe the lighting is better here, too, because now I can tell his eyes are two different colors.

I couldn't see it at the pool, as the blazing sun was usually in my face, and both of us did more squinting than anything else, but here, in the shade, I can tell that one is green and one is blue.

"So you've finally noticed?" he says, noticing me noticing.

I smile and look away. "Yeah. Your eyes are cool."

"Why, thank you," he says as he puts his seatbelt on. It draws the fabric of his shirt against his body, giving me a clear view of how skinny he is. The bottom of his ribcage is visible through the red fabric, and his hipbones jut out from his body, worryingly so. I hastily look away and start the car again.

"Uh, so...how's it going?" I ask, clumsily maneuvering the car out of the parking spot. "What'd you do yesterday?"

"Oh, I had a doctor's appointment," he says.

"How'd it go?" I ask, putting up an instinctive mental barrier.

"Eh. Not good, not bad," he says. "I got lectured on taking better care of myself again, but at least I didn't have to take my clothes off."