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I watched my curly headed blond friend paced my bedroom floor, his hands gripping the hair at the crown of his head. A pink hair dryer was clutched in my hand and hot hair blew over the wait paint on my toes. Neither of us said a thing as we were both clearly agitated.
“Please,” I repeated for about the sixth time since Ashton had entered my room fifteen minutes ago. I flicked my dryer off and set it down beside me on the bed, our eyes focusing in on each other as he stopped in front of me. “Ash, please.”
“(Y/N), no,” he answered measurably and there was no infliction in his voice to lead me to believe he was going to ever think otherwise.
“I don’t see why you’re being so stubborn about this. I love you both and he wants to meet you, so why are you acting like this?” Ashton let out an annoyed sighed and sat down beside me. He leaned his head against the wall, leaving his legs hanging off the edge.
“Why in the hell would I want to meet him? Ever since he moved here you’ve been blowing me off and it’s fucking annoying.” He was picking at his fingernails and I could tell he was trying to keep his emotions in check.
“I don’t mean to, but he just moved here and he doesn’t know anyone but me. What am I supposed to do? Let him sit at home alone all of the time?” My voice rose slightly and I laid on my stomach with our sides touching.
Ashton ignored me, keeping his eyes shut and pretending to act like he couldn’t hear me. “I’m sorry,” I finally said, getting pissed off when he stil refused to answer me. “Ashton." I smacked his chest, making him flinch slightly and open one eye to peek at me.
"I don’t fucking care if he sits at home and jacks off to a picture of you every night. I literally don’t give a single fuck. I just hate how you keep pushing our plans off so you can hang out with him.” I turned onto his side, burying his face into my pillow.
“Oh come on,” I said, drawing out my words slightly. I put my hand on his shoulder, trying to flip him back onto his back, but he refused. “Luke doesn’t like me like that, we’re only friends.”
“He likes you, (Y/N). I told you that when you met him 2 years ago.” His voice was muffled against the fabric of the pillow case, and I was becoming more and more frustrated with how childish Ashton was being.
I crawled over him and onto the opposite side of the bed so that I could pry his hands away from his face. “Ashton, please stop this,” I began to beg as I realized it was going to he impossible to move his hands. “You’re acting jealous and it’s getting really annoying.”
