When Vines intertwine

The Meeting

You were walking down Hollywood Blvd looking at shops as you try to find a hotel to stay at. Just for tonight. After giving up and sitting on the curb head in hands you feel a strong arm pull you into a warm and muscular body. You hear a voice say, "Yo, what's wrong?" You know that voice. It's the man who you swooned over in your room. It's the man you owned at least five shirts he designed. It's him. Logan Paul.

You slowly move your head up. As if in a daze. You see his eyes, his messy hair. Dimples on his cheek. He is grinning at you. You can smell him. He smells if fresh cotton. And new cars. You manage to get the words, "Got lost, no where to spend the night" out between the silent sobs of releife that someone cared. You never even knew you were crying. He reaches a thumb up to wipe a tear off. "I got you covered!" He says. "You can stay at my place!" "Thank you so much!" He grabs your hand and pulls you into a sleek purple car. You sit in the passenger seat. Exausted and releived. He climbs in and starts it up. "I couldn't leave someone as pretty as you outside all night. Who knows what would have happened." He says running a hand through his hair. "Thank you so much. I can't repay you. The ATM I was using didn't give me back my credit card and I spent the last of my money getting there." "No worries. You can crash at my place as long as you need to." "Thank you so much once again." You sat there watching the cars wiz by and fell asleep.