Hey, Morty! My family is going to go see fireworks later. Do you wanna come? You text to Morty.
It's been about a week since you'd last seen him and you figure that you've given him enough time to consult with his parents. You haven't heard anything new from him. You swing your legs in the air, laying chest-down on your bed. You hold your phone in front of your face, it being locked. You await his response, wasting several minutes before groaning resonantly. You drop your face into your pillow, slamming your phone down next to you.
"C'mon, Morty," you whisper vexedly.
You sit up slowly, looking at your outfit. You tug on Morty's yellow shirt wrapped tightly around your form. You pull on your black shorts, the fabric sticking to your body. You nervously roll off your bed, puckering your lips to one side. You unlock your phone, checking the messages again.
"Damnit," you whisper.
You sigh and roughly shove your phone into your pocket, crossing your arms and trudging out into the living room. You plop onto the couch, flipping through the channels on the TV. You feel your phone vibrate in your pocket and you pull it out, a wave of relief sweeping over you.
You check your messages from Morty, seeing what he's told you.
My parents said I could come over, just not overnight.
Cool! We'll pick you up in 20 minutes.
Okay. See ya
:)
You lock your phone with satisfaction and put it in your pocket, crossing your legs. Your mom walks by, fixing her hair.
"What did Morty's parents say?" She asks busily.
"They said he could come. I told him we'd pick him up in 20 minutes," you tell your mom nonchalantly.
"Okay." She nods, walking off, clearly vexed by her difficult hair.
You chuckle and lean back into the couch, briefly closing your eyes. You imagine yourself with Morty later today. Just being able to see him once again makes you so excited. And maybe a little aroused? Either way, you know for sure you're enthusiastic to see him.
You can hardly keep yourself from fidgeting and so you stand up, occasionally checking the time now and then.
You groan impatiently as 20 minutes is up now and your family is still struggling to get out the door.
"We said we'd pick Morty up, like, right about now!" You moan, your loud speech filling the empty halls.
You roll your eyes and curse under your breath, wishing your family understood how important this is to you. You purse your lips and stand by the door, tapping your foot. You switch off the tapping every once in a while, crossing your arms. You check the time.
Five minutes late.
You shut your eyes and whine quietly. You open them to reveal your family gathering at the front door.
"Finally," you sigh.
You bean brightly and your dad ushers you outside. You skip to the car and hop into the backseat, your brother sluggishly sitting next to you. Your mom takes her place in the driver's seat and your dad in the passenger's. You groan as your mom slowly sticks the key into the ignition, gradually twisting it. It takes all your patience-- which you have little of at this point-- to not yell at her to hurry up. She eventually starts the car up and puts it into reverse, backing out of the driveway. She gets onto the street and puts the car into drive, directing the car to the Smith's house.
