Ross Lynch Imagines

Pancake Kiss

    It's late Tuesday night, a school night and you should be at home, getting ready for bed so you're not feeling absolutely fucking exhausted the next day, but instead you're out—and worse yet, you're at a party. That's right, a high school party, unheard of, right? It's strange that you're at some drama-infested party with a bunch of hollow-brained teenagers, and now you have officially become one of those girls. But in your defense, you didn't come here willingly in matters of your own, in fact, you're (sort of) wannabe best friend, but regardless of that you love her to pieces practically forced you to accompany her to this party celebrating nothing in particular for the hell of it. She's been wanting to mingle herself with more popular quoted people in our school and this was an easy-go invite for her. But she dragged you along so she didn't seem like a huge loser. And now you're here, awkwardly standing alone because hours ago she ditched you to go play beer pong and you haven't caught of glimpse of her since.

   You're leaning against a wall, your hands shoved in the pockets of your jean jacket, your eyes languidly observing the party-goers. As you watch the scene before you, you begin to realize how lame this party actually is. There's excruciatingly, pulsating music, yes, but nobody's dancing. In fact, there isn't even room for dancing. Everyone is scattered through kitchen grabbing an alcoholic beverage, on the furniture in the living room, or lingering out on the back patio. Everybody's talking and laughing loudly, holding their beer bottles or blue plastic cups. Some people are making out on the sofa or in the corner, and some are holding each other's hands as they climb the steps to go upstairs and do who-knows-what. This is your first party and it's definitely not like the movies portray them to be.

  You grab your phone out from your purse, glancing at the time: 12:07. Your best friend promised you two would leave at midnight, which it's already seven minutes past. You two really should be going, but you don't want to leave her behind. It was such a waste of a night and you're growing irritated. You dressed up for tonight in a cute skater dress for nothing (your best friend insisted you wear this sexy meshed top, but you forbid it). With a heaved sigh escaping your glossed lips, you decide to begin searching for her. You scope out the entire downstairs and patio, seeing her nowhere. She could possibly be upstairs, so you climb the stairway, hoping you won't find your best friend laying beneath some guy on somebody's bed with her skirt rolled up around her waist, but it's something you must prepare yourself for.

  Once you're upstairs, you start on opening doors, peeking inside but finding most of the lights are off. You finally reach the last door, your fingers grasping around the knob and twisting it, cracking it open a sliver, casting a yellow glow on the floor and half of your face as your bring your eyes closer to the ajar door, peering inside. As your eyes survey the bedroom, you find a double bed with the grey sheets wrinkled with impressions from a body or maybe two. You also find a dresser, a lava lamp, and a person. He's a guy, with his bare back facing you. He's in the middle of getting dressed, implying he had just had sex from the messed up bed and half of his clothes scattered aimlessly on the floor. He's already in his boxers and he's now tugging his black skinny jeans on his legs, the muscles in his back contracting as he does this. You can't help but gawk at this toned guy, watching his every movement. His head is covered with medium length blonde hair, just barely grazing past his earlobes. He's hot, that's for sure. But as he's pulling on his shirt, you're too busy drooling over his abs that you don't realize he's turned around, facing you as he reaches over to grab his converses, and he's spot you. You gasp in surprise as his light brown eyes set on you through the crack, causing a shiver to jolt up your spine. Shit! You quickly retract from the door, your legs moving very quickly as you run down the stairs, your heart beating out of your chest. Oh shit...shit, shit, shit. That's so humiliating. You just got caught stalking! You couldn't help it, it was like your eyes couldn't look away and your legs were anchored down. Luckily you don't know him—he's probably a senior, or maybe he goes to another school—hopefully.