fallin' for you | camren au

fallin' hard

She's not ready.

Yeah, no, she's not ready at all, and, honestly? She kind of feels like she's about to throw up. Her crush– oh, God. Her crush is going to be here soon because she– ugh.

Because Camila has asked Lauren out, in the worst way possible, and– and, okay, no, she does not want to think about that again. And– anyway, she is so not ready.

She's been trying on outfits for at least an hour now (it's probably, definitely been way longer than that), and she still hasn't found the right thing.

One outfit is too casual, in the other she feels overdressed, and– and this is going to be a disaster, she can feel it. Lauren is going to laugh at her, and they're never going to go out. At all. Or again. Camila doesn't know which option she prefers.

Looking at her watch, she panics. It's almost seven already (apparently time flies when you can't decide on a goddamn outfit), which means Lauren is going to show up very, very soon, and– holy hell, she's going to faint. And this time, she's actually, truly going to faint. Wait– no. First, she's going to throw up, and then she's going to faint. And then she's going to suffocate because nobody will be there to–

Okay, enough of that. Camila has a date to get ready for, she'll have enough time to think about her inevitable death later. Or maybe– maybe she should fake her death now. Yeah, what a good idea! Like that, she won't have to choose an outfit, and she won't have to worry about making a fool of herself in front of Lauren! It actually does seem like the best idea.

Or– or not.

Because, she thinks, then she's never going to get to kiss Lauren again.

And she really, really wants to kiss Lauren again. Only– she can't decide what clothes to put on, so she– she– she–

She checks the time again. She only has a few more minutes left to get herself ready. Although, let's be real, even if she had years, she would never be truly ready for this date with Lauren. Her date with Lauren. Her date. With Lauren. Oh, God. She's going on a date. Tonight. Soon. In a few minutes. And she's standing in the middle of her dorm, only wearing underwear, panicking. (Only slightly.)

She needs clothes. Actual clothes. An outfit. People wear clothes on dates, right? Or– or do they– yeah, clothes. She opens her closet, and finds all the shirts and skirts and pants and everything else she's tries on in one big pile at the bottom.

"I don't know what to wear."

Which– great.

"Oh, my God, I don't know what to wear!"

Okay, no, not so great.

"What am I going to wear?" She doesn't even know who she's asking.

Clothes, she thinks. Clothes. Yeah. A good idea. She looks at the pile of clothes in front of her, and then just randomly chooses a white shirt and a black skirt that she thinks– hopes look good on her. The shirt is kind of a little too much not her size, but she doesn't care. (She remembers how Lauren always tells her that she actually loves when her clothes is big on her. Is. She never uses the plural, which, in all honesty– like, Lauren is such a grammar queen, so why does she–)

Camila looks in the mirror, and she likes the outfit, so there's that.

What next?

Oh, yeah, hair. Hair. Yeah. She sprints to the bathroom to do her hair, and then tries applying some makeup but– yeah, no, no can do. She's trembling too much.