|ON HOLD| How To Fall Out Of Love: A Guide

The Realisation

"I'm going on a date." Camila announces, poking her head around the door of her bedroom. Her hair is wet and clings to her face, so she must've just gotten out of the shower. At least that explains why she had been M.I.A for the past half hour, the faint sounds of music and her singing along creeping into the living room serving as the only evidence that she was still in the apartment.

She's a great singer... obviously, it's her job. She's famous for it. Good job Y/n.

"Oh man, send my condolences to the unfortunate victim you've chosen this time." You snap back sarcastically but with a hint of honest anger behind it. You don't even know why it was there, Camila has every right to go on a date with whoever she wants and she has been with a lot of people for the past few months, a different person each time because 'none of them are the one'. This must be at least her eighth, so why are you so upset about it?

Thankfully she takes the remark as purely sarcasm and laughs, heading back into her room.

"Come help me pick out what to wear!" She yells and with a slightly confused (at yourself) laugh, you push yourself off of the very comfy sofa you'd managed to convince her was worth the extra money it cost than that faux leather one she'd wanted, and head into her room.

It's not often you go in there, really, but every time you do there's some sort of mess. The rest of the apartment you share isn't impeccable, don't get me wrong, but her room is always the messiest of them all. This time, the mess is God-knows-how-many papers spread all over her desk and the floor beneath, a patch where they are missing taken up by her guitar and a space where she must've been sitting, probably writing songs.

"Okay, what are your options?" You ask, peeling your eyes from the papers and sitting on the bed as Camila opens her closet, then stepping back and gesturing to it all.

"Right..." You drawl and scan your eyes over the clothes. There's a fair amount of skinny jeans, shorts, t-shirts, and dresses or skirts, and then there's the more dress-up stuff. You focus your attention on the fashion-y side, begrudgingly wanting to make her look good for her date. Still, though, you don't know why you feel that way. 'Maybe I'm just jealous of the fact that she actually has dates', you reason.

As you stand up and head over to the wardrobe, flicking through some of the options, Camila leans against the wall and watches you, not your hands moving her clothes around, but you. She watches your eyes as they scan over the clothes. She watches your lips as you subconsciously chew on them when considering a white jumpsuit, and your cheeks as you push them out and shake your head slightly, moving onto the next article of clothing. You don't have to look at her to know because you can feel her gaze almost burning into you, making you feel almost nervous.

"Where are you going tonight?" You ask, and she seems to snap out of some sort of daze as she shakes her head and looks at the clothes as though the answer will jump out at her.

"Um..." she says in that sing-song way she does sometimes, "I don't know, actually, but Josh said wear something fancy but not black tie or anything, you know."

"Camila." You sigh, popping your hip out as you shift your weight from one leg to another. She looks at you a little sheepishly.

"We've talked about this. It's not safe to be meeting someone for the first time and not even know where they're taking you! What if something happens and I don't know where you are and I can't come and get you or something? He could literally be a serial killer." You remind her, and she hangs her head.

"I know. I just- he seems really sweet and he wanted to surprise me and I guess I just-" She begins to ramble, her sentence more like one long word, so you rest a hand on her shoulder and she stops and looks back up at you. For some reason that makes a fuzzy warmth spread through you.

"Wear this." You suggest, pulling a simple black crop top with a lace layer on top that makes it the same length as a normal shirt and gives it full-length sleeves too, and a pair of puffy black pants with a rose detail on the left leg that somehow always look incredible on her.

"Pair it with a red lipstick." You continue, taking one from her dresser next to the wardrobe and checking the shade on your hand before handing it to her. It matches the red of the roses on her pants.

"You're a lifesaver!" She grins and takes the clothes and lipstick from you, heading into the bathroom with enthusiasm.

"Let's hope we don't have to say that literally when I save you from a serial killer, eh?" You reply but she doesn't hear.

When she emerges from her room for a second time, you're speechless. Who knew you were so good at picking outfits?- well, she could probably make a trash bag look good. The point is, she looks stunning and you are, frankly, stunned and left hawking like an idiot.

And when she leaves for whoever was her date tonight, a sadness washes over your body, bringing with it a realisation.

You weren't envious of her having a date, you were jealous of whoever he was having a date with her. Come to think of it, the relief that came with her other dates not working out was not because that means you wouldn't have to share your apartment with more people than her, or that you feared she'd move away with them and you'd lose a friend; It came because you were scared of losing her. And the times that you look at her for minutes, maybe hours, whilst she's singing or writing or drawing or even just watching TV is not because you were daydreaming, but because you just wanted to look at her. You'd admit that she's gorgeous, and funny, and loving, and smart, and literally every other trait you think of when you think of 'a good person', but you hadn't realised that it's her who comes to mind when you describe somebody you'd want to date, or possibly marry.

You've got a humongous crush on her, and you hadn't even realised.

Or you're just cursed because she sure as hell doesn't like you back.

Oh, no. She doesn't like you back in that way at all. Based on everyone she's been on dates with lately, you'd never be good enough for her. You hadn't ever expected you would be, she is entirely out of your league, but they just proved that.

For starters they're all the same age if not older than her, and you're two years younger.

Secondly, they've all got interesting and well-paying jobs, while you work for almost nothing as your own uncle's assistant at the recording studio he owns. And they've all had big plans for the future of that career or their lives in general, whereas you're quite content as you are. Sure, it'd be great to be able to share your own music rather than helping others do the same (in a very small way, since your uncle is a hands-on guy, meaning you barely even do anything to the business really), but you've got enough money to live on and somehow you're roommates with someone who's on the charts everywhere. Oh, and then there's that. She's a freaking celebrity; you're literally nobody. And to top it all off, they're all men and you're obviously not one of those.

Crap.