As Dakota Akihara crashes, Rhea Walton falters.
While one is drug away from a life in the 1%, the other finds it increasingly-unbearable to put up with the crushingly-expected and dependable monotony of slow business, bills to pay, and mou...
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"Yeet." I blinked, refocusing in on the boy in front of me, his red and white striped Guess shirt looking more blue and purple in the moonlight. The awkwardness I'd been expecting, alongside hesitation—none of it was clear in his face. Internally, I paused. Was I other thinking then? Wait. No, it had been right of me to assume it. A lack of contact after a kiss meant rejection. Anyone would've thought that. So what was I now? Fucking confused.
"You actually came?" His eyes stared stoically at me before Dakota gestured with the phone, glancing at it and back. His hair looked so soft as it fell slightly into his eye. Silky and smooth yet rustled just enough to pull him out of a Dove commercial and back into reality. My fingers almost twitched to move it to the side. And then to run down his back and—I needed to control myself.
Dakota lifted his phone back up, the screen lighting the panes of his face faintly. "You said—" His eyelids flipped up as he sent me a glance "—and I quote: hey are you free? Wanna chill for a bit? I've not had a great day. If not it's totally fine dw." He pronounced it 'Dee-double-u'. "But if you are that'd be lit. Also. Just realized how late it's gotten. If it works better for you we can factetime."
Oh.
My.
GOD.
That. I unfortunately remembered typing it now. Though it seemed only so much more bizarre than it had before. Now, well, that he was in my room. My bedroom.
"So then I said," His thumb scrolled down and he continued, not noticing my internal implosion. I can't believe. "Her, colon, come over. Me, colon, I can't I'm yelling at loitering teenagers. Her, colon, some kid is selling lemonade without a license." He turned off the phone. "Then there's a cop speeding on a Segway."
I can't believe I did that.
"That still technically wasn't a definitive answer." I forced together before moving aside, watching him side-step through the window, trying to figure out how to play it cool. "I, uh just..." My fingers swiped effortlessly across my lock screen my eyes thankfully looking at something else as I searched for my saved meme album. "I'm just..." I don't even know why I'm still talking. Taping icons I ran a hand through my hair and walked back to my bed, laying down and crossing my arms over my eyes. My phone chucked probably a foot away near the edge but close enough to me from the sound of it that I didn't need to worry. I didn't want him to see my face. I didn't want anyone to see my face. "I just fucked up and I'm not in a super great place right now." A few moments later, I felt a weight dip into the mattress a good foot away. A whole foot. Damn. Was that a message? Or was I reading into it too much?
