❝So, what are the first signs of love?❞
❝Well, one of them is when your heart starts beating uncontrollably in front of the person you admire dearly and deeply.❞
. . . .
In which Chris Evans is...
The first week following Ben's departure to the U.K was the hardest. Jen, Emma and Brie tried texting her in the group chat they shared, tried cheering her up even though they were all the way in New York and she was all the way in Georgia, but their efforts and attempts were futile.
Naomi didn't seem to want to carry on with the many conversations they've had this past week, always telling them nicely that it was a rather tiring day on set for her and that she needed to be up at 4am the next day when she really only needed to be up at 6am. The three of them understood their friend very well—they knew that she'd close off on the people closest to her because that's always been how she'd dealt with things.
"Sorry, the number you have dialled is no longer in service—"
Before the automated voicemail could even reach the end of its pre-recorded sentence, Naomi had already ended the call and chucked her phone aside, a solemn look plaguing her face. She threw her head back on to her pillow in an exasperated manner as angry tears began to pool in her eyes.
Turn off, turn off, turn off the waterworks, please, she implored with her mind and brain and heart and tears as she felt a warm teardrop slip out from the corner of her left eye, trickling its way down towards her chin.
She rolled on to her side before sliding under her duvet, relishing in the warmth that came with it as hot angry tears started trickling down one after the other—never stopping and completely unrelenting as her petite frame began to tremble. Guilt and anger and sadness and utter despair were all that she was feeling at the moment—God, would Ben even slide his American sim card in to check if he'd received any messages from her?
Naomi scoffed lightly at her own thoughts, shaking her head as her eyes darted from her bedside table to the ceiling-to-floor length window. She released a shaky sigh as tears clouded her vision, obscuring the expansive view of the city lights that were scintillating before her. Even the city lights reminded her of Ben because she knew just how much he would have loved the sight she was presented with.
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Despite the fact that she liked Chris, she couldn't seem to find a way to not have Ben occupy the entirety of her now disarrayed mind. They were, after all, nothing more than friends. But she couldn't find it in her to completely rid the thoughts and memories she had of Ben—they've known each other for a good five years, and she wasn't anywhere near ready to throw that all away just because he'd finally divulged the confession he'd bore for so long.
She just wasn't ready.
. . . . . .
"Well, have you tried asking her what's wrong?"
"It's not that easy, Seb," Chris sighed exasperatedly as he pinched the bridge of his nose with his index finger and thumb.
"You need to man up, Evans," Sebastian jested, shaking his head lightly at his best friend. "Did you try asking her friends about it? What about Brie? I thought you guys were acquainted."
