i think i like u but is that okay? / ayla tesler-mabe x reader :)

one: what's reality anymore.

endless tangles of long blonde hair. soft skin grazing mine, pushing gently but purposefully in some places. lips, ever so slightly reminiscent of the lip gloss from that day. fingertips. what made her goddamn fingertips so undeniably hers? the shallow calluses. never truly healed. 'battle scars,' as she likes to call them, left over from so many years and hours and minutes and seconds of producing chords, music, art. the feeling is so seemingly insignificant but in our little atmosphere of touch it's almost euphoric, so true to her, such a sure feeling of home.

my hands tracing her hips, ever so delicately, as if too much pressure might cause her to suddenly realize that i am in no way deserving of her. her lips making their way slowly down my neck, to my collarbone, almost to my breasts when, too abruptly, she pulls away and starts saying something unintelligible. "hm?" i say quietly.

"it's time for breakfast," she tells me, smiling warmly. "also, finn's quite worried about you, honey. he even resorted to calling me. you might wanna give him a callback. up!"

"what?" i look at her incredulously, but there is nothing to look at but the back of my eyelids. i snap them open and sit up too quickly, immediately earning myself near blindness. i rub my eyes hard and search a bit frantically around my room for any sign of another person. i have a strange, blanketing feeling that i've been caught doing something extremely bad, except i was just sleeping, and the only other person in the house is my mother. i find her in the kitchen, adding to her already plenty full batch of pancakes.

"what's the occasion?" i ask, grabbing some raspberries from the bowl on the table.

she jumps a bit at my appearance as if she was intensely focused on flipping her pancakes. "oh, nothing, really. i just thought you might want a little pick-me-up. you know, after last night." she glances furtively at me before setting the plate of steaming pancakes onto the table.

"what d'you mean, after last night? nothing happened last night." i am telling her the absolute truth; it was your average friday night. we went to dinner, went back to ayla's, invited some more people over, had an average amount of fun, went home. it's not like we had a rager or anything. i tell my mother this, but before she can respond, my phone vibrates with a call from finn.

"you'd better answer that. he's been calling you all morning, from what he told me."

i pick it up and move into the hallway, just out of mom's earshot. a precautionary step, out of habit. just in case. "hey," i greet finn. "what's up?"

"y/n! oh my god. thank god. you scared me so bad. jesus. please let me know when you're home from now on, okay? jesus," he repeats. he sounds insanely out of breath like he just finished a show and then ran all the way home.

"finn, what? okay, seriously. will somebody tell me what the fuck is going on here? what in the hell happened last night? and to get you so worried that you called me? we never call."

"woah, woah, woah. are you saying you don't remember? how can you not remember?" his breathing starts to speed up considerably, so much that i feel the need to tell him to breathe, even though i still have no fucking idea what he's upset about.

"hey, deep breaths. what is it? i was probably just super drunk. was i?" i add in a lower voice.

"i mean–i mean, yeah," he stutters, "but not, like, blackout-forget-everything-the next-morning drunk. just, like, talking-too-loud-and-saying-the-wrong-things drunk." at this, a heavy knot forms in my stomach. saying the wrong things to who? "you, um." he clears his throat uncomfortably. "you sort of, well, told ayla that you wanted to kiss her. and at first, it was like, laugh it off because she's drunk. but then you were like, no, i really want to. and then you did, and ayla was like super shocked but didn't push you off or anything. she definitely didn't kiss you back, though. and so we were all like umm fuckin awkward. but it still wasn't that weird because you were obviously drunk. but then," he swallows and the line goes silent for a little.

you told her–you told her you wanted to fuck her." he finishes, saying the last part in a whisper. i sit there in stunned silence. i don't say anything for so long that finn asks if i'm still there.

"yeah. yeah, i'm here. i just...what the fuck? this doesn't make a single bit of sense."

"well, that's not all of it," finn admits, swallowing audibly. "you kinda got in like, an angry frenzy, or something. you were yelling about how nothing ever works out the way you want it to and everything is so confusing all the time or...something," he says again. "and then you ran out the door and started driving away, and i ran out to try and stop you because dude, you were fucked. but you just drove off. anyway, i was insanely worried about you for the rest of the night. i tried calling your mom but i guess she was sleeping. and so, now most of the people at that party–which is like at least half the grade–think you're either super weird or like a bad person or something. i tried to explain that that was only like your second or third time drinking and definitely the first time you've drunk that much, and you're obviously like a good person. but it was all a huge fuckin mess, really." he sighs and his tone relaxes a bit. "but, i mean, i'm sure everyone will forget about it by next week, tops." gossip circulates fast at our high school, one topic to the next, as if whatever had gone on the day before had never even happened. "everyone except ayla. i mean, dude, i'm not gonna, like, pin a bunch of questions on you. i could honestly care less if you, you know, like girls or not. i think ayla is something you should work out on your own."

a million thoughts, a million questions are fighting for space in my mind. the most important ones, i know, are my mother, and ayla. "what does my mom know?"

"oh, don't worry about that. i told her this morning that you embarrassed yourself by falling down the stairs."

i laugh despite the situation. "finn, what the fuck!" i scold good-naturedly. "well, it's better than the real stuff," i say unnecessarily, and then we fall silent for a moment.

"god, y/n," he says suddenly. "i seriously just wish you would've let me know when you were home. you were so drunk, and that house was way far downtown. i mean, yeah, you were drunk, i guess you weren't thinking about it." he pauses, and i wonder if he's done or if i should say something.

"i'm sorry," i tell him sincerely. "i feel terrible." i really do. finn's such a naturally nervous and anxious person and to think that i intensified that makes me feel shitty. "i'll make it up to you, okay?"

"alright. i gotta run. good luck with ayla. jack told me she's stopping by sometime today, by the way. i wouldn't worry though. it probably means she wants to be the one to make things right."

"wait, finn, what? she's coming now? when is she coming?" but he had already hung up.

- - -

i've been confused for at least 6 months now. i've never told a single soul, not even admitted it to myself. i've had dreams, a lot of them, and they were vivid, too. really vivid. like, questioning my own mind vivid. and it's not like i've lost complete interest in guys. a few have circulated over the course of the school year, as they always do. they never stick around too long, but that's not the point. love has never once crossed my mind.

and yet here i am, confused as hell. i mean, sure, i've noted when girls are pretty. beautiful, even. but real feelings have never entered the picture. at least, not consciously. maybe not until ayla.