WHEN IT ENDS || Jason McCann Fictional Story||

20.~|My Word|~

Songs for this chapter:

Payphone
by Maroon 5

Cross Me
by Ed Sheeran ft. Chance The Rapper

All That Matters
by Justin Bieber

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Jason's Perception:

"The happiness which this reply produced, was such as he had probably never felt before; and he expressed himself on the occasion as sensibly and as warmly as a man violently in love can be supposed to," I keep reciting to her as she gazes upon me with her dreamy brown irises, deeply engulfed in me and me only.

She looks so much in awe as she sits, not elegantly, not in any womanly manner, not haughtily, but like someone who has nothing but chaste admiration for the person sitting in front of her.

After almost fifteen more minutes, we're through with the book and I look at her, expecting something complimentary, and her eyes full of joy of victory and enthusiasm gives me more than just a simple compliment.

"Well, I'm glad you liked it," I say to her, without having her to tell me what she thinks of the story, and then help her up. She brushes her clothes and approaches slowly towards the door. The simple yet mind-shaking book is placed in its allotted spot of my arrangement and I walk out behind her.

"Good night," she says with a light warm smile and I return the gesture with a cheeky "Sleep tight."

The contented girl disappears from my line of vision, down the hall inside her room. My mind is engrossed in imagining her with me, her long thin hands wrapped around me, as we sleep, burying our heads into each other's hair —in a clandestinely friendly way, no doubt.  I don't know if my boyish hair is long enough to let her bury her head in it though.

You can always grow it

But I don't want to. And besides, I think she likes it —like a real friend should articulately put out to obstruct their real friends from being sumptuous, presumptuous or insatiably bonkers. The couple of times we shared our close moments —as friends— (oh, sure. Labour under that belief and you might end up making baskets with just a friend) she was always running her long fingers through my hair and I was forced into suppressing my sighs of satisfaction, satisfied with the way she made me feel, just by that simple act. No, I was past overwhelmed by her touch.

I can barely control my impatient side to have her to be with me in my room, not doing anything majorly PG-rated, really. Only sleeping. Sleeping and cuddling. Just. Like. Friends. I mean, she needs a commiserating figure at some point or the other, so I'm just keeping my mind open for if it ever comes to her being enfeebled by something. Or, rather someone.