The Shade's Of You. | ✓

6

Sophia.

Last night was. . . different, something I had never expected to happen and to be honest, I expected the brewing brawl and maybe tears from the last years but nothing like that had happened which is a good relief.

We spoke like adults, well I spoke, I didn't really let him talk— I know I should have, and also we maybe, what was it? Freaky flirted with each other, yes, we definitely did that.

I could not, for the life of me, fall asleep last night and it was all because of him, he was finally here, like he said.

But my acceptance of everything, it still maybe childish to hold onto but he didn't hear me out before deciding to leave and hide away. I know it's not only his fault, it's mine too, but since he practically ordered me on that date. I might as well go and get my answers and explanation.

It's around five am when I pull apart my living room curtains and peek down, staring intently at the car.

I pull back the curtains and huff while I walk towards the door in contemplation. This is stupid, so very stupid.

Quietly, I open the door to the apartment, trying my hardest not to awaken Charlie. It's much too early for him to be awake right now, especially since is a month off holiday from school— I can already picture his bickering with me if he were to wake up now— his such a fighter.

I take the stairs down and walk quickly to the entrance of the building, a woman with a mission look as I ignore how the cold morning hits against my bare legs and arms.

There it is.

Anger floods throughout me.

My knuckles bang hard and fast, continously against the tinted windows of the familiar sleek black car, his car.

The door whips open and hits me on my legs, hard and I'd probably have red skin for the morning but I step back, acting unaffected by it all because I am, I think.

I wrap my arms around me while watching as he jumps out of the car with fury and rage until he spots me.

“Did you even go home, like I had asked you to?”

The question hangs in the cold silent air between us and I almost turn back around, wanting to forget this already.

King raises an eyebrow with his lips twitching, wanting and trying hard not to smirk at me which further annoys me. He crosses his arms and ankles and leans against his car, still managing to look hot as he does it, this early.

“No.” He says, still looking amused.

I glare at him. “Well why the hell not?”

His green eyes lazily trail down my body, getting darker as they go and I curse myself for using his shirt to bed, like always. But what do I care? So what if I'm using his shirt, it's mine now— although I am thinking of giving it back to him because it no longer smells like him, non of them do.

I had two shirts that he had left behind, whether on purpose or not, I don't know but I used them throughout year one and when it was this time last year, the holidays.

For Charlie, I had asked him to get me shirts that his brother used. I didn't care if it were business shirts or normal, I wanted something that smelt like him. But what I didn't expect was for Charlie to come back with his bag filled with Kings shirts and non of his little clothes.

“You're my home, amante.” He finally says, connecting our eyes. “Where else would I go if you're here?” He mutters.

I had the nerve to tell him off, ask him to go back to where he came from or maybe to ask him if I were really his home then why would he leave then but I knew that answer, he said it last night and he'll say it again now.