𝐯𝐢𝐬𝐚𝐠𝐞 𝐝'𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐞𝐬

𝘛𝘏𝘐𝘙𝘛𝘌𝘌𝘕 1/2

"Okay, have a good day,
Timothée."

"WAIT, y/n-"
beep beep beep

I looked at my phone, it glaring at me mockingly, the bright screen displaying:

[MON BELLE]
Call Ended- 1:00pm

I chucked it to the opposite end of the bed, throwing myself down on the sheets.
I clasped my hands over my eyes, a headache from frustration starting to creep into my skull.

Out of nowhere, anger flew into my chest, making me fling my pillow to the other side of the room; hitting the wall with a mean puff.
I sat up again, my elbows resting on my knees as my hands held my face, thumbs working away at the sides of my temple- trying to ease the chaotic storm that was destroying me from the inside-out.

"Hey, Tim, you good man?" Ansel called from outside my room.
"No.." I called, which he took as his cue to enter.

"What's going on?" I felt the bed shift as he sat at my feet.
"Je suis un imbécile."
[I'm such a fool.]

"Vrai.." he chuckled, before becoming serious.
[True..]
"Qu'est-il arrivé?"
[What happened?]

I took a moment to compose my thoughts, lifting my head from my hands and met Ansel's eyes.
"Je l'ai bouleversée."
[I upset her.]

"y/n?"

"Oui." I closed my eyes, the conversation playing through my head.
[Yes.]

"What'd you do?" He sighed, climbing to sit next to me, patting my shoulder.
"I said I couldn't go to the Captain America premiere with her when she asked me to be her-," I gulped,
"-her.."
"Date?"
"Yes." I groaned, throwing my face back into my hands in embarrassment.

"Is that what upset her?"

"No. I think it disappointed her, yes, but.. then she asked me why I couldn't go, and I, I.."
"Didn't answer?"
"YES!" I groaned once more, shoving my face further into my hands in complete and utter shame.

"Damn.."
I stayed silent, letting the both of us process how big of a total chienne I was.

"You gonna do something about it, or just sit here and feel sorry for yourself?"
I turned to look at him, shooting him a scowl.

"You know what I'm talking about, dude. You either do something to right this wrong, or let y/n overthink herself into an oblivion- which you know she'll do- and let things grow worse than they already are between you two."

I couldn't argue with him; I never could.
Ansel Elgort was the realest friend I had, and he had always told me the facts, whether I wanted to hear them or not.
When I was a major fuck-up, he told me.
When I was out of line, he told me.

I exhaled slowly, sitting up and turning to meet his eyes: confidence starting to seep into me.
"Okay, so what should I do?"