down in hollywood // braeden lemasters

eleven : surprise

You squeeze your eyes shut as you feel a warm hand intertwine in yours. You've never told anyone that story; it has been looming over you since the day it occurred, daring you to relive the heartbreak.

"I'm so sorry, Y/N," Dylan's soft voice sliced through the silent tension in the room like a knife, "Braeden never told anyone about that day. He just seemed...broken."

You furrow your eyebrows with rage & confusion & you shoot up from your position from the sofa. Turning around, you look down at Dylan's shocked & sympathetic expression.

"Broken?!" You almost shout at him furiously, "I liked that guy so much i nearly thought it was love. But he goes & kisses a random person who i never got along with & he's the one that's broken. How is that fair?"

The last question escapes your mouth like a cry. Searching his sorrowful eyes for answers, you run your hands messily through your tangled hair. When he cautiously creeps over and engulfs you in his arms, you rest your head against Dylan's chest. The steady beats of his heart chime through your ears & ease your breathing.

"I'm definitely not saying you should forgive him," You hear a gentle whisper next to your ear, "but maybe just try & let him explain. You deserve to know."

You nod slowly in agreement. Maybe there was a reasonable explanation, then again, maybe the answer will hurt you more than originally bring in the abyss of the unknown. You know one fact, you wouldn't let fear of pain get in between your friendship you long to have in your life once again.

The next day, you are typing your newest article on your laptop. You are wearing your favourite oversized Beatles shirt, stretching past the grey shorts clinging onto your legs, completed with neon coral fluffy socks hugging your soft & warm feet. Your mind wanders to the birthday before you left Ohio, reading the label signed 'Happy birthday, with lots of love from the Lemasters xoxo'. Smiling fondly, you remember carefully ripping open the wrapping paper to reveal a black vintage typewriter with classic white keys. Your longing for another typewriter is interrupted by your blaring phone ringtone .

Leaning across the bed to reach it, Braeden's caller ID appears on screen. Hesitantly, you accept the call & bring it to your ear.

"Y/N!" His voice chipper on the other end, "Guess where i am right at this moment."

"Ummm," You let your brain remind you of the familiar tricks Braeden used to play on you, "please say you are not walking to my door."

You hear a knock on the wood which echos through the apartment. "Too late!"

You walk to the door & open it with a sigh. Braeden's smile greets you pleasantly as his eyes move to your covered chest, the faces of George, Paul, Ringo & John stare dully back at him. Suddenly feeling exposed, you hide behind the door.

"Can i help you, my dear Braeden?" You ask, smirking teasingly at him.

"Why, my dearest, Y/N," He brings his arm from behind his back to you, revealing a single red rose held between his fingers, "i sure hope you can."

You gasp dramatically & bring your hand to your mouth, half playing along while also half violently pushing away your utter confusion.

You accept the stem graciously, glad there are no thorns to prick your skin,"& to what do i owe the pleasure?"

"I would deeply appreciate you accepting my request to have you accompany me to the theatre...of course after you've dressed appropriately." His following wink causes you to laugh, ultimately breaking your role as the unlikely love interest & hiding your developing blush.

After asking him to wait a couple of minutes, you practically sprint to your wardrobe & grab your baggy black jeans. You quickly brush your hair away from your face, tuck your shirt in & pull the green vans that you dug out from under your bed into your feet, the colour matching perfectly to Braeden's top.

Feeling flushed, you open the door once again & begin to walk towards the elevator, Braeden eagerly grinning beside you. Muffling your giggles at his jokes into the back of your hand, you can't help but feel a vine of anticipation creep up from the pit of your stomach. Will you find a way to forgive him or will you forever hold this haunting grudge?