𝕿𝖔𝖗𝖕𝖊

"Shall, we play then?" Mason asked the crowd that thirsted for even just a single drop of excitement as he observed the silenced group of people.

It was too awfully quiet, and may it be confirmed that this wasn't a party at all.

"What do you have in mind?" I asked, ever so hoping for at least a little upraising in the room. My sight wandered to where he was, his sunken ocean eyes looking right through mine. I got back to reality when Mason put his arm around me. I smiled, softly.

He stands up, leaving his seat cold, and out of stupid curiosity, I ask, "Where are you going?". I gulp down that foolishness when I've come to realize what I've just said. Nervous of the thoughts running around my head, I look down at the soft grey carpet and started drawing circles on it out of nowhere.

He lets out a long and deep sigh, puts both of his hands in his pockets, and retorts, "What do you care?"

My ragged overthinking eventually came to life when he puts me in such a position. Why did I even bother thinking about it when I know what was already gonna happen?

Don't think the obvious. It's one job, Alaia.

Think quick, Clarke. "Fine. Go fuck off then." I hesitantly roll my eyes, just to try and stop getting trapped into his. As though in a rush, he grabs his worn-out jacket off the chair and takes one last sip of his lukewarm beer, and throws it somewhere. But as if my conscience was telling me to look his way, my eyes connected with his once more. This time, his gaze quite genuine and a deep longing to stay in the room where even he was denied of everything. He then leaves muttering some words behind, regret following me after.

He left.

But still, he lingered.