Downfall | Austin Butler

Chapter 5

i've been getting lost in translation
trouble keeping up communication
we were having fun,
now i can't wait to be done
it feels like i'm the only one
that's sick of playing
— lost in translation,
the neighbourhood

——

"Hey." I tapped Austin on the shoulder, finding him in the same spot I left him as he waited for me to clean up in the bathroom.

Even though I knew we were on a time crunch — I had lingered around for a bit looking for Sherry for any form of advice I could get my hands on.

This whole trip was throwing me for a loop, and I needed some reinforcements. Of course, the staff told me they forced her to go on break. Apparently she wasn't a happy camper about it — especially since she knew I was on the way. She was far too stubborn when it came to stuff like that.

That woman always wanted to work.

Turning on his heel, he opened his mouth to say something, but closed it just as fast. Looking at me up and down like a gaping goldfish trying to inhale some fish food, he seemed surprised that I actually put on his shirt.

"W-What?" I probed abrehensively, wondering what the fuck was going on in his head, while trying my best to readjust to socializing. After having my first few minutes alone since earlier today, I already found myself comfortably drawn into my introverted behavior.

He also looked really fucking good in just a tank, which made it very difficult for me not to gawk and stutter when I got a frontal view of him.

He cleared his throat. "Nothing." He said simply, diverting his gaze and dropping the matter all together. "Ready to go?"

"Yeah." I adjusted my bag on my shoulder since his shirt was sitting quite awkwardly against my figure. The material felt amazing against my skin. I genuinely had no fucking clue what it was made out of, but it sure as shit did not feel like anything I'd ever worn before. "Need a hand?" I asked, noting that he was holding both trays in his whole hands, literally balancing them flawlessly.

What the actual fuck?

He must have had huge hands or maybe he was Peter Parker who could just spider web that shit and stick anything to his hands like glue.

The mental image of him flipping his hands over with the trays attached to him almost made me laugh out loud, but I kept it at bay — wringing Levi's keys between my hands as a means to simultaneously distract myself and focus.

"Nope." The face he gave me definitely proved that he no longer trusted me when it came to holding anything that could potentially drop and make a mess. "I got it."

Understandably so.

He probably didn't want me ruining his fancy ass shirt.

Because then — noting how generous he was being today — he'd probably end up giving me the one on his back, and yep then he'd be shirtless Magic Mike-ing.

Never mind. You do your thing —Toothpick Umbrella Thief.

I sure as shit knew I'd absolutely die if I saw him shirtless right now, and I was quite certain they wouldn't let him in the building without one, or maybe they would — considering how vital it seemed for him to be there based on what Syd told me.

For some reason, I could only picture him walking around the fancy building with his shades on, throwing finger guns at the people he passed — full abs on display like some sort of action movie. Well, if he had any. It wasn't like I knew. I never saw him shirtless before, but a girl could assume or dream. But I mean assuming usually made an ass out of you and me so.