Alone [manxman]

thirteen: when things near normal.

[Substance by Demi Lovato]
THIRTEEN:: when things near normal.

                 "You should get the blue ones."

                 He was looking at a pair of Nike dunks, that concentrated crease between his brows. A soft blue shoe sat next to this darker tan one and he was having trouble deciding which one to get.

                 I remembered the air maxes in my closet, the tan ones... he bought all my sneakers, I think he forgot those and they looked kinda similar.

He could wear them, I wasn't. He was wearing these shorts, though these tiny fucking shorts... black and just tight enough and they hit mid-thigh and with all the gym and the hiking, his legs were so defined. Thick arms, a baggy tee with some weird print on the back and a smile. There was a hoop in his nose and a sloppy bun in his hair and—

                  I wanted his hair in my hands again, wanted to tug a moan from him and seal it into me. He was still biting his lips, and they were blushed nearly bruised from the way he'd kissed me in the car. I was still floating low-lidded and he had his hands in his pockets, bouncing on his toes.

                  We chose the mall for suit shopping.

His dad was likely getting married soon, it was mid-March. Pollen was thick, and his house was swimming in floral arrangement mags, Jules - catty as ever- mentioned how Andria was wearing more white.

The statement was paired with wide eyes and a fake smile.

                   Julian's eyes were electric, though. Despite lingering resentment, you could tell there was excitement. After grabbing the suit at a boutique out front, he said he earned a pair of shoes. And honestly he was absolutely right, I'd buy them myself.

Finish Line didn't peak his interest, and he darted those green eyes around, lost. Nipping his bottom lip, he made eye contact with me.

I didn't care much for shoes but he seemed so eager. And he offered a pout for just a second.

Just a second and I was trailing him around like a lost puppy.

                  An associate walked by, she'd been lingering for a minute or two, and Jules smiled. It was soft and it set my chest on fire.

                  She raised her brows, offering another small smile when he held up the baby blue shoe.

                "Can I uh- get these in a-an 11?"

                   It was accompanied by a shaky smile and the girl simply nodded. She grabbed the box, Jules turning to me with his eyes blown wide and the faint, woodsy smell of his cologne wafted over me.

                 "Good job." I offered, trying not to get lost in the scent. Julian didn't seem to notice.

                 "Thank you, actually." He went to sit, "I almost cried."

                                 I fought a smile.

                  "What? Why?"

                   He shivered. "Customer service... biiiig anxiety." He pointed at himself, "always anxious." The way he looked over at me, so calm, I could tell he didn't see the difference as much as I did. He looked... himself, again.

                    That was always a tricky way of phrasing things, he often took issue with the separation of his depression and himself, because he felt like that was what he had to offer. Depression was something he'd put on the table in every personal relationship for the rest of his life, he was sure.