𝐈𝐍𝐊 - JAMIE CAMPBELL BOWER

14

     Humor ✔️ Angst ✔️ Romance ✔️

     It was hard to keep a fair distance away from someone you practically spent every moment with. Jamie was never far. He was always there when you went to sleep, when you dreamed, and when you woke up again. Jamie was everything except imaginary.

     And that was the cool part. A man you had dreamed up was living, breathing, and walking around like any other person. A man that had been altered and refined to your exact liking. A man that was supposedly the other half of you. A soulmate.

     He was made to be perfect. It was practically in his DNA to be loving and sweet and kind and funny (and overly sassy)—that's what made him so hard to stay away from. He was created to be loveable. He was scripted for you.

     You're chewing hard on your pencil, trying to figure out way too many things at once. You needed to decide where you wanted your story to go. Writing about Jamie romantically was too hard for you right now, so you decided to take a break from his story. The "zombies in space" idea wasn't exactly your cup of tea either.

     A groan escapes you as you ball up another sheet of paper. "Ugh!"

    Jamie was busy picking out his outfit for tonight's dinner. Surprisingly, Tom had invited you to meet up with him and Zendaya. The two had barely been going out a week and Tom specifically stated that it was too early for "labels" and not to bombard her with questions. It's not like you were gonna interrogate the poor girl or anything, that was more Kat's forte.

     You still sigh at the thought of your late friend, forcing down the tightness in your throat. This wasn't the time to get worked up again. "Right, the story" you mutter. "Anything's good at this point."

     There's a knock on your bedroom door. "Come in, Jamie," you mumble, wadding up yet another piece of paper. You didn't know if you really wanted to see him right now, not after yesterday.

      But the air in the room feels ten times lighter when he steps in, his leather jacket jingling softly as he walked. You can't say you're not happy to see him, as awkward as it may feel. Despite your uneasiness, he shows no signs of discomfort. He was good at hiding his feelings, if he felt anything at all.

     "Hey," he says, fixing the silver chain around his neck. His belt glimmered faintly in the light, looped around long and baggy pants. He glances up at you as if to ask you something, but stops as he takes in the mess of papers and pencils. "Shouldn't you be getting ready?"

     You raise an eyebrow, looking him up and down. "Is that why you wanted to come in?"

     His face flushes slightly as he immediately waves off the accusation. "Absolutely not, no! Besides if anything," he rambles. "you'd want to walk in on me getting changed, but that's a story for another time."

     "Uh, huh, all right..." you reply, reaching for your pencil again.

     "Well, don't you think Tom'll be waiting for you?" he asks, resting gently on your bed.

     "Please, that boy is never on time," you chuckle. "He would've texted me if he was there. I'll get ready in a second."

     "All right then," he shrugs, fumbling through the faded yellow book as he leaves. It was your thesaurus, once again. You had no idea why he was so amused by it. Maybe he just really liked words.

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20 MINUTES LATER

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