luck for the night - rl.

18. you really looked me up?

Ever since I met Remington, my nights at home had changed. Some things had stayed the same, like cooking myself some supper, texting with Mel, and watching Better Call Saul, but instead of lying in bed, worrying about life, now I waited for Remington's call.

I knew he was not checking his phone too much because he was getting ready to play another show, but I couldn't help the way I kept checking my phone for messages from him, despite knowing that he would be on stage soon, singing his heart out. I sat on my couch, dinner on my lap, starting a new Better Call Saul episode.

Right when the intro song started playing, my phone lit up with one final message from him, before he was gone to play the show. A picture.

Curious, I opened it.

What do you think of tonight's outfit?

It seemed like a normal outfit, looking at the picture he had sent. He had taken it in the mirror of the dressing room, a mirror on the other side of the room showing the back of his top, which seemed to be laced up. Another look made me realise that he was wearing the black corset top he had stolen, no, traded with me for his pink trousers.

He had paired it with black, leather pants and a couple of necklaces, his eyes surrounded by dark make-up.

How do you look better in my clothes than I do???

I messaged back, actually hit with some feelings of jealousy. Paired with something else, of course, but I closed my phone before those thoughts could take over.

After dinner, I got ready for bed and watched the show about the lawyer and his lawyer girlfriend until my phone started ringing. It felt like both an incredibly short and long time. As soon as my phone rang, I paused my show, closed my laptop, and picked up.

Remington appeared on my screen. He looked good, too good, tonight. His eyes were wild, pupils dilated from the rush after a show. His hair was messy, with some strands in front of his face. He was sitting in a chair this time, phone propped up wherever. I recognised the shirt he was wearing immediately: my Slytherin shirt.

It felt long ago when he had stolen it, leaving me his blazer. I felt like back then, I had been a different person, and maybe he had been too.

"Hey," I smiled, "where are we tonight?"

Remington's face lit up when he saw me. Or maybe I just thought that was happening, as his lips curled upwards. "We? Are you in Amsterdam too, then?"

I rolled my eyes. He knew damn well what I had meant. "Amsterdam, huh? Is the weed as good as they say?"

Remington, who had been taking a sip of water, made a choking sound. After a few seconds, he could talk again. "I," he coughed, "did not expect you to say that."

I smiled, sensing some discomfort around the drug conversation: He was famous to a certain extent, so who knows what issues he might be facing? "Good, then at least some of my mysterious girl act is still intact."

"Mysterious girl? I don't think you're mysterious at all." Curiousness glowed in his eyes. "You're honestly one of the most... pure people I have met, recently."

I looked down at my bedsheets, he was right. With Remington, I didn't feel like I had to pretend to be someone I was not, not even when we just met. I did not feel like I had to be nicer, cooler, tamer, or edgier than I actually was, to be liked by him.

"Yeah, didn't you see me read that book, the first night I saw you play?" I joked, not able to tell him all of what I just had thought. I could be myself with him, yes, but did that mean that I had to show him every facet of my soul?