ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀʀɪʟʟᴏ was discovered at fourteen years old, being praised as a musical prodigy by the media ever since. His fame had only increased until now. At nineteen old, he's the most remarkable musician of his age, and he's only getting started. At...
| CHAPTER FORTY-SEVEN | Dimple Cheek & Patisserie Boy
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
ᴏᴀᴋʟᴇʏ ᴄᴀʀʀɪʟʟᴏ
In the first week of the new year, Nolan's parents allowed him a little bit more freedom. We got to go out as long as we were back by dinner, so with this new rule, I took him out every day. In the meantime, I'd turn my phone off so I wouldn't have to deal with Mason's whining.
In that week, Nolan told me how he had a hard time facing his friends knowing his image in their heads would forever be tainted. I couldn't do much except for promising him that it would be fine. I didn't look at him any differently, so why would they?
A few days later, I found myself on his bed, with Nolan sleeping in my arms again. The moment paralleled Christmas, with a Disney movie playing in the background, emitting blue light.
There was a soft knock on the door, and I mentally cursed at the fact that Nolan had been too stubborn to leave the door open again.
"He's asleep?" Nolan's dad asked.
"Yeah," I said. "But I should probably go home." It was nearing midnight already.
"Do you want to stay over?" he asked.
My eyes widened at the question, and I nodded.
"Yeah, if that's okay."
"Bedroom door open at all times," he warned, and I chuckled, but nodded again.
His dad walked away, trusting me alone with him, so I leaned over and grabbed the remote control from Nolan's side of the bed. I tried to not be too disruptive, but I'd managed to wake him up anyway.
"Are you leaving?" he asked me, blue light reflecting from his grey eyes. And I shook my head. "You're staying?" he then asked.
"Mhm," I hummed. "On the condition that we leave the door open."
He rose from my shoulder and looked at me. He didn't say anything. He went straight for a kiss on the lips, short but sweet.
"Did they say how much?" He grinned, and I shook my head, to which his grin grew.
"Can we talk for a bit?" I asked. I had to know about this love thing that had been on my mind for weeks at this point.
"Yeah, what is it?"
"How do you know you're in love with me?"
His silence was confusing me. Surely if he loved me, he could tell me why he felt that way, right?
Was he unsure too?
"It's hard to explain," he told me. "It's just a feeling."
"What does it feel like?" I asked, wanting nothing more than clarity.
