HIRAETH [1] || Grayson Hawthorne

Chapter 51- Kinder Egg

"Oh?" -Grayson Hawthorne

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Stills. Pieces of film tape that have been cut out and stared at as a picture, no longer moving, no longer telling the full story.

As I watched Grayson pass by me in the hallway, it felt like that. Like I was trapped in a photograph that wasn't magicked to move somehow. I could smell his cologne, it lingered in the air so bittersweet but that was it, his scent stayed, not him. His footsteps echoed on the marble, the lack of carpet on the hallway floor was unsettling. My stomach churned and I wanted to turn around and talk to him about anything.

I wanted yesterday again, I wished I could live yesterday over and over. I'd listen and act as if it was the first time he was telling me about the carpet and his hair, then I'd fall asleep before Xander could even get to us, and I'd force myself to wake up in yesterday.

I looked over my shoulder at his retreating figure. So pale, void of color, emotion.

"Grayson." I called out quietly. He didn't stop walking, I wasn't sure if he even heard me. My leg was stinging but I brushed it off. "Grayson." I repeated, my voice sharp, cutting through the silence. He still didn't turn around. My mouth opened again to call his name for the third time but my breath stopped short. I didn't even know why I was trying. It was a crush, I didn't need his eyes on me, I didn't need him.

Walking felt like a chore, it was like running through quicksand if that quicksand was made out of hand sanitizer that tried to seep into my cut. I faced forward again and pushed through, if it was so easy for him then I'd make sure it was a breeze for me. One foot in front of the other, right then left then right then left then...

The echoes of his shoes clacking against the marble stopped, "I'm sorry." it was barely audible through the distance or maybe I had made it all up in my head. I refused to turn around this time, one foot in front of the other. Now it was my shoes echoing through the carpet-less hall.

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Grayson's POV

She called after me. My name stood on her tongue, she tasted it, tasted me, kissed me. The thought was frightening in the worst or perhaps best way possible.

Lorelai. Lorelai. Lorelai.

She was haunting me. The first time I saw her was on a screen. Her Instagram following was little to none, now it was inching towards millions. Her name on that piece of bond paper was so insignificant, so meaningless that I had humored myself by deciding to look her up. That one key, that search button, and I was hooked.