❝ my chemical romance, panic! at the disco, fall out boy and twentyonepilots imagines. ❞
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𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐖𝐑𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐍𝐆 𝐈𝐒 𝐌𝐘 𝐎𝐖𝐍, 𝐔𝐍𝐋𝐄𝐒𝐒
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐓𝐄𝐃 𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐖𝐈𝐒𝐄.
𝐒𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐓𝐄𝐃:...
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Almost a week had passed since you had witnessed the nauseating encounter between your tree-like neighbour and his lady friend and so far, Operation: Avoid Dallon Weekes was coming along swimmingly. Given, the success of the task was largely aided by the fact that you had been struck by some or other stomach virus and hadn't been able to leave your dorm for the majority of the week.
That, and there was also the fact that Dallon was currently on a trip to his hometown to attend the funeral of his childhood babysitter, bless her soul.
If it weren't for those two perfectly timed occurrences, you were almost certain that you would've broken your resolve and ended up speaking to the traitorous giant. But in the midst of his absence, and fuelled by the irascibility you were experiencing as a result of being ill, you were starting to get more and more angry at him.
There was only so much you could do while holed up in an insignificant dorm room for an entire week, so you had ample time to bathe in the loath you currently felt towards Dallon.
Were you being slightly petty?
Yes.
Did you care?
No.
You were a relatively strong person and could put up with a lot but unfortunately for Dallon, lies were not part of that lot. You had an intense hatred of lies and liars.
Even more so, you did not appreciate being on the receiving end of someone's fib, and it made you all sorts of infuriated whenever such an event would occur. Take your current situation, for instance – had Dallon been honest with you about his plans for that day, everything would've turned out just fine. You still would have been jealous, that much is true, but at least you wouldn't have been angered by finding out that he hadn't been truthful with you. So now, not only were you jealous, you were also angry, and everyone knows that anger and jealously are quite the malicious pairing.
Cursing under your breath after having suffered through yet another violent puking session – your third one in the past fifteen minutes – you crawled into bed and shifted yourself into a comfier position on your blanket-dominated single bed, groaning painfully as the throbbing in your head recommenced. Trying your hardest to ignore it, you reached for your laptop laying on the blanket next to you and pulled up Netflix.
With your favourite show acting as a distraction, you had drifted off to sleep somewhere during the second episode, at almost the exact same moment Dallon had set foot back on campus.
