Valentin and Rojo | ✓

four (2nd draft)

Xavier

I stepped out of the steamy bathroom and into my bedroom. I dried my body off and my curls fell to the front of my forehead. As I sifted through my drawers to find a clean shirt to wear, I heard the chatter of the brunette down the hall. Her laugh seeped into my room and I wondered what bullshit Nico was feeding her.

I scrunched my hair dry and shook off the excess water. I wore my usual attire: black T-shirt and black straight jeans. It was nothing too fancy and that's the way I preferred it. 

I ambled down the wooden staircase and saw Nico sitting adjacent to my father, talking nonsense. I heard rummage going on in the kitchen and proceeded towards the bathroom. I admired the art-ridden walls and skimmed my fingertips along the painting that was done by yours truly. I furrowed my eyebrows when I saw light coming from underneath the doorway. I heard the water running and the faucet squeaked. The light flickered off and out emerged the brunette whilst adjusting her jeans.

"You're seriously wearing that?" I had questioned and immediately hated my phrasing. Her gaze averted up and she visibly frowned. My question came out as snarky and rude, per usual. There was nothing wrong with her oversized T-shirt that had the beautiful Frida Kahlo displayed on the front nor the dark-washed jeans she decided to wear. I was curious was all, was she into painting?

"No, I'm not," she retorted. "Just decided to wear this for shits and giggles. I'm actually about to go change right now." I held back a laugh at the sarcastic laced tone she used. I took a step forward, causing her to take a step back. "Yes, Sherlock, I'm seriously wearing this. Now, please move. I would greatly appreciate it." I stood in front of the doorway, not budging and effectively caging her in. She tried pushing me out the way, but I barely moved a centimeter. "Can you, I don't know, move out the way?"

"Or what?" I challenged with a smirk.

"Or what?" She mocked. "How old are you? Twelve?"

When I didn't respond, she elbowed me, right in the fucking rib. I winced, clutching my side. She ducked under my arm and strutted away. "What the fuck?" I nearly bellowed. I whipped my head towards her so fast I could've snapped my own neck.

"Learn to listen." The brat gave me a fake smile and peacefully strolled towards my best-friend. I huffed and rolled my eyes. I entered the bathroom and shut the door.

Dinner consisted of conversations between my father, Nico and the girl. Every so often I would roll my eyes and that was my contribution to the conversation. My father had asked the girl every question in the book; to how her family was doing to what color her socks were. It resembled an interrogation.

"As you guys know, my parents are hosting the annual birthday bash and I was wondering if you could make it?" Nico announced. Damn, I had almost forgotten about the party. Every year Nico hosted a gigantic party for his birthday. Well, more like his parents did. They were always elegant and formal. Nico hated them, but did it for his parents. They were big on planning and hosting.

"Ah, claro qué sí. ¿Qué hora?" My father asked as I jabbed my fork into a piece of my medium-rare steak. I fumbled around with my roasted baby potatoes before taking a drink of water.
[ of course / what time? ]

"It starts at five P.M. and it will ended somewhere around twelve A.M," Nico responded.

"We'll be there. Cynthia!" My father called out. I heard a pair of feet scurrying inside the dining hall within seconds.