unsent! ❨ b.jordan! ❩

³² multiple / the end.

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32 CHAPTER THIRTY,
BRO. can i get a kiss.
MULTIPLE / END FOR NOW .
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REAL LIFE!
CHRISTIAN'S
HEADQUARTERS.

CHRISTIAN might have looked in the mirror about thirty times. And every time he came in, he tried to fix something apart of his attire.

"Nah, that looks weird. Blue one stars instead."

"The fuck is up with your tooth? The shit looking more like an implant than a grill."

"Vest. . . Or no vest?"

"Do I look silly going to this thing in a mask? Nah. ."

After the thirtieth time he decided to call it a quits, settling into his finishing looks, plopping down onto his couch. Until he got anxious enough that he wanted to keep watch by his window. When Michael said this would be a real date– how different would it be from our first hangout?

Christian banged his bucket hat clad head onto the window pane, groaning, very much annoyed by the butterflies dancing in his stomach. Fuck this. Fuck this guy. Fuck how he makes me feel, here I am sweating like a bitch not sure about which fucking shoe to put on—

And then the doorbell rang.

Christian's eyes immediately widened, as he looked out of the window to see what Michael was wearing, he slipped falling on his carpet. "Ah, fuck." The doorbell continued to ring, ranging from calm to a now impatient rhythm of Take Me out to the Ballgame.

"Aight I'm coming!" Christian got up without any type of grace. "Coming," he mumbled.

The tall awkward man-boy exhaled a long breath and then opened the door without thought. In front of him was a very breathtaking Michael clad in navy blue. And wait, he brought flowers?

Christian looked at the bouquet with astonishment. And then he finally met the eyes of probably the most beautiful nigga he's ever met in his life.
Besides Timothèe Chalamet.

Michael smiled, "these are for you." Christian chuckled excepting the hand of the stems. "Wow,"

"You really brought a nigga flowers."

"Why wouldn't I? You're the flower boy, I gotta do right by you."
They locked in a shy stare, Christian continuing to laugh softly in hopes that more laughter would suppress the blush of flattery that wanted to creep out.

"You're corny."

"Am I though?"

"Yup."

"But you look really happy."

"Eh. . ."

"Just smell 'em."

Christian raised an eyebrow, bring the bouquet of— wow, sunflowers, to his nose inhaling slowly.

"Nigga, I don't smell anything." Christian takes it down from his face, laughing aloud. "What, no, flowers have smell."