affluenza (1.) | ✔️

Turkey Day

        I BITE ON my bottom lip, feeling the overwhelming awkwardness wash over me. "What does this mean?" Sebastian whispers softly, lifting up our adjoined hands. His face wasn't angry or pressing; it was genuinely curious.

        "I don't know," I admit. "I really, really don't know Sebastian."

        Sighing, I tear my hand from his grip and stand, running a hand through my messy hair. It was only a mess due to him running his fingers through it minutes before, but I didn't mind. "What do you know, then?" he presses. I turn to look at him, clasping my hands together.

        "All I know is that you're the first thing I think of every day and the last thing I think of before I fall asleep," I admit, speaking slowly. "I love it when you touch me and I hate it when you talk to girls like Dana. It makes me so jealous I can barely think."

        Sebastian's lips press together. "Yeah?"

        "Yeah," I mumble, looking down at my shoes.

        "How do you think I always feel?" he asks and I look up at him. His beautiful face was showing a new kind of pain, one I hadn't noticed before. Jealousy. "Hayley's great, Braylen, and I'd never want to take anything from you guys. But I just can't stand it when you hug her or kiss her." He chuckles bitterly. "I kept telling myself that what I was feeling was something else, but it's not. It never was."

        I go to sit back next to him. lowering myself down softly. "And what is that? What are you feeling?" I press, needing him to say it first. I'd put myself out there; it was his turn.

        Sebastian looks over at me, licking his lips. "Why'd you kiss me?"

        "Why'd you pull away?" I retort.

        He points an accusing finger at me, chuckling sharply. "I'm not saying it first!"

        "Saying what, exactly?" I ask as I pout my lips softly at him, feigning confusion. His smile drops a bit and he just looks at me.

        We stare at each other, neither of us making a move to answer any of the questions we'd asked. "Christ, Braylen," he mumbles, sounding put out as he leans back against the bench, staring at the sky. "I like you."

        "You do?" I ask as my voice rises in surprise.

        "Of course I do," he says, looking back down at me. "You couldn't tell?"

        I smile gingerly. I suppose I could've—if I'd known there was a possibility he had. His eyes as he stared at Hayley and I at the Bash as we kissed had said more than his words ever did. And his words said almost just as much.

        "I like you and I have for so long now that when you kissed me, it didn't feel real. I like you, Braylen Adams. Now you say it," he whispers pleadingly. I could see how hard it was for him to admit his feelings for me. I could understand why it was so hard for him to admit them. Once you get past the fear of rejection, there's the fear that what we're doing is wrong, that what we're feeling is wrong.