It's Just Us [🗸]

our feelings

time for them to talk👀

***

WILL

After ignoring my texts and avoiding me the entire day, James Perez-Jones stands in front of me, hands in pockets, weight shifting from foot to foot, nervousness practically emanating from his figure despite the fact that he's standing at the front steps of his own house.

Leaning against the doorway, I give him space to walk by me and open the door. James adjusts his t-shirt before fumbling with the keys and trying to unlock his door. I might've found it entertaining any other day. But today, I glance away, waiting for him to open the door.

With a click, he pushes open the door, gesturing for me to walk in first. 

His house is still familiar as ever, still smelling like the lemon scented candles his mom places on the mantlepiece. The scent infuses my lungs and I walk in, taking a seat on the couch, my feet tapping repeatedly on the hardwood flooring. 

Tap. Tap. Tap.

"Um," James fiddles with his clothing, and his hands refuse to stay still, traveling from his hair to his face, and I doubt he even knows he's doing it, "want something to eat?"

I hum, letting my shoulders fall into a shrug.

"Drink?" He offers, and I send him a look, expression as muddled as I can make it. James clasps his hands together, pure awkward just radiating from him. 

"I'll get some lemonade for us, I guess." Then with that, he disappears into the kitchen, rushing as though he can't get out of the room fast enough.

He hasn't been out of the room for up to five seconds when I hear the clatter of a few objects tumbling to the ground.

"Shit, shit, shit." James hisses from the kitchen.

I almost want to let out a laugh, but I don't. "Need any help in there?" I call out.

"I-I'm good. I'll be there in a minute," He calls back.

With another clatter of the objects hitting the ground, I'm certain that it'll take a little longer than a minute, so I hoist myself off the couch and head over to the kitchen.

James is there, grabbing some cups and lemons from the tiled floor and muttering curses underneath his breath.

Leaning against the doorway, I stare at him for a few minutes, my lips twitching into an almost-smile. My heart almost hurts because James. Beautiful and idiotic and clumsy and everything I want but can never have. 

His texts—or lack of thereof—made the fact painfully clear.

"Hey," I finally say, and his head shoots upwards.