floating | ✓

13| sweatshirt

“The truth is everyone is going to hurt you. You just got to find the one worth suffering for.”

-Bob Marley

13| sweatshirt

“It’s your fault. You are the one who dumped me in the water when I had my clothes on,” I say, trying not to smile.

Oliver glares at me sideways while unlocking his bedroom door.

I am currently in my swimsuit, wrapped in a towel, dripping water on the hardwood floor in front of Oliver’s room.

Oliver is angry because of two reasons: First, we played water volleyball. Oliver lost, I won. Well, there is the little detail that Jason was on my team. He only scored 5 times, and we won the game 5-3. So, yeah, obviously Oliver is angry.

And also, because he dropped me in the water with my clothes on, he now has to lend me clothes, so he has unlocked his bedroom. He didn't want me to snoop in, but now he is inviting me inside himself.

Look what fate did to poor Oliver. Or, may I say, what he did to himself.

Oliver opens the door. I smirk as we walk inside. 

His room is exactly how I saw it on that party night. Everything is in its place. Suddenly, I wonder if he actually uses this room at all. 

“Stay here. I will bring you something to wear,” Oliver says to me with his brows knitted.

Someone is still angry.

I follow him nonetheless. He opens the walk-in closet. I go inside right after him.

“Why do I even bother telling you?” he mumbles, going through his rows of shirts. I smirk.

Oliver pushes his shirts aside, revealing a row of sweatshirts. He turns to me. “Take one from here.”

I spot a green one that has Sponge Bob’s face in it. My eyes shine. I go to grab it, and Oliver stops me by holding my wrist.

“No. Not that one. That’s my favourite one,” Oliver says.

“You just wanted to hold my hand,” I accuse him. 

Oliver doesn’t let go, but he rolls his eyes. I smirk, still going for that same sweatshirt.

“Didn’t I say-”

“That’s exactly why I want it,” I reason, smiling.

Oliver sighs. “Obviously. Should have seen that coming.”

I chuckle and drop my towel, putting the shirt on. It smells like soap and detergent, but there is also another smell. Something homey. I don't know what it is.

I pull it down. It fits me pretty well except for the fact that it reaches down to almost two inches above to my knees. I don't even need pants.

“This sweatshirt smells like-” I narrow my eyes and stalk towards Oliver. He leans back.

“What are you even-”

“Mmh, this shirt smells like you,” I decide.

“Of course it does. I wear it,” Oliver answers and shoves me back gently.

I step back and ask him, “So, how do I look?”

Oliver stares into my eyes. “You look weird.”

“You know, you need to look down to see the shirt. There's nothing in my eyes,” I say accusingly.

Oliver still keeps staring at my eyes and doesn't look down. “I don’t need to look down to see that you look weird.”