Pink Skies

PART 04

PART 04

            For the last four days all I’ve been dreaming of, thinking of, drawing is Isaac. It kills me to realize how infatuated I am with him, but now that I’ve met him, I have basically no idea how I’ve been living for so long without him. When I close my eyes, I see him and the stupid camera behind my eyelids, and when I’m alone I crave to have him next to me, just there, talking all the useless talk I seem to drink up.

            Glancing at the clock above the microwave, I place my plate in the dishwasher and pull my gloves on. As I turn the knob, I look back and my eyes land on a canteen on the counter, yellow sticky note attached to it. Walking back, I look at it closer; in my mother’s scrawl it reads: don’t let the cute boy freeze to death please. Screwing the cap off I find two cups worth of hot chocolate.

            When I get to the forest and cross the frozen creek, Isaac isn’t there. Glancing around, my brows furrow. “Isaac?” The snow is everywhere, blanketing everything in cold.

            “You should probably help me,” his voice says suddenly and yelping, I turn on my heels. He stands at the top of one of the slopes surrounding the circle I am in, holding onto a tree’s white trunk (glove less, might I add). Isaac’s camera hangs around his neck and he grins sheepishly at me.

            “What are you doing, why’re you there?” I call.

            “There was a, uh, bird—a really pretty one worth this, I swear.”

            “Right. Well I climbed that once, too, and it was scary getting down. Just saying.”

            “Thanks. So there’s no other way to get down?”

            “Nope,” I smirk.

            “Great.” He holds onto the tree, taking baby steps, when his foot slides out from under him, little chunks of snow catapulting towards me. “Jesus Christ,” he hisses, wrapping his arms around the trunk tightly and running in place, trying to regain his balance almost comically. His hand grips his camera to his chest protectively. 

            “Be a man, Isaac.”

            “Shut up.”

            Carefully, after about a century later, he finally makes it down, instantly breathing into his cupped hands in an attempt to warm them up. Isaac’s eyebrows rise when he spots the silver canteen clasped in my hands.

            “Oh, my mom left some hot cocoa for us,” I say, taking the cap off and pouring half into it, handing it to him. Isaac takes it, smile smug.

            “Thanks. But, “us”? Your mom knows about me?”

            “Uhm, sure,” I try to say nonchalantly, sipping on the chocolate. In my mad attempt to be casual, I burn my tongue. Cursing, I stick my tongue out. Isaac only looks amused. Now both my face and tongue are bright red. Lovely. “I mean, she asked where I was going every morning. I just said you offered to be my subject. For drawing.”

            “Mhm,” says Isaac, grinning over his makeshift mug, eyes gray like the smoke curling off the drink in his hands, into the trees above.

            “Why,” I say, clearing my throat, “do your parents not know about me?” I ask it to get the attention off of me more than anything, but then find myself wanting to hear the answer.

             “Don’t be stupid, Vincent,” Isaac laughs a short, adorable laugh, “of course they know about you.”

// thanks for reading i love you.

dedicated to rubee because her writing has me in tears sometimes bc i wish i could write like that!! sometimes. 

vote? comment?

- nova. //