𝘅𝘅𝗶𝗶. 𝖿𝖺𝖽𝖾𝖽 𝗉𝗈𝗅𝖺𝗋𝗈𝗂𝖽𝗌: 𝖺 𝖿𝗂𝗀𝗎𝗋𝖾 𝗌𝗄𝖺𝗍𝖾𝗋 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺 𝖻𝖺𝗌𝗁 𝖻𝗋𝗈𝗍𝗁𝖾𝗋 "dean portman was seemingly a secret softie."
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QUITE HONESTLY, Adam's word had come as a shock to me. Initially, I was hurt because I was just trying to care for him, as a friend does. I spent ten minutes just staring blankly at a wall trying to soak in and understand what he said.
"I didn't ask you to care about me! I didn't ask for you to worry about my wellbeing! So why don't you do both of us a favor and just leave me alone!"
He was right, in a way. He hadn't asked me to care about him, but I did anyway. It's a natural human instinct for people you get close to.
...people you get close to?
My heart dropped to the bottom of my stomach as it occurred to me that I did care for Adam Banks. I blinked once, twice, and then shook my head rapidly, getting to my feet and running out the door.
This was never apart of my plan in California.
My hands were thread through my hair as I paced down the hallway, crashing into a chest and falling to the ground. As I groaned, the person I ran into gasped and quickly helped me back to my feet. I quickly found out that it was Dean who I barreled into.
"You good, little lady?" He asked, resting his hands on my shoulders, examining to see if I was injured in any way. Tears blurred my vision as I thought of my answer to his question and I began shaking my head while looking towards the ground.
And yet somehow I found myself embraced in a hug. It wasn't tight or firm, and it certainly wasn't expected. It was warm and comforting, and surprising coming from Dean.
I couldn't bring myself to wrap my arms around his torso, just burying my head into his chest as tears began to escape my eyes.
This is so stupid, me crying because I got into an argument with Adam Banks out of everyone. Adam Banks, the same boy I thought I hated for as long as I could remember. Adam Banks, the same boy who used to skate around with his Hawks jacket pretending he was all that. Adam Banks, the same boy who always had a stupid smirk and a knack for getting himself hurt.
Except I didn't hate him? I can't bring myself to hate him, not even a little bit anymore. I let him get close to me and now my entire perception of him has changed. It's changed.
"I'm sorry about getting your shirt wet." I pulled away from Dean, cringing slightly at the dark spot on his chest from my tears. With a small shrug, he smiled and stepped back.
