laconic | sᴀᴛᴏsᴇʀᴇ

35. 》》 Feuillemort

❝ (n.) the color of a dying leaf.❞

Rest of the night went on in a blur of pointless laughters, literally every variety of pizza, and carol songs that we sang without any imaginable rhythm. 'OPEN' sign of the pizzeria was turned off and we had pulled the window shutters for blocking the picky gazes of passerbys.

There was this one instant when our stomachs were so full from all the junk that no one could say a single word for an awkward span of ten minutes, And except for Kesha's award-winning dance pop track that blew from the subwoofer speakers kept on the table among the grubby pizza boxes, everything else seemed to have been absorbed by the still but buddy-buddy silence.

Lillie's love-life topic wasn't touched for the life of me, and I was glad they didn't. Nothing had ever seemed this perfect before, for the first time in my life I wasn't exhausted to death from attending a party like I very commonly was.

I wasn't craving the comfort of my bed anymore like a stubborn newborn baby, And although darkness and I were never good at terms, I didn't want the sun to show up and dissolve this particular night in its warm, gold-plated rays again. This night was like a boon from the heavens but at one and the very same time, it was also an obscure type of silence before a typhoon strikes - one that engulfs everything, living or deceased,
that it touches.

Our talks ranged from below-the-ground memories to the oncoming future plans - whatever the person was comfortable speaking about - some of them were so hilarious that the boys were rolling on the floor laughing for REAL.

On my turn, I blabbed about that one time when Dawn and Misty were fawning over, ahem ahem, a certain blonde emo in the dorm hallway, when his damn sister arrived and overheard the two of them. My story obviously wasn't the most humourous one, but it was all I could brainstorm of at the moment, okay?

And not to mention, I had a whole attic crammed with crates and crates of worn-out kindergarten memories, of scribbly hearts at the back of my picture books, of wishing three times over a second-long shooting star, of an unconditional friendship we had put together but he split down the middle in a mere fraction of seconds.

So no more denying to it, but I did have a good amount of fantasies to show off as well. But anyways.

I think it was too sweet of Ash to buy a plum cake - with his own money - for a final touch to this already too good to be true night, and I swear, his actions were now spilling-over the reasons of why I was so helplessly in love with him.

Every teeny-tiny kink of his seemed a million times more perfect than the previous one, and so many of them had already bundled themselves in my heart like sardines -- it became so difficult to not let them out and set my heart free from the chest and ask him to take care of it forever and evermore, with whatever level of guts it required.