The next time I'm leaning against his fence, Kurt is showing obvious signs of irritation. Used to his cheery and outgoing personality, I'm a bit thrown off by this rare display of annoyance, perhaps the first one since the very day I've met him. Things seem different this time, and the possibilities of exploring this whole new side to him feel endless.
"It makes absolutely no sense for you to use that name," he protests, voice sounding a lot closer this time; almost as if he'd moved his chair—or whatever it is that he rests on during our conversations—closer to where I am seated. "Why can't you just call me H?"
"Because you won't tell me what it stands for, and besides, where's the fun in that?" I grin to myself, taking a small bite of the chopped up watermelon I'd stuffed in my food box this morning.
"At least think of a name that fits. Please!" comes his answer, still overly polite despite being no more than a grumble.
"Oh but it does," I roll my eyes at his stubbornness. "Ever heard of Kurt Cobain?"
"Of course," he sounds affronted, like insinuating that he doesn't know the name of Nirvana's frontman is the biggest insult I could possibly give him. "But we have nothing in common."
"Wrong! Did you know that the man was well known for having a narcissistic complex? He once said, quote: 'I don't care what you think unless it is about me.'"
"And what does a Kurt Cobain quote have to do with me?" he asks again.
"Oh come on, surely you must have noticed how highly you think of yourself?" I poke fun at him, but my words are met with no more than an incredulous scoff. "You keep hyping yourself up, making these jokes about being a celebrity or something. At this point I'm inclined to believe you look like 1974 Mick Jagger in the flesh."
"He wasn't that hot," he comments after a stretch of silence.
"Are you kidding me?" I gasp. "The man was a literal God on a pair of long skinny legs. And the hair… Don't even get me started on the hair."
"What 'bout it?" Kurt sounds very intrigued now.
"Long hair on a man? Please. Gimme, gimme." Watermelon juice is dribbling down my chin now, and I curse quietly when some of it lands on my black bikini top.
"Y'like it?" he mutters quietly through a mouthful of something.
"I'm obsessed. Utterly and irreversibly hooked. I'm thinking young Roger Taylor… He has my heart. Or like half the male singers from the 70s. Not to mention some of the Hollywood actors in their youth?! No one can convince me that Brad Pitt and Johnny Depp look better in their current short haircuts. Mhm…. Damn it, now I'll be thinking of that for a while." My ramblings are interrupted by Kurt's loud scoff.
"Wearing long hair was a big thing back in the day, s'true," he comments off-handedly, "but there have been some men who brought it back recently, pulled it off quite nicely if you ask me—"
"I know! Jason Momoa…" I let out a loud whoop of joy at the sudden realisation. "Oh gosh, I used to have a massive crush on Ben Barnes in the Narnia movies. Fourteen-year old me was weeping in joy whenever his face popped up. Have you seen him?! So dreamy."
"Oh yeah, he's a nice lad, very polite, funny…" Kurt says, and I'm already stifling laughter at this awkward comment. How odd of me to be swooning over my past and present crushes in his presence—now that really does take our relationship to the next level. "You forgot to mention singers."
"Right, well, I don't know much about popular music these days…" I swear I hear him mumble no shit under his breath, but I brush it off as nothing. "Some of those country singing guys have long hair, I suppose?"
BINABASA MO ANG
The Fence || h. s.
Fanfiction"Cherry, is that you?" She loves late-night jogging, and his beach house happens to be on the way. Separated by a six feet tall fence, they both have no idea who the other is. Will their chance encounter grow into something bigger? Or was this biza...
