the attractive teenager continues to make a beeline straight toward me, an odd look of lust shining in his eyes. he appears to be about eighteen years old, maybe nineteen maximum. his dark chestnut hair is straightened as usual, one stray curl sticking out on the side like it always does when he's in a hurry or doesn't have time to touch up his hair with the flat iron. his caramel eyes are dancing, like fall leaves gracefully flitting between bare trees as autumn nears, the soft mocha lighting illuminating them like the grainy laptop webcam could never do. i wipe my clammy hands on my jeans, nervously fiddling with the brass ring on my pinky finger. the train station is loud; children are complaining to their parents and businessmen are yapping into their blackberries and iphones like their lives depend on it. teenage girls are squealing and fangirling over pictures of celebrities and frantic mothers are trying to calm their wailing babies, but the loud sound of my own strangled breathing downs out the noise, making everything else sounds staticy and distant.
it's actually him, in the flesh. i've waited for this moment since the day we started talking, all those years ago, but now that it's finally here, i'm nervous. i feel like i'm going to throw up or pass out, both maybe. what if i mess up, or scare him off? does he have butterflies in his stomach too? i'm an expert at messing stuff up according to raina, my ex girlfriend. even though we're no longer together, some of her hurtful words still come back and haunt me, floating around my head like an unwanted pest. anxiously, i run my hand through my smooth, slightly damp jet black hair, using my fingers as a makeshift comb. am i blushing? oh god, i hope not. iIt would be so embarrassing to be bright red the first time we met in real life. i'd have to throw myself into a flaming pit of never ending self pity and humiliation and drop the key into a volcano.
chris warned me this might not be a good idea, that people lie all the time. the world isn't perfect, but obviously i'm perfectly aware of that. just because perfection isn't possible doesn't mean that good things can't happen.
chris really needs to lighten up and lay off the teen angst novels.
it feels like i'm underwater, like everything around me is moving in slow motion. i pay no attention to the staring passerby or blinking lights alerting the sea of people waiting for the subway that certain trains have arrived in the station.
my breathing hitches and he rushes towards me, hurling himself into my open arms. dan buries his face in my well worn pokemon t-shirt and i inhale the soft cinnamon scent of his shampoo. he wraps his skinny arms around my lean frame, and even though we're the same height, he seems so much younger. after letting me envelope him in a hug, i release him, staring straight into his chocolate pupils. he's even more beautiful in real life, if i had to choose.
well, i sure showed chris.
adrenaline is flooding my veins, and i know that people are staring but i don't take notice. for all i care, we could be a roadside attraction and i still wouldn't mind. i pull the brunette breathing heavily in front of me into my grasp again and he exhales, his warm breath against my neck. his short fingernails dig into my arms, leaving small crescent moon indents. he stares into my ocean blue eyes, snaking his hand around my waist, and i admire his profile.
i hear a man, roughly in his early thirties, make a rude remark and his buddy, a tall guy with a scruffy red beard responds with a gay slur, turning my blood cold. however, i choose to pretend i didn't hear the pair seeing my companion did not appear to notice, and if he did, they must've not bothered him enough to stop his other hand from snaking down my hip.
a busty woman passing by on her way to her next destination shoots a dirty look at us, covering her daughter's eyes with her hand, the ugly purple polish flaking off of her manicured nails like fish scales being cleaned of a salmon. not a pretty comparison, i know, but what can i say? she wasn't a very good looking woman, with lips that pout indicated several botox injections in the past that implied the look of a fish gasping for air more than anything else.
one warm hand grabs ahold of the hair at the base of my neck, the other sliding even further down my backside. we still haven't said a word to each other yet. i concentrate on breathing normally, my breath getting caught in my throat. a grin creeps o to my face as i notice two girls, presumably a couple based on their behavior, smiling at us out of the corner of my eye. i turn my full attention back to the brunette, and am pleasantly surprised at the tingling sensation of his pale lips against mine. his hand moves down lower and i pay no attention to the intimacy of it, choosing to instead focus on our lips smashing together. i place one hand on his shoulder and maneuver so that the other one in on the small of his back, hot with anticipation.
suddenly, he breaks the silence and pulls away from me, his very kissable mouth in the shape of an o. i almost forgot we were in the center of a train station, people running pass us in every direction, mumbling reminders to themselves, or muttering complaints about those around them. my azul eyes meet his dark brown ones, and for just one second i see a streak of sympathy flash through those crazy eyes of his.
did i do something wrong? was i that bad of a kisser? is this what chris was talking about? too many questions are running through my head, speeding at 100 miles per hour. he just stares at me, an almost smug look on his face, like he's a young child who got away with stealing a freshly baked cookie from the forbidden jar without his mother finding out.
an inhuman sound squeaks out of me, a vulnerable look in my hard blue eyes. when we skyped, he told me it looked like they held the sky and the ocean, combining to make one beautiful sea of blue. that was during one of our late night talks, one that lasted from ten to two am. i instantly miss that connection, crave to feel like that again.
"i'm sorry phil," he laughs lightly, a slightly heavy tone clipping his voice. he has a half smirk plastered to his voice, dragging my happy feelings all the way down.
"dan?" my voice sounds pitiful and high pitched, like a child's. i'm almost ashamed at my pathetic response. turns out chris was right all along. this is going nothing like i imagined. a train blows its whistle vaguely, but i'm too immersed in the current situation to notice it.
"call me daniel," my best friend murmurs, turning around so he doesn't have to watch as the disappointment slowly plays across my features, my pale cheeks turning slightly rosy with guilt and embarrassment at being played like that.
i look down at my beat up high tops, and when i finally gain the courage to face dan, he's already gone, no proof that he was even here left behind. like he vanished into thin air. ignoring the tears pooling in my eyes, i reach for my phone, and while doing so, i realize that the sneaky bastard stole my wallet. with a small smile on my lips, i pull out my phone and send dan a quick message, then shove my iphone back into the denim pocket of my skinny jeans. he did that on purpose, and he knew i'd understand.
get back here with my damn wallet dan howell.