Some girl confidently posted online that she’d end up back in 103 for the night, not knowing she’d actually never enter that room again.
Because we were in 417 at the time. And 103 would soon become mine.
I can’t remember if I was sitting on the low couch or the old carpet, but my legs were outstretched in dark green cargo pants.
My hair was sprayed the color of flames down to my utility belt and he wore a cow-print vest equipped with a badge. Our personas were fake: mine a teenaged crime fighter and his a toy sheriff.
We sat there playing Cards Against Humanity incorrectly, relievedly laughing because we found out we shared an offensive sense of humor.
When Kae asked to see some pushups, his cards immediately dropped to the floor. He made them powerful and quick for us. Sarcastic comments barreled out of my mouth and I tossed my cards to the side before I showed him I could do pushups like that, too.
I was dizzy and accusing, “You show off!” as he happily watched me collapse in defeat.
We lay on the floor, arms sore-
A soft touch on my calf.
My brain techno glitched, my heart tripped over itself, and my throat grasped the words I wanted to say for just a second.
Then I kept talking, pretending like it was nothing, but every little nerve was sensitive to his fingertips tapping, dragging, and tapping again...
Gently over the cargos, but they made my skin burn the way my face does when I blush.
Around to my shin.
Back to my calf.
His touches were nervously delicate but he was certain they belonged there, as if from then on, they were for me and no one else.
Our eyes wouldn’t meet, but they didn’t need to for me to know that this was something.
Something very real between Kim and Woody.
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electricccc but like subtly so and in a very cool way
This is good, conveys a feeling.