αяє тнσѕє му ¢нυ¢к тαуℓσяѕ? *:.｡..｡.:*ℍ𝕠𝕓𝕚𝕖 𝔹𝕣𝕠𝕨𝕟 *:.｡. .｡.:*

𝖢𝖧𝖠𝖯𝖳𝖤𝖱 𝖲𝖤𝖵𝖤𝖭𝖳𝖤𝖤𝖭: 𝖧𝖺𝗏𝖾 𝖸𝗈𝗎 𝖲𝖾𝖾𝗇 𝖬𝗒 𝖩𝗎𝗆𝗉𝖾𝗋, 𝖲𝗎𝗀𝖺𝗋?

~

Hobie POV:

The pounding in my head wakes me up. What time is it?

Reaching for the phone on my bedside table, I let out a pained groan from the strain on my head. I really need to drink more water.

Wincing from the brightness of the screen, I note the time. '10:00'.

Turning onto my back, I tuck the hoodie tight around me while reading any notifications I had received during the night.

Huh? This hoodie doesn't smell like me... Not even my washing detergent. It smells like-

"Lavender." I squeak, breathless.

This is NOT my hoodie.

It's hers.

Recalling my actions from last night, I groan into my pillow from embarrassment.

If she ever found out, she would never talk to me again.

I slip a clean band shirt over my head, trying my best not to get any of my wicks stuck.

Grabbing her hoodie, I make my way to the couch, drowsy as hell. The pain in my head had only gotten worse.

I chuck it over the back of the lounge, before trudging to the kitchen to take some pills to ease my headache.

Should probably return it to her today, I decide, swallowing two tablets with some water.

Gives me an excuse to see her, too.

Slipping my phone from the pocket of my trackpants, I open the chat between us.

'u left ya jumper at my place. can i c u today?'

Sent.

She's probably not awake yet, you wanker.

I decide to distract myself with cleaning my apartment while waiting for her response.

God, I should probably clean more often, especially if I want her to come back. Can't have her thinking I'm a slob.

Arms filled with mugs and grog bottles, I dispose of each accordingly. My eyes travel over the lounge room.

Laundry next, I decide, seeing a basket full of clean clothes shoved in behind the couch.

Huh. I swear I left my jumper here. Guess not. I huff in disappointment. I was gonna wear that today.

I finish folding each article of clothing, setting them in their rightful piles, ready to be put away.

By the time I had finished disposing of any rubbish and vacuumed the carpet, it was 11:30am.

I glance at my lock screen.

Still no response. Weird.

I do the calculations in my head. It's... 9:00am for her. Maybe she sleeps in pretty late?

Instead of setting down my phone like a normal person, I reopen our messages, contemplating sending another text.

Right below my text, in little grey writing, reads 'Read, 11:00AM.'

She left me on opened? Youch.

Before I can stop myself, I type out another text.

'if u dont wanna see mee you can just say so, no need to leave me hanging'.

Sent.

OK, fuck this. I will just go see her.

In record time, I change into fashionably torn shirt, along with a leather jacket and black jeans.