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four | wild spirit

four | wild spirit

          At the shop next morning, Remy was dead on her feet, nibbling on an ice pop and waiting for the sugar to wake her up, being weird like she was and eating ice-cream in the cold and loving hot-coco in the Summer's heat. Her wool knitted sweater scratched irritatingly against her skin as she bustled about, hanging up the piles of clothes by the door according to color, size, season, and popularity- the turtleneck sweaters way up in the front. It wasn't the best job- the thrift store, but it supported her love for books and her habit of buying too many at once.

          Nicholas was with her, sitting behind the counter with his guitar in his lap and his feet propped up on the counter. She was making small talk, reciting the labels the girls at her school were slapping on her. "Different," "weird," and things like "brace-face" though it wasn't anything she could help.

          "You're a wild spirit and you're your own person. They're just jealous they're too scared to be something other than cliché. Because clichés are already written you know? They're life is already planned out. But you? You're making a life of your own," Nicholas fingered a chord on his guitar, and then he looked up at her, a small smile tugging at his lips as he picked up his pick and began playing the new song he had wrote for her.

          "You're coming right?" he murmured around his strums, daring a glance at her through the fringes of his hair falling in his eyes. And though they weren't friends and even hopeful of something more, she couldn't help but feel like she wouldn't mind a guy like Nicholas her with good music and soft eyes.

          "Of course," she smiled back.