[You Got My Soul]

6°

» "all that I am is all the you see. You don't need nobody else and you're putting this all on me..."

Tiller Household;

"This is how I know you're over here waaay too much." Bryson shook his head and picked up one of Paris' hair products she had on his dresser.

"That's what did it for you? Not the tampons and pads I have in your bathroom?"

"Please tell me you're joking?" His face changed and his eyes were wide.

"Yes, I'm joking Bryson, relax." She laughed, looking in the mirror to put her hair in a ponytail.

"Whew, I love you and all but, that type of stuff creeps me out." He cringed and shook his head.

Paris cleared her throat and focused intensely on her hair. She knew for a fact that Bryson loved her— the depth of their friendship was evident. But there was always something about hearing him say it; he said it so easily like it was natural. That's how Paris knew that he didn't mean it in the same way she meant in when she said it.

Her's had passion— she thought about it moments before and moments after. She watched his reaction; his body language. Not knowing the true origin of the words when they left her lips, he usually just replied and moved on.

"Well, you don't have to worry about that. I'm not that comfortable with you." She remarked, now applying lipstick.

"Really?" He asked, seeming a bit shocked. She turned from the mirror and looked at him where he had gone to sit on his bed.

"What?"

"You're not comfortable with me?" He repeated her statement with a look that Paris couldn't make out.

She squinted her eyes at her friend, "I mean, of course I'm comfortable with you on some level or another, but I don't know if we're that close." She shrugged.

He nodded and bent down the corners of his mouth, not responding to her.

"Bryson, don't do that. I wouldn't spend as much time with you as I do if I wasn't comfortable with you." Paris said, noticing his passiveness kick into gear.

He sucked his lips, pulling phone out of his pocket— his go-to mechanism when trying to ignore her.

"You're so sensitive, I swear. You know that there is no one in the world that either of us are closer too." Paris rolled her eyes.

"Exactly, so why aren't you that comfortable with me?" He asked her, putting down his phone as if suddenly forgetting he was just ignoring her.

"Why don't I put my feminine products in your bathroom?" She asked for clarification. It irked her how upset he would get about the dumbest of things.

"Not just that, like you don't tell me anything about you, I always have to dig to find stuff. It's like you don't trust me enough to keep your secrets."

Paris knew exactly what he meant. It's like she had the key to his mind but wouldn't give him the key to hers. She had a reason; her mind meant her heart and Bryson could never know what was in her heart.

"Of course I trust you. You're just a lot more interesting than me, I like listening to you." Paris replied with a shrug.

"Well, I want to listen to you for once. Tell me what Paris cares about." He stood beside her and looked at her through the mirror.

"Paris cares about whatever Bryson cares about." She sighed, bushing back loose strands of hair.

"Ok, Paris. I'll just have to keep digging."