Artgirl

to fall (again): 17// smoke in the air

"Forrest! You here to party with me?"

He shook his head and rubbed his head groggily, "I'm here because you told Bart-ender to call me if you stayed past four a.m."

"Oh," I fell a little into my seat. "It's already four? I don't wanna go home yet."

Nico tugged on my good hand, "c'mon, love. You're wasted. I'll take you home and you can sleep until the afternoon."

"M'kay," I got up and fell onto him. He caught me easier than Derek did. His arms stayed around me, and he guided me to the car outside, probably Adrian's.

The entire car smelled like mint and vanilla. The first was the typical scent that came from Adrian when he went to work every morning, the second was the after-effect of having Jessie around so much. Funny how tattoos seemed to be less permanent that the effect people could have.

Since the place I'd ended up in wasn't too far from my place, the drive wasn't too long. Nico was groggy and tired, but he didn't fail to make sure I was okay. And I wasn't sure if it was the late night or the remainder of alcohol messing with my brain, but he had never looked better. His hair kept falling on opposite sides, even though by habit, he kept pushing it away form his face. He was in sweats and two thick sweaters, and he somehow looked better than he ever had in a suit.

"Nicoooooo," I said, a street away from my place. Or two, I wasn't quite certain. "You look very gooood tonight."

He glanced at me with an uncertain smile, "are you sure that's not just vodka talking?"

"No," I lifted my head from the cushion I'd made with my arm. "I'm suuuure. You're very nice to look at. Like, if I was you, I'd be hot as fuck."

This earned me a laugh, which caused me to join along. "Yo, but like, I'm totally serious. Listen. Listen. You're like handsome, cute, and cute, and kind, and funny, on the good days, and," I stared down to my hands, because I started counting on the bad hand now. "And sweet. You're like, the entire package. And I'm sure you've got a nice one of those too."

He was laughing. Hysterically. He was leaning towards the steering wheel now, his entire body vibrating with laughter. There was no nicer sight. He abruptly stopped at an empty intersection, just to finish laughing.

"But listen! Forrest, I'm totally serious," giggle, "oh! Tell you what, I'll be you tomorrow. And you—you choose someone other than me to be. Like Camilla. Because she isn't as sad as I am, and she's like freaking gorgeous. Oh, I know. I'll be you and go paint. That's fantastic. I'll use your hand to paint. Then, I'll go on one of those hotguysdoingthings Twistagram pages."

The car hadn't moved. "Hunter."

"Forrest," I adopted the same deep tone he had.

He seemed as if the words he wanted to say were lodged into his throat, so he just said: "Hunter," again.

"Forrest."

"Hunter."

"Forrest?"

"Hunter."

"Forrest," I laughed again, "my mom used to tell me this story about how the sun and the moon are in love. They kind of just let each other do their own thing. Like the sun sets to let the moon shine, and vice-versa. But they never get the opportunity to share their love, because their time together is so short. But when the world ends, they'll finally be together," my voice lowered.

"That's a nice story," the smile was gone now.

"What I'm trying to say is that I think you're my moon. Or my sun, or something like that. You're the one for me. Because when I'm around you, I feel like everything will be okay. I'm not sure if I'm in love with you, because I think I'm too sad to be lucky enough to be in love with you. All I do know is that you're meant to be mine."