RILAYA ONE SHOTS [A COLLECTION]

atmosphere

❝ waiting is a sign of true love and patience. anyone can say, i love you, but not every one can wait and prove it's true ❞

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dedicated to httprilaya
(word count : 2354)
autumn ;; 1999
-- 🍁--

you waited below a summoned stop light, redeeming off of its own glow. both of you sitting, 'hind in the gravel, letting the nicotine puff seep through crevasses in your lips. purple polish, chipped upon ten holy-weaved fingers slick to the top layer, and bit down through the core. simple questions, impossible answers, but princess riley matthews bopped you atop the head with the end of her glittering fairy wand; releasing you from the next intoxicatingly refresh of air. you dressed up as a black cat, under her recommendation. under oath, more or less. you wouldn't be spotted dead in plastic catlike earmuffs. a splotch of dark blue marker slithered along the creases in your cheeks, outlining the whiskers with a button nose dotted on the tip.

you turned a slight inch, sizzling a glare through the pink dunce cap, and grimaced on a pair of purely with teeth. reaching far through the hem of your bag, you cradled a tube of crimson matte lip balm. popping the lid like a champagne bottle cork; you touched up the bland from your petaled lips. you took a swig from the maroon flask that you stashed below the miscellaneous products in your purse, offering it to the girl with the short brown hair and pink curls. she tussled the feathery wand once more upon the top of your head, sprinkling specks of glitter that were pinched out of a 'pixie dust' bottle.

"how many times have i told you that sprinkling glitter on people's head, makes them angry?"

"more than once, but-"

"riley, it's annoying. do you know how long it takes to wash glitter from your hair?"

"a long time, but-"

"riley!" your hands instinctively weaving through the air in gestures, and slowly becoming more agitated in the second. yet, you secretly despise that, for you could never want to be mad at her. she looks a little surprised at the jump and looks back into the ongoing traffic, refusing to make a start of eye contact. but you grab her chin, look far past her chocolate teddy bear eyes, and apologize.

she takes small strands of your honeydew locks and sticks them in the back of your ears- refocusing your eyes. the traffic clears, and you don't even notice. you're both receiving hits of déjà vu from back when little kids where rambunctiously playing with action figures or, pray tell, barbie dolls, but the two of you would sit in the corner, eating each other lunches. she would bring grapes, and you would absentmindedly forget the carrots, and she would admittedly forgive you.

but you still felt bad, so you promised cookies the next day, yet- that never happened. she would tell you, "it's okay maya, i have food we can share."

"but i bring the carrots! i always bring the carrots, i'm sorry. my mom left for work too early, and i couldn't reach them."

"it's okay!" and she would grab your chin, staring into your icy blue, kissing your forehead, making you feel better by the instinct. in only one way, though- because in other ways, you had this longing feeling in your heart, or an aching pain in your chest from something that smelled like happiness, but back then- you were only eight, and nothing of love made sense to you. you just knew that you felt something with her, not in any way differently than you do with your mother, but that's just what you told yourself.

she was now rubbing her thumb calluses along the line of your cheek bone, and that feeling was returning, bubbling to the surface. your eye lids flicker against the movement down to her lips; looking for a quick, quiet second, and then releasing yourself from that awkward atmosphere.