Last First Kiss [Brallon+Completed]

3: Keep The Pina Colada

I wish I could say I loved mornings, but they really sucked. Especially when you're a dumbass like me, and stay up all night thinking about some mystery waiter. Okay, another exaggeration. I'd only spent half of the night. As if I need to defend myself again, you don't just let beautiful people pass you like such. Either way, I had classes this morning, and I was exhausted.

I dropped my backpack, which was a one strapper that draped across me, onto the floor next to my desk ten minutes to my first class, which was some course dedicated entirely to poetry, and English. It was an okay class. I liked poetry. However, the teacher didn't like me. It didn't help that I was constantly late. Being late was the only reason I didn't have an A+ in the class.

"Dallon. Late. Again." The teacher mocked, as he sat down at his seat. I rolled my eyes, but didn't give into his mockery.

"Alright, for the next few weeks we're going to be writing a poem, or potential song, about anything. Our goal in this project is to broaden our mind's creativity. Any questions?" As expected no hands flew into the air. In college, everything's boring. The only class I actually enjoyed was Astronomy, which was focused entirely on space and starts. If you hadn't picked up yet, I wanted to be an astronomer.

I love stars.

When it came to the said class, my excitement bubbled more evidently as I plopped my stuff down in a desk, and eagerly awaited for what we were doing. In fact, our assignment turned out to be more exciting then I'd expected. We were assigned to go stargazing and name up to five constellations we'd see. Apparently, over the next few weeks, a natural phenomenon was occurring, in which a wide range of constellations would be occurring above us. I was intrigued.

"They'll occur between 11pm-12am, so watch out for them, will you?" Our teacher, Mrs. Rose, assured us. Unlike the other students around me, I actually felt confident about my work. I did good in astronomy, and Mrs. Rose was fond of me.

For the remaining time we had left in class we had free time, so I attempted to work on my poem. As usual, I had terrible writers block, but I wanted to get it over with so I could focus on more important matters.

Basically, throughout the rest of the day, Mr. Nameless was forgotten. I'd gotten two lines down and not even it was good. I had no inspiration, my brain was empty. Nothing. Nada.

Later that night, whilst I was chilling on my dorm couch munching on some fattening potato chips, my phone went off. One glance at the screen, and i felt obliged to thank God. Spencer wanted me back down at The Slammer. I told him I had two assignments to finish, but he was set on getting me to come in. I guess he actually enjoyed my company.

Odd.

Plus, he had a point. I didn't have any classes tomorrow, so why not spend my time at a beat up club with a beautiful mystery waiter? My favorite past time. Okay, it was sarcasm, but I still swing by. I carried my composition tucked protectively under my arm, and a pencil stuck behind my ear. I hadn't cared to tidy up my outfit, since I didn't care. So I still wore an old Pokémon T-Shirt featuring Ash and his sidekick, Pikachu. Over that I wore my black hoodie, and some regular jeans.

My hair was simply pushed over to one side, and didn't even have the decency to zip my jacket up to cover up how much of a loser I really was. I took my usual seat in the booth closer to the stage, but took their opposite seat than yesterday, so I could peer over the seat and see the stage; a band was just starting up some unknown song.

I opened my composition notebook up to the poem I'd been working on in class, and reached in my hoodie pocket for my pencil. Only it wasn't there. Fuck. A slight panic over took me as I stood up, pat down the seat beneath me, then glanced under the table. As I sat up, I realized where it was. It had been behind my ear the entire time. Me being me, forget where it was. I sighed softly with a shake of my head, and pulled my pencil out.

"One Pina Colada for Dallon Weekes." I had barely leaned over my journal to start writing when a familiar raspy voice sounded, and the disturbing clank of glass against marble sounded in my ears again. I rose my head from the paper, and stared at the beautiful waiter. A smirk graced his perfect lips. Ugh, he was hot. I sighed, and turned my attention away.

"No thanks. Tell Spencer I don't want to be drunk right now, I'm busy with school." I muttered, distracting myself with the poem. I had written the same first verse down twice, once in print, once in signature. Either way, they both looked messy. I heard a stubborn huff, and the beautiful waiter sat down right in the booth across from me.

"It's not from him. It's from me." He said simply. I let that sink in, and take me by surprise, but kept faking more writing. He had more interest in me than yesterday, that's for sure. The band in the background started up, playing some song about bargaining something (later it'd come to be my favorite band; who knew Fall Out Boy was such a bop?) and I enjoyed the song.

"What school work are you focused on, Dal?" He asked. My name slid smoothly from his lips, as if it'd dripped from his tongue like thick, smooth caramel. I melted. I felt obliged to answer his question now.

"English. Gotta finish a poem over the course of a few weeks." I answered, and raised my head. Our eyes met, and for a split second, I could swear I felt that icy chill in his eyes dance down my spine. It was electrifying.

"Watcha got so far?"

"I write poetry about the stars and the moon. I write poetry about people who blossom too soon." I was hesitant on answering, since it was more of a personal thing, and he was still a stranger, but it was too late now. A half hearted smile found his lips again.

"Final question, Pikachu," He must've noticed my shirt.

"Can I know what college you go to?" He asked. I smirked right back at him, gathered my things (composition notebook back under my arm, pencil back behind my ear) and stepped out of my booth. "No." I said simply, and stepped another few feet away. He stared after me with a dazed expression. I couldn't imagine how many times a beautiful man like him had been shot down.

"Keep the Pina Colada, they're quite tasty." I added. Then I whirled around, and left right through the club doors, feeling quite triumphant of myself for thinking up such a comeback. It was payback, really, for his refusal to tell me his name.