What It Seems | Wattys 2023

Chapter 33

Chapter 33

Three days have passed since I saw the scars and rather he was insecure or very reserved about the condition, I necessitated knowing what every scar counted for.

When was the last time he cut? I tried glancing at Baylor's left wrist again, but it wasn't in sight from veiling.

"I think we should go bowling for your birthday." His voice was deep and croaky, as if he had a sore throat. "You, me, Jo, and Aiden - just the four of us."

Baylor's shirt aroma was of expensive cologne and the lingering whiff of smoke had slowly drifted due to the vanishing of an encounter with a cigarette. Since I was sitting on Baylor's bathroom sink watching him shave, he abandoned his shirt and I slid it on. The fabric couldn't help but fall nearly to my knees.

"We really don't do anything for my birthday," I alleged. His mouth and the skin beneath his chin were covered in white foam. The razor, that was controlled by his hand, removed the foam in a directly, broad contour along with facial hair. As the shaver confiscated his stub, I wonder how many pints of Baylor's blood was loss from a blade.

"Why?" Baylor prompted.

"There's really no point in celebrating my seventeenth birthday. It's just like any other day; I'm just turning a year older," I divulge. Baylor was already halfway done with his shaving. He wiped the additional cream from under his chin and smeared it on my cheek. My expression turned sour as the white cream felt unexpected and chilly. He only laughed at the wide-eyed look that thrashed across my face.

He began shaving the other half of his face. "What if I wanted to take you to the bowling alley for your birthday?" Baylor croakily pried.

"Then I guess you want to take me bowling for my birthday." My tone was full of amusement as I watched his expression went black. But I knew he was lilting.

"Exactly, so it's planned. We're going bowling," he avowed.

When he was finished shaving, Baylor and I walked downstairs for warm beverages. On the first floor, it was sort of chilly. By the time we entered the kitchen, the heat unit had cut on, quickly warming the place. While Baylor began pulling out packages of powdered hot chocolate, he asked if I wanted milk or water to blend in with the chocolate powder.

"Milk, please."

Baylor brought out the milk and coffee cups and placed the needed items beside the packages of chocolate powder.

"How many packs do you use?" I interrogated with a grating pitch. He retrieved four packs from the box; I only use one.

"Two for you, two for me. I believe hot chocolate around the holidays is something really . . . cherished," he explained. I watched as he poured the milk to the brim of each cup. Bringing both coffee cups to the microwave to be heated up, he put the first cup in for a minute and a half.

"So first it's my hoodie, now it's my t-shirt?" Baylor pressed as he pulled me closer to him. A grin threatened to curl over his kissable lips.

"Yep," I joked. His laugh echoed the tiled room. I only smiled at the creases in his cheeks, the peeks of half-developed dimples.

"I like seeing you in my clothes," Baylor murmured.

"Oh, do you now? Let's switch wardrobes."

"Deal," he only smiled. The muscles in his back constricted as he trailed over to the conventional oven. The beeping of numbers being punched in occurred. I couldn't help myself from gazing at the toned muscles beneath the skin of his torso. An eight pack was in sight, along with the v-line.