Numbers // weekman/weekeman

-Part 8-

-Ryan POV-

I look at Dallon eagerly. I'm still seated on his lap. My face is so hot, I could've sworn someone was holding a lighter up to it. Along with the anticipation that prickles along my skin, I find shivers of worry that try to pull my attention to them. They try to make me panic, lose control.

I am tempted to stop looking at Dal.

I won't panic. I won't look away from him. Though, my will to look away is also strong.

Because I'm sure he saw and I'm sure he hates me and I'm sure he's disappointed in me.

It had been just seconds since I asked Dallon if he would play me a song. The butterflies in my stomach are fluttering around excitedly. They've been there since I had started my walk to the diner, soft wings fluttering subtly at the thought of Dallon. They haven't been this strong since the first time I had talked to him back at the café.

Dallon searches my face before smiling slyly. "Well, you gotta move if you want me to," he says.

I blush. Damn it. "Oh. Yeah, uh, yeah you're right." I cautiously get off of him. He stands and walks toward the door, where he left his violin. A thought flits across my mind. What if he left? What if he grabbed that violin, opened that door, and walked out? I pull my knees close to my chest. I swear under my breath when I feel the tears burning my eyes. All because of a damned thought. I push them back, determined.

When Dallon walks back over with his violin, I scold myself in my mind for panicking over nothing.

"What do you wanna hear?" He asks me.

I didn't think about that. I just wanted to hear him play. I close my eyes. "I don't care. Just play something."

My eyes snap open when Dallon makes the most ear-piercing noise with the instrument.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" I glare at him, a smile pulling the corners of my mouth.

He chuckles and smiles. Then he begins to play an actual song. The same one I heard on the street so many times. The same one I would "clean windows" to for what felt like hours. The same one I would stall outside for. I just wanted to hear those soft flowing notes somewhere in which they could not be contaminated by outside sounds.

It seems crazy to think that I went from stalling outside of the coffee shop to listen to him, and now he's standing in the middle of my apartment playing that song.

There's a different energy to it. It seems less forced. It seems more authentic. It seems alive.

The walls seem to melt away, the furniture seems to melt away, the world melts away until there is nothing left except Dallon, the violin, and me.

Dallon smiles at me.

I smile back.

Soon after, he stops playing.

"Thank you," I whisper. "That was really pretty."

Dallon carefully sets the violin down on the couch that I am leaning on. "Yeah?"

I look up at him, he looks down at me. His hair falls into his face and I chuckle. "Yeah."

- - -

Dallon leaves after a few hours.

We talked, asked questions, cracked jokes every once in a while. I think that I might be willing to open up to him more.

Though, there was one conversation that stuck out as odd to me.

"You're telling me you don't like coffee or tea?" I had asked him in disbelief.

He had shrugged and smiled. "Not my cup of tea. No pun intended." He winked again and I thought I might've lost control of my body for a second.

I want him to come back. Now, sitting here in the floor of my apartment, alone, I just wish he were sitting on the floor of my apartment with me.

I know I'm being clingy. We aren't even dating. Are we? No, we never confirmed. Plus, I've only known him for like, what, two days? I rest my forehead on my knees, breathing deeply. My hands curl into fists and my jagged fingernails, that I had chewed relentlessly out of anxiety the previous night, dug into my palms so hard that I thought I might draw blood.

Blood.

- - -
A/N - sorry this part is kinda short. next part won't be long either.