"I feel like shit," I whine to Gabriel, walking home from my mom's building. It's dark and cold and I forgot my gloves in the dorm.
"What's wrong?" There's a kind of swooshing noise in the background, and his breathing is a little heavier than normal.
"What are you doing?'
"Running." Swooshing wind, ah. "Want me to come over?"
"Yeah."
He's bouncing on the balls of his feet in front of my building when I arrive, wearing soccer shorts and his high school graduation hoodie.
"Hey," he takes his earbuds out and we walk in together, not talking.
He stands near me in the elevator and lists to the side, pushing his shoulder against mine. I push back, and he feigns falling against the wall. He smiles at me, and I smile back. I've missed him.
I'm hollowly impressed by Gabriel's silence; words must be burning to jump from his throat. He sits backwards on my rolling desk chair, arms resting on the back and I fall onto my pillows. He clears his throat.
"What happened?"
"I just spent the whole evening with someone who talked about how pointless long distance relationships are and Cam was supposed to be here and I just..." I hug the oversize, neck-less sheep he gave me on Valentines day last year.
"Well..." he pouts his lips and rests his chin on his arms. "It's not for everyone, and anyway, don't listen to ignorant asshats."
"It just made me sad and...and I don't know."
"It planted doubt?"
"Not really..." His phone vibrates against the floor, hidden beneath his discarded hoodie. He doesn't reach for it, but the guiltiest expression crosses his face. "You can get it."
"No, no. We are having a conversation, and it's rude."
"It's probably Abby."
"Yup."
"Just get it, Gabriel."
"Nope. Let's go something, want to watch a movie? We haven't done that in a while."
We settle sideways on my bed, against the pillow wall with my laptop between us. He chooses a show called Parenthood because he doesn't watch actual movies.
"I just found this show, it's old, but soo good."
"It looks like Gilmore Girls," I say, hugging the sheep close to my chest.
"It's similar." The theme song sounds like Bob Dylan, and he finally checks his phone. "It's Abby, her brother started a garage band."
"How old is he?"
"Ten." He smiles fondly. "His name is Emery, I think he likes me."
"Kind of impossible not to, man."
"Thanks man." He replies before locking the phone and dropping it back on the floor. "Have you talked to that guy, Ellis?'
"That guy, Ellis." I laugh. "We text, but not a lot."
"Hmph. He probably likes you."
"Oh, chill."
He pats my hand and smiles at me. "There's the attitude."
***
wrote a PSA (welllll just announcement) but then decided to post it on (ahem) chapter 3 of bathroom conversations bc apparently it's a hotspot for argumentative assholes who like to reply to month-old comments over and over again (yup. offensive. oops.)
also, i'm waiting on my acceptance from the university of guelph and i'm impatient even though i'll probably go somewhere else. I don't like grade 12. ( ←look punctuation in an author's note OH MY!)
ALSO ALSO like...i dunno hi how are ya are you going to prom 2016? where are you getting your dress? lemme know in the comments