HANYA |
CONCERN
"JACKSON, THE bell just went," Amina informed, her bright eyes flicking from the squared, oneway glass window that looked onto the corridors to her friend's twisted face in slight annoyance.
"What's up with you lately?" Jackson tugged the girl so that the the only source of light would hit her skin as he wiped off the makeup on her neck with one of the new towels in sealed packaging. "What's all this?"
If by instinct, Amina's fingers covered the shades of deep purples and blues and she avoided his eyes.
"Nothing," she began. "I was doing something stupid and I hurt myself."
Jackson crossed his arms that were showed off well in the black t-shirt he proudly sported and he sucked in a breath. "Okay. What were you doing?"
Amina opened and closed her mouth, hoping that random words would tumble out and rescue her but to no sweet avail.
"It doesn't matter."
"Yes, it does," Jackson whined. "We've known each other since we were in our mother's freaking stomachs, Mina. We know almost too much about each other. And I know you hate hickies. Giving or receiving. So this is strange to see all over you."
"Come on, it's not all over—" Amina halted and smiled softly, sighing. "But thanks for caring, Jackson." she pulled her broad shouldered friend in for a warm embrace.
As Jackson eventually rested his chin in the crook of her neck and wrapped his arms around her, he planted a kiss to her shoulder and rubbed his best friend's back. He could never stay annoyed with Amina. "Are you sure you're okay? I'll stop asking as much if you aren't in the mood for questions."
"I'm fine, Jackson, I promise."