A/N: I BET YOU THOUGHT I'D TAKE ANOTHER 84 YEARS TO UPDATE DIDN'T YOU
sorry for any typos :)
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There really isn't a point to sneaking Lauren inside her room because her mother lingers behind them every step of the way. Not that there would be any reason for sneaking around, Camila thinks feebly. She didn't bring Lauren inside her room to start anything... like that.
As if reading her mind, Dinah shoots her an annoying smirk that she chooses to firmly ignore.
Her mother seems to share the same thought, considering she hasn't moved an inch from her position near the doorway.
She eyes them both skeptically. And Camila almost has half a mind to tell her she and Lauren were going to have a marathon of hot, wild sex right under her roof. But Camila's lips remain shut.
"The doors stay open," her mom finally warns as she backs away from it cautiously.
Camila's gaze narrows. She waits until her mother is out of her line of sight, before moving to close the door with a loud snap.
Camila almost expects her to come running back, but when the door remains shuts, Camila lets out a relieved sigh.
She locks it for good measure.
When she turns around she finds Lauren standing awkwardly in the middle of her room, shifting her weight between her feet, looking beyond uncomfortable.
It's such a stark difference to the last time she was in here. They were on the precipice of at least some form of intimacy.
The last time Lauren was in here all she did was sleep in your bed, you loser.
She catches Lauren glance at the bed as if she, too, is remembering the night she spent in this room. Camila feels a slow blush begin to spread.
"You probably should've left the door open," Lauren mutters offhandedly. She runs a nervous hand through her hair, letting the long locks tumble over her left shoulder. Camila becomes distracted with the action that she doesn't answer. "Did you really tell your parents we were dating?"
"What?" Camila asks abruptly, eyes snapping to meet Lauren's uncertain expression. Green eyes dart away.
"You said – a while back – you said you told your dad that we were – uh – you know... dating."
"I was only kidding," Camila responds indignantly. "Of course I didn't tell them that."
She scrutinizes Lauren. The way she refuses to meet her eyes and the way she keeps fidgeting with her hair. "My mom didn't give you a hard time, did she?"
Lauren's silence is telling.
"Oh god," Camila groans.
"It wasn't bad I swear," Lauren defends hastily.
Camila scowls. The prior resentment towards her parents simmers testily.
Lauren steps closer as if noticing her sour expression.
"Honestly, it's fine. My parents probably would've done the same thing if they weren't-" Lauren stops herself mid sentence. Something passes over her expression that captures Camila's attention. Something she can't easily discern. It's even more frustrating when Lauren averts her eyes.
The atmosphere becomes stifling. The little spark of motivation Camila felt slowly melts into anxiety.
"Wow, this talk is so amazing. I can't believe you guys made everything so crystal clear. Relationship goals," Dinah comments, clapping her hands.
This isn't going how she intended.
The subject is clear. Getting there, unfortunately is a different, difficult, story.
Lauren struggles to continue the conversation. Camila impulsively takes that as an opportunity to grasp the reins of the subject.
Camila grits her teeth, resisting the urge to make a snarky comment. Dinah's amusement isn't helping. Neither is Lauren's sudden mood change and uncharacteristic timidity.
"So the concert was...interesting?" Camila begins cautiously. Lauren's eyes dart up to meet hers sharply. Expectantly. Relieved. The conversation is in motion, regardless of how painfully cringe worthy Camila is beginning to feel. "I've never seen The 1975 live."
Nailed it.
"Wow, that was a fail," Dinah yawns.
Lauren's expression falls. And Camila has the distinct impression that Dinah is right.
"Oh yeah," Lauren mutters. "It was – fun." The statement comes out more as a question than an actual statement.
"Yeah. Fun."
The silence that falls between them is terse, exacerbating the nervous atmosphere.
"So about this talk..." Camila trails off. She moves to plop at the edge of her bed.
There's an awkwardness that grows amid the silence. One that Camila had secretly dreaded the moment she made the decision to finally talk to Lauren.
It's weird and strange. And Camila has the sudden urge to kick Lauren out of her room. The urge vanishes the moment Lauren turns to looks at her intently.
It isn't her fault, Camila reminds herself. It isn't Lauren's fault in the slightest. She didn't ask for this kind of messy reunion.
"Um, so when we were at the concert things got kind of, uh," Camila hesitates. "Intense?"
Whatever was suddenly bothering Lauren before seems to dissipate as she jumps on the chance to change the topic.
"I wanna apologize for that," Lauren begins quickly. "It got out of hand and it was my fault."
"What? No, I'm the one who should be apologizing," Camila responds incredulously. "I practically threw myself at you."
"It's not anything I didn't want," Lauren admits sheepishly.
Camila remains rooted to the spot, stilling upon hearing the words fall from Lauren's mouth. Heat flourishes through her chest, climbing feverishly up her neck and spreading across her face.
The easy manner in which Lauren confesses does something to Camila. Something that has her avoiding Dinah's all too amused smirk and refusing to acknowledge her racing heart.
"Okay, um, good? Because, uh, same."
Lauren opens her mouth, but Camila quickly interjects.
"And still," Camila says, trying to suppress the flustered feeling. Lauren glances up at her. She averts her eyes, hoping that looking at anything but Lauren's hopeful expression would make this easier to get out. "I initiated it. I'm pretty sure I broke, like, all of the guidelines that night."
Lauren lets out an exasperated chuckle. "I'm pretty sure those rules are useless now. Which is why we really do need to talk about this. Us." She stresses the last word.
Panic immediately bursts into her system, poisoning the bashfulness until it becomes mortification.
Lauren sighs noisily, before coming to join her on the bed. It's almost ridiculous how the first thing Camila becomes aware of is how close Lauren decides to sit next to her. Their knees touch.
She feels stupid for noticing something so small. She feels even more stupid for the way her body immediately responds to the touch and wants to move in closer.
"I've been really..." Lauren pauses, as if searching for the words. "Difficult. About all of this. And your feelings."
"Hm, there's that word again," Dinah says unhelpfully. "Feelings."
Camila wants her to stop. Both of them to stop as a matter of fact.
"My first time wasn't that great. I wasn't ready. I was pressured. And it was probably one of the most awkward experiences I've ever had," Lauren pauses, before adding. "Also he was kind of a dick now that I think about it."
"Yeah, Luis was a real charmer," Camila mutters sardonically. Lauren stops in the middle of her speech to regard Camila curiously.
"You remember him?"
"Is she for real?" Dinah exclaims incredulously.
Of course Camila remembered him. Vividly. In excruciating detail. To the point that she memorized that dumb, toothy smile after defacing the framed school soccer team picture that hung up in the main hallway the morning after. The goofy mustache and random dicks were some of her best work. According to Dinah (which wasn't really saying much), who was right beside her supplying the different colored Sharpies.
"We had, like, over ten Luis' at our school," Camila deadpans. "Just a wild guess."
Lauren looks at her uncertainly, as if she doesn't believe her. And maybe she doesn't. It wasn't exactly a secret Camila hated the guy. Especially after their messy breakup. Camila had spent the entire weekend with Lauren trying to cheer her up. Going down the list of creative insults for her ex. Even going so far as taking one for the team by subjecting herself to a night of horror movies. Camila's pretty sure she didn't get a wink of sleep that weekend.
Lauren's lips quirk into a smile. "Like I said, it sucked. And the more I thought about it the more I realized that it doesn't have to be that way for you."
Lauren leans in closer. Camila swallows thickly, already beginning to feel the familiar tell-tale signs Lauren had always managed to evoke within her.
"I know I already agreed to having sex with you, but I haven't given you a choice in the whole matter," Lauren says softly. "I want you to have a better experience than I did. And I want to be the person to do that for you."
"You do?" Camila whispers.
Lauren bows her head and laughs shyly. "Yeah, Camz."The laughter sends a nervous, but ultimately pleasant, flutter in her stomach. "Is that – do you want that?"
"I actually want that so much," Camila hears herself say.
Lauren moves in closer to the point that Camila feels the side of her thigh against hers. It's so obviously distracting that Camila goes out of her way to pointedly stare down at them.
Seeing their skin so flushed together makes something churn in her stomach and travel uncomfortably down below her waist. She tries to cross her legs but at the very moment she tries to move them, Lauren's hand falls to her thigh. And Camila pretty much forgets the point she was trying to make in this whole conversation.
"I want to do things your way," Lauren continues, as if she doesn't notice how strongly the sudden physical contact is affecting her. "Whatever you want."
Camila glances up to find Lauren's face a lot closer than it was a few seconds ago. She licks her lips unconsciously and catches Lauren's eyes dart down to follow.
"Yeah," Camila agrees quite stupidly.
"Um? Talk? List? Concert? Are we forgetting why we're even here in the first place?" Dinah's voice rips through Camila's clouded, distracted thoughts.
Camila turns her head abruptly to glare at Dinah. She feels Lauren's nose brush against her cheek.
The comment yanks her back into focus. Tearing down whatever sexual tension that was building up by the second. Camila lets out a small huff, pointedly glaring at Dinah's nonchalant shrug.
Lauren pulls back, slightly miffed. "Did I completely misread that?"
She's still in Camila's personal space, and Camila has half a mind to go back and tug her closer again. But she shakes her head, frustrated.
"No, no you didn't," she sighs, frustrated.
"What is it?" Lauren questions.
"Can you, um, back up a bit? It's just – my head – and you're – like you know – you," Camila mutters, gesturing up and down to Lauren.
Lauren tilts her head in confusion. It takes her a moment to understand what Camila means. And then she promptly flushes.
"That's probably a good idea," Lauren replies. "Your mom is probably two seconds away from barging in."
She's embarrassed. That's an understatement. She's developing an unhealthy habit of embarrassing herself in front of her neighbor.
Not that Lauren is too far off from her. If the way her pale face has reddened is any obvious indication.
Dinah's snort is enough to break the silence. Camila clears her throat.
"Um, about what you were saying," Camila stammers, glaring down at her lap. She twists her fingers, the very same that were about five seconds from getting lost in Lauren's hair. "Does this mean we're throwing out your guidelines?"
Lauren perks up. "Only if you want. They were kind of dumb anyway."
"I think they're great," Camila protests listlessly.
She knows she's said the wrong thing immediately. Lauren scoots away, creating enough distance for her to scrutinize Camila fully. The intense look makes Camila shrink in on herself.
"What?" Camila asks defensively. Lauren's eyebrows knit together and her lips pull into a dissatisfied frown.
"I don't understand," she begins. She scours Camila's face. And Camila gets the distinct impression she's looking for the gag or punch line. When she comes up short, Lauren's eyes narrow.
"You've literally spent weeks trying to get me to have sex with you and now that I'm giving you the green light, you don't want to anymore?"
Camila's hands curl into tight fists in her lap. Lauren continues.
"Are you getting cold feet? Because that's totally okay too," Lauren reassures in a much softer tone. But it comes off as more patronizing than patient. And it irritates the hell out of Camila. "We can call this whole thing off-"
"-I'm not getting cold feet," Camila cuts in hotly. "I still want to have sex with you." It comes out with more bite than she means to. Which immediately shuts Lauren up.
This clearly isn't going the way she wants it to.
Her eyes move to the hands resting on her neighbor's thighs. Thighs that probably would have been covered with her own hands a mere minute ago. Camila feels the frustration towards herself grow as she looks away.
"I just think we shouldn't just throw away the guidelines so easily," Camila reasons tentatively.
She glances up to meet Lauren's skeptical eyebrow raise. Camila takes a deep breath and powers through.
"Actually I kind of have another rule to add on," Camila continues.
If it's possible Laurens eyebrow raises higher.
Camila sighs heavily. "I just think we need to set some boundaries."
"Boundaries," Lauren responds stiffly. Her expression turns suspicious, before she leans back further to survey her. "I'm listening."
Camila coughs awkwardly. She fiddles with the ends of her t-shirt in some sort of sad attempt to prolong the inevitable. Lauren's unimpressed stare makes her stop immediately.
"Um, well, okay so I was thinking we should probably figure out how we spend our time. Whether we're hanging out or you know..." Camila's voice lowers. "Hanging out."
Lauren's eyebrows knit together in confusion, causing Camila to rush to an explanation.
"We're friends now, right?" Camila looks up at Lauren questioningly.
Lauren nods.
"And our friend time should be separate from all of the other stuff. Do you get me?"
"I think so," she responds slowly.
"Lauren this can't really be the first friends-with-benefits arrangement you've had? You're – like – experienced," Camila says. She tries to keep her tone nonchalant and unaffected because it's unproductive to get herself worked up over Lauren's hookups. But she grudgingly can't help the way her chest twists in discomfort as the words leave her mouth.
Lauren huffs petulantly, revealing just how excited she is to broach the subject. As if Camila is having the time of her life bringing up her neighbor's past flings.
"That's different."
"I don't really see how it's any different."
Lauren shoots her a very flat look.
"We've already talked about this," Lauren whines. "The rules are there because it was you. We're friends. The people I've had sex with weren't friends."
"Alexa, Lucy, Ashley?" Camila recites mechanically.
Lauren promptly flushes. "The situations are completely different. We didn't become friends until after we had sex. And then it didn't even last with any of them. They could all tell I wasn't really..." Lauren stops suddenly, as if just realizing how much she's said.
"Wasn't really what?" Camila probes.
"Nothing. Never mind. The point is that I'm not really equipped for this kind of situation. I have about as much experience as you," Lauren mutters hastily.
Camila glances over at Lauren again, studying her reaction, searching for any type of dishonesty. Not that she would really find anything. Lauren was an annoyingly honest person.
For some reason (one that she's too exhausted to overanalyze), this feels like a small victory. Despite everything, this is new for Lauren too. The thought reassures her. It restores that tiny spur of confidence that faded away.
"I just don't want you getting the wrong impression," Camila continues. "We're not, like, dating or anything."
"Me? I don't want you to get the wrong impression," Lauren counters, offended.
"Trust me, that's not happening," Camila deadpans.
"You don't know."
"Yeah, I do know. You don't know."
"You're the one that jumped me at the concert," Lauren snaps.
"You weren't exactly complaining," Camila retorts.
Dinah watches the two bicker back and forth like a tennis match, which makes Camila even more frustrated with the turn of the conversation.
When Lauren opens her mouth in protest, Camila holds up a hand to stop her.
"Look," Camila interjects heatedly. Whatever surge of confidence deflates as she tries to grapple some semblance of harmony. Or civility at the very least. "All I'm saying is that we should make time exclusively dedicated to friend time. Hang out one day-"
"-We all know what friends mean," Dinah says sardonically.
Not helping, Dinah.
"And we can have time spent with, you know, the other stuff..." Camila trails off awkwardly.
Her heart pounds as she finishes her request.
Lauren stares at her pensively, before looking away. Camila can only guess what the millions of thoughts are. Thoughts that she's not privy to because Lauren chooses now to be a closed off asshole of a book.
Camila begins to panic.
Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe this was all just completely pointless.
I mean who puts this much thought into a friend's-with-benefits set up?
"Is this the time we're going to have that talk?" Lauren asks quietly, lifting her head to meet Camila's gaze.
It all happens rather quickly. The awkward, petty tension gets sucked dry, leaving the atmosphere devoid of anything.
Camila feels herself shutting down and closing off. Without any clarification, she knows what this is going to be about. The desire to continue the conversation disintegrates into a pile of adamant refusal.
"What do you mean?" Camila asks testily.
Lauren gives her a look of disbelief. One that allows the irritation to slowly seep in.
"About everything that went down," Lauren says hesitantly, as if she, too, knows she's treading on thin ice. The observation serves to aggravate Camila even more. "Back in high school," she adds. "Between us."
Camila feels something stir in the deep recesses of her heart. Something she had told herself she was locking away for good. She suppresses it. Letting the irritation come forward.
"We don't need to talk about that," Camila responds shortly.
Lauren looks as if she wants to argue. And immediately Camila thinks back to when they first had argued about this topic. So long ago in Lauren's car. It felt like years when it was no more than two weeks.
"I told you we should just stop," Camila begins sharply. "You can't change what happened."
"What even happened, Camila?" Lauren presses. She's goading Camila. She knows it. And it isn't going to work. As much as the anger begins to pull back in preparation for a large wave of ire, Camila contains it.
"I could ask you the same thing," Camila snaps, frustration coloring her voice. Lauren recoils, as if the sudden emotion her tone has taken invisibly slaps her.
"I don't even –"
"-It doesn't matter" Camila interrupts shrilly.
They fall into a chilly silence.
A silence that's unnaturally different than the nervous energy from before. It's different from the warm, comfortable silence she had been associating with Lauren as of late.
It's cold and sullen and ugly, sneaking up and clearing the delightful haze that drew her in.
It's the long year spent in isolation, away from her social circle, away from her friends. It's the sleepless nights spent staring at Lauren's name on her phone after she left for UCLA. It's the shallow indifference thrust upon her near the end of junior year, manifesting into a warped grudge.
It's the way everything is still eating up at her inside.
It comes as a nasty reminder that Lauren was right. There was too much history.
The argument has undertones of maliciousness. It has resentment bubbling in the pit of her stomach. It has conflicted feelings smothered in animosity deep within her heart.
The oblivious confusion in Lauren's expression hardens into stone. Green eyes scour her face, calculating, gauging the shift in her mood, as if searching for an explanation.
Camila tries to keep her face impassive. She tries to bury the rising anger from being interrogated so intrusively.
She thinks that Lauren will continue pestering. If there's one thing she is, it's persistent. But surprisingly, Lauren's wary gaze turns away. She runs a hand through her hair.
Camila's eyes find Dinah from over Lauren's shoulder.
She gives her a disappointed shake of the head.
And Camila feels the disappointment shoot right through her. A stab of guilt wells up from the wound, expelling the rush of negative emotions until it all trickles out into emptiness.
Shame crawls its way inside to replace the guilt. And Camila can't meet Lauren's eye. Not like this. She knows the drop in mood is her own fault.
A part of her resents herself for ruining whatever common ground they've almost come to. Another part wants to recoil away from Lauren. The larger part pleads with her to fix this before it gets worse.
She chooses the latter.
Camila exhales loudly. Defeated.
"Can't we just say we're friends now and leave it at that?" Camila pleads.
Lauren gazes sharpens.
"I just don't want to get into it," Camila continues when she doesn't verbally respond. "Not now." Probably not ever, if she's being honest.
"Why not?"
"It's just," Camila pauses, searching for the words. Everything feels disturbingly fragile. Camila wonders how things took this sudden turn from their awkward tension. "I want to be your friend, Lauren."
Lauren's eyebrows pull together in confusion.
"I think it would be pointless to bring up all of the stuff that happened because it doesn't matter anymore," Camila says. "And whatever we have going on now – it's good enough for me. I don't want to ruin it."
Whatever Lauren looks like she wanted to say disappears the moment her gaze softens. Camila's chest aches.
"Me either," she murmurs gently.
"We're on the same page, right?"
Lauren doesn't say anything for a long moment. For a second, Camila fears that she's gone off and said the wrong thing again. And whatever mutual understanding they are in is completely shattered with her childish request.
It's all the more nerve-wrecking because Camila can't read her. She can't read Lauren's expression. She can't discern the knit of her eyebrows or the firm straight line of her lips.
There's much she wants to say, Camila knows that at the very least. She feels it deep, down in her aching chest.
Lauren finally heaves out a sigh, offering a reassuring smile. It calms her anxiety immediately. "Yeah, we're on the same page, Camz."
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Lauren returns home shortly after their much needed conversation. Though she says everything is fine, Camila still has that nagging feeling that she did something wrong. Which is stupid. Because Camila is pretty sure she did a damn good job reining in her frustration the direction of the conversation was going.
"I did the right thing," Camila mumbles, eyes following the mouse on her computer screen. It's been hours after Lauren has left. Dipping out before her father arrived from work.
Camila still finds it kind of amusing how Lauren developed such an irrational fear of her father.
Dinah hums beside her.
"If you say so," she replies, making Camila side eye her.
"What's that supposed to mean?" she demands.
Dinah gives a noncommittal shrug. "If you say so," she repeats, irritating Camila further.
Camila doesn't engage in an argument. Despite the day barely falling into its afternoon descent, she's absolutely exhausted. She feels pulled and all too emotionally wound.
Waking up at the crack of dawn to go to Normani's house certainly was a contributing factor, but Camila really thinks it's the heavy exchange of conversations.
Her eyes scan over the folder of videos on her computer. She clicks on a random video file, watching as the camera catches a shot of waves crashing. She hears Dinah's laughter flutter in the background. But as the video continues to play – finally showing Normani lounging beneath a beach umbrella and Ally applying sun block – she finds it disturbingly difficult concentrating on what's playing in front of her.
Lauren comes into view, rifling through her beach bag and pulling out her book. Camila's mind strays to her neighbor.
Unable to sit still. Unable to focus upon anything for more than a few minutes. She considers texting Lauren. But the thought seems almost silly.
She had literally just seen her only a few hours ago.
Her eyes flicker over to her phone beside her. The urge becomes more tempting as the minutes tick by. Camila's sure she would've already sent a text had she not been under Dinah's pointed stare.
With a huff, Camila shoves her phone beneath the nearest pillow and crosses her arms over her chest.
Dinah lifts an eyebrow, almost accusingly.
"I wasn't gonna text her," Camila protests.
"Mmhmm."
The video on the screen continues playing. She watches for a few seconds distractedly. Before sighing, and closing the laptop shut. She flops down against the nearest pillow, feeling discontent.
"Again with the sighing," Dinah mutters as she inspects her nails.
"I'm bored," Camila admits which immediately causes Dinah to stop what she's doing and look up at her incredulously.
"You know that's funny, considering what an eventful day you had," Dinah responds.
"Today was exhausting," Camila replies wearily. "I wanna do something fun."
"Fun like stealing the shopping carts and racing down the street type fun or tearing off Lauren's clothes kind of fun?"
"Dinah," Camila whines.
"This is a serious question."
Camila's eyes narrow into a glare. "What are you insinuating?"
"I don't know what that means," Dinah responds airily.
"That was literally your favorite word in fourth grade," Camila deadpans. "You used it against our teachers all the time whenever you got into trouble."
Dinah shrugs a shoulder, seemingly unaffected by the fact she drops. Camila frowns.
"You think I messed things up with Lauren, don't you-"
"-I think," Dinah says loudly, overpowering Camila mid question. "that denial ain't just a river in Africa."
Camila's frown deepens into a pout. But she chooses to ignore that comment. And not give a response.
"Anyway," Camila mutters, swift to change the subject. "I wanna do something fun like crossing something off my list kind of fun," Camila snaps.
"Hm, so the second one."
She scowls at that response. But again, chooses not to answer. Instead, she reaches into her pocket, and pulls out her original list. It's crumpled, and some of the ink has smudged. She then pulls out the list Lauren's friends had made.
"I need to make another one," Camila murmurs, unfolding the paper.
"Oh god please no more lists," Dinah complains dramatically. "I already forgot what exactly you even wanted to do."
"I did too," Camila sighs, reading over the bullet points. She feels she's probably talking about more than just the things on the list.
Camila glances over to her pillow, the one currently hiding her cell phone. She chews her lip, feeling her hands ache to grab it.
"Oh my god just text her already!" Dinah snaps.
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As it turns out, Lauren was also on the verge of texting her as well. Or at least that's what she claims as she replies to Camila's invitation to hang out. Again.
Relief floods into her system as Camila darts around her room, getting ready. She throws her shoes on, grabs her cell phone, and heads out the door.
"Whoa, where are you going this late?" Her dad's voice stops her in her tracks.
Camila turns on the spot. "Oh, I'm just going next door." She indicates a thumb towards the house over.
Her mom and dad exchange a look. One that sets Camila on edge.
"Mija," her father begins in a tone that already begins to irritate her. "It's late."
"It's seven," Camila deadpans.
"We noticed you've been spending a lot of time with Lauren recently," her dad continues, ignoring her comment.
"So?" Camila demands.
Her father looks suddenly uncomfortable. A blotchy blush, one that Camila recognizes because she's inherited this unfortunate side effect, forms on his face. "You can talk to us, mija. About anything."
She's mortified as she begins to realize where this is going.
Camila groans, bringing a hand to her forehead. She rubs at her eyes, frustrated. "Lauren and I are just friends."
Her parents exchange a look. Camila gets the distinct impression that they must have rehearsed this approach because then her mom is speaking.
"I want you to be careful," she says.
"What is it that you think I'm gonna do?" Camila asks incredulously. "It's not like I'm going out and doing drugs or getting pregnant or anything crazy like that."
"Aha, that they're aware of," Dinah remarks, amused.
"We're just hanging out. Isn't that what you guys want me to do? Have friends?"
"Of course, you're right. It's just..." her mom trails off. She struggles for a moment. "We saw how things with Lauren turned out in the past. I don't want you to get your hopes up if she happens to... disappoint you again."
Camila blanches as she process the words her mother is saying.
God, was she that fucking transparent that her parents knew about her stupid crush?
Her eyes dart to Dinah. The pointed stare is enough of a confirmation.
"Lauren is a nice girl," her mom continues. "We will always love her and all of your friends. We just don't want to see you hurt again, mija."
"It's not like that," Camila says exasperatedly.
But before she can continue, Sofi walks in clutching her freshly enveloped letter. Her eyes move from Camila's to their mother's.
"Camila's not allowed to go to Lauren's house?" She asks aloud.
Her father clears his throat awkwardly. Another annoying habit Camila's picked up. "Of course she can go to Lauren's house."
Camila smiles at Sofi warmly. Her sister is her saving grace. She almost resists the urge to pick her up and spin her around.
"Good. I miss Lauren," Sofi continues. "She should come over tomorrow."
Her parents' demeanors change at the suggestion. "That's a great idea. Bring her over for dinner tomorrow," her mother says brightly.
Camila grimaces. She could literally wring Sofi's neck at this moment.
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.
.
"Dinner with the in-laws," Dinah sings teasingly, moments after Camila escapes the further interrogation. In her frustration, she struggles to hop over the fence. "I mean it could be worse."
"How could it possibly be worse?" Camila huffs, gingerly touching the splinter that's now lodged in her palm. She picks herself up from the floor, feeling a disturbing sense of déjà vu as she dusts herself off.
At least it's not four in the morning this time, she thinks to herself.
"They could've caught you in your lie," Dinah says finally. Camila rounds on her. "It's not like they haven't seen the hickey."
Camila slaps a hand over neck, but remembers she doesn't have a hickey...that high up neck. "We're just friends!"
"Oh my god, calm down crazy. I meant you guys could've been caught in a compromising position," Dinah snaps with an eye roll. "How would you explain that?"
Camila grimaces. "I don't know."
"Exactly." Dinah grins impishly.
Camila pauses by the window, shifting her weight between her feet. Dinah glances at her curiously.
"Are you gonna do this every time you sneak inside her room?"
Camila glares at her. But moves to knock. Camila's knuckles rap against glass surface. Lauren approaches the window, and tugs it open.
"Hey," she greets. Camila looks up at her. She takes in the outfit change, noticing with sudden acute attention that Lauren is wearing her hoodie. It shouldn't matter. It really shouldn't. But if it did matter and if Camila cared enough, she'd realize that this is the second sweater Lauren's stolen from her.
And if she ever gave them back, Camila's sure they'd more than likely smell like her too. And if they smell like her –
Lauren realizes what she's looking at so intently. "Sorry I never gave it back," she says, as she begins to unzip it.
"It's fine. Keep it," Camila interjects abruptly. Lauren stops mid-zip, eyeing her warily. "Can I come inside?"
Lauren moves aside to let Camila climb in through the window.
Camila's eyes do a once over of the room. She notices Lauren's touches have lingered in a way that wasn't present before. The boxes are still stacked up against the wall. But Lauren's mess is scattered about. Clothes. Make-up.
She notices that she's put up stringed lights on her wall, leaving the room in a soft warm glow.
"I like the lights," Camila comments, gesturing towards them.
"Yeah, I put those up yesterday," Lauren responds.
Lauren rocks before on her feet and Camila stands beside her awkwardly. Lauren clears her throat suddenly, capturing Camila's undivided attention.
"So, uh, what did you wanna do?" Lauren asks.
"I need you to help me," Camila states. Immediately Lauren's expression shifts into concern.
"Help?"
"Yes." Camila digs into the back pocket of her jeans and pulls out the crumpled lists. She unfolds the paper and holds them out for Lauren to see. "With rewriting my list."
Lauren sighs in relief. "Oh my god, you made it seem like it was something terrible." Lauren chuckles nervously. "You're not gonna say you need me to have sex with you now, right?"
"What? No," Camila stammers. "I was thinking we could have some PF time."
"PF time?" Lauren supplies dubiously.
"PF Chang time?" Dinah perks up. "That place is so boujie. I'm down."
"Platonic Friend time," Camila affirms, ignoring Dinah's comment.
"Right," Lauren nods slowly, looking on the verge of laughter. "So what did you have in mind for...PF time?"
Camila gestures at the lists in her hand, still held out for Lauren to take.
Lauren grabs the lists, looking over them, before running a hand through her hair. "I thought you were just gonna do what Veronica wrote down."
"I mean yeah they're good ideas. And I'll probably steal some of them," Camila murmurs, taking the lists back as Lauren hands them over. "But I think it's kind of important that I finish my own list."
"I agree."
Lauren gestures for her to take a seat and Camila does at the edge of her bed. Lauren moves to sit beside her. And similar to their earlier encounter, Camila is hyperaware that Lauren sits a little too close.
"Are you just saying that so I can throw out all of the sexual items on the list?"
Lauren flushes. "You weren't really considering that, were you?"
It's Camila's turn to flush. "Of course not."
"Mmhmm," Dinah hums doubtfully, eyes darting between the two.
Lauren looks just about as convinced as Dinah, but she doesn't comment further. Instead, she rises from her seat, putting a considerable amount of distance between them. Camila feels like she can breathe properly again.
Lauren fiddles around her desk and when she returns, she comes with a notebook and a blue colored pencil.
Camila holds the pencil up with narrowed eyes.
"Really?"
"All of my things are back in LA," Lauren huffs. "Forgive me for only having colored pencils on me."
"I'm not criticizing that," Camila murmurs, flipping open the notebook. She recognizes Lauren's scrawl as she briefly reads over her MicroEcon notes. She keeps flipping until she finds an empty page. "You gave me the blue one. You know my favorite color is green."
Lauren plops down next to her, leaving a respectable gap between them. "To be fair this is Blue-Green."
Camila rolls the pencil until she can see the words. "I never understood why someone thought this was a good name for a color. Like, way to state the obvious."
"Maybe that's the charm of it," Lauren reasons. "It's so obvious that it's kind of genius."
Camila writes down the number one against the margins. "Yeah. Still not a good argument."
"Okay, well what about people who combine last names? It's kind of the same concept."
"Still dumb," Camila mutters.
Lauren sits up straighter. Immediately, Camila recognizes this posture as Lauren prepares for a debate. Some thing she was all too familiar with.
Lauren was always the more outspoken of their friends. Ready to let her convictions be known.
Camila remembers once in middle school Lauren sat them all down and gave them a power point lecture exposing the unfair treatment Fleur Delacour suffered and the blatant internalized misogyny she faced from the other characters throughout the latter end of the series.
Normani had been on her sidekick the entire time (the first of the group to actually get a phone). Dinah had fallen asleep half way through the lecture. Ally was the only one diligently taking notes and asking questions. While Camila had been too busy ogling the teacher.
"What? Are you kidding?" Lauren demands.
"Um, no."
"So you mean to tell me, you're one hundred percent okay with taking your future hus –" Lauren stops, as if remembering herself. "- whoever's last name?"
"I don't want a mouthful for a last name," Camila responds airily. "And don't you think it's more like – I don't know – romantic taking your partner's last name? It's like sealing the deal. Tying your soul permanently to your match that it's evident in something as simple as who you identify as? Like leaving a romantic declarative footprint everywhere you sign your name."
"Like combining last names doesn't reinforce that," Lauren says sarcastically. "Camz, there's literal evidence of tying your souls together with a hyphen."
"You know nobody even reads past the first name anyway. Think of the couple's potential kids. They'd be the kid with their name cut off because it would be way too long."
"Hey," Dinah snaps, affronted.
Lauren rolls her eyes.
"Oh come off it," Camila snaps. "Does Camila Jauregui-Cabello even sound that nice? No, it's weird. Just leave it at Jauregui and we're done."
Camila doesn't even realize what she's said or the implications at first. She expects Lauren's heated retort, welcomes it in fact. But when she's met with absolute silence is when she begins to realize how very much in the wrong she is.
Camila looks up to find Lauren with a deer in headlights expression. Crimson face.
She glances over to Dinah, who has stuffed her fist in her mouth to keep from laughing.
Camila backpedals hastily. "I meant, like, as an example," She stammers, her face boiling over. "Not that I want to marry you. Because I don't."
"Okay," Lauren supplies weakly. "Um, yeah, me either."
"Cool," Camila says stiffly.
"Cool."
Dinah sobers, wiping the tears from the laughter. "Congratulations you played yourself."
Camila doesn't comment. Too embarrassed to meet Lauren's eye.
"I'm gonna get back to the list," She announces, hoping to dispel the awkwardness that, for some reason, feels ten times worse than the one they were in earlier.
"Good idea," Lauren mumbles.
Camila coughs nervously, returning to the notebook in her lap. She trains her gaze upon the lined paper. But she watches Lauren through her peripheral.
Lauren scoots away, moving her legs up on the bed, until she's reclining. The new position gives her more leeway to glance at her without being so obvious. Not that she wants to.
Camila reads through the list aloud, pausing over potential ideas.
"Alright so I think it'd be pretty redundant to write the ones I've already done," Camila mutters, as she flattens the first list against her thigh.
"Maybe it's better to include them. It shows you're completing it," Lauren suggests.
The next hour is spent going through both lists. She makes sure to rewrite the things she's already done. Seeing the crossed out ones do serve to give her a sense of accomplishment.
It's amiable. Camila had doubts of that being entirely possible especially given their almost fight earlier. Lauren is helpful. And the distance between them isn't distracting. She almost sticks her tongue out at Dinah. Just to prove her wrong.
With the music softly playing in the background, Camila almost thinks this could be happening a year ago. She could picture them on Lauren's bed hatching up this silly summer bucket list, and giggle and blush over the different ideas. She could picture them painting each other's toes after this. She could almost see Lauren insisting upon trying to do her make-up at some point.
It's all painfully familiar.
The excitement of completion dwindles by the next half hour, after adding and vetoing ideas, Camila struggles.
She drums the colored pencil against the notebook, as the thoughts run up blank. Lauren stares up at her from her position on the bed, chin propped up against a pillow and legs stretched out against the headboard.
Lauren looks incredibly young, lying on her stomach staring up at her with an expectant face. Her cheeks squish together slightly from leaning against the pillow, and Camila feels the sudden urge to pull at them.
It's a stupid urge. One that she hasn't felt in such a long time, even after becoming reunited with Lauren.
Lauren leans forward, peering over Camila's hand.
"Why not just cut it at twelve?" Lauren asks.
"Twelve is such a weird number to end it," Camila huffs.
"As opposed to thirteen?"
"Thirteen is a lucky number," Camila replies.
"Thought that was seven," Dinah mumbles beside them.
"Does it really matter?" Lauren asks. Camila makes a face. "Okay, give me the old one," Lauren says. Camila gives her the crumpled list Veronica wrote out. She watches as green eyes scan the wrinkled paper. "We'll just go down the line again. What have you got so far?"
She hums thoughtfully after reading each one. Camila watches her carefully.
"It's not dumb, right?"
When Lauren is finished she glances up at her, eyebrow raised. "No. Not if these are things you really want to do," She says.
"They are things I want to do. But the more I think about it, the more I'm beginning to wonder how the hell I'm gonna manage to do them," Camila admits.
"Well that's what I'm here for. To help with the execution, duh," Lauren replies playfully. She shifts, moving to lean her head against her hand. The new position lets Lauren angle her face up towards Camila. And Camila gets a better view of her expression.
Camila takes in her appearance. The easy smile adorning her lips. The soft crinkle of her green eyes. The way her wavy hair tumbles over the side of her shoulder. Camila sees a few strands tucked beneath the elbow Lauren is leaning against. And she knows that when she moves her hair is going to get caught.
As if noticing her sudden acute focus, Lauren moves to sit up, elbow snagging the ends of her hair.
It's almost unfair how Lauren casually looks so attractive. How effortless it all is, even when Lauren is wincing and gingerly rubbing her head.
Camila clears her throat and returns her attention to her list, before any more non platonic friend things run through her mind.
"You're gonna give me a tattoo then?" Camila asks sardonically, glancing over her list and spotting number twelve.
"No," Lauren responds. "But I can help figure out what you want exactly. The bow, right?"
"I was kidding about that," Camila laughs. "No. I want something ..." Camila pauses. Her eyes travel to Dinah, sitting cross-legged on the floor. She shoots Camila a cheeky grin, to which Camila rolls her eyes. "More personal."
Lauren looks thoughtful for a moment, before nodding.
"Maybe you should try drawing it out before picking a tattoo artist."
"You know I can't draw for shit," Camila sighs, thinking briefly back to dick doodles and dumb mustaches.
"I can confirm," Dinah chimes in cheerfully.
"Aw, Camz I thought your drawings were abstract," Lauren teases.
Camila rolls her eyes, choosing not to respond to either of those comments.
"Well have you decided where you want it?" Lauren asks.
"Not really. Wherever it hurts the least, I guess," Camila mutters.
"We should practice."
"Practice?"
At this, Lauren immediately springs from her seat. She hurries over to her desk, rifling through several drawers before pulling out what she's looking for. When she comes back to the bed, Camila recognizes what Lauren's found.
"You had markers this entire time and you've been making me write with unsharpened colored pencils?" Camila demands incredulously.
Lauren ignores the question, moving to sit beside her.
"We'll start..." Lauren trails off with a hum, giving Camila a once over. A small blush blooms across her face from this sudden attention. "Here," Lauren says, grabbing Camila's wrist.
Lauren uncaps the marker with her teeth. And honestly, Camila shouldn't find that even remotely sexy. Lauren is literally just chewing a piece of plastic.
But it draws Camila's attention to her mouth. And when she thinks of her mouth she thinks of what she could be doing to that mouth. And suddenly everything about this activity feels incredibly far away from just platonic.
She barely feels the wet tip of the marker gliding against her skin. She becomes more focused on the way Lauren's fingertips press firmly against the inner part of her arm. She idly wonders if they'll leave a mark. Then promptly flushes when she's realized what she's thought of.
Lauren pulls away, bringing the cap in her mouth to snap against the back part of the marker.
"How's that?" she asks.
Camila swallows thickly, tearing her gaze away before Lauren realizes what she's looking at exactly, and stares down upon Lauren's drawing. It's a tiny green heart, filled in indefinitely.
"Looks good," Camila sputters.
"But you know, I've been thinking of getting a tattoo here," Lauren says, moving up her arm. She marks that part of skin with another heart. "Maybe just my birthday or something." She adds thoughtfully.
"Maybe," Camila replies thickly.
"Or you could get it where I got my tattoo," Lauren says, not noticing the way Camila's mood has shifted. "Just – uh – lift up your hair for a moment."
Camila does so mechanically. As if she's already lost the function of her limbs that are starting to feel like jelly. She grabs at her hair with both hands, holding it up in a half formed bun, and exposing the back of her neck.
She feels Lauren's fingers first, padding gently across her skin, making her shiver involuntarily. She knows Lauren's noticed, if the sharp intake of breath isn't an obvious indication it's probably the way Lauren seems a lot closer than necessary to draw a fake tattoo.
"There," Lauren sounds farther away. Camila is thankful because now she feels like she can breathe.
"Where else?" Camila turns around to face her.
Everything is charged. There's a hum in the air that demands to be recognized. To be acknowledged. To be indulged.
"I mean you can get a tattoo on your forehead if you really want," Lauren says with a small chuckle.
"Well where else have you seen people with tattoos?" Camila knows it's a stupid question. She just a feels a desperate need to keep the tension afloat.
"I know Lucy's got a tattoo on her rib," Lauren responds after a moment.
The answer annoys Camila more than it entices her. The fact that Lauren would even know that Lucy had one in that particular spot does nothing but remind her that they've had sex.
"I want it there," Camila says abruptly.
That snaps Lauren's attention immediately. "What?"
"I mean, I want to see what it looks like here," Camila says, gesturing to her right rib.
Lauren looks at a loss for words. Her mouth hangs open slightly. Then she looks as if she shook out whatever thought she's had. And if Camila had any doubts that Lauren didn't feel the titillating buzz growing between them, the way Lauren's eyes focus in sharply upon her face shatters those uncertainties.
Camila flushes, averting her gaze. Something like the list, the rules, the guidelines runs through her head.
"Lay down," Lauren instructs.
And maybe this was moving faster than Camila could keep up with.
"What?" Camila blanches. "Why can't I stand up?"
"It's just easier that way," Lauren responds. "You gonna lay down or not?" She nudges Camila's shoulder.
Camila huffs, but allows herself to be gently pushed down on her back. The moment Lauren hovers over her is when she realizes that perhaps this may have been a lapse of judgment...of epic proportions.
But she lifts up her shirt without being told, just below the edge of her bra.
Lauren's fingers are warm as the gently pad against her skin. Goosebumps immediately prickle up on her flesh the moment she first feels Lauren's fingertips brush against skin.
Involuntarily, she sucks in a sharp breath, making the muscles of her stomach contract. Lauren's focused gaze darts up to meet her flushed face when she lays a palm flat against he rib.
"Hold still or I'm gonna draw a mustache on your face," Lauren chides. But her voice is so soft and velvety, she could be saying absolutely anything and Camila would think it would be so far from a scolding.
Camila swallows thickly. Her fingers play with the sheets of Lauren's unmade bed. It doesn't help that it smells just like Lauren.
Why wouldn't it smell like Lauren it's her fucking bed you idi –
"That tickles," Camila responds shakily, as Lauren moves her palm away.
Lauren's lips form a smirk. "Sorry. I forgot how ticklish you were."
"I'm not ticklish," Camila huffs. "And no that wasn't an invitation to prove me wrong," she adds hastily.
Lauren lets out a soft laugh. "I wasn't going to. But seriously hold still."
Camila tries. It's a valiant effort really, but the moment Lauren's hands are back on her, she feels her heart beat pound. And the urge to fidget becomes incredibly distracting. As distracting as the way Lauren's fingertips press into her flesh.
And she can't help it. Her mind running away with images that make it difficult to even look up into Lauren's concentrated face.
Nails digging into skin.
And then Camila feels the cold tip of the pen, dragging against her flesh in what Camila hopes is something good. She can't discern the shape entirely. But it doesn't exactly feel like a heart.
She tries to focus on something else besides the dirty thoughts that occupy her head. And funnily enough the next thing that comes into her gaze is Lauren's face. Her attention narrows in upon her features. Studying the soft pull of her thick eyebrows. The roundness of the curve of her cheeks, pale and clear of any blemishes.
Her eyes sweep over the bridge of her nose, and falling quite unceremoniously on her mouth. Lips tucked beneath a set of straight teeth.
"There," Lauren says happily, pulling away. Camila feels a stab of mortification with the way her body betrays her. Almost begs her to pull her back in. Grab her wrist. Bring her close –
Camila blinks rapidly.
It's stupid how much her body hums beneath Lauren's hands and she's not even really touching her. It's ridiculous – being this affected not even a full day after establishing their boundaries. It's almost as if her fate has decided to screw her over in the most internal way. Hormones.
Lauren's eyes meet hers and they widen. She must look like an idiot, Camila thinks vaguely. A dopey, stupid look on her face. It must be red. She expects Lauren to laugh. She expects a teasing remark and for the mood to lift into something humorous at her expense.
In fact she welcomes it. Anxiously waits for it.
She doesn't expect Lauren to freeze.
"Is this still PF time?"
"Huh?" Camila rasps out, not realizing how dry her mouth has become.
Lauren's eyes narrow, distracting her with how they've darkened over the span of a mere few seconds.
Something stirs within Camila. Something heady and primal. Something with heat that flares its way across her body from the very spot Lauren's hands rest.
Maybe they're exchanging that rapid body heat. Perhaps the same feverish energy, Camila begins to feel boil in her core, has derived from some place within Lauren as well.
The thought sends a thrill of excitement through her. It pumps in her chest, sparking a dance along the beat of her quickening pulse.
"Platonic friend time," Lauren clarifies at Camila's confusion
The fact that the ridiculous title doesn't seem to make either of them react is telling. Enough for Camila.
Lauren's fingers curl. Camila nearly lets out a groan when she feels fingernails dig into her skin.
"Platonic friend time," Camila stutters shakily. "Right. That was fun."
Lauren's fingers uncurl, and then she feels the press of her hot palms against her stomach.
What did she want to say again?
Her gaze transfixes upon Lauren's lips. The way the bottom lip tucks beneath her teeth, blatantly glowering at them, uncaring of how obvious she's being.
Before she knows it, Lauren shifts moving up closer to her face. An arm stretches out, and through her peripheral vision Camila sees Lauren rest her hand near her ear.
Lauren's hair creates a soft half curtain around their faces. The stray strands tickle Camila's heated cheek, distracting for a moment. A moment is enough time for Lauren to lean in even closer.
"Is this okay?" Her voice has lowered, making the goose bumps erupt on Camila's flesh. She shivers involuntarily, letting the tingling slither down her spine and pool down to her toes.
Lauren's palm on her stomach clenches slightly, unintentionally urging Camila into an answer.
Her head is fuzzy now. Something that suspiciously sounds like the rules, the guidelines fades out into the back of her mind as she feels the brush of Lauren's nose.
"Yeah," Camila breathes.
She doesn't get the chance to say anything more because then Lauren's lips are upon hers. Moving with a fervor that makes her stomach flutter beneath Lauren's warm palm.
And Camila wonders why it took them so long to get to this part again. Why she was even worried in the first place. Why she didn't talk to Lauren sooner so that they could be doing this. Platonic friend time what?
Her hands come up to card through Lauren's hair, fingers tangling almost aggressively in the long locks. She tugs at them helplessly when Lauren sucks on her bottom lip and pulls away with an absurdly provocative, wet pop.
A short-lived reprieve, before Camila is tugging her back in for another one. A deeper one. One that has her toes curling and her heart pounding loudly in her chest.
Camila sighs into the kiss, expelling all of the pent up energy into the way her mouth moves. In the way her teeth graze Lauren's bottom lip. In the way she lets Lauren's tongue find purchase to the contours of her mouth. Shifting and sliding against her own.
Lauren's hand moves, until she can feel fingertips against her ribcage.
It's overwhelming and not enough at the same time. She wants ... she wants ...
She knows she hears the bedroom door open, but it isn't until she hears Dinah's loud voice yelling: "Abort abort! Operation sexy times is a no-go!" that Camila reacts.
She breaks the kiss, head swiveling to the door and the sight makes her blanch.
Standing at the doorway, with her arms crossed, is Lauren's mother.
Immediately Camila feels her face boil over, and not in the good way.
Lauren scrambles off of her, and Camila uses that time to hastily pull her shirt back down.
"Mom," Lauren stammers out. She runs a hand through her hair, fixing the strands out of place.
She'd never exactly been on the receiving end of one of Clara's stern expressions. Always watching on the sidelines whenever Lauren would get scolded. But it's something she can safely say she never wants to receive. Camila pretty much feels like shriveling up and dying under Clara's steely glare.
For as long as Camila remembers, Clara has always kind of been – intense.
Probably where Lauren gets it from.
Camila thinks it probably has to do with the fact that she was a high school teacher. She was the type of lady that walks into a room and demands that kind of utmost respect. Not that Camila blames her. High school kids could be such little shits sometimes.
Camila would rather take on the Mikeanator with his baseball bat over Clara's stony silence.
Clara's gaze focuses in upon Lauren.
"Outside. Now." She gestures to her daughter.
Lauren heaves a little sigh as she extricates herself from the bed and follows her mother out. The door snaps shut behind them, leaving Camila a disheveled mess on the bed.
Dinah peeks at her through her covered eyes. "Can I look now? Is everyone dressed?"
Camila doesn't even have the effort to respond sarcastically. Her heart is hammering, and for once it isn't because of that arousal slip up. Panic seeps into her veins as she moves to sit up from the bed.
A part of her – an embarrassingly large part – wants to jump out the window and run back home.
Camila lifts her shirt up; she glances down at the fake tattoo Lauren drew. It is a heart, but Lauren went so far as to intricately draw an arrow piercing through it.
It's after she pulls her shirt down that she decides to stay.
"I'm psychic," Dinah exclaims. "Didn't I say that something like this would happen?"
"More like a jinx," Camila groans.
"Ouch that hurt."
"What? No clapback? Who are you and what have you done with Dinah Jane?"
"Who am I?" Dinah comes to sit beside her. She crosses her legs with a dramatic flair that Camila doesn't fully register. "Who am I?! I am the guardian of lost souls! I am the powerful, the pleasurable, the indestructible Dinah!"
"Not that I don't appreciate your Disney references," Camila begins exasperatedly. "But, Lauren's mother just walked in on us making out and I'm pretty sure Clara is scolding the shit out of Lauren because they're taking way too long."
She starts to worry when it's been more than five minutes. She remembers how bad the scolding could get.
In fact she remembers on a few occasions she would try to take the blame so Lauren wouldn't get in trouble. Of course Clara never exactly believed her. Always assumed she was a good girl who never participated in bad behavior.
A wave of nausea hits her as she begins to realize how badly the whole thing must have looked.
She almost has a sudden urge to run up and convince Clara that she was still a good noodle. Maybe a little dry, and broken, and roughed up a bit but still good.
The thought, however stupid it begins to sound, vanishes when Lauren steps back into the room.
Camila notices the immediate drop in mood. A grimace mars the lips Camila was just moments ago kissing.
The thought of kissing wilts pathetically when Camila realizes Lauren's eyes are glossy.
She startles when she sees Camila, as if she'd forgotten that she was in here in her room. Quickly, she brings the sleeve of her sweater to wipe at her eyes.
"Um," Lauren stammers thickly. She averts her gaze, and Camila feels a stab of rejection. "Did it dry yet?"
It takes her a few seconds to understand what she's said. She lifts up her shirt to show it. Lauren spares her rib a brief glance before averting her eyes completely.
"It looks good," Camila offers.
"My mom said you have to go home now," Lauren blurts out. And the way she says it - so petulantly. Camila can't help but be reminded to the child version of Lauren telling that play time is over.
"Oh," Camila mutters awkwardly. "So I should probably go? It is kind of getting late."
She checks her phone and sees that it's already 10.
"I told her that you can go home whenever you want to."
Camila gasps. "Oh my god why would you tell her that!"
"Because she can't tell me what to do. Not anymore."
"I mean she did catch us in a compromising position," Camila reasons. She expects Lauren to get embarrassed, or do that cute little chuckle she does.
She doesn't anticipate Lauren getting angry. A few profanities fall out, along with scathing murmurs under her breath. Camila thinks she might hear the words insufferable and hypocritical among them. But Camila gets the distinct impression that Lauren isn't talking to her anymore.
Camila is frozen. Rooted to the spot. A million and one questions filter into her head. As if finally noticing her, Lauren relents.
"Sorry, my mom is just being..." Lauren trails off, huffing.
"It shows she cares."
"She does not care," Lauren interjects harshly. The sudden aggressive tone startles Camila, which makes Lauren visibly soften. "Sorry. It's – nothing."
Lauren looks as if she wants to say more, but instead she shakes her head, and seemingly drops the subject. "Do you want to get pancakes or something?"
.
.
.
They agree to meet up at Lauren's car - well Lauren's father's car - around midnight. It wouldn't raise any suspicions if Camila looked like she was going home and staying home. And it gave Camila an opportunity to play pretend to her own parents.
So when the hour came, Camila quietly crawled out of her window, turning to close it with a crack open. Then she quickly sets out to the car.
Lauren greets her with a silent wave, before unlocking the car.
"Does your dad know you're leaving?" Camila asks as she closes the door after settling inside.
"No," Lauren admits. There's a tone of mischief in her voice.
"What? Won't he get mad?"
"If he finds out I took his car without telling him," Lauren responds nonchalantly.
Camila eyes her critically. Lauren had always had a bit of a wild streak to her, but directly defying her parents was something new. She watches as Lauren turns the car on, wondering if this is a new trait she missed out on during their year separated.
Lauren quickly pulls out of the driveway and zooms down the street. She eyes Camila.
"Relax, I've done this before."
"That doesn't sound very reassuring," Dinah says from the backseat. Camila silently agrees, saying no more to the comment. Instead, allowing the music from the stereo to gently fill the conversation.
The muggy temperature has dropped into a cool, night breeze. Lauren leaves the windows rolled down as she drives. The wind whips at Camila's face. A welcome change from the heated flush that graced her cheeks for the majority of the day.
Camila leans against the headrest, closing her eyes. She lets the music flow in her ears and dance around her, reverberating inside and flowing out into the night air.
Warmth permeates the confines of the car. It thickens and spreads, wrapping around Camila snugly. It's familiar and soothing, settling the nerves she's felt bundling up.
They're at the restaurant before Camila fully snaps out of her melancholic mood.
Camila glances up at the sign and feels a frown forming, as she steps out of the car.
"Really? You took me to IHOP?"
"I already feel my wallet crying," Dinah says with a whine.
"Ally would probably kill us if she knew we were in here," Lauren says as she holds the door open for Camila.
"The ultimate act of betrayal... to Waffle House," Camila affirms. Lauren giggles, following closely behind.
The restaurant is empty, save for a few couples, and what looks like a table of slightly inebriated girls. Camila feels her lips tug into a smile as she watches the girls laugh. It's a complete coincidence that there are five of them.
A waiter quickly guides them down the aisle to an empty booth. Menus are distributed and drink orders are taken.
"I hate this place," Dinah mutters, peering over Camila's menu book. "If I'm gonna waste eight dollars of my hard earned money for a fucking pancake..."
Camila scans the breakfast items, falling to an ostentatious stack of sugared, red velvet pancakes.
The one thing she hated about coming to restaurants (besides the wait time). The fact that there were always so many different options and none of them made her choices any easier.
Camila remembers all the times she and her friends went out to eat. Camila would always be the indecisive one, staring up at all of them menu items. She could spend over ten minutes picking and choosing, much to the annoyance of her friends.
Once she'd spent twenty minutes at Baskin Robbins stressing over the different flavors. She probably would've spent even more time with her face pressed against the glass had Dinah (completely fed up, impatient and with an overwhelming craving for chocolate because of her period) pushed her aside and chose for her.
Needless to say, Camila left the ice cream parlor incredibly pissed off and with a pathetic scoop of plain Vanilla.
"I already know what I want," Lauren announces.
Camila looks up over her book, eyebrows rising. "You barely even looked at it."
Lauren shrugs. "I already know what I want."
Camila's lips purse. Her eyebrows narrow suspiciously as she regards Lauren.
Lauren simply smiles prettily as she closes her menu book and interlaces her hands together.
"Decided yet?"
Camila returns her gaze to the menu. "No."
When the waiter returns with two coffees, he pulls out his pen and waits for their order.
Lauren must read the panic on her face, because then she leans across the table. "If you want we can just share," she suggests.
Camila jumps on the chance. "Yeah, let's do that."
Lauren's lips quirk into a smile, as she leans back into her seat. "Alright. The red velvet pancakes then," Lauren addresses the waiter. When he leaves, Camila takes the opportunity to fix her coffee.
She takes a sip of it, and wrinkles her nose. She reaches to grab another packet of sugar and dumps it into her cup.
Lauren also takes a long sip and winces. "This coffee tastes like ass."
Camila chokes on her drink. Dinah snorts beside her.
"Why are we here if the coffee is so shitty?" Camila asks.
Lauren fiddles with the empty sugar packets. Camila watches as the few extra grains come spilling out against the table.
"I used to come here a lot when I didn't want to be home," Lauren mutters. "Mostly during senior year." Lauren seems to realize what she's implied because she quickly apologizes.
Camila knows that comment isn't unintentional. There's an unspoken comment beneath it. Because Camila knows if they were still talking in high school, Lauren would have come to her.
Camila chooses not to comment on that. Instead, she picks up on something Lauren's said.
"Why didn't you want to be at home?"
"Well who really does want be to at home?" Lauren shoots back playfully. Camila knows she's deflecting.
"You can talk to me," Camila says.
"Can I?" she asks, tilting her head.
Lauren regards her curiously. Green eyes scour her face, as if looking for any insincerity. She tries to keep her face impassive, tries to not react to the sudden intense gaze.
Lauren's eyes track the movement. Camila lets out a short sigh in relief of the focus being taken away from her.
But then Lauren's gaze returns to her face.
It feels like a jab. And from the way Lauren is looking at her, Camila probably assumes it isn't meant that way.
Camila sputters for a moment, choking on her coffee again.
It really does taste like ass.
"Of course you can. We're," Camila hesitates. "Friends."
Lauren's expression shifts into skepticism.
"Surprising coming from the person who never wants to talk about anything ever," Lauren remarks sharply. It stings. The honest truth. It's a blatant blow to their earlier conversation she knows. And for a fleeting moment she begins to think this is going to become one of those things that never goes away.
"Lauren," Camila begins wearily. She feels her hand curl up into a tight fist. "I'm trying."
Camila doesn't expect Lauren's hand to reach out. She doesn't expect her to gently pry her fist apart, nor does she expect the way Lauren's palm comes to cup the back of her hand.
"I know you are, Camz," Lauren says softly.
A gentle squeeze captures Camila's attention, and her eyes dart down to their hands over the table.
But before that potential subject can get brought up, the waiter returns with their food.
She's thankful for the interruption. Unable to face Lauren's, albeit gentle, accusation.
The food is enough of a distraction, pulling the topic away completely. Lauren watches as she takes a bite of the pancake.
"What's the verdict?" Lauren asks as Camila chews.
"Good."
Lauren smiles, as she brings a forkful of pancake into her mouth.
They sit in comfortable silence. Breaking only when Lauren clears her throat.
"So any thoughts on number thirteen?" Lauren asks after she takes a sip of her coffee. Camila takes out the new list she ripped out from Lauren's notebook. She spreads out against the table, and glances down at it. She feels a tug in her chest. A dull type of ache.
"I think I'll save it." Her eyes fall down to the last number with the empty space next to it.
Camila smiles down at the paper, before folding it up. She rises from her seat and sticks it in the back pocket of her jeans. Right next to the inappropriate list Camila claims she threw out.
"Please," Dinah says exasperatedly. "No more lists."
.
.
.
1.Sex
2.Graduate properly
3.Learn to drive
4. tampon
5.Go to a party
6.Clubbing
7.Alcohol
8.Weed
9.Concert
10.Go to Prom
11.Go on a roadtrip
12.Get a tattoo
13.
.
.
.
A/N: i felt that the bucket list needed to be said already. for visual and context aesthetic . also for some reason the crossed out ones aren't crossed out...so...idk...they're underlined
things are hopefully gonna pick up from here. angst fluff ...all that good stuff.
also i have this headcanon that dinah is really into disney idk (so those disney references aren't just placed there for no reason other than my personal enjoyment). it must be the simba she carries around. kind of funny that lauren carries around a nala too . (i'm laurinah af)
i'm trying to get a consistent updating routine down but i don't think it's working. originally i was gonna have this posted last weekend but i'm trash and it didn't happen. so the idea of posting every other week on a specific day has kinda gone out the window.
here's to hoping the next update is a lot sooner. THANKS FOR READING I LOVE YOU ALL :) <3
Next chapter edit (it's wild) is posted up on my ugly instagram: hwucstuff
also come say hi: handle-with-utmost-care.tumblr.com