It's only me who wants to wrap around your dreams.
***
I'd been waiting for a lifetime for this day to come. For a while it had seemed like high school would never end, but now it was here, the beginning of a new chapter. Rye was behind the wheel, sunglasses on, the wind from the open window whipping at our hair as we sped down the motorway, leaving behind our old life to start a new one. Just like we'd planned since we were kids.
My whole body was abuzz with excitement, but I knew Rye was a little disappointed that summer had come to an end. That was understandable because it had been an amazing one. Admittedly, it began on a sour note with a rather messy break up- my boyfriend of two years realising he wasn't willing to make our relationship work if it meant driving four hours up the country every weekend- and that had been shit. But I hadn't wasted too much time wallowing in self-pity, because Rye came up with the idea of a spontaneous road trip around Spain. It began with him showing me the beautiful town near Málaga where he grew up before he moved to England and met me, and after that we went on to adventure all over the country. It was too much fun; Rye speaking in broken Spanish with the locals as we traipsed our way from beach parties in Seville to crazy nights out in Barcelona. It was tapas and flamenco and way too much sangria and, ultimately, the best summer of our lives.
I was definitely sad to see summer go as well, but I was more than ready to start university. Because Rye and I had mapped out this part of our lives long ago, the part where we would finally leave our tiny hometown behind and become our peak adult selves. Together, of course.
I stared at Rye and let myself get lost in the moment, still hardly able to believe we were finally doing this. He had a casual hand on the staring wheel, his elbow on the other side hanging loosely out of the open window as he hummed along to the blasting music. Dreams by Fleetwood Mac was playing, his lips mouthing along to the familiar lyrics almost by habit. We always listened to seventies music when we were together. Our individual music taste didn't really overlap- Rye liked chill hip-hop and I had gotten quite into show-tunes- and this was the music our mums used to make us listen to on the radio when we were kids. We hated it back then, but grew fond of the nostalgia of it as we got older until it just became our thing.
"Andy," Rye snapped me out of my thoughts, "you're staring at me, creeper."
"You're pretty," I quipped back without hesitation, not breaking my stare or my contented smile. Once upon a time I would have turned bright red from being caught staring at him, but now it didn't even phase me, the flirting simply being a natural component to our friendship.
"Stop it, you tart," Rye scoffed. Slagging each other off was also normal. He then smirked, because he couldn't resist a compliment. "I can't blame you, though."
"Yeah, you're no Harry Styles but I'd still go there," I joked back, causing Rye to frown.
"Why do you have to bring Harry Styles into everything these days?"
I rolled my eyes. "Uh, obvious reasons, Ryan. Harry is a god. Stop pretending you're too straight to see it." Although as much as I teased him, I did think Rye could give Harry a run for his money. He was one of those annoyingly natural beauties, all tan skin and wavy chestnut hair and easy smiles. Next to him I was incredibly pale and small.
"Well sure, he's fit, but I don't get why you're obsessed with him," Rye muttered, the jealousy in his tone amusing. "I watched the video you linked me with the fish. I didn't get it."
"That's because you're a simpleton," I sighed, shaking my head. "And uncultured," I added.
Rye looked grumpy which made me chuckle. "I think he's stupid," he said childishly.
"Are you seriously jealous of Harry Styles?"
"No," he insisted quickly, "but it would make me feel better if you told me you'd throw him off a bridge to save my life."
I gasped, an image of the beautiful Harry Styles tumbling to a watery demise at my hands flashing before my eyes. Never to grace the world again with his music, or his tattoos or his four nipples-
"Andy!" Rye's voice dissolved my disturbing vision at once.
"What?"
"You just hesitated for way too long!"
"Oh hush," I shushed him, "I'd kill Harry for you, you know that."
"Thank you," Rye huffed, shaking his head in exasperation as he turned his attention back to the road. I chuckled at him, before cringing as the sound of a text coming in pinged way too loudly through the aux speakers. I grabbed my phone from the middle of the console, groaning as I looked at the screen.
"For fuck's sake," I muttered, reading the text without opening it.
"Is it he-who-must-not-be-named?" asked Rye, meaning my ex who we'd started referring to as such when we decided he was basically on a level with Voldemort.
"Ding-ding," I replied blandly, "we have a winner."
"Remind me why you haven't blocked him yet?"
"Because I'm a goddamned fool, apparently," I sighed, beginning to type out a response to his 'Hey' with a smiley face.
"Oh no you don't," Rye let go of the steering wheel to snatch the phone out of my lap.
"Jesus, Rye, you'll kill us," I protested.
"Shut up." He put one hand back on the wheel, half an eye on the road while he used the other hand to block the number.
"Rye, you're going seventy-five, I'm begging you-"
"You left me no choice Andy," he said, my heart beating way too fast until he threw the phone back at me again and turned his full attention back to the road. I let out a breath.
"You are seriously way too reckless," I shook my head as I plugged the aux cord back into the my phone.
"Oh you're just a- sha la la la la la la la la la la te da!" Rye cut himself off as the chorus of Van Morrison's Brown Eyed Girl started playing through the speakers, the familiar riff too good to resist even mid-conversation. I laughed, joining in with him to sing the rest of the song loudly, Harry Styles and ex-boyfriends forgotten as we lost ourselves in the music.
***
It was early afternoon by the time we pulled into the parking lot of university housing.
"Don't park here, park on the other side," I instructed Rye as he pulled in.
"But reception is right here."
"Yeah, but the lift to get to our room is over there on the opposite side," I told him, "that's where we'll have to move all our stuff up from."
"Someone's spent a few too many late nights on Google street-view," Rye teased, and I ignored him. Sure, I was maybe slightly over-prepared, but who could blame me? I'd been looking forward to moving into our apartment together for months.
"Let's go check in," I said.
We got our keys from reception, shortly after being introduced to an RA who showed us up to our room. It had seemed bigger in the pictures, but then again it was all we needed. An open plan living-kitchen-dining area with a door to a bathroom on one side, and two to our bedrooms on the other. It was modest, only furnished with the basics, but I had a carful of stuff I was planning to jazz it up with. At the end of the day, it was all mine and Rye's, and that was what mattered- even if the small details did freak me out a bit.
"So the oven doesn't work," the RA stated, as if that was perfectly acceptable, "we're getting around to getting it fixed. You've got the stove and the microwave in the meantime."
"What?" I asked a little bit abruptly, staring at the useless oven fixed to the wall. Rye squeezed my hand subtly, knowing immediately that I was going into panic mode.
"Don't worry about it Fovvs, we'll get it sorted soon," he said, using my childhood nickname to calm me down.
"What about my nuggets?" I whispered pathetically to him. Chicken nuggets were my comfort food, and I indulged in them whenever I got overly stressed, always having an emergency bag on hand in the freezer.
"I'll take you to McDonalds, babe," he whispered back, giving my hand another squeeze before letting go. I sighed, letting the RA continue with the tour.
The tour didn't take long, with the apartment being as small as it was, and soon enough we were making trips up and down from the car to bring our stuff in so we could bring the place to life. Rye, after the fifth trip or so, was suddenly thankful for my over-preparedness as we were parked right next to the lift.
We put linen on the beds, and plates and cutlery in the drawers. I set to work decorating the place with a mixture of rugs and posters and succulents that had been seconded from our old bedrooms, while Rye busied himself with building up the iKea furniture we'd bought before we left. For most people including myself, such tasks were a nightmare that led to tearing up the instructions in a fit of wild frustration, but Rye always seemed to get into a quiet groove when he was building something, chipping away until suddenly we had a bookshelf, a bedside table each, and a coffee table on the way.
While Rye laboured away like the useful handyman he was, I put my own talents to use, unfurling the massive wall calendar I'd ordered online and hanging it in a predominant spot on the wall. I went through my semester outline email, copying up all the important deadlines and exam dates for all my classes into the wall calendar. I then logged out of my email and into Rye's- I'd been co-managing his Google account for years- adding his own dates into the calendar in a different coloured pen. Admittedly, I was working rather slowly, as I kept getting distracted by the notifications popping up on my phone.
"Why do you keep smiling at your phone?" Rye asked suspiciously, putting down his Allen keys for a moment to scrutinise me.
"You know that cute guy who followed me over summer?"
"The one who goes here?"
"Yeah. He's been messaging me. Checking that I'm settling in okay," I smirked suggestively as Rye frowned.
"Does he want to meet you?" he asked, and I could already feel his protective instincts kicking in. Honestly, he treated me like a baby bird sometimes.
"He hasn't asked me on a date if that's what you're asking. But he's invited us to a party," I said, quickly adding before Rye could argue, "it's important that we go to a good orientation party. And Brooklyn can get us into one of the big ones."
Rye raised an eyebrow. "Let's see this 'Brooklyn' then," he extended his hand and I handed my phone over, Rye muttering "sounds like a fake name," under his breath.
I watched nervously as Rye scrolled through the profile, a smirk forming on his lips as he did. "He seems kinda dumb but like, in a cute way," I rambled, filling the awkward silence as Rye judged.
"Babe, he gives off strong bottom energy," Rye laughed, handing me back my phone.
"No he doesn't," I argued, flushing red. "Besides, I can top." Rye snorted. "Shut up, okay, I can do the versatile thing. We're at uni now, it's about time I spice things up," I muttered.
"Boris not spicy enough for you already?"
"Oh my god, Ryan, I'm begging you to shut up." 'Boris' was what Rye had affectionately decided to nickname my dildo -"because, in a way, Boris is fucking us all with Brexit"- causing me to immediately regret telling him I had bought one in the first place.
Rye chuckled and went back to his building. I looked down again at the profile. Brooklyn Wyatt. Twenty years old. Big cheesy smile and bright green eyes the size of dinner plates. Brunet, but used to dye his hair platinum blond. Yeah, alright, Rye had a point about him being a little bit softer than my usual type. But he was pretty, and he seemed interested, and I needed a rebound.
***
Moving in was pretty exhausting work. Rye collapsed on the couch when he'd finished the coffee table, ordering food on his phone while I fluffed the pillows on our beds and arranged the throws and blankets just the way Rye liked them. We ate together and then stumbled into Rye's room, the food coma setting in quickly after the exertion of the day.
"Oh you sprayed lavender on my pillow. Oh, this is why I love you," Rye moaned, burying his face in his pillow.
I smiled, but shook his shoulder gently, not wanting him to crash. "Don't fall asleep yet, babe. We've got the party, remember?"
"Let's just have a nap first," he said, tugging at my shirt and giving me puppy eyes. "You can be my little spoon."
I sighed, giving in quickly because I was tired, and I was never able to say no to his cuddles anyway. "Quick nap then. We should go out and buy drinks soon."
"Ugh," Rye groaned, "I think after Spain I've drunk enough alcohol for a lifetime."
I snorted. "You and I both know that's not true."
"Mmm... just drugs for me from now on."
"Ah, that makes more sense now," I teased, snuggling into him, "maybe Brooklyn knows someone."
"Maybe," Rye mumbled sleepily, wrapping his arms around me as his eyes fell shut. I reached into my pocket, setting a quick alarm on my phone to make sure we didn't oversleep, before settling into him again, drifting off against his warm chest.
A/N: Hope you guys enjoyed the first chapter, it's very exciting to finally be publishing this one xx