Balconial Conversations

69 // childhood bedrooms

Throwback to summer '14, aren't we gorgeous?

This makes me feel very fangirly and nice. Screw Alex ok what was i thinking???

Not edited i was going to but whatever ill do it later ;)

My new best friends are @caffeine_addict and @yszmadegreau (I'm sorry autocorrect can't spell ur name for me) follow them ;)

15 IN SHORT STORY RIGHT NOW
***

His room is dark and neat with only shapes visible aside from the pillow lit blue by the computer screen. He stands beside me, running a hand through his thick, tousled hair.

"I didn't know you were coming tonight," he murmurs. I turn to him as shrug.

"It was a last minute thing." He nods, and shoves his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants. "So, why are you hiding in here?"

"I don't really feel like I belong at a high school party." He shrugs, loosely. His arm brushes mine.

"Neither do I." I tell him honestly.

"Well... I have Beyond Borders, if you want to watch it with me." He says, finally.

We wind up on his bed, above the soft comforter with the laptop shared between us. It was paused half an hour in, but he skeps back to the beginning for me. My shoulder rests against his, and it's warm and firm and smells like comfort.

"Angelina Jolie is amazing," I tell him, and he casts a glance my way. His face is lit by the light of the screen and his eyelashes are spidery shadows in the hollows around his dark eyes. His mouth gets to that lovely place that's not quite a smile but loose and softly amused.

"I don't know, He's is pretty cool too." He lets his head fall against the pillow beside mine, and looks back at the laptop. Clive Owen hops up onto the stage with a emaciated Ethiopian little boy ("We're all getting drunk for a good cause, right? Cheers"). "You know, this is one of my favourite movies."

"Really?" I stare at him. "It's so..."

"Depressing?"

"Kind of."

"But it's also uplifting, all of those people working in the camps." Someone throws a banana at the stage and the heartless crowd claps. "I think I'd like to do that at some point."

I smile, trying not to share how proud I am of him after saying that.

* * *

I think I doze off for a minute, because I wake quickly, jerking up off the pillow with a start.

"Hey, you okay?" Cam murmurs, grasping one of my shoulders and peering up at me with sleepy eyes.

"Mm, yeah." I relax back against the pillows, back against his warm shoulder, and blink. "How long was I asleep?"

"Only a couple of minutes, don't worry." Angelina is in a snowy place, trooping ahead of Clive Owen on the screen. It must still be Chechnya. "Your phone went off a second ago, though."

I check it to find a text from Alex; hey, did you leave with some1?

I dither, unsure whether to go back out there with the smoke and beer and loud music; or stay in the warm cocoon of movies and warm shoulders with Cam. I text back that I did, I was tired, and I'll see him at school on Monday. I have none of the polite qualms about lying.

"Everything okay?" He murmurs, stretching an arm out. His eyes are hooded and beautiful, his lips plump and almost chapped. Extremely kissable.

"Yes." I murmur back.

"That doesn't look very comfortable, here," he shifts, moving my head from resting lightly on his shoulder to the crook of his neck. His warm and delicious smelling, and the grogginess pulls at my consciousness. My arm is sprawled thoughtlessly across his chest and my entire front is plastered to him; I can't find the willpower to move.

"Thanks," I murmur.

"So, did you come here with that Alex guy?"

"Yeah."

"You didn't stay with him."

"No. I don't like parties."

"Hmm..."

We watch her blow up from a snow-side (not roadside) bomb, both of us wincing as he runs from the terrorists and the Red Cross helicopter circles.

He reads the letter she left for him in a cab, driving up to her house where her (their, from the tryst in Cambodia, I presume) daughter plays piano by the window.

The closing credits roll, and he shuts the laptop with a soft click, darkening the room. Suddenly, I'm not sleepy anymore. His chest rises and falls beneath, and his pulse thrums against my ear.

"So... the party seems to have quieted down." He says, conversationally. I nod against his shirt. "Want me to walk you home? Call a cab?"

"Um..."

"Or you could stay here..." I sit up with my arms alone, moving away from the warmth of him and sitting on my heels. I can only are the outline of his profile from the streetlights outside window.

"I'll walk myself." I tell him. He shakes his head.

"No."

"Cam."

"Katherine. It's two-thirty in the morning. Do you know who's out there right now? Bad people. Drunk people. Dangerous people."

"I'm not paying for a cab."

"I'll pay."

"No."

"Come along then, we're walking." He swings off of the bed, tossing the computer to the centre and leaning to retrieve what's probably a jacket.

"Cam, you don't have to..."

"Oh, shut up, Katherine." He says, amiably, and offers me his hand. I take it, and he leads me down the stairs into the smoky, empty first floor.

It's clear outside, fresh and cold. I breath it in gratefully, and shiver with the chill that accompanies it. Without asking or offering, he drops his arm around my shoulders and snugs me against his side. The warmth is glorious; I'm foolishly pleased I didn't wear a coat.

We don't speak on the walk home, but step peacefully in sync. Outside the building, he stops, taking one of my hands. He has to go back to Gabriel.

"I had a nice night."

"Me too." I tell him, and we both laugh softly.

"Good night, Katherine." He presses a soft, lingering kiss to my forehead, and pulls away with a smile. The place his mouth touched feels warm and tingly in comparison to the rest of me, and I step into the vestibule.