remi

remi, she/her, minor, professional shitposter

when you fall asleep in class and wake up to your hair being braided.

‘i eye him, and he’s staring at my forearms. fuck. these sleeves are not long enough’

he seems to be fighting a grin. “does your mother have a longboard?”

“you smell like rain.” “…” “you’ve been crying?”

“tell me two things about yourself.” “i’m an anarchist and i like french guys.”

i feel some guilt, but i brush it aside. no one has to know.

“Schoolwork also gives you the skillset to accomplish tasks you don’t enjoy or that seem pointless for the sake of others.” He sighs exasperatedly. “Stop being so optimistic.” “I’m manifesting.” “Manifesting what, more schoolwork?”

“So you’re single now.” I look at him, surprised. “And you know this how?” “You took the bracelet off.”

“She’s gay,” Gretch says matter-of-factly. Lukas nods. “I know. Anyway,” he turns to me, “can I get your number, pretty lady?” Iva squeals and Gretch retches dramatically. “Guys. I’m making a group chat.”