Pink_Leon

she's laying on zoey's bed while zoey is rummaging around her desk drawers, searching for something. mira doesn't remember what. she forgot to listen while zoey was talking and instead settled on nodding and mhm-ing.

even now, zoey is mumbling something under her breath and mira is entranced watching her move, and decides it would be smarter to look away. so she plays with the ring on her finger, pins and needles slowly climbing up her arm as she's laying on her elbow.

and then the mattress dips under zoey's weight—in her hands she is carrying a beaten up phone with cracks all across the convulsing screen, and greyish earbuds. she lays next to mira with a smile, plugs the earbuds in and hands mira the right earbud.

mira takes it without question. she doesn't have the heart to tell zoey that she doesn't really vibe with her music taste (she will come to love it later on, but now she cannot stand the spiky hip-hop with scratchy records and the too-bright american pop). and so she endures, except it is not really enduring.

it is a rare moment, for zoey, to be this still. but as they lay and stare at the ceiling, their shoulders brushing, zoey slowly lulling her head left and right with the rhythm, mira can feel her stomach twisting into itself. her palms are sweaty, heart is beating in her skull, but she doesn't think she'd be anywhere else.

it is late. celine would kill them if she knew about them staying up so late. something about stunting their growth with bad sleep schedules (as if i am not tall enough, mira would mutter).