#lifeglider

Wow, you’re so considerate Benji! Thanks man. I appreciate that.

He had barged over to Leila’s room and got them to set up an extra large pillow fort - her room was better since it was slightly bigger and definitely not half covered in the mountain of mess that was his side of 3B. So they had been chilling in their finished product, talking about everything yet simultaneously nothing. He had asked her about Physics. That had been a mistake. She had lit up. He was already weak to people talking passionately about something they loved, but coupled with it being Leila, his self control had slipped and he found himself completely enamoured with her. His pulse quickened and it just registered that they were completely silent. He wondered if she could hear his heart ready to leap out of his chest, or the beating wings of a million butterflies. The will he or won’t he of it all was electric as soon as he realised she wasn’t shoving him away while he was in her personal space.

Ordinarily Benji would let his morals guide him away from getting into this situation, with him having suspicions about Will. But Will never really spoke about certain girls, it was lost in the sea of this one put gum in my hair and there was this one back home nameless women with unknown faces. But Will hadn’t seemed that weird when he was teasing him at the gala, and he could have been misreading that odd text he got because of all the ‘love triangle’ drama, so Benji chalked it up to his imagination and let it go. And with letting go one of two things holding him back, he momentarily forgot the second and finally–finally leaned in and closed the minuscule distance between them.

Benji had daydreams of stolen kisses wrapped in heat and need, urgency and desperation. But the kiss was gentle, slow, and brief. He found himself sighing into it and his hand gently settled on her hip of it’s own volition. He found in this last week alone that he enjoyed kissing, maybe that was what gave him the guts to go for it, whatever it was it was different with her. He cared about her and he wondered if she felt that, if this was even real. He had had vivid dreams before, he was in a constant state of surrealism and sometimes he couldn’t tell the difference between reality and his imagination. Whatever it was, as she pulled away he felt vulnerable and open, instead of his usual calm collected shady self. He was nervous.

“Hi.” (x.)

“Hi,” Leila repeated, her cheeks flushing nearly as red as her hair. “Oh my God, I already said that, didn’t I?” she laughed, leaning into Benji to steady herself. She still felt lightheaded, and if she paid attention, her heartbeat would still feel erratic in her chest. There were a hundred things in the last month that she could think of that might be someday put in her ‘regrets’ column, but the last minute here with Benji? Any time that she spent with Benji, really? Leila couldn’t imagine that ever ending up in the list of things she wished had never happened, even as she struggled to find the right words to say back to him.

Leila’s tongue felt heavy in her mouth as she tried to speak. I kissed your roommate once but I altered time so that it didn’t happen? Those words danced around at the forefront of her mind, seeming like something that maybe he should know before she asked if he really liked her or if this kiss had just been another one-off thing like so many others. Oh yeah, and I can time-travel? That seemed like the kind of thing maybe a person should know, too. But Leila danced around the hard issues, usually; she tackled them on her own or ignored them to the best of her ability. “I like you,” Leila blurted out instead, the honesty feeling like at least one weight off of her shoulder. “It’s okay if you don’t like me, but I... you... Yeah,” she admitted sheepishly, her usual air of confidence dropped.

✺- Something your muse finds pretty

‽- Something your muse has problem in understanding

While she has an incredibly high level of intelligence, Camila remains clueless on many topics, both ones she’s tried to comprehend and those she’s simply avoided.

One major example is iambic pentameter. Despite having studied it in high school, and finding the concept relatively sensible, she cannot for the life of her manage to construct a sentence of her own in such a rhythm. In conjunction with this, Camila really struggles to wrap her head around how to write poems, and is always impressed by people who do so quite liberally.