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It was Thursday, you were on your period, and you had decided to buy some ice cream to battle the relentless rounds of cramps coming your way. As a result of this probably ill-informed decision, you were filled with the kind of energy only a sugar high could supply. Which wouldn’t have been a bad thing, except for the fact that it was 12 at night, and you had school bright and early the next morning.
You suddenly remembered that you hadn’t gotten the mail that day, or the day before. Maybe running downstairs to check your mail slot was a good idea to relieve some of your pent up ice cream energy.
In hindsight, it probably would have been a good idea to change out of your ratty Ramones t-shirt and old faded jean shorts, but you didn’t really give a shit, and besides, who was going to criticize your dress sense at 12 at night? You tied your hair into a loose ponytail before grabbing your keys and iPhone, slipping on your flip flops, and closing the door.
There wasn’t any mail, and you were extremely disinterested in the world right now. Come on, not even one piece of postage to rifle through on your way back upstairs so you didn’t look like a total idiot? (well, it was 12 pm, so who would you even look like an idiot to, but that totally didn’t count).
You pulled out your phone during the elevator ride back upstairs, hitting play without a second thought, and oh, you loved this song. So, of course, without second-guessing yourself, you let the lyrics to Backseat Serenade by All Time Low fill up your ears as you jammed out. So what if you looked like a dork? You were alone, and you were in the throes of a particularly energetic sugar high. You were allowed.
The elevator dinged as you got out, but you barely heard it over the music. You turned it up as it hit the chorus and you practically skipped down the hallway, full on dancing in the hallway as you fumbled to find the key to your door. Everything was going fine, (which basically meant you were air-drumming along to the bridge), when you caught sight of someone staring at you out of the corner of your eye, and jumped like a foot and a half.
“Omygod!” you screeched, unattractively clutching your chest like you were afraid your heart was gonna jump out and run away. “Who are you?”
“Hey, I’m Calum. Calum Hood,” he said. “Sorry if I freaked you out.”
You blinked a few times, because damn. Like, seriously, him freaking you out was fine, because he was gorgeous. And possibly Australian. He chuckled. Shit, had you said that out loud? “I am Australian, actually,” he replied. Fuck. Okay. You could work with this.
“Um, you didn’t see that whole, um, thing, earlier, right?” you asked, wincing internally, because god you sounded so mentally deficient right now. He obviously had, or he wouldn’t be smirking that goddamn attractive smirk right now. Jesus, what was your problem? Why wouldn’t your brain just shut up?
“I did, actually,” he said. He was blushing. Why was he blushing?
“Why are you blushing?” you blurted out, before mentally kicking yourself in the head. God, could you get any stupider.
“Oh, um, well, there’s this really cute girl who seems to think she’s saying stuff in her head that she’s actually saying out loud, and she keeps saying that I’m attractive. Which, thanks,” he told you.
Oh for crying out loud.
“Um, sorry about that,” you said. “I don’t know what’s wrong with me. I mean, I just had a ton of ice cream, and it’s like 12 at night, and maybe my brain’s a little confused by the energy boost so late in the day? I don’t know. Sorry. Anyway. Sorry. Am I rambling? I do that when I’m nervous. Not that you make me nervous. But. Um.”
He shook his head, still smiling at you.
“No, it’s fine,” he assured you. “It’s cute, actually. Like you. You’re cute.”
You looked away so he wouldn’t see you blushing, but you couldn’t help thinking (to yourself this time, thank God) that he was awfully cute too.
He was tall, and he had this gorgeous dark hair, and a Nirvana t-shirt that displayed his beautiful arms in all of their glory. And he had one of those faces that could go from adorable harmless puppy dog to fuck me up against a wall, in like, 0.2 seconds.
“What were you listening to?” he asked, snapping you out of your lust-induced haze. What? You couldn’t help it. He was really hot, okay?
“Backseat Serenade,” you replied. His eyes widened.
“Really? I love All Time Low!” he exclaimed. You smiled.
“Cool!” you replied.
“I like your shirt, too,” he said, gesturing to your Ramones t shirt. You smiled. “Oh, and nice dance moves, by the way,” he added. You frowned, trying, (and probably failing) to hide your mortification.
“There’s no need to be rude, Mr. Hood,” you said curtly, cheeks flaming as you turned to face your door again.
“Hey, I wasn’t trying to be mean,” he insisted, tugging your shoulder until you were facing him again. “It was actually really adorable.”
“Thanks, Calum,” you mumbled, eyes downcast, fingering the hem of your t shirt.
“Hey, so listen, I have to go, but maybe I’ll see you around? I mean, we live in the same building, so it could happen,” he suggested. You nodded.
“Sounds like a plan, Calum. See you around,” you said. He was smiling really wide, and it made his adorable brown eyes crinkle at the edges in the cutest way possible. It was probably the prettiest thing you had ever seen.
“Still not in your head,” he informed you casually.
You blushed.
“Shut up, Hood,” you snapped, fumbling for your key and finally fitting it into the slot.
“I’ve been demoted to last name basis?” he cried dramatically, pretending to be mortified. “Why is the world so cruel?”
You rolled your eyes.
“Still shut up,” you told him, about to close the door.
“See you around, nameless beauty living in apartment 8B!” he shouted at a volume way to high for midnight. You blushed again.
“Shut up, it’s midnight! And before you ask, it’s Y/N,” you replied, closing the door. Your heart was fast enough to ensure that you wouldn’t be getting much sleep that night. And God, you hoped you’d see him again.