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The cold air of his room enveloped him as it usually did upon returning from a book, but this time it didn’t send a shiver down his spine. In fact, he was feeling unnaturally warm, his face burning with a blush that ran all the way down his neck.
It was certain, now: Buddy had a big fat crush on Chase Hollow.
He didn’t quite know how it happened. He had never liked anyone before, much less wanted to be someone’s friend. But Chase was different, somehow.
Usually, everyone annoyed him. Everyone did, but especially Chase.
It annoyed him how cheerily optimistic he was.
It annoyed him how often he looked for the easy way out, taking any shortcut he could find to finish things.
It annoyed him how he never played by the rules, always making stories his own.
But, most of all, it annoyed him how kind he was, even to people who didn’t deserve it, including him. Because, after all that he had done to Chase, the guy still tried to befriend him. To coax him out of his shell, with chocolates and understanding. And it was working. God, he hated how much his heart rate picked up whenever Chase was sweet to him.
It begged the question: was he really annoyed by all these things, or was he slowly growing to like them?
Trying to answer such a question seemed to require too much thinking at the moment. Instead, he sighed, looking at his reflection in the mirror. A stray lock of hair was longer than the rest, in his line of sight. He brushed it behind his ear, only for it to fall back into place in his eyes.
It looks awesome, totally working for you!
His face grew hot again recalling what Chase had told him today. What had his key done that elicited such a reaction out of Chase?
“Buddy, are you all right? You look rather… pink,” Violet asked him, concerned.
“Erm, yes. Thank you, Violet. I’m fine,” Buddy lied.
It looks awesome, totally working for you!
It looks awesome, totally working for you!
It looks awesome, totally working for you!
It looks awesome, totally working for you!
It looks awesome, totally working for you!
He fanned his reddened cheeks with his hands, but it was no use. The memory was playing on repeat in his mind.
“Actually, Violet… I was wondering… how did you do my hair today?”
The little key looked up at him, brow furrowed, opal eyes sparkling. “Your hair? Did you dislike it?”
”No! No… that’s not it. I actually liked it a lot. I was just interested in how you did it, is all.”
“Oh, I see. Well, I just parted it down the middle. And made it a bit less frizzy,” she said.
“Hmmm,” he replied, already busying himself in the mirror, instantly carried away with the thought of styling it as it had been in the book.
He brushed it this way and that. He pawed at it over and over. At some point, he even shook it all out and started from the beginning, frustrated. But nothing seemed to work. His hair laid flat against his forehead where it always sat, except maybe even frizzier than before.
Exasperated, he dramatically threw himself to the floor, splaying out his arms and legs on the cool tiles. The white ceiling provided him with a renewed sense of clarity, and he heaved in a big, rejuvenating breath, in an attempt to forget about what he had just done, for the moment.
“What on Earth am I doing?” he questioned, putting his hands over his eyes.