Fresh Starts Are Hard To Do
This is the second part idk but i'm kinda scared of putting this up on SATD it's up on fanworks, along with another one, but... idk. And I'm sorry this is so short.
He chatted to me for the rest of the flight. I asked him what he was doing in Ireland, to which he simply replied, “Searching for leprechauns and Guinness.” I didn’t know how to respond, so I kept quiet.
I found out he played the guitar, sang, he played the accordion, organ, piano and also the cello. When we landed, he took my stuff out of the overhead thingee. I protested, even though I knew I wouldn’t be able to drag it all the way to baggage reclaim.
He offered me a lift to UNLV, which I gratefully accepted- realizing that I hadn’t done much preparation, like the teeny minor fact that I had no clue how to get there. Accepting lifts from strangers is always a no-no, but not when they’re as cute as this one. Besides, I wouldn’t really mind if he kidnapped me.
I couldn’t stop staring at him. His lips, his eyes and especially, his butt. He wore extremely tight skinny jeans, but they clung in all the right places. He was very curvy, for a guy.
His foot twitched non-stop when he talked. He was a crazy driver. I found myself sitting in terror, my hands glued to the sides of my seat, and eyes wide open. I think he noticed, because the needle on the speedometer slowly receded a little.
He was very animated. He was also very funny. When we got near to the town that UNLV was situated near, I said that he should stop here. His eye brows furrowed. “Why?” he asked, seeming hurt. “Um. My uncle lives here. I have, um, furniture to pick up.”
“I’ll help you bring it to the dorm,” he offered. I bit my lip. “Sure,” I said, agreeing.
When we get to my uncles house, he grins and takes all the furniture and throws it into the trunk and backseat.
I open my door at the entrance to the college. I gulp. It’s huge, and really intimidating. I sigh, and go up to admin. The receptionist smiles at me, and says, “Your roommate is here already.” I get even more nervous now, but smile weakly back. I catch my reflection. My side fringe is even frizzier now, and the bit spiked up at the back, in a sort of fake Mohawk, is flat. I tell Brendon what room I’m in, and he politely helps me bring everything up.
I open the door, and someone squeals. “Brendon!” they say, a blur rushing past me. “Holy fuck, Ryan, you’re rooming with Gabe!” says Brendon, hugging a tall boy with short brown hair and an obscene amount of neon on. I smile, not sure what to do.
Gabe turns to me and hugs me. “Hey, roomie!” he says, before turning to unpack my stuff. “Great, you brought a mini fridge!” he exclaims, putting it on a side table. He sees the neck of my guitar, and pulls it out, open mouthed. “You play guitar?” he asks, dumbfounded. I scratch my neck. “Yeah,” I admit.
“Bren!” he says, grabbing Brendon’s arm. Brendon nods. “Hey, Ry, would you be interested in starting a band?” My mouth falls open. “Uh, yeah, sure,” I stammer, my voice sounding strangled.
Brendon launched forward and hugs me. “Thank you, thank you, thank you!” he says into my shoulder. I wind my arms around his waist, smiling into his hair. I feel completely and utterly blessed. Maybe the God I don’t believe in is still plotting something for me.