Azure beginning

He stood with a sort of brilliance, although you would never admit to thinking so. He had always been open with his hobbies; flounced them, even.

You wonder if maybe that is what attracted you to him.

His character, his enthusiastic personality, his smile, all of these things made him very unique.

He seemed to be the only person you know who was constantly smiling.

Other than his charming grin, his greatest quality was his eyes; they were so blue you could have sworn he wore contacts, but upon being asked so he denied it and even proved to you that they were real.

You were so jealous of his eyes. Your own eyes were simple and gray, never as vibrant as his.

You were so thankful for him being easy to talk to, or you probably would have never even tried to do so. He never commented on how you had strong eye contact in conversations, in fact, he did just about the same thing.
His gaze was often so intense that even you, who normally freaked people out with your own concentration, had to look away.

He never judged you like other people did,but treated you like you were the most important person in his life.

He was easily your best friend since the day you met him in ninth grade.

It was the best year you have ever experienced.

The only thing better than meeting him would be all of the years you spent together that followed.

All of the laughs and flawless days with him have led you to become fully captivated in everything that makes him.

(More so than you probably should be.)

This is the story of how you fell in love with Robin Golder.

Blue Afternoon

You always wondered what other people’s thoughts were. Did they have the same analytic mind that you did?

You are an observer, of sorts; a mad genius in your own head.
The thoughts always made you wonder why you get such bad grades in school.
The only good thing about your below average book smarts was being able to study with your incredibly witted best friend.
He had always been smarter than you in school, and often showed you up in any argument. It’s not that you had bad points or anything, in fact, you could make some of the best ones, he told you this himself; he was just a better talker than you.

*

“God, Matt, you are probably the only person I know who would seriously fight with me over the topic of Vanilla or Chocolate.”

Robin raised a single eyebrow at you—something you had been jealous that he was able to do.
You were in your kitchen; he leaning backwards in a chair scooted away from the kitchen table and you leaning on your elbows against the counter.
You were currently having a heated argument, at least in your opinion.
He was likely taking this as a big joke, but you were far from kidding about your preference of flavor.

“Shut up, vanilla is obviously the best, so I don’t see why you are arguing with me here.” You say, narrowing your eyes and crossing your arms against your chest.

“I kind of guessed you thought so, since you literally wrote out twenty different reasons why it is “better”—cue hand quotes “- on a piece of notebook paper.”

You scoffed at him, “You were the one who took the time to “x” out all of the vanillas with a red pen and write chocolate in their place.”

He let out an overdramatic sigh, leaning back farther in his chair—holy shit were you scared he was going to fall and break his head open and bleed all over your kitchen tiles--,”Can we just buy Neapolitan, then? It’s like a delicious orgy of all of the three best flavors.”

You walk over to the edge of the counter leading away from the kitchen and grab your car keys, already making your way through the hallway towards your front door.
He follows after with a large screech of the chair against the floor as he stands up. He leaves it in that exact position without a care.

God, could he be more annoying? The chair is, like, seven feet away from the table now!

“I’d beg to differ, but I seriously just want some ice-cream so let’s leave before the super market lets it melt.”

“Dude, you know that’s impossible they have, like, super refrigeration things for a reason.” He retorted, closing your front door with a bang—locking it because your parents aren’t home—and jogging to the passenger seat of your 2000 Chevrolet Impala.

It’s a load of crap car, but it gets you places, so you don’t really mind it.

Robin liked your car, for whatever reason, and often forced you to drive him everywhere.
You obviously didn’t mind doing so—he was your best friend, after all—in fact, you really liked driving him places, especially since you thought sitting alone at home was boring. Your parents came home a couple of hours after school ended for you, so you have a lot of time to waste with your best friend.

“Shut up and get in the car already.” You say, opening up your car door and jumping into the driver’s seat.

He lets out a small laugh, circling around your car are pulling open the passenger side door.

“Don’t be such a grouch. You’re just mad ‘cause I’m better at making comebacks than you are.” He closes the car door and starts buckling his seat belt (you swore if e didn’t wear it that you wouldn’t drive him anywhere) as you turn on the heat.

It’s still early January, so it’s rather chilly out. You like when it’s cold, since it gives you an excuse to wear your sweatshirt over everything. It just feels comfortable to have your arms covered, seeing as you were always cold, and without sleeves you felt rather exposed.

Opposite of you, Robin has a very warm body temperature and rarely wears a coat or even a sweatshirt unless it’s below thirty degrees out.

You don’t say anything in response to him as you back your beat up car out of your driveway and make your way down the suburban street.

You’re bad at making comebacks anyway.

He knows you too well.

Impressum

Tag der Veröffentlichung: 10.01.2013

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