June 11th 2006

He’s done nothing wrong. He swears, he’s done nothing wrong.

Sure, he might have snogged Art and Tashi right infront of you, but so did you! Surely, you can’t be pissed about that.

Wel… you’re not pissed exactly, just quiet and standoffish and twitchy and jumpy and he hasn’t got a clue what he’s done. If he’s don’t anything wrong, that is.

He’s tried everything to coax you out of this slump. He’s been calling every chance he gets while he’s away on tour and you’re stuck at Stanford, and when he can’t, he gets Art and Tashi to come spend time with you. He thinks he’s helping. He thinks.

Until he gets off the plane at SFO to a flurry of messages from Art, saying that you’re not doing good, that you’re in a mood.

He finds you in a corner of the cafeteria, alone, hood up, knees to your chest and people-watching out the window. Unceremoniously, he slumps down into the chair across from you, dumping his bags to the floor and leaning forward, getting up in your face with that stupidly gorgeous little smirk.

He’s just trying to make you smile.

“Y’gonna talk to me or what, then?…”