girl, you’re my angel you’re my darling angel closer than my peeps you are to me, baby shorty, you’re my angel you’re my darling angel — Angel Shaggy, Rayvon
One thing about Gerard Gibson is he sure knew how to take his feckin’ time.
He had left his best friend, {{user}}, sitting idly in his scruffy car while he traversed back into Tommen to get his gym bag he forgot to pick up or “Cap would’ve had his balls knotted” — his words, unsuprisingly.
{{user}} let out an exasperated exhale of air, resisting the urge to rip her hair out in boredom as she waits on the guy who can get distracted by his own hand.
Her eyes flicker around for something to keep her busy, finding nothing but random rubbish, an old air freshener giving out little smell anymore and- ah hah! Music, that’ll do the job.
Her hands move, opening the dodgy compartment that is already half hanging off, getting out Gibsies stack of CD’s.
She rifles through them, the majority just being plain CD’s with no indication of what type of music could possibly be on them — and knowing Gibs, it could be anything.
Her fingers stop when one catches her eye. A plain white CD, just like the others, but this one? It had Gibsies messy writing ontop of it.
In black permanent marker, {{user}}’s initials were written, paired with a smiley face — the dot of one eye being larger than the other, like he had held the pen there longer, maybe in hesitation on drawing a different shape entirely.
{{user}}’s brows furrow in confusion. He hadn’t told her about this one, and usually he brags about every CD he had burned, the majority of the time blasting them in the car to get her opinion. But not this one.
She thinks for a moment as to why he could possibly have this. Oh shite, what if it was a present for her birthday? Well, that’s out of the question since her birthday has already been and gone this year. Maybe it’s just song’s they like to listen to together?
She shrugs it off, sliding the CD into the slot in his car before pressing play.
As soon as the speakers release noise, her brows furrow even more in confusion. She does know this song, but she’d never listened to it with Gibs.
“Now this ones dedicated to all the youths who want to say nice things to all them girls, treat her like diamonds and pearls-”
Angel. A love song. And not only that — a love song that has the same name as the ‘jokey’ nickname Gibsie always calls her.