Entry # 13: January 10th, 2030...
1165 Words
Movie night was supposed to be a date.
I know that because of the way Auré said it earlier.
“Movie night,” like it meant something.
Like it was contained.
Just her and Cass.
Simple.
Then Cass showed up with popcorn and looked at me like I was already part of the plan.
“You should join us,” he said.
Casual.
Easy.
Like inviting me didn’t complicate anything.
It almost worked.
Almost.
“I’ve got stuff to do,” I said.
Which is the most versatile lie in existence.
Auré glanced at me for a second.
Not pushing.
Not questioning.
Just accepting it.
You’re getting very comfortable with that.
They settled into the living room.
I heard the kettle first.
Then the soft clink of mugs.
Hot cocoa.
Of course.
He drinks black coffee but switches to cocoa for movie night. Multifaceted psychopath.
Then the opening music drifted down the hall.
The Baked Fast Club.
Of course it’s an Oliver Kushmore movie.
At this point I’m starting to think he’s legally required to be involved in every social interaction.
A painfully catchy parody of that one song—
“Don’t you… forget about weed…”
I froze.
You’ve got to be kidding me.
Of course Oliver Kushmore would do that.
Of course it would be catchy.
Of course it would stick.
Annoying.
I sat at my desk with my journal open.
Pen in hand.
Not writing.
Listening.
Not intentionally.
That’s a lie.
They laughed early.
Like ten minutes in.
That kind of laugh where someone tries to hold it in and fails.
Auré’s laugh is easy to recognize.
Cass’s is lower.
Quieter.
But steady.
They weren’t talking much.
Just reacting.
Occasionally one of them would say something I couldn’t quite make out.
Then more laughter.
Then silence.
Then another joke lands.
More laughter.
I waited for something useful.
A shift in tone.
A pause that meant something.
Nothing.
Just two people enjoying a movie.
Which is, apparently, the most unhelpful activity imaginable.
At one point I got up and cracked my door open slightly.
Just enough to hear better.
The glow of the TV spilled into the hallway.
I could see them from the angle.
Opposite ends of the couch.
Not touching.
Not leaning.
Just… existing in the same space.
Comfortably.
Annoyingly stable.
I closed the door again.
Sat back down.
Stared at the blank page.
Wrote nothing.
There was nothing to gather.
No angle.
No weakness.
Just… compatibility.
Which is worse.
The movie ended around midnight.
I heard the credits.
Heard the tail end of that stupid song again—
“Don’t you forget about weed…”
I hate that it works.
Then voices.
Soft.
Casual.
Shoes.
Door opening.
Closing.
I didn’t go out.
I didn’t need to.
If something had happened, I would’ve heard it.
And I didn’t.
Which is either good news…
or meaningless.
The next morning, Auré is already in the kitchen.
Kettle.
Tea.
Routine.
“Morning,” she says.
“Debatable.”
She smiles.
Her nose wrinkles.
I’ve noticed that recently.
Actually, I’ve noticed everything recently.
We sit in silence for a minute before she asks:
“So… what do you think of Cass?”
There it is.
Again.
“What about him?” I say.
“He hangs out at your job a lot.”
“He’s a regular.”
“That’s not what I mean.”
Of course it isn’t.
“Cass Novak seems like a deep and thoughtful guy,” I say.
She tilts her head.
“Deep and thoughtful?”
“He journals,” I say. “Sits by the window with a notebook for like an hour sometimes.”
Which is true.
I’ve watched him do it.
“He’s polite. Talks to everyone. Tips well.”
She smiles into her mug.
“You noticed all that?”
“I work there.”
“That’s literally my job.”
She nods.
Then exhales.
“I like him.”
There it is.
Simple.
Honest.
“He’s… different,” she says.
“How?”
“Easy to talk to. Not… complicated.”
There’s that word again.
“I’m trying to get over someone,” she adds.
I already know who.
Still.
“Yeah?” I say.
She nods.
“Taylor.”
The room stills for half a second.
She keeps going.
“I still care about her,” she says. “But things got messy.”
Understatement.
“And Cass is just… easier.”
Of course he is.
He’s not two people.
She takes a sip of her tea.
Then—
“He didn’t kiss me, by the way.”
I blink.
“What?”
“Last night,” she says. “When he left. He just… didn’t.”
There’s a crease between her brows.
“I don’t know if I should be annoyed about that.”
Internally—
Oh?
That’s interesting.
Outwardly, I shrug.
“Maybe he’s taking it slow.”
“Maybe,” she says.
But she doesn’t sound convinced.
At work, JB is already watching me like I’ve committed a crime.
“You’re on that stupid app again.”
“TapDat,” I say.
“Which sounds like a rash.”
He folds his arms.
“Hookup culture is overrated.”
I glance at him.
“You only hate TapDat because you’re not old enough to even be on it.”
Silence.
JB stares at me.
Then looks away.
“…That’s not the point.”
It is absolutely the point.
My phone buzzes.
New match.
That was fast.
Maya. 23.
Raven hair.
Big, doe-eyed stare in every picture.
Petite.
Tattoo artist apprentice.
Her profile is an aggressive mix of:
• inked arms
• soft smiles
• and what appears to be an insufferable amount of plushies
Like… an alarming number.
But—
She’s hot.
And more importantly—
She’s not weird.
Or entitled.
Which already puts her ahead of 80% of this app.
Paris went dry after a few messages.
Tragic.
I had high hopes.
Nice ass.
Maya messages first.
“Be honest: are you trouble, or do you just look like it?”
I smirk.
“Depends. Do you scare easily?”
She replies immediately.
“I don’t scare easy. I just decide later if it was a mistake.”
Promising. I already like her.
We talk for a bit.
Easy.
No red flags.
No strange energy.
Just… normal.
Then:
“You free later?”
I pause.
Across the shop, Auré is laughing at something Cass said.
That same nose wrinkle.
That same soft lean toward him.
My brain flashes back—
Bleachers.
Fireworks.
Her voice.
Her hands—
Yeah.
No.
I type back:
“Yeah.”
She sends:
“Let’s go bowling.”
Bowling.
Of all things.
I stare at the message for a second.
Then smile.
“Sure.”
Which means tonight I will be doing something extremely mature.
Going on a date with a hot tattoo apprentice who owns too many plushies.
Instead of thinking about Auré.
Progress.
Probably.
- Writer
