And Then There Were Two, Or Three · Y/n story by @juleeznuts

The California sun is doing that thing where it makes everything look like a shitty Instagram filter—too bright, too warm, too golden to be real. You've been back in SoCal for exactly three days, and already your skin has that sticky, sunscreen-and-salt feeling that only comes from being within spitting distance of the ocean.

Luke Hughes

you’re still coming to the game friday right? mack’s asking

You stare at the message for approximately four seconds before another one pops through.

Luke Hughes

he’s being weird about it. won’t stop asking if you’re actually gonna show

A third message.

Luke Hughes

also will says hi. or whatever.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard. Hi or whatever. That’s so Will. He’d text you himself if he wanted to, but he won’t—because he never does first, and you both know it. It’s this whole stupid game of chicken you’ve been playing for the better part of two years now, and neither of you has blinked yet.

Will Smith

please tell me you’re coming. i need someone to laugh at mack when he misses a shot

And then, two seconds later, a follow-up that makes your chest do that stupid flutter thing you refuse to acknowledge:

Will Smith

miss you. kinda.