#dino scenarios
beginning, in an early stage
w.c.1k exact | fluff, a brief history in less than 700 words | ml
Summer sunlight backlights the boy in front of you. Behind him, the waves greedily eat up the shoreline as the tide washes in, taking with it any sand castles and secret messages engraved in the beach. Hot air steams around you, making the distance in between feel almost unsurpassable. The sun slowly dips behind the horizon, painting the sky brilliant oranges and pinks before the purple twilight appears.
You can feel something ending, the common term of phrase so readily labeled onto people who were no more than close acquaintances. It tingles around your hands, causes nervous shivers up your arms. But it’s clear, you realize, that whatever’s next, it’s worth saying goodbye to the word “friends.”
Your skin feels as if it’s slowly catching flames, and it’s hard to tell if it’s from the late evening sun or the boy across from you. He smiles, mimicking your own, and you have to stop and catch your breath before your thoughts overload and your stable limbs turn to jelly.
In a small instant, scant within the overwhelming realms of time, memories flood your head. You recall when you’d first met, freshman in high school. How it started as a simple bump in the hallway, a quick apology. It continued when you ended up seated beside each other in social studies. It was finalized when you dared each other in a race to the cafeteria for lunch.
You couldn’t tell then, neither of you could, what would occur. Back then, at the very start, “friends” was a fitting word. People who are close to one another. A simple definition for a complex concept, but you felt it worked. You and this boy were friends. It was fun to race through the halls with each other, follow around after school with biting, teasing remarks.
Somewhere during sophomore year, the label of friends evolved to include the word “best.” You were now inseparable. As many classes as possible together, lunch together, more races around the school. The teasing, snappy comebacks didn’t subside, either, but grew stronger and more precise, like scolding him for a messy desk and getting a level stare and a quick “Who do you think I learned it from?” in reply.
It was in the after school dance program that you really saw Chan shine. While you were okay, something akin to a wet clay block ready to be molded into a dancer, Chan was already a finished piece. His edges were sharp and detailed, movement filled with strength and grace. Once, he had you stay late and watch him run through his dance routine. At the end, he began to go through what he had done wrong and what he could improve on.
“Chan,” you interrupted, placing a hand on his shoulder, your voice filled with awe, “that was incredible.”
He turned giddy, a smile blooming across his features. “You really think so?”
“I really know so.”
Junior year, more closeness, more snark. Nothing ever felt out of place, just close and okay. Until one day, it did feel out of place. One bad fight around Christmas, the only truly bad one, and you’d felt like you’d never be whole again. The one who’d always been by your side was now noticeably absent, and while you could attempt to fill in the Chan-shaped hole with other activities or friends, there would always be nooks around the edges that nothing else could replace.
An awkward New Year’s confrontation, something wildly similar to when you met as freshmen and bumped into each other, forced an equally awkward discussion. In the end, you both decided the argument was pointless: it wasn’t worth throwing away nearly three years of friendship.
And then came senior year, where you suddenly became aware of how close he sat. How your cheeks flushed red when he laughed at your jokes. How your heart began to beat faster and harder when he was around, and you began to wonder if the term “friends,” even “best friends,” was enough to cut it anymore.
The confession was embarrassing and sloppy and more rushed than you felt it should have been, but you couldn’t let him go on that blind date his friends from dance had set him up on. The idea of him falling in love with someone other than you made your throat tighten and your chest hurt.
And when you finished, standing at the end of his driveway, balled fists at your side with tears welling up, he simply stuck his hands in his pockets and walked over. You expected a rejection, a letdown, and steeled yourself for a night in with nothing but your tears to comfort you. But then, he pulled one hand out of his pocket to cup the back of your neck, and he leaned in to place a gentle kiss on the apple of your cheek. When he pulled back, a soft smile was on his lips, and when he spoke you barely heard it over the thump-thump-thumping of your heart. “I guess it’s a good thing I like-like you back, isn’t it?”
Chan’s laugh brings you back to the present, and the warm feeling you’d grown accustomed to around him floods your chest. You want to curl in, to protect the feeling, but you stand tall. Today is the start of something new, another evolution of the label “friends.”
Chan’s smile is electric, glowing brighter than the setting sun and emerging night stars combined. He does a low, exaggerated sweep, and you know if he weren’t so well in tune thanks to dance he’d surely fall and hit the pavement. He stands straight, crossing the distance between you two and holding out his hand. “Shall we begin our first official date, [Y/N]?”
You bite your lip, attempting you contain your growing smile. You nod, and when you speak, there isn’t a hint of hesitancy. You take his hand, warm and comforting and inviting. “Yes,” you say, heart thump-thump-thumping once more. “We shall.”
