Random One Shots

Random one shots with actors, musicians/bands and characters.


155. Aaron Taylor-Johnson 3 Part 1

~For eleven years, he’d merely been your best friend. The pair of you were attached at the hip, and no one referred to you as individuals. It was always collective, always “them”, “they”, “us”, and “we”. On more than one occasion, your mother had accidentally spit out the wrong name, calling you ‘Aaron’, rather than your own name. Every waking moment was spent with him, aside from what his filming schedule didn’t allow for. Holidays were spent together, school events were attended together, and you even had birthday parties together as children. Your parents, as well as his, were convinced that the two of you would end up getting married someday.
But at the age of fourteen, he became so much more than just your best friend. That was when you started to notice all the subtle facets to him, like how he had just one small chunk of hair that never wanted to agree whichever direction the rest of his hair went, or how the corners of his eyes creased ever-so-slightly whenever he smiled. His eyes, which you’d never much paid attention to, had become your favorite feature. Different lighting brought out different hues of a pale blue that blended seamlessly with a steely grey.
By your seventeenth birthday, you knew you were completely, absolutely head-over-heels in love with him, and it terrified you to no end. Every inch of his skin had captivated you, with his high cheekbones and defined, squared jaw. The curve of his lower lip was tantalizing, and you often found yourself thinking about your fingers tangled in his unruly mess of curls and that lip wedged between your teeth. But alas, you knew you were nothing more than platonic in your relationship. Regardless of your feelings for him, he had his own for you, and the fervor in your chest, you feared, was unrequited.
When he left for Canada to film parts of Kick-Ass, you couldn’t keep it a secret anymore. You had to tell Aaron the truth, regardless of how it would affect your friendship.
The sound of knuckles rapping at your window was less than surprising to you. Aaron would use the front door, but in the wee hours of the morning, he often opted to use the window instead. You approached slowly, eyeing your hair in the reflection. Once you deemed it decent, you slid back the latch on the window and opened it. With little to no struggle, he swung his legs through and heaved his nearly six-foot frame into your bedroom.
“Everything okay? I got your text,” he asked softly, pushing the window shut behind him. You shook your head gently, gesturing for him to have a seat on your bed. He complied with ease, tucking one of his long legs up beneath him. The cocked eyebrow and pursed lips were your first clue that he was a bit confused.
“I’m really going to miss you,” you muttered, plopping down beside him. The right corner of his mouth twitched a bit and pulled to form half a smile.
“I’ll miss you too, but I won’t be gone for long. Just a few months is all. Wish you could come with me, but I already promised to call you every chance I get,” he chirped, resting his hand on your shoulder. The touch was reassuring, but you had to resist the urge to shrug it off. Physical contact with him made your head spin. Sweat beaded itself in your palm, and you swiped them against the sides of your shorts. The other side of his mouth mimicked the initial gesture, turning his half smile into a full one. Parenthetic creased formed from the sides of his nose, ending just beside the upturned corners of his mouth.
You had to remind yourself to take a deep breath before launching into any sort of explanation. That smile of his was enough to steal the very air from your lungs.
“It’s more than just that, Aaron. We, well… I am… I…” you sighed heavily, tears working their way into your vision. As a response, you looked down, not quite ready let him see how much this was hurting you. He remained silent until you looked back up at him. The wide smile gracing his lips faded quickly, replaced by a genuine look of concern. His long, narrow fingers worked through the tangled brown mess of hair atop his head, and his eyes searched yours for any sign of what had upset you. You drew a shaky breath and cleared your throat to start over.
“I… Look, we’ve been friends for most of our lives,” you began, trying to take caution in your choice of words. He nodded as his brows sunk into a furrow of further confusion. Briefly, his tongue darted out over his lower lip, and he hesitated before pressing his lips back together. “Over the last few years, I’ve… Well, I… You, I…”
You stalled for a moment. These words were stubborn and weren’t going to come out with ease. Aaron slipped his arm around your shoulders and tugged you against him, allowing your head to rest against his shoulder. With your ear pressed just above his heart, you could hear the impatient thumps of his pulse. It sounded hopeful to you, but you attributed it to his overwhelming worry for what had you so worked up.
A sob bubbled up in your throat, but you choked it back with a sniffle. Aaron’s hands tangled together, leaving you locked in his comforting embrace. In that single gesture, he had given you the courage to speak, consequences be damned.
“Aaron, I love you,” you whispered. Had he not already been straining his ears to hear you, the confession may have gone unheard.
“I love you, too. You know that,” he muttered softly, pressing a kiss to the top of your head. You sighed and moved away from him. There was no way you could look at him, but your heard his arms fall to his sides.
“That’s not what I mean,” you snapped, crossing your arms. You feigned interest in something outside the window, trying to keep yourself from pacing. His reflection appeared behind you, looking more perplexed than before.
“I’m not sure what you mean,” he questioned. This time, when he put his hand on your shoulder, you did shrug it off.
“You’re my best friend, Aaron. This wasn’t supposed to happen! I’m in love with you, you dolt! I finally work up the nerve to tell you, and you’re too thick to understand!” His jaw dropped slightly, but his lips remained closed. The tension in his forehead became visible in the form of a crease. You covered your mouth, somewhat surprised by your own outburst. A few tears fell, and you couldn’t seem to find the right words to correct yourself. His eyes darted around the room, looking at everything but you, and finally settled on the floor.
“Suppose I’d better get going, then.” There was a sadness in his voice that you’d never heard. It almost sounded like disappointment.
He turned to the window again, pushed it up, and slipped out. You watched him as he sprinted back across the street, your heart heavy.
You made no attempts to contact Aaron after that night. There were no texts, no calls. There was really nothing left to be said between the two of you, considering his reaction to your declaration. To be honest, you were completely gutted by the whole situation. You kept telling yourself that if you’d just kept your mouth shut, everything would be okay. But you hadn’t, and things were far from okay.
Like you, Aaron gave no effort either. None of the promised calls ever came, nor even a single-word text. He didn’t tell you when he was coming home, and when he did come home, he didn’t bother to come see you. It had gotten beyond frustrating. His sister had mentioned that he frequently asked about you, but when confronted with the possibility of asking you himself, he would shut down.
In the six years since, you had managed to pull yourself together. He was not going to ruin you. His absence would not break you. You’d moved to London, away from everything that reminded you of him, attended Uni, and got a job in a small diner to pay your bills until graduation. You had wonderful co-workers and a fantastic boss, Kim, who would let you use your breaks to study.
Naturally, that was where you found yourself late on a Thursday evening. It was a quiet night, with few customers willing to brave the rain. One patron, who was a regular, was seated at the end of the counter. Mr. Fenton was a kind, frail, elderly man. Aside from him, you, and the shift cook, David, the entire building was vacant.
“My dear, may I please get a few packets of sugar?” Mr. Fenton asked, just as you were tugging off your apron. You gave him the sweetest smile you could muster, despite all the stress weighing you down, and placed that plastic carrier on the counter. He thanked you quietly. Like every other night, you set his slice of apple pie in front of him and refilled his coffee mug with decaf.
“Whipped cream tonight, Mr. Fenton?” He acknowledged with ‘yes please’, and you grabbed the can. “Just say when!” He allowed you to pile the cream on his pie for several seconds until there was a mountainous heap. The pie was doused in whipped cream, just how you knew he liked it.
“Can I get anything else for you?” He shook his head.
“No, thank you, miss. You’re too kind.”
“If you need anything, just holler. I’ll be right over there, okay?” You gestured to the booth in the back corner, right next to the window. The table top was covered in loose papers, textbooks, and pencils galore. With a minor nod, he dismissed you with a toothy grin, telling you not to take any flack from those damn papers, to show ‘em who’s boss.
You settled into your seat and got busy, trying to concentrate on the essay you were writing. The only sounds to be heard were the occasional clinking of Mr. Fenton’s fork against his plate, the scratch of your pencil on paper, flipping pages, and the occasional curse from David in the kitchen. About the time you turned the page in your notebook, the door chimed, and you didn’t have to look up.
“Go ahead and grab a seat wherever you’d like, and I’ll get you a menu,” you said kindly, trying to finish writing the previous sentence. There was an affirmative mutter and you could hear the air escaping the worn cushion as this new customer sat down two seats from Mr. Fenton. It took copious amounts of effort to tear yourself away from the homework in front of you, but you had a job to do.
“My dear girl, would you please be so kind as to refill my mug?” Mr. Fenton asked, just as you reached for said menu. You tugged one from the cubby and slid it across to the new addition, then grabbed the coffee pot from its place on the warmer. When you went to put the pot back, Mr. Fenton spoke up again.
“Such a gentle soul you are, young lady. Always patient, always smiling…” You gave him a sheepish smile and looked down, trying to mask the slow blush crawling across your cheeks. A hand fished in the pocket of your apron, and you pulled out a pad of paper and a pen.
“And you, Mr. Fenton, are always so full of compliments!” You clicked the back of the pen, extending the tip. There was a slight shuffle of your feet, and you found yourself in front of the new patron. For the first time since he entered, you actually glanced at him. He had a lengthy mass of dark curls and eyes that appeared to glitter under the harsh fluorescent lights. The last time you’d looked into those eyes was one of the worst days of your life, the day that you lost everything you held dearest. Your heart leapt into your throat and began to beat erratically. Breaths became shallow and nervous as his gaze met yours. His chest rose as he drew in a deep breath and folded his hands together. Your name rolled off his lips in a half-whisper. You weren’t prepared, obviously, but he didn’t look surprised. He had to have known you were here.
His stare drifted over your form, and he gave you that heart-melting smile. He leaned forward, pushing the menu back towards you.
“What can I get for you?” you asked in a hushed tone, trying not to draw any extra attention.
“Dinner. For the two of us.”

Join MovellasFind out what all the buzz is about. Join now to start sharing your creativity and passion
Loading ...