Words by: Anonymous
He had an impressive string of expletives for someone who should've seen it coming.
Honestly.
It was right there. How could he have missed it completely?
Stupidity aside, it didn't change the fact that he'd ran unconsciously, carelessly—painfully into a pole.
His forehead banged on steel, loud and clear. Hard-core Metallica, he'd joke. He could already feel the rising bruise, as red as his hair and as big as any flashing sign labelling him in an 'IDIOT.'
The throbbing didn't bother him; he was too busy drowning in humiliation, the memory so achingly fresh in his mind and the trauma almost bringing him to his knees.
Someone was laughing. He could hear the howling laughter behind him. Oh, he could just picture it now: a wide smile, crinkled nose, arms around the stomach, eyes squeezed shut, tears forming—
Slam.
"Ow," he heard them moan.
He was laughing before he even turned around.
.
.
.
.
.
.
.
They went out for coffee the next morning.
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