Rough Heart | ethan dolan

[forty four - a night spent with ethan]

I don't know why I'm so nervous, but I am.

Maybe it's the fact that my mom could walk in at any moment, or just the fact that I have never snuck a boy in before. I don't know how I'm going to pull this off. My mom doesn't normally come into my room after she goes to bed or anything, but I'm still anxious. I just don't want to get caught. 

Picturing my mom walking into my room and seeing Ethan is the only image I have on my mind. I would be in so much trouble.

As if on cue, I feel my phone buzz on top of my side table and jump slightly. I can't tell if seeing Ethan's name on my phone calms my nerves or causes more of them to erupt.

I'm here, baby.

I take a deep breath.

The plan is for him to walk around to the side of my house, where my bedroom is, and climb in through my window, so I quickly run a brush through my long, brown hair and tip-toe over to attempt to lift up the large glass. It's a bit more heavy than I had imagined, and I seem to come to a sudden realization that I have never even tried to open my window before.

I push the curtains aside to see Ethan on the other side, grinning.

His face makes me laugh as I continue to try and open the window.

"Jess, push up," he says.

"I am!"

We both laugh as I struggle to open a damn window.

From the other side, he playfully rolls his eyes as he slips his fingers through the small opening I have created and pushes the remainder of the window up, as if it takes him no effort at all.

He pushes himself from off the ground and jumps a bit to make it up to the window. I sigh in relief when he finally swings his legs over into the bedroom, and pushes the window back down.

The window makes somewhat of a slamming noise once it completely closes, and I cringe at the noise.

"Ethan! Shhh!" I yell-whisper.

He just laughs.

I'll never get over the beauty of his smile, but for some reason, at twelve thirty-one A.M., it seems to hold even more beauty than usual. I love how messy his hair always is when he's sleepy, and how his voice always gets deeper and raspier. I look forward to listening to it all night.

I also immediately notice that he's wearing the dark-red sweatshirt of his that is my absolute favorite.

"Come here," he opens his arms wide for me.

I smile a bit as I pad over to him and wrap my arms around his waist, inhaling his familiar scent. 

We simply stand there for a moment, hugging each other and enjoying the moment.

"You've never snuck anyone in before, have you?" He asks, stifling his laughter.

"I wonder where you got that idea," I joke.

He releases me from his hug, and starts to walk around my room, checking everything out.

"I like it," he nods his head as if he is some sort of bedroom judge.

He paces over to my dresser and stops for a moment. I watch as he lowers his head, and picks something up. I think I know what he's looking at.

"You still have them," he says.

I walk over to join him, and smile at the old roses in his hand. I will never forget him giving them to me as a way to ask me to homecoming. It was one of the sweetest things anyone has ever done for me.