[You Got My Soul]

4°

» "fuck yo bed, you can sleep in mine..."

Tiller Household;

"Your aunt is always sleeping. She must work so hard." Paris observed as she quietly walked up the stairs of Bryson's house, careful not to wake his aunt.

"Seven days a week..." Bryson avowed, walking in front of her. They reached his room and Bryson threw his bag in the corner.

"Want to go to the roof?" He asked taking off his shirt and playfully shooting in into his hamper, "Lebron!"

"Yea, let's go." Paris shook her head and slid his balcony door open, exposing her brown skin to the warm May air.

Bryson helped her up and then climbed up himself. The sun was setting and the sky was a mix of orange and blue.

"Yo, I been thinking..." Bryson started, sitting down and resting his arms on his knees. Paris sat beside him, stretching out leg and crossing them at the ankles.

"About?"

"My dream girl." He said leaning his head on her shoulder.

This was girl Paris knew very well. She didn't exist— at least not yet. Bryson had been creating her for years and would edit and change things about her every so often.

"Really? I haven't heard about her in a while..." Paris commented, resting her head on top of his.

"She needs to be rhythmic." He pondered, twisting the band around his wrist.

"Like, can dance?" She asked, looking down at him.

"Yea, and maybe sing too." He added. Paris looked down at her friend for a while, thinking.

"Do you have a crush, Bryson?" He lifted his head and looked at her, before breaking to a laugh.

"I wouldn't say a crush, but, I've been thinking about somebody." He admitted.

"You tell me everything you're thinking, who is it?" Paris asked, poking his bare chest.

Bryson paused for a second, biting the corner of his lip. "Mya Graves."

"The cheerleader? That make sense, I guess." Paris shrugged. "Have you talked to her?"

He shook his head, "Should I?"

She raised an eyebrow at him. "Well, yes if you like her. Why wouldn't you talk to her?"

He shrugged and wiped his ear across his shoulder, "I mean, I don't think she'll understand me. Most girls don't, Paris."

Paris nodded. It was true that Bryson was misunderstood by many of the girls he knew. He wasn't the type to flirt with him and he had never had a girlfriend. He had lost his virginity— yes, and told Paris soon after— but he had never really been in a relationship.

"They just have to get to know you, that's all." She explained.

"Maybe, but I don't think I'm ready to be all open with anybody else right now." He told her, laying back completely on the roof.

Paris and Bryson continued to talk until ten o'clock hit and night sky didn't seem as wonderful as usual. They got off the roof and both tired laid across his bed.

Paris, laying on her side with her head on one of his pillows and Bryson, stretched across remained bed; flat on his stomach with his head and arms hanging off.

"I should probably get up the energy to go home, huh?" Paris mumbled, her eyes shut.

"Just stay." Bryson groaned. He felt around his carpeted bedroom floor and tossed a blanket to her side.

"Good night, Paris."

"Night, Bryson."