"Worried" by Bleu Wales

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...IS this complete? I don't know. I feel like I could write more, I'm just not motivated. :P

Yup, written at random, please enjoy, I love you and Stephen Loud.

Disclaimer: I don't own Death Note.

You’re sitting on the sofa, absentmindedly chewing your fingernails down to the quick. The phone from the small kitchen in the apartment you are currently living in is laying in your lap. However, since it isn’t a cordless phone, the curly wire is stretched out as far is it can to allow you to clutch it to your chest whilst having it still attached to the side of the fridge. Not like you care or anything. The cord could turn into one big tangle for all you care.

All you care about was the phone ringing or the door opening and his voice being heard - anything to let you know that he’s alright. You haven’t seen him in days and the stress is just killing you. He’s made it a habit to visit your apartment at least every other day, but the last time he came was Monday. Today is Friday. Something must’ve come up at work that wouldn’t allow him a break. Yeah, that’s it. It’s probably nothing too big to be worrying over.

And yet, here you are, worried out of your skull, almost to the point of screaming. He should at least be able to find the time to give you a quick ring or shout out or something. But, no. His state of well-being shall remain anonymous as you gnaw nervously at your hands. The TV’s playing some random soap opera with a script that seems like it was just pulled out from somebody’s ass, and you have no doubt that it actually was.

Five more minutes of painful, anxiety-filled waiting before you can’t take it anymore. You stand, tossing the phone aside and slip into your shoes. It takes more than your usual amount of concentration to find the keys to the car you hardly ever use (since the wheel’s on the right side and you never really bothered to learn). They’re resting in the junk drawer in the small table near the entrance. You let out a shaky sigh and reach towards the door, surprised when it opens of its own accord.

The man you’ve been fretting over for the past five days is there, looking worse for wear and you can’t help but yell his name and throw your arms around him. He returns the gesture with less enthusiasm , too tired to put forth any excessive amount of energy. You take in his marvelous scent before stepping aside to let him in.

He hardly even bothers to take his shoes off, practically collapsing onto you. You squeak and use all of your strength to support the weight of his upper torso. His face is placed in the crook of your neck and you giggle when his lips tickle your skin as his speaks.

“What’re you doing up past your bedtime?” He mumbles tiredly.

You waste no time in answering, reaching around and locking the door behind him. “Waiting for the idiot I’m in love with.”

He chuckles and envelopes you in a hug, this one much more warm than the last, “Must be a great guy to make you wait for so long.”

His sarcasm makes you laugh again. “You have no idea, Stephen.”

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