Folded Paper.

Hudson yawned and opened her eyes. She noticed Allister beside her and parted her lips in a gasp. She crept out of the bed in attempts to not wake Allister up. Hudson noticed her blouse and her skirt on the floor, and bent down to retrieve them from the ground.

“Are you going somewhere?” She looked toward Allister, his dark hair tousled as he looked at her with sleepy blue eyes.

Hudson blushed lightly, embarrassed. “I—what happened last night?”

“Just a simple chain of events,” he told her. “Kate dragged you two a party, became Daniel Walberg’s girlfriend, you drank, got drunk, came home with me, and—”

“We did it?”

“Did what?”

“It,” she said. “Did we do it?”

Allister nodded slowly, running a hand through his hair. “I’m sorry? You seem disappointed with yourself. I quite enjoyed it, if I’m honest with you.” Hudson felt vulnerable in the least and Allister was the last person she expected herself to sleep with. “Have I upset you?”

“No, I just—never mind.” She picked her clothes up and held them to her chest. “I’ll be out of your apartment soon, I promise. Just let me go change.”

Allister chuckled at her, raising his arms above his head. “I’m in no rush for you to go, Hudson. A little company around here is nice. Usually, it’s just me and my paper.” Allister gestured toward all of the half-folded paper cranes around him. “You can stay, really.”

“Give me one reason to stay.”

He smiled softly. “I’ll fold you your own personal paper plane,” he offered.

“Wait, so you’re the twelve thirty boy?” she asked, still clutching her clothes to her chest.

Allister furrowed his brow. “Is that what people call me now? Twelve thirty boy? I’d rather be called Airplane Boy, if anything.”

Hudson laughed lightly. “No, no one calls you that. No one knows who you are, really. I guess I just got lucky.”

“I guess so.”



“It looks like a parallelogram,” Hudson laughed, folding the paper once more. “Look!” She grabbed Allister’s attention, showing him what she'd manage to create. Allister crawled over to where she sat at the end of the bed, encasing his arms around her.

She sighed at the feeling of his warm, loving it, consuming it. "You've got the right idea," he assured her. "But you aren't quite there yet." Allister smiled at her, his tone soft and warm. He took her hands in his, led her to crease the sheet of paper so smoothly, so effortlessly. She was amazed. "Grab that pen over there."

Hudson obliged, leaning away from Allister's warmth to grab the ink pen from his nightstand. "What are you going to write on it?" she asked, curiosity taking over her thoughts. Would it be bittersweet like the last plane she'd recieved?

When he took it from her, their fingers brushed together and suddenly she felt ashamed that she wasn't able to remember how they felt on her skin the night before. "You'll see. Close your eyes," he said, softly. She could here the sound of the pen coming in contact with the surface of the paper. She could feel the muscles moving against her skin as he wrote. Allister spoke, his voice coated with hesitance as if she wouldn't like it, "You can open your eyes now."

You have the softest skin I've ever touched, the sweetest skin I've ever kissed. Our bodies interlock so perfectly, our lips connect so precisely. It saddens me that you don't have the privilege of remembering it.