AUTHOR'S NOTE: i actually really like disney's new show, Austin & Ally, because the guy who plays austin is really cute. and austin/ally otp!
FOR PEARL.

disclaimer: Disney ©

Sometimes he catches a glimpse of her chestnut hair in the sunlight and accidentally his mind wanders and spits out thoughts like how on an off day, she's kind of beautiful.

You know. In the way that a friend calls another friend beautiful.

Dallas. The cell phone cart guy. A city in Texas. That's who she likes.

(He admits, somewhat regretfully, that while he was "researching" the Dallas boy he could not find anything that could potentially incriminate him. Dallas is neither sweaty nor orange, and he thinks he's kind of disappointed.)

What's so frustrating is that she's so nice and kind and quirky and he'd like to think he can read her like a book, but most of his thoughts are occupied with how great she looks all the time.

It's actually kind of embarrassing how many of his thoughts are centered around her, he realizes now.

"Hey, Austin," she says, strolling into the store in a pair of leather-brown boots and dazzling smile and he thinks maybe he's looking at her a little differently than usual. Or maybe she's the one that's looking different.

He really doesn't know with her. It's hard to tell the difference sometimes, whether she is simply looking pretty or his mind is just playing tricks on him because SHE IS A FRIEND. A FRIEND.

"Ally," he says, smiling in that way that screams, I'M CONFIDENT, I'M COOL – but inside he's thinking she smells like lemon and spearmint and something really nice that might just be her, herself.

She blinks at him and bites her lip and asks, semi-awkwardly, "Aren't we writing a song?"

He stops and vows to try and hold his breath around her more often. He nods, letting a wide smile split his face, and inwardly wonders if she's slightly nervous too, slightly jittery as well. The thought doesn't settle the anxious feeling.

"So," she starts cheerfully, "I think we should write a love song this time. Dallas talked to me today and he's so hot, and…" she trails off with a sigh.

"No," he says as forcefully as he can, and pushes down the feeling that's growing inside his chest, "we're not writing a love song."

She slides onto the piano bench next to him, giving him a look but otherwise shrugging. "Okay. What do you want to write a song about?"

He looks at her and then he looks down at her thigh pressed against his, and he lets out a long breath and he tries to smile.

I DON'T LIKE HER I DON'T LIKE HER I DON'T I REALLY DON'T are the thoughts sputtering vaguely somewhere in his brain, but all he can think of are her shorts right next to his and her leg right next to his and how close their bodies are.

He jumps up suddenly when she goes to place a hand on his leg. A FRIEND. "Maybe we can write a song later." She sits there, looking bewildered, brown book in her hands full of wretched secrets that he'd wish she would forget about. That he wish he'd never found out about. God, this is inconvenient.

Dallas. A city in Texas. He wants to swear.

As he leaves the room, he realizes exactly how fond he is of the smell of lemon and spearmint.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: yay for austin/ally!

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