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[kayhasablogproblem]

Christopher sat at the computer and groaned. Tomorrow was Edwin’s birthday, and he still had absolutely no idea what to do or get for him. Cheesy, generic, birthday-related gifts were out of the question. It was far too late to order anything off the internet. Unless… He glanced up at the clock. For fuck’s sake. 6:01 pm. One minute too late to order before 6pm for next day delivery. He didn’t even know what he would have ordered for him anyway. Suddenly, he had an idea.

He grabbed his hat off the desk, put it on, and ran downstairs. He ran to the door, and opened it.

“Where are you going?” BC asked.

He glanced around suspiciously. “Out.” He left without another word.

 It was somewhat of an understatement to say that the cashier at the supermarket gave him a few weird looks. She was fairly unfazed by the industrial quantities of Oreos. The industrial quantities of fruit shoot earned Christopher a confused glance. An expression of concern was given at the boxes of crayons. The spy kids trilogy boxset was too much for her to handle. “I had no idea we even sold this.” She was rendered speechless once more at the 10 giant bottles of caramel sauce.

“I lost a bet.” Christopher tried to explain. She raised an eyebrow.

~

Christopher stepped onto the train with two huge shopping bags, and a feeling of having accomplished something.

When he returned to the house, BC rushed up to him as soon as he opened the door.

“So what did you buy?” He asked.

“For the most part, it’s none of your business. But-” He put the bags down, and pulled out the bottles of caramel sauce. “I got these for the other day.”

BC grabbed one, and held it up victoriously. “YEEEEEEEESSSSSSSSSSSSSSSSS!”

Christopher picked up the bags again, and headed back to his room. He shoved them both into one of the cupboards.

~

Edwin woke up, and scowled at the gap in the curtains that was currently letting light through, and blinding him. He got up, and as he walked over to the window, he glanced at the calendar. When he remembered what day it was, his heart sank. May 14th. The day that he managed to ruin many peoples’ lives simply because of his existence. And for some strange reason, ‘happy’ was the main word always associated with it. He figured that if he didn’t mention it to anyone, nobody would remember, and he could get through the day without thinking about it too much.

 He quickly got dressed, and opened the door. Stood right in front of it was a rather dishevelled Christopher, with his hand raised, ready to knock.

“Err,” Edwin said, “Your hat’s on backwards.”

Christopher’s hand reached up to it. As he felt it, his eyes widened and he swiftly turned it around.

“Where the hell were you last night?” Edwin asked, concerned.

“I had a Mario kart tournament with BC, Rick and Arabella. It got pretty heated.”

“And didn’t you go to bed at all?”

Christopher shook his head. “I ended up passing out on the sofa. They didn’t even notice until I came in 12th place for 5 rounds in a row.”

“And what about them? Did they get to bed?”

“BC did I think. Arabella fell asleep halfway to the door, and I think Rick’s still out cold behind the sofa. He might even be dead.” He shrugged.

“Christopher, I don’t think that’s something to just shrug about.”

He shrugged again. “Anyway, happy birthday.”

“Oh, I, uh-”

“No.” Christopher said. “I know what you’re going to say. You tell me every year. I know this day isn’t a happy day for you, and I totally understand that. However, in our society, each person gets one day a year that’s especially for them, and it just so happens to be the anniversary of their birth. Nobody ever takes into consideration that this may not be a happy occasion for some people, but even so, today is your day. And it’s definitely not a day I want to miss out on. So, instead of happy birthday, I really should be saying ‘Happy Edwin day.’”

Edwin cracked a smile.

“And so I bought dumb movies and crayons and snacks, so we’re going to make the most of today.”

“Thank you.”

Christopher stepped forward and hugged him.

“And don’t forget, none of it was your fault. None of it was ever your fault.”

[kayhasablogproblem]

Christopher just stared. This couldn't be. How could he be here? Damien walked up beside the two, and smirked. Neither of them saw. Rick appeared beside Matt, and she punched his shoulder, yet couldn't take her eye off what was happening.

 “Hey.” Said Christopher, rather plainly.

Edwin didn't respond verbally. He shoved his hands in his pockets, and stared at the ground, quite clearly going red.

“I didn't expect to see you here.”

Edwin looked up at this, and took his hands out of his pockets. He was no less red in the face, though.

“Me neither.”

Christopher smiled.

  Edwin returned the smile, but his face was partially hidden by his hair.

 It was silent. A breeze blew across the plains.

 “What's brought you here then?” Asked Christopher.

“It's a long story.” Edwin replied, putting a hand behind his head nervously.

“There's no rush.” Said Christopher brightly, and Edwin laughed.

“I wouldn't even know where to start.”

“At the beginning is usually a good place.”

“It's a good place if you know where the beginning is. Unfortunately, it's not that simple.”

“Isn't the beginning when you left town?” Christopher suggested.

“Well,” said Edwin, fiddling with the sleeve of his jacket, “It started quite a bit before that. But if we're just going with how I got here, then that really all began with you.”

 ~*~

 Christopher blinked in complete disbelief.

“What?”

Edwin looked up and smiled.

“H-How? Why? What did I ever-”

“Well, it's just that, you see, I've always admired you. For as long as I've known you, the fact that you're just so independent and headstrong has stood out to me. You're someone who when they want something to be done, they just get on with it. And you've given me the confidence to do the same.”

 Christopher ran to Edwin and hugged him tightly around his shoulders. With tears in his eyes, Edwin said,

“And even though I was convinced it would never happen, I always wanted to see you again. And here we are.”

“I love you.”

 They leaned in close and kissed.

[kayhasablogproblem]

You forget how lonely it was. When you cried, nobody heard. When you laughed, nobody cared. Every time kids younger than you fantasised about life outside, or talked about their new adoptive parents, their words cut into you. That would never be you. You weren’t wanted.

Even when against the odds, you were adopted, it wasn’t like what you imagined. You weren’t bought brand new toys of your own. They didn’t fuss and dote over you every minute of the day. You’d grown out of that. Or, at least, you were supposed to. But it’s not time that wears these desires away – it’s experience. And nobody had truly loved you before.

But you kept your head high. Just because it wasn’t perfect, it didn’t mean that you had to resign yourself to a lifetime of misery. 11 years had been enough. You know you loved your parents more than anything in the world – back then. You thought that they felt the same, until you were overshadowed. Cast aside. Forgotten.

Your sister was everything that your father had always wanted – his own child, flesh and blood. You weren’t good enough anymore. You wondered if you ever had been in the first place. He’d never treated you the way your mom treated you. You wouldn’t quite realise how little he loved you until a few years later.

You got your fresh start. A family, and a new school. People told you that you would be putting the past behind you, and forgetting all about it. You smiled and nodded to their faces, but laughed behind their backs. There was no way you could forget it. It was a part of who you are.

You admit, at this point in time you had little optimism left. You’d become used to disappointments. And while it was rough, you knew that almost everyone around you was going through the same shit you were. For once, you weren’t being left behind. And somehow, you found friends. You fit in. You found a little bit of happiness.

Marie Stanton. What a mess she was in your life, and when you first met her, you had no idea. She was smart, she was beautiful, she was popular. She lingered on the edge of your social circle, where it intersected hers. Because of course, it revolved around her. Everyone loved her, including you, you thought. And in a sea of lovers, it was you she chose. You wonder now how much better things would have been if she chose someone else. Anyone else.

Back then, her love felt like a blessing. You thought that this was how it should be. It didn’t quite feel how people said it should, but you’d learned that nothing in life was like people said it would be. You didn’t notice what was missing. For the very first time in your life, you had too little love to give, and you were receiving far too much in return.

Your wake-up call came from an unexpected place. A friend, is how you thought of him. He was a bit of an outcast, like you’d been, before you knew him. Your friends told you to be wary, to stay away from him. “He’s gay.” They always said, that word like poison in their mouths. You knew what it meant – you weren’t stupid. But you didn’t really understand why it was such a bad thing. You still don’t, but that’s a different story.

It’s not like you could avoid him – you shared the field as part of the baseball team. It’s part of what got you to your high social status, but evidently that trick didn’t work for everyone. But you could have avoided becoming so close. You didn’t have to share those looks, and feel that spark that you couldn’t identify. You didn’t have to laugh with him with the happiness that made you both feel so warm inside. But because you did those things, there was nothing you could do to stop you falling head-first in love with him.

It scared you. On one hand, how drastically you’d overestimated your feelings for Marie – you didn’t really understand love until you’d felt it. And it wasn’t for her.

On the other, your own life. You knew how Kalis was treated. He was constantly mocked, teased, and had no friends outside of the team. You were scared to be treated like him. You didn’t want to lose what you had. Sure, it was selfish, but before you got to High School, you didn’t have friends. You had one. And you’d left her behind.

You didn’t know how to tell her. You didn’t know how to tell him. And maybe the sensible option at the time would have been to keep it to yourself, but feelings and love never cared about what was sensible. You were so lost and confused that you felt as if you had to tell somebody. And you knew you were screwed from the start when you were asking yourself who wouldn’t attack you for it.

But even with your careful planning and secrecy, you could never have known how it actually happened. It was just a kiss. That’s all it should have been. The problem was, it was a kiss that confirmed every single one of your suspicions and threw you right in at the deep end. There wasn’t a plan B anymore. You were in love with Kalis Lait, and Marie didn’t have a fucking clue.

She took it about as well as you expected – i.e. badly. The moment you told her, the guilt washed over you all over again, even worse than before. And then, the fear set in. Who would she tell? What would happen to you if everyone knew? Would everything you’d worked so hard for be lost?

Some of those questions took longer to be answered than you thought, because she told no-one. As much as it crushed her, shattered her heart into pieces, she spared you. She took the hit for you; when you made your break up public, she took the blame. When she was most emotionally vulnerable, she played the villain, to give you the sympathy. You didn’t deserve it. With every misguided gesture of comfort, your lies dug deeper into you. You knew it would only be a matter of time before they knew the truth.

Those months were the longest of your life. You watched her fall as you rose, and each day you fell deeper and deeper in love. You wanted to declare your love to everyone you met, but knew that those heartfelt words might be the last you ever spoke. So the two of you hid.

Whilst every covert kiss in a hiding place felt magical and exciting, it hurt to keep it to yourself. There were so many close calls. Every insult to Marie, every kiss when you thought the coast was clear, and every snide homophobic comment, particularly those aimed at your secret lover, set you on edge. You quickly learned how tiring it was to pretend to be a heterosexual.

The baseball team were the first to find out. It was inevitable recently; it was hard to miss the not-so-subtle flirting leading up to your and Kalis’ first kiss. And, thank fuck, they didn’t care. Baseball practice became your safe haven. It was like a different world to everything outside of the field. Sure, they soon tired of your stupid innuendos and gay jokes, but no more than one tires of puns. (Unbelievable, I know, but apparently it happens.)

You reached the calm before the storm. With somewhere you could both be free, you relaxed. The times when you had to hide became so much more bearable. You felt that things were finally looking up again for you. You became too careless.

It was the day of a major home game. Everyone piled into the stands. All of your friends came to watch, even those you knew would hate you if they knew the truth. All eyes were on you.

As you’d been trained, you quickly forgot that. The pressure fell away, and it was like you were just back in practice. Which was all well and good, except practice usually involved meaningful looks, winks, and sometimes a whole lot more. Just as you were walking off the field, you shared a kiss – quick, but loving. People saw.

You realised you fucked up the moment the murmurs rose up from the crowd. You should not have done that. Finn’s look of abject horror further confirmed this, as unnecessary as that was. But in that moment, your only sensible option was to pretend like it didn’t happen.

When the game finally ended, you did the only thing you could: you ran. If you made it home without seeing anyone else, you wouldn’t have to deal with the fallout until tomorrow.

Tomorrow came far too soon. So you bought every second of time you could. You avoided crowds, you kept your head down, you refused to make eye contact. And somehow, the words managed to wash over you.

But there was nothing stopping you from getting punched in the face. No really, that actually happened, the moment you left the school gates. Your fall from grace marked by your face on the tarmac. You didn’t quite realise what was happening until you were lying on the ground, the whole world spinning, and the shouts growing louder in your ringing ears.

And that was the beginning. If you had a dollar for every time you were assaulted, you might have actually had enough money to tend to your injuries properly. Instead, the two of you mopped up the blood with your kitchen towels, eyes on the clock, counting down the seconds until your safe haven would be safe no more.

But at least Marie was welcomed back into her circles with open arms. How the tables turned, her comforted, and you cast out and shunned. Maybe the reception might not have been so warm if she had revealed that she lied to protect you.

These were the worst days of your life, but at the very least Kalis stood by your side. In fact, the whole baseball team did, providing distractions and confronting your harassers, to improve the chances of the two of you having a safe journey home. Not that it ever really worked, but it gave you more strength to withstand the punches.

But the worst of them came when you had to face it alone. Your father’s palm colliding with the spot where so many others had before, deepening your near-permanent bruise. In that moment, your worst fears were confirmed. ‘At least you’re not really my son.’ It was then that you started counting the days until you left home.

Your final summer in Asterdale was a whirlwind. You hoped being away from school would give your bruises time to heal, and it did, but you had to watch out for the fists waiting in the alleyways and behind the fences of your neighbourhood. But at least you had an escape plan – on the 4th of September, you and Kalis would start your first semester at Richmond Valley college.

Stepping into your dorm room was like taking the first step into freedom. A chance to start over, where nobody knew who you were or where you came from. But it wasn’t perfect – to stay safe, you had to hide who you were, or learn who at Richmond could hit the hardest.

And while you did manage it, second year came as a painful reminder of just how careful you had to be. I started innocently enough – just your typical college party, complete with underage drinking, and skirts so short they may as well not have been there. It really wasn’t your thing, and you and Kalis left early, and were glad of it when Phillip Greenbriar from down the hall stopped by your dorm with tales of just how many shots Stacy Darlington had, and exactly who vomited in the hallway. But all of that paled in comparison with his final anecdote – making out with Jason Merriweather, aka the heartthrob of Richmond Valley.

He didn’t brag, in fact he was very careful, making sure there was nobody else around in earshot, and even then saying it under his breath. No, he wasn’t showing off at all. It was both a moment of solidarity, and a cry for help. I mean, what else do you do when you make out with the definitely heterosexual swim team captain, who is so drunk he thinks he’s kissing his definitely heterosexual female crush, and you’ve caught feelings? Of course you go and talk to the gay couple down the hallway.

And while you feel warmth in your chest knowing that you and Kalis aren’t alone at Richmond, you feel the tightness that goes along with the fear of being exposed to the world once more. So you advise Phillip to lie low, and hope everyone at that party was far too drunk to notice.

They most definitely were not.

All anyone was talking about in class the next morning was either how crippling their hangover was, or Jason Merriweather making out with a guy at that party. Nobody thought hot, popular Jason might be gay, but there was the evidence, in plain sight.

The next few weeks were like an out of body experience and a flashback rolled into one – his plummeting popularity and loss of everything he knew like a mirror image of your own, but worse. At least you were technically at fault for yours. At least you had the baseball team at your back. At least you had Kalis. Jason had nothing.

Somehow, Phillip escaped unscathed – nobody knew him well enough to have recognised his face buried in Jason’s. But the guilt was destroying him. Jason was an innocent victim to all of this – he was blackout drunk while Phillip was completely sober.

So Phillip tried to make things right – he went to the pool while Jason was training alone. He was aware that he was the last person Jason wanted to see, but he knew it was the right thing to do.

You never found out exactly what happened, but it wasn’t your place. The gist of it was that the heterosexual hottie maybe wasn’t so heterosexual. Definitely still hot though. If you weren’t taken, daaamn youd’ve tapped that.

But true love doesn’t always save the day, and there isn’t always a happy ending. Things got so bad for Phillip and Jason that they fled the college, and you never saw either of them again. You hope things worked out for them in the end, but honestly, who knows what happened to them.

The remainder of your college years were spent trying to remain inconspicuous, staying silent when anyone mentioned Jason Merriweather, or that kid from your dorm block who disappeared at the same time as him. You didn’t want to follow in their footsteps.

Then came the day that simultaneously turned your world upside down, and explained everything at the same time. A strange pink haired girl you’d never seen before, but looked too old to be a freshman, approached you. She knew your name, and where you were from, but knew surprisingly little about who you were. But she knew more about you than you did.

Her words were confusing at first – that it had taken so long to find you, that you were so different to all the others, that you didn’t really make sense. You laughed at that last one, you knew that to be true. She then said everything that you already knew – that you didn’t belong.

She said you were a glitch. A glitch in what, you asked. You learned that you were a glitch in the universe – a person lost in space and time, who belonged nowhere, but wandered aimlessly through reality. And you learned you weren’t alone – there were eight others like you. You were the ninth. The girl who was telling you this, Coral, was the fifth.

But you were unique, even among the glitches. You seemed like a normal person – nobody questions a two year old turning up out of the blue in a city of broken families and neglected children. So it had taken around 17 years for anyone to notice that you came from nowhere. Coral then said she didn’t want to overwhelm you with anything else, and left you with a phone with her name in, and a warning that many of the other glitches don’t stay in one place for long, and that your time may be coming to an end.

Her words scared you – being whisked away to another place and time almost certainly meant leaving your love behind. But everything else she said was a huge relief – you didn’t belong, and that was okay. You were a strange anomaly of the universe. And you never did end up taken from the world you called home. Not yet, at least.

Finally, your time at Richmond Valley drew to a close, but for the first time in your life, you had little hope for what lay ahead. Your knowledge of your identity wasn’t enough to overcome the reality that you lived in a world that wanted you dead.

After college, you and Kalis didn’t know where to turn. As adults now, you could no longer share a house, or be as close as you were, without raising suspicions. You had three options. Option one was to leave each other behind, and try to survive on your own. Option two was to stay together, as a giant fuck you to the world. You wanted that so badly, but knew it would most likely cost you your lives. Option three was to run.

You chose option three. It took a long time saving, and longer still trying to find a new life somewhere you’d be safe. After years of heartache, you had a deposit on a shitty ground floor apartment in a medium sized city in Aren, and your tickets out of there.

You left without looking back. No goodbyes were exchanged. None were needed. The only person you cared about was going with you. You boarded the empty train, throwing your entire lives onto the row of seats in front of you. And for the first time in a long time, you put your arms around his shoulders, buried your head in his neck, and felt tears of relief pour out of you. You would be safe at last.

You stepped onto Aren soil in the neon-lit night. You made your way through narrow streets and wide boulevards. After a while, you finally worked up the courage to put your hand in his. Nobody stared. Nobody took any real notice. A woman passed the two of you and smiled. Things would be very different here.

When you finally arrived in your new home, you collapsed, safe and warm, into each other’s arms. You awoke the next morning knowing you had lost everything, but that you were finally, truly, getting a fresh start. Once you had unpacked and settled in, and your apartment started to feel like home, the two of you did on your first day in Aren what you had been waiting almost a decade to do – you got married.

It wasn’t glamorous, there was no ceremony, and no rings, but it was perfect. Millions of miles from home, you were finally able to be joined with your love, and not only that, you got rid of the Stockwell name that had haunted you across the years. Your honeymoon was spent curled up on your sofa-bed, experiencing queer cinema, and sampling the local cuisine (pizza from the local takeaway). You couldn’t have asked for more.

But this is the life of Percy Lait, formerly Stockwell, we’re talking about, and if you’ve learned anything so far, simple pleasures don’t last long. The next morning you received a phone call from a sobbing Marie Stanton. The two of you had stayed in touch across the years, but you couldn’t even remember the last time you’d seen her in person. And yet, here she was, spilling her heart out to you, the boy who broke her heart.

She was pregnant, and her fiancé, her family, and those she had considered friends, had abandoned her in her time of greatest need. In her desperation, you were the last person she could turn to. You explained your own situation – that you were now halfway across the universe, with almost nothing to your name, but if she could make it, you had a spare room which she was more than welcome to use.

You explained everything to Kalis. He was hesitant at first, but understood that she was in great need, and that the two of you were the only ones that could help. And he said that the two of you still owed her a great debt after she protected you back in high school, even to her own downfall.

So your newfound solitude with Kalis only lasted a few months, but you couldn’t ask for a better roommate than Marie. She had come from the same outcast status that the two of you had, into a new world where she felt she finally belonged. She was smart, funny, kind, and forgiving, and in that time, you realised that although you would never love her the way she loved you, you still loved her a great deal, and she was an important part of your life.

And when her daughter, Rosie, came along, the four of you made the strangest family, but one filled with all the love, support, and acceptance you had waited your whole lives for. You learned that happiness is family, but family has nothing to do with blood, or words on a piece of paper, but those you love, and choose to surround yourself with.

And here you lie across from the most important member of your family, recounting the story of your life. You don’t know where it will go next, but wherever it does, you know you won’t be alone. Not anymore.

[kayhasablogproblem]

Hello

I poured two cups of coffee, glancing up at the clock. 10:17. She was sleeping in, but that was to be expected. It was later than usual though. I brushed my worries aside. Not late enough to mean anything’s wrong. It was true I suppose; staying up until 10pm really wasn’t unusual for anyone, except Laskia of course.

As I drunk my coffee, I carried on with the report I was writing, and after a while I managed to properly focus on it, and stop being so panicky. I think Laskia was right about me being overprotective, as much as I hate to admit it. In my defense, it’s hard not to be when for approximately 12 hours a day your girlfriend’s soul resides in another body and is a superhero on a planet halfway across the universe. It can be quite stressful.

My gaze drifted to the clock once again as I saved the report and finished the last dregs of my coffee. 12:02 was unusually late. Worryingly late.

I heard an almighty crash from upstairs, and before I could work out what it was, it was followed by a scream. And then, the house fell silent. My mug slipped from my grasp, but in the numbness of fear, I didn’t even hear it smash, or even feel the porcelain shards tearing at my skin as I raced towards the bedroom. Something was wrong. I could sense it. Something was very wrong.

The door was flung open in front of me, and I was shaken by the image of Laskia curled upright, unmoving except for a shiver throughout her entire body. I rushed forward to help her, comfort her, something, but was met by a cold stare.

“Get out.” I was frozen. I’d never heard her like this before, despite everything. What was I supposed to do?

“GET OUT!” My legs followed her orders before my brain could catch up. But as the stare was broken, I noticed something that sent a shiver down my spine: her eyes were brown, not silver.

I only made it a few steps down the hallway before my legs gave up, and I slid down the wall. I was terrified. This was so different to every other time. I’d lost count of how many times I’d comforted her in the middle of the night after her other body had been knocked unconscious, or helped her through a panic attack after a particularly gruesome battle, or even just helped her be functional when she was too overwhelmed with everything to cope. She’d been through a lot, and none of it had ever been anything like this.

I just had to wait. Given how distressed she was, she definitely needed time alone. A single sob, followed by more silence. I can’t stand when she’s silent like that: she’s usually in a worse state than when she breaks down into tears. And worse still, you’re never entirely sure if she’s ok or not.

She was completely right; I worry far too much.

Nearly an hour had passed, which I figured was long enough, if not too long. I gently pushed open the door, holding a steaming mug in my other hand. Laskia had moved, which was a good sign. She was staring intently at her phone, rapidly flicking through the photo gallery.

“She took so much-” I heard her mutter, before she noticed me. She didn’t say a word, but gave me that icy stare again.

After a moment, she spoke again. “You’re back.” Resentment coated her words. It felt wrong, but I couldn’t place exactly why.

“Of course I’m back.” I did my best to soften my tone, but I was aware that I was doing a horrible job at hiding my fear. “I’m really worried about you.”

I put the coffee down on the bedside table, and she backed away from me.

“That’d be a first.”

This wasn’t Laskia’s playful joking. She meant every word she said. Part of me wanted to scream at her, but I knew it wouldn’t fix anything. I stuck to the gentle approach, as much as it was failing me.

“What do you mean? I’m always here for you, and I’m sorry if I’ve done anything to make you doubt that.”

“NO! No you’re not, and you never have been! In fact, almost every single thing you’ve done has been detrimental to me and my wellbeing. You’ve never cared about me.”

The realisation struck me so hard that I mistook my breathlessness for actually being winded. This couldn’t be happening. Surely I was wrong.

“You’re… you’re not Laskia Silverton.”

She snorted in my face.

“Actually, I am Laskia Silverton. But she isn’t. She never was. She just pretended to be for 23 years, and then left me in this mess.”

It was happening. And for once, I really hated myself for being right.

“But if you’re here now, then that means…”

She didn’t listen. “And for 23 years, she just took every chance she could to live out her fantasy of a happy, normal life, whilst feeling so special, and she never even thought about me. Did I not exist to her or something? Why does she get to live out two lives, while I don’t even get one? How fucking unfair is that? And what am I supposed to do now? Everyone around me has lived so much, and I’m just starting from nothing, and nobody knows who I am, and it’s all her fault.” Her eyes met mine, burning with anger. “She fucking adored you, you know. Sometimes, you were all she thought about, every waking moment. I couldn’t get away from it. I knew all of her thoughts, her feelings, her desires, and I hated every single last one of them. I don’t know how you can stand her. She was so selfish, she didn’t even think about-”

I couldn’t bear it. “SHE DIDN’T HAVE A CHOICE!” Stunned silence. Laskia went to continue, but I cut her off. “If you really knew everything, then you’d know how hard it was for her, to be torn between worlds, unable to live out either one to her full potential. You’d know how hard she fought to not let go of the people she loved, in either world. You’d know how much it broke her heart to learn that she never really belonged here, where her heart was, where her home was, and that it would never be the last place she saw. You’d know how scared she was to ever give this life up. I get that it’s hard for you, but the last thing she was was selfish.”

“Oh, and because it made her sad, that means that I don’t matter? What kind of fucked up logic is that?”

“That’s not what I meant.” My words came out much blunter than I’d planned. “It’s just that-”

“I don’t care. Nothing you say can redeem you in my eyes. You’re everything she loved, so you’re everything I hate, whether I like it or not. I can hardly stand to look at you. I should-”

She moved to leave, but I stopped her.

“Why are you-”

“I’m not going to stop you. I just want you to answer one question before you do leave. If you’re here, talking to me now, then does that mean she’s….. I mean Scarlet’s…..”

“Yes.” It was the bluntest thing I’d ever heard from that mouth. “Yes of course she’s dead. It doesn’t take a genius to work that one out.”

Based on simple logic, and events that transpired afterwards, I can work out that Laskia walked straight out, without taking any of her belongings aside from her purse, and never spoke to me again.

But I can’t be sure, and I don’t know how those events came to pass.

The word ‘dead’ echoed around my head, over, and over, again. She really was gone. For good. And there was nothing I could do. I felt tears running down my cheeks before my emotions fully caught up. In a matter of moments I was a sobbing mess on the floor. I’d taken so much for granted. We both knew that it was a possibility that something might happen to her other body someday, but I don’t think either of us really considered the implications of it.

It would have been so much better if I’d been there when it happened, or there was a body I could see, or I could hold her one last time, even if her body was now lifeless, just anything except finding out from the words of the resentful girl who had powerlessly watched her entire life unfold.

There were so many more things I’d wanted to say to her. We had our whole lives ahead of us. I still do, but it could never be the same without her. I would never be the same.

I don’t know if what I did was enough.

[kayhasablogproblem]

[kayhasablogproblem]

Happy Birthday Mangue

Becky pulled off the covers, and rubbed her eyes. She grabbed her phone and turned it on, squinting at its brightness. Her gaze flicked to the date. April 27th. Technically, today was her 20th birthday. She stumbled towards the window, and pulled open the curtains. The sky was blue, and dotted with picturesque clouds. Beyond that, the landscape was bare. Not for the first time, she missed the sight of the falling cherry blossoms from outside her home in Aren. It had been hundreds of years since she’d last seen them, but she could still remember them vividly.

Reluctantly, she moved away from the window, and begun to get dressed. There was no use thinking of home. It probably wasn’t even there anymore. She pulled on her shoes, and stood up. She moved to the door, and opened it. Stood in front of her was Tom, clutching a packet of cheap fairy cakes. She looked up, and smiled at him.

“I know we can now actually afford a lot better, but…” He said.

“But we’ve been doing this for 6 years now. Thank you.”

“And I’m sorry, but I actually spend more than 20p on these.”

She laughed. “We can afford better now. How much did you spend?”

“35p.”

“We shall dine like kings. Let’s go outside.”

~

The two sat on the hill behind the kitchen. Becky was wrestling with the packaging, while Tom pulled out the lighter. She held out the cake and he flicked on the lighter, and held it above the perfect circle of thick pink icing. She blew on it, and he let it turn off.

“Happy birthday Mangue.” He said.

“Congratulations to me for making it through another year of this shit life.”

The pair burst out laughing.

“It got better,” He said, smiling.

“Not really.”

“Well it did get worse, but then it got better.”

She nodded as she peeled off the paper case. She shoved half of the cake into her mouth.

“I swear these things get less and less organic each year.”

Tom laughed. “35p. What a fucking rip off.”

[kayhasablogproblem]

Bakeoff fic pt 3

Matt leaned over to Rick, and whispered, “You cannot tell merely by looking, but the last of an endangered species, the heterosexual, is dead.”

Damien had to clamp his hand over Rick's mouth to stop his laughter from being heard. Dara giggled to himself.

 “Good morning everybody! Welcome back. Your final challenge is the show stopper. Your teams must create a three-tiered cake. Beyond that, it's up to you. You have five hours. Off you go!”

 ~*~

 “So, strategy,” said Damien, “We get the cakes cooked and cooling as quickly as possible. Then we can spend ages on decoration.”

“What are you two discussing?” asked Co-Chung.

“Plan,” said Rick, “Which has been affected by the fact that we are now short of a piping bag,”

“Your fault.”

“Yours too. But we now have to spend more time on decoration. Which is time we don't have.”

“Good luck.”

“We don't need luck. We need to kidnap Tom in order to get extra time.”

 ~*~

 “How's it going?” asked Ben.

“Guess.” said BC

“No-one's died yet.”

“Correct. Not so sure it will stay that way though.”

Just then their mixer crashed to the floor.

 ~*~

 Co-Chung did not need to ask how Becky and Tom's cake was getting on. Tom was busy fishing eggshells out of the batter.

 ~*~

 Co-Chung walked over to Melina and Chloe's table, where the cakes were busy baking, and Melina was busy preparing the frosting, while Chloe was busy making jam.

“How.”

“It's witchcraft, I swear.” said Ben.

“I wish there was a more logical explanation.”

 ~*~

 Dara and Matt had also managed to get their cakes into the oven. However, as Ben walked up, Dara was overwhelmed by a cloud of icing sugar as he began to whisk the frosting. He stood to the side and cleaned his glasses. He replaced them onto his head, adjusted them, and began whisking again. He turned it off almost immediately, and took his glasses off again. Matt just sighed and took over. Dara then picked up the jar of jam, and attempted to open it. Matt closed her eyes and exhaled slowly.

 ~*~

 Rick sneaked cautiously up behind Chloe. He reached slowly towards the piping bag sat on the table. As his fingertips touched the plastic, Melina brought down the kitchen knife swiftly between his outstretched fingers. He brought his hand away, and hung his head in shame has he headed back.

 As he passed, Matt laughed at him. He grabbed the knife from where Damien was about to pick it up, and held up, threatening. She grabbed the gun from her pocket, and shot the wall behind him, and smirked. He whimpered and went to cuddle Damien. He just sighed.

“Knife.”

Rick reluctantly handed it over. A cloud of smoke rose up from the other side of the kitchen as Becky opened the oven. Layla just held her head in her hands and cried.

 ~*~

 “One minute remaining!”

 Tom was overcome with panic. They were nowhere near finished. He had a mental breakdown for about 10 seconds, before vanishing and reappearing slightly to the left, looking neat and tidy, and showing off a perfectly finished cake. He grinned. Damien threw a spoon at the back of his head.

 Meanwhile, Melina meticulously finished the last swirl of frosting, and placed the piping bag down. She and Chloe managed to share a short kiss before Arabella spoke up again.

 “Time is up!”

Rick threw the palette knife onto the workbench.

“It's not fair!” shouted Damien, “They had extra time!” he pointed to Tom and Becky, who were sat with smug looks on their faces. “That's cheating!

 “It's not cheating,” said Lizzie, “We never defined a rule that said you aren't allowed to stop time to finish your bake. What they did was perfectly allowed.”

“And completely unfair.” Rick pouted.

 ~*~

 Lizzie and Layla arrived at the table of Rachael and BC. Layla glared at BC as the top layer slipped off of the cake, landing face-down on the table. The judges took a forkful each.

“Absolute shit.”

“Still edible though,” said Lizzie.

“Still edible is not a compliment.”

“Relativity, Layla. Relativity.”

 ~*~

 The judges next approached Tom and Becky's cake.

“Nice piping,” said Lizzie.

Layla was busy taking a bite. “Looking pretty does not hide the fact that it tastes like something shat out of a ferrari.”

“'Shat out of a ferrari'. 'Shat out of a ferrari'. Layla, what the fuck?” asked Arabella.

“I have been poisoned by shitty cake, leave me alone.”

 ~*~

 Next was Rick and Damien's creation.

“Not bad, to say you were short of a piping bag.” said Lizzie.

They both high-fived each other.

“The loss of their piping bag was their fault. Do not take pity on them.”

“Layla, stop being so negative.”

“Elizabeth Augustus, let me ask you something. When in my life have I ever been positive about anything?”

“When you've won at mariokart.”

 Lizzie nearly died that day.

 In Lizzie's absence, Layla was eating a slice of the cake.

“It does taste really good though.”

 As she walked away, Ben discretely cut himself a slice, and sat down eating it in a corner.

 ~*~

 Lizzie had now recovered, and was eating some of Matt and Dara's cake.

“Not very good,” said Layla,

“But not disgusting either.”

 ~*~

 Lizzie gasped at the beauty of Melina's piping work. Layla was incredibly satisfied with its taste and texture. Nothing needed to be said. Perfection had been created.

“What are your secrets?” Damien demanded, brandishing a knife.

“Not revealing them to others.” Said Chloe, raising her own.

Damien slowly put it down, glowering at her.

 ~*~

 “I do not feel that it is necessary to announce the winners of the competition.” Said Arabella, “However I will do so as a neat conclusion to this event.”

 She walked up to Chloe and Melina with a sheet of stickers.

“Which ones do you want?”

“Can I have the snail?” asked Melina.

“I want the lion. Wait no, the giraffe. Actually, the rainbow. Hmm. The star.”

“I will treasure this moment forever,” said Melina, with heavy amounts of sarcasm. Just the amount that the recipe called for.

[kayhasablogproblem]

Bakeoff fic pt 2

“Welcome back to 'BC and Rachael kill Tom, everyone else is alright except for Melina and Chloe who become the goddesses of cooking'! Your next challenge is 'the really fucking hard challenge'. Traditionally in the competition, the judges leave. There's really no point to that in this, but they're leaving anyway.”

 The judges did, in fact, leave.

“Your challenge is to make profiteroles. You have been given a really vague recipe. Good luck! And let's try not to have any more casualties.”

 ~*~

 “So Rick and Damien.” said Co-Chung, “What's your strategy?”

“Follow the recipe.” said Rick.

“Despite missing steps?”

“Yes.”

“If we try to guess,” said Damien, “We're almost certainly going to be wrong.”

“Hang on a sec, it has cream on the ingredients, but not in the method.”

“Don't put cream in then. It's a red herring.”

“Do you even know what profiteroles are?”

“Maybe.”

 ~*~

 “What do you think of the recipe?” asked Ben.

“Well it says to temper chocolate.” said Rachael, thinking aloud, “How the fuck do you temper something? Do you make it angry, or do you calm it down?”

“I think it's something to do with making it shiny,” piped BC

“How the fuck does shoosh-papping chocolate make it shiny?”

BC shrugged.

 ~*~

 Co-Chung passed Melina and Chloe's table wordlessly on his way over to Matt and Dara.

“Any more injuries?”

“You just hurt my feelings,” said Matt melodramatically. Co-Chung just walked away. He was not dealing with this shit.

 ~*~

 “How are you doing?” asked Ben

“Tom's still dying, but I'm fine.” Said Becky.

“I meant in terms of the challenge, but that's good to know anyway,”

“Well, we're going to struggle, but at least we know what a profiterole is. I don't think Damien does.”

“Well that's something.”

“Yes, it's something. I think you might want to check on table one though. Something's on fire, and they haven't even started cooking yet.

 ~*~

 “How did you manage to set it on fire?” Rachael yelled.

“I don't know! I was just mixing it and it started to burn!”

“I think it might have something to do with the fact that the plug is half way out of the socket with paper towels on top.”

“Ohhh...... That explains it.”

 ~*~

 Dara leant beside the oven. He saw they had burned, and had panicked. “Shit!” he exclaimed. The entire room went silent. Every pair of eyes in the room turned to him.

“Omuhnuh!” said Rachael.

“He swore!” said Melina. “He never swears! What the fuck is going on?”

Dara attempted to just carry on, but was so flustered that he dropped two profiteroles on the way out of the oven.

“Remind me never to swear again,” he whispered to Matt

“If you swear all the time no-one will care. Don't worry about it though,” she said, kissing his forehead.

 ~*~

 “Everyone please put your profiteroles onto the table behind your team name!”

Lizzie and Layla re-entered the room.

 “Well,” said Layla, “We're not supposed to know who made which profiteroles. Unfortunately, it's incredibly obvious who made which ones.”

“Let's start with these,” said Lizzie.

 The profiteroles she had pointed to looked to be of good quality. However, it was obvious who their creators were due to the fact that they were covered in pipings of dicks in chocolate.

“Inappropriate use of piping bags. Confiscated.”

Rick hit Damien over the back of the head.

“What are you hitting me for? That was you!”

“It was you, too.”

 Layla and Lizzie both took one of the profiteroles each.

“Very good.”

 They moved along to the next plate. These were blackened, and had entire pieces of chocolate resting on top.

“These are not edible.” Layla scowled at Rachael and BC.

“We never said they were.” they chorused in perfect unison. They might have been edible, if they had watched their timer, instead of practising speaking that line exactly at the same time.

Next they came to some burned profiteroles.

“Matt and Dara, am I correct?”

Dara nodded, then said, “The middle two have been dropped.”

The judges both tried one.

“They're nice, other than the fact they're burned.”

 The next plate was perfect. Arabella ran past, grabbed two, and shoved them in her mouth.

The judges ate theirs almost as eagerly.

“Fantastic,” said Lizzie.

 “These are deflated,” said Layla at the final plate. She ate one of them. “The worst profiteroles I have ever tasted. Although I suppose if I ate BC and Rachael's they'd be even worse. And would also probably kill me.”

 “Order then,” said Lizzie.

“BC and Rachael last, as they are suitable for use as charcoal. Next is Tom and Becky. Then Matt and Dara, Damien and Rick, with Chloe and Melina unsurprisingly at the top.”

 “That concludes today's challenges,” said Arabella. “Tomorrow we have the showstopper!”

[kayhasablogproblem]

Bakeoff fic pt 1

“Welcome to the...” Arabella trailed off. “What was it called again?”

“Bake off.”

“Masterchef.”

“Titanic cooking competition.”

“I'm sure we decided on Kitchen Murder.”

 “Well...” suggested Damien, “Why don't we just call it 'BC and Rachael fuck everything up, Melina and Chloe are absolutely perfect and everyone else is rubbish but not really of note', since that's basically what this is going to be?”

“Seconded!” Arabella's hand shot up.

“Since that's the only name that has been vaguely agreed on, let's go with that.” Co-Chung agreed. There were scattered nods and agreements from the rest of the judges and hosts.

 “Hello everybody, and welcome to 'BC and Rachael fuck up spectacularly, Melina and Chloe are absolutely, 100% perfect, and everyone else is just kind of meh.' Let's begin!”

 ~*~

 “First, I introduce you to the judges, Elizabeth Augustus, and Layla Storm!”

“This is probably going to kill me,” was Layla's response.

“Here are your hosts, Co-Chung and Ben!”

“Hi.” was all they could think of to say.

“And I am your presenter and narrator, Arabella Forrester!”

 Damien was confused. “Isn't a host and a presenter basically the same thing?”

“Silence from the contestants!”

He picked up the piping bag, wrote 'fuck you' onto the baking tray, and held it up to show her.

“Anyone found using the piping bags for inappropriate purposes will have them confiscated.”

He held up his middle finger.

“Contestants who make inappropriate hand gestures will be disqualified, along with their partner.”

 “Well fuck,” said Rachael, turning to BC, “What the hell are we going to do now?”

“Moving swiftly on, I now hand over to your hosts to introduce the contestants.”

 “On the front right table,” began Ben,

“Your right or my right?” asked Rick.

“My right.”

“Why not mine?”

“On the front right we have Rachael Evans and BC, so that we can keep an eye on them.”

They both grinned at this compliment. Well, at least they took it as a compliment.

 “On the middle right, we have Tom Fletcher and Becky Mangue.” said Co-Chung.

“In the back centre, we have Rick Anselin and Damien Stevenson.” Continued Ben.

“On the middle left we have Dara Zerner and Matt Anselin. They are in the most difficult to see position, as we figured we could just let them get on and still have the kitchen in one piece by the end of it.”

“And finally, we have Melina Dover and Chloe Parks in the front left, so that we can hide everyone else's disasters with whatever they manage to create.”

 ~*~

 “For your first challenge, your pair must create soup. Any comments, Judges?”

“Make it your own!” Said Lizzie, brightly.

“For the love of god please try to make it edible.” Was Layla's significantly less bright remark.

 Arabella took the stage again. “Let the 'BC and Rachael set fire to the kitchen, killing the other contestants, leaving only Melina and Chloe's masterpiece of a main course standing.' begin!”

 ~*~

 “So,” said Ben, “What are you making?”

“Soup!” chirped Matt. Co-Chung gave her a look of 'I am going to fucking kill you.' Dara quickly butted in to save her life.

“We are making chicken and mushroom soup.”

“Why didn't you to enter as contestants?” asked Matt.

“Are you attempting to suggest something?” said Co-Chung, rather too loudly, as Rachael picked up on his comment and nudged BC. Ben was slowly turning red. Dara quickly hurried to the back to get the chicken.

“I mean, I know the point is all the contestants are couples, but it would be amusing to just have you two in there as well.”

The hosts did not comment, and simply moved on to the next table.

 ~*~

 “What are you two making?” asked Co-Chung, anger still lingering in his voice from his conversation with Matt.

“Tomato and bacon soup.” Replied Becky, as Tom had his face stuck in the recipe book. Possibly literally. It was somewhat concerning.

Layla's head appeared over Becky's shoulder. “Did someone say bacon?”

Becky nodded.

“It had better be good.” Layla leant on the worktop and pointed her sword at Becky. She nodded again, and Layla nodded back.

 ~*~

 “So, what's your soup?” said Ben to the all-male group.

“Uhh... what?” said Rick

“What kind of soup are you making?”

“Oh! Soup! Uhhhhh..........”

“We're making a cheese and parsley soup.”

“Thank you Damien.” said Ben. He sighed. Well, it couldn't get any worse. Then he remembered who's table he was going to next.

 ~*~

 “On a scale of 'not very nice' to 'no survivors', how badly do you think you're going to fuck up?”

“Maybe a four.” Suggested Rachael.

“We're aiming for a four. In reality, probably a seven.”

“You really shouldn't be aiming for a four. This is a competition.” Said Co-Chung. “In any normal competition, on your scale a one would be the end of the world.”

“You said normal. In case you haven't noticed, this is not normal.”

Co-Chung sighed. “I'll locate the fire extinguisher.”

 ~*~

 “We're guaranteed to get something good from this table at least.” Co-Chung was just about done with everyone's shit.

“Not necessarily,” joked Chloe, “One of us could die in the explosion from the front right table.”

“One of you could die, and the other could lose an arm and your soup could still be the best,” said Ben.

“Not if you keep distracting us.” Muttered Melina darkly, holding up the large kitchen knife.

 ~*~

  The remaining time passed not without excitement.

 “Is soup supposed to be this thick?”

“I'd say no.”

“Let's push for a five.”

 “Where the fuck is the parsley?”

“I don't know.”

“Why don't you know?”

Rick shrugged.

 “Ahh!”

“First blood!” exclaimed Matt, holding up Dara's hand.

 “We are 25 minutes into the challenge. Our soup is cooking nicely, and the bacon is crushed and ready to be added. Team 1's kitchen towel is on fire. I'd say this is going well. We haven't fucked up just yet.”

“Well, about that...”

Becky sighed.

 “We apologise for the poor working conditions. We are also sorry that Tom has been forced to leave his workstation in order to continue to live. We are not sorry that Black Crystal has had to do the same, as she started this.”

“Did not!”

“Did too!”

 ~*~

 “Your time is now up!” Shouted Co-Chung in order to be heard over the smoke alarm and Tom's coughing. Ben threw an alarm clock onto the ceiling, and grinned like an idiot when it crashed into a heap on the floor.

 “Could BC and Rachael bring their soup up for judging?”

They both pulled cheesy smiles as they placed their bowl onto the table. Layla pulled out the spoon, and everyone watched as it plopped back into the bowl in thick globs.

“This is not soup.”

“We tried.” Pouted BC

“Try harder.”

 Lizzie took the other spoon, and the judges both tried the smallest possible amounts of the 'soup'. Layla's eyes widened.

“Holy fuck.”

“What?”

“This is... this is nice. Well not nice. But once you get past the horrible texture, and odd combination of flavours, you get something that tastes good. Could still probably kill someone with a weak stomach though.”

 BC and Rachael high-fived, then carried the bowl back to their table.

“Only 3 more bio-hazards to go.”

 ~*~

 Upon tasting Becky and Tom's soup, Lizzie spat it out. Layla just stared at Tom with a look of pure contempt on her face.

“What the fuck did you do to this?”

“I accidentally put chilli in instead of oregano.”

Horror spread across Chloe's face.

“How the fuck did you manage that?” Tom grinned and shrugged.

 ~*~

 Layla hesitantly put a small amount of Damien and Rick's soup into her mouth.

“That's good.” said Lizzie.

“See, we're not completely useless!” Beamed Rick.

 ~*~

 “How much blood am I expecting to find in this?”

“You will get your daily dose of iron,” said Matt.

Dara was quick to reassure Layla. “There shouldn't be any blood at all. I made sure my hand was bandaged up properly.”

Matt grinned and ruffled his hair. Meanwhile, Lizzie was actually eating the soup.

“You're free to go,” she said between mouthfuls, “It's good.”

 ~*~

 Layla eagerly ate a spoonful of Melina and Chloe's soup.

“Exceeds expectations. The winners.”

“Winners aren't announced until the end of all 3 challenges,” said Lizzie.

“You say that as if there was some sort of suspense about who would win.”

 “Everybody take a break!” said Arabella, reappearing. No-one knows where she went. “The next challenge starts in an hour.”

[kayhasablogproblem]

Dirk was unused to making such a minuscule impact on anybody. He checked to be sure that he did have his huge leather coat and his absurd red hat on and that he was properly and dramatically silhouetted by the light of the doorway. He felt momentarily deflated and said, “Er…” by way of self-introduction, but it didn’t get the boy’s attention. He didn’t like this. The kid was deliberately and maliciously watching television at him.

Douglas Adams “The Long Dark Teatime of the Soul (via michelleaugust)

[kayhasablogproblem]

here it is

“It's funny when you find yourself, looking from the outside.”

I listened to you as you began to sing. Your voice was far more beautiful than I could have imagined, and I was rather taken aback. I raised my head, and I was taken aback slightly. I didn't know how to describe it, and it was in your face, your voice, your body language, everything. Your singing was different. You were singing like you meant it. Somehow, you managed to make High School Musical more genuine than The Traveller's Song from Artemis.

 I was completely mesmerised. I managed to take my eyes away from you for a moment, and I looked around. Nothing had changed, except for the fact that Becky had gone to the bar to get a drink. However, when I turned back to you, nothing was the same.

 “And when you smiled, you made me feel like I could sing along.”

You turned to me, and for a moment our eyes met. You smiled, but your eyes were painted with sadness. You quickly turned away, and I was left with confusion. I just sat, watching you.

 “I can tell that I confused my feelings with the truth,”

Oh. Shit. Well...

Everything suddenly fell into place. In that moment I understood how you felt, but I didn't want to know. I was overcome with guilt. The realisation that should have explained everything left me with hundreds more questions. I knew how you felt. What I didn't know was how I felt. Or did I? I wasn't sure of anything any more. The things I was unsure of suddenly became clear in my mind, and everything I had been certain of was thrown completely out of the window.

 You loved me, and had done for a long time. I hadn't even noticed. Or if I had, I tried to ignore it. There was no ignoring it now. My heart was saying yes. My head was contemplating how many bags of crisps I could afford. Okay, so maybe it was also considering the possibility of a relationship with my best friend. I was multi-tasking. But if I bought 10 large bags and 5 small bags, would that be better value than 7 large and 7 small? Would it be worth having change left over in order to buy something else? You should be thinking about more important things. Yeah probably. Why should I be considering crisps when they sold popcorn?

 The song ended, and you stepped off the stage. Fuck it, I'll just buy 100 lollipops. Instead of sitting down, you walked out of the back door. If I was going to do something, I had to do it now. I followed you.

 You'd gone too far ahead, and I could no longer see you. I searched around, and eventually found you sat in a small room, with the light still off. I found the switch, and watched the old bulb flicker on. You turned and looked at me. I took a deep breath.

 “Listen, I am so sorry.”

“I, uh... what?”

I didn't respond. I could tell you were thinking.

“Oh. That.” You said, eventually.

“Yeah.”

“No, it should be me who's apologising.”

“Why? It's really all my fault.”

“But-” You stopped. We both laughed.

“Let's just agree that one of us should probably have said something.” I suggested.

“Yeah. So should we just forget about this now?”

I faltered at your words. “But- It's just I... never mind.”

“What?” You spoke with softness in your voice. You were prepared to listen.

“I don't want to forget.”

You looked at me with a mixture of shock and confusion. I couldn't help but laugh.

“I mean it.”

You stood up, and smiled. “Whatever the question is, the answer is yes.”

“What if the question is 'Will you pay for 12 boxes of popcorn so I can also afford 100 lollipops'?”

“Then the answer is 'fuck you'.”

“Good to know that's the only thing in the universe that you object to.”

“I live by a simple philosophy.”

We end up hugging amongst laughter. I knew that I had done the right thing. I looked back up into your eyes. I had been stupid to ever deny my feelings. It was almost like denying the fact that lollipops cost 10p. You can deny it, but it won't change anything. And, it's far more interesting to see what you can do with that knowledge.

“You know, for the price of a cheap new car, you could buy over 2000 lollipops.” I muttered under my breath.

“How many lollipop sticks would you need to build a castle?”

“It would probably cost less than an actual castle.”

“That's scary, but also really cool.”

“I'm glad that somebody understands me.”

“Or you know, you could eat the fucking lollipops.”

“Stop crushing my dreams.”

“It was my suggestion in the first place.”

“Stop crushing my dreams.”

“Does anywhere even stock enough lollipops at a time to build a castle?”

“Stop. Crushing. My dreams.”

 I think that we had both decided to stop discussing the possibility of a lollipop castle, as you had turned out the light. I followed you, and closed the door behind me.

 We walked back into the main room, where Tom and BC were currently singing Kellis' theme from Artemis, which was impressive, given that it was almost entirely instrumental. The lyrics screen was as blank and confused as Layla's face. I sat down and waited for them to finish. It took longer than I expected.

 Eventually, BC and Tom did leave the stage. Layla turned and stared expectantly in our direction. You got up, and began walking to the stage. Layla did not move. Reluctantly, I got up as well.

 As I climbed the stairs to the stage, the music began.

“Living in my own world...”

I turned to you as you began to sing. You smiled. However, I quickly realised that my part was coming soon, and began to panic.

“I never believed in what I couldn't see...”

I was shaky at first, but I soon became more confident.

“I know, that something has changed...”

My nerves had completely gone, along with all of the uncertainty from before.

“And now, looking in your eyes, I feel in my heart... The start of something new.”

I sung that line boldly. I meant what it was saying. As the song ended, we both turned and smiled at each other.

 I may or may not have bought the bar's entire stock of lollipops afterwards.