#and i'm exhausted and sad and drained so i barely feel like creating

[rowenasamuel]

oof

[casspurrjoybell-31]

The Boy in my Bed - Chapter 20

*Warning Adult Content*

Danté Evans

The doorbell echoes through the lounge, shattering the silence. 

My eyes shoot towards the staircase, Harvey's door remaining closed

'Phew. I wonder what he would do if he found out about me Casey Dovovan and myseld and what we have... whatever it is we have, a web of confusion, betrayal and desire. I wonder if Harvey hates gay people... I wonder if he would hate me?

I wipe away the thoughts plaguing my mind, breathe in, and swing the door open,Casey's eyes beaconing from amidst the darkness. 

His tender lips part, rolling into a subtle smile, a giddy expression adorning his face.  

"I'm glad you didn't flake on me, I like really need someone to talk to right now." 

I roll my gaze over his face, his features softened by the pouring moonlight, the slight blush dusting his cheeks illuminated by the natural glow. 

'I wish he was like this all the time... sweet, gentle, kind, himself.'  

I shut the door quietly, resting on it before finally acknowledging him.

"Well I did think twice about your offer since... you know... you are a real asshole when you're around anyone else but me." 

He chuckles in response, rolling his eyes away from me, his laugh hiding an evident tinge of sadness.

"Yeah I guess you're right. I'm just... I'm..." he pauses, scrunching his face up in confusion. 

"I never knew I was hiding something until I met you. You make me feel like the real me." 

He sighs loudly, running his hand through his hair, his confession pushing the conversation into silence.

My eyes roam over his shoulder, staring at the mailbox, taking in all its intricacies that I had never noticed before, the distraction turning our silence into a strained elongation of tension.

"I was kind of expecting you to say something back. Not gonna lie," he says, my eyes snapping back to his. 

I ponder silently in my head, trying to string somewhat of a response into a sentence.

"Casey..." I pause, his slumped shoulders perking up as he stares at me gleefully, hopefully. 

"I hate you." 

An ounce of pain flashes through his eyes, the emotion draining from his face. 

"I hate you because I love you and it really fucking hurts to love you." 

His face warms up, the glimmer returning.

"Well that's good because..."

"I'm not finished." 

My finger slaps against his lips, cutting him off mid-sentence. 

"You can't just call for me when it's convenient for you. I'm not a dog, and I don't deserve to be treated like one." 

He shifts backwards, creating space between us , the front door restricting me from moving anywhere.

"Look Danté I know, bro I do but I've got like my image to uphold... and I've got the whole football thing going for me y'know.  You understand right? But maybe this could be our little secret." 

I scoff in response, his oblivious smile holding steadfast. 

I look into his gleaming eyes, inhaling as a tear starts to roll down my cheek.

"Casey. Whatever the fuck this is, I'm putting an end to it. I like Elliott Jones. I really like him. He's nice and he's kind and he's fucking charming and he doesn't hide me away like a dirty little secret he's ashamed of," I blurt out, fracturing Casey's fantasy, the life draining from his face, his emotions a sad, exhausted reflection of my own:  tears streaming down both of our cheeks.

"But I need you," his whisper barely meets my ear, clouded by his weeping, he's trying to look away but I still see the tears.

"And what about when I need you?" 

I cup his face, wiping the tears away, his gaze off to the side, avoiding me. 

"Will you be there when I need you? Because you never have before." 

He snaps away from me, pushing my hands off of his cheek.  

"I was so happy to come and see you tonight..." he murmurs, turning around and sprinting off down the street, the scattered streetlights capturing his ever-shrinking silhouette until he disappears into the darkness. 

I finally release my subdued sobbing and let the pain of the moment finally hit me, the force of a million machetes stabbing into my heart, an intangible pain collapsing me to a pile of tears on the front of my doorstep.

'You made the right decision Danté,' I tell myself as my emotions flood over me.  

'You made the right decision Danté,' I repeat. 

'I did make the right decision didn't I?'

**********

I push open the school doors, clambering down the crowded hallway, the bland fluorescent lights too much for my eyes at this time of the morning. 

I shove my way to my locker, grabbing my writing books before heading to class. 

The shrill of the morning bell dissipates the crowd, the hallways emptying as everyone enters the classrooms. 

I nonchalantly turn the corner, pausing as my eyes connect with Casey's... his gaze freezes on me, stopping both of us mid track. 

As the emotion drains from his eyes, he turns around and heads the other way. 

'Ouch. That hurt. Fuck school. I don't want to be here.' I reach my hand into my pocket, pull my cell-phone out and scroll through my contacts.*

*(Danté Evans 9:59)*

[Hey. Are you at school?] *(Danté Evans 9:59)* [If so, do you wanna leave school?]

I fiddle with my cell-phone in my hands, waiting for a response, the time slowly passing by, my thumbs twiddling in anxiety.

*(Elliott GTA V Master Jones 10:03)* [Good Morning Sunshine. I'll meet you outside the gym. I was gonna ditch after first period anyways.]

I smile down at my phone screen, gripping it with anticipation.  Disregarding all plans to go to class, I make my way to gym, taking the outside route to avoid the glaring eyes of patrolling teachers.

I breathe a sigh of relief as Elliott comes into view, his leg propped up against the wall, a cigarette resting between his lips. 

His eyes flick up to meet mine, the ocean blue filling with glee as he puts out his cigarette and pulls me into a hug, the smell of smoke mixing with his earthy cologne.

"Hello Sunshine. I really missed you," he whispers, tucking my head into his chest.

"I missed you too." 

I look up at him, his alluring orbs staring back, enticing me into a hypnotized gaze. 

His eyes run up and down my face, scanning me for what seems like an eternity, his widening grin sending tingles down my spine.

He runs his tongue over his lips before smashing them against mine. 

My eyes widen in surprise, shocked at how my mouth moves in a natural rhythm with his. 

I melt into his grasp, his tongue sending shivers down my spine, my eyes fluttering closed as I savour the moment, as I savour him. 

His hands trail down my back, grabbing my waist and pulling me in tighter, locking me in his grasp. 

Time falls away as his lips move tenderly, passionately, hungrily. 

"You do not know how long I've wanted to do that," he says as he pulls away, his slightly puffy lips tinged with a dispersed redness. 

"How about we... get outta here?" he chuckles and grabs my hand, intertwining his fingers with mine, holding my hand, proudly.

'What the hell are you doing Danté Evans?'

[keytaryourheart]

Morning Pages

Morning Pages is practice created by Julia Cameron but I heard it from Ali Abdaal. I am an active journaller. I've kept a bullet journal since 2018 and have held a multitude of diaries, personal, public and visual. While I use my bullet journal everyday for planning, I've only realised recently the merit in stream of consciousness writing. I watched Struthless' video on replacing social media with micro-journaling which is how I got into the habit of micro-journaling. I did this on my phone it what a pretty useful grounding strategy for when I would get anxious at school or on public transport. I intended to replace social media with it but I'm not quite ready to leave Instragram.

So now we get to morning pages. There are a few reasons I wanted to pick it up.

1. Apparently I need to nourish my creativity

Now that sounds really stupid but this first semester in a creative course has really changed me (as dorky as that sounds). My creativity has always felt to be abundant prior to uni. When I was on the VCE grind, there wasn't many ways I could dispel my creativity. Now I've been thrown into the deep-end where I have to be creative and SHARE it almost everyday. Couple that with being exposed to some of the greatest creative works and minds, it's been draining. I have felt lacking in the creative department. I went from being the "art one" to being in a room with all the "art ones".

Now I'm not one to fall into the comparison hell hole but I certainly felt the need to up my game so to speak. It's not a competition like VCE, so why do I feel like I'm losing?

All my previous journals and diaries have primarily centred around planning and mental health. But none on my creative well-being. I don't take notes in my sketchbook or take the time at all really to reflect on my art. The only thoughts I have about my work is "shit and not shit". Okay I might be being hyperbolic but thats just what I do.

Essentially, I think morning pages might be my way of making sure my creative juices aren't being drained to the point of drought. It's weird being "a creative" and it sounds so pretentious. I don't completely hate it, it's better than being a "content creator". We'll see how I go.

2. I need something to do in the morning

My routine this semester was atrocious. I would get up extremely early for class and rush out the door to make it to Elizabeth street in time. On days I didn't have class I would sleep in until 12. On days I'd be working, I do nothing all day until my shift started because I would be so anxious I would lose track of time and be late.

These past few weeks I have been sick. 2 solid weeks of being sick, half of it covid related. Because of this I've been stuck inside what fun. What's interesting though is I've had completely free time for me to mould. Different to the lockdowns of years prior, I've had full control over my day without the burden of online school. It's just been me and my assignments.

Okay hold on I'm getting ahead of myself. Which is essentially the point of morning pages but the actual stream of consciousness hasn't began yet, this is still the preamble darling. I'm exhausting I know, get a grip will you!

My current routine has been pretty consistent and natural. Get up at 8:30, open the blinds immediately. Which was something I didn't do. But with my SAD revelation I've realised immediate sunlight is a bit of a bare necessity. I then jump out of bed and thats my day started. Bathroom, breakfast, Wordle etc. Then what? I don't want to start my work now. It's still the morning! C'mon lemme wake up first!

This typically leads to watching random videos on YouTube or scrolling through Instagram reels. Or on a BAD DAY watching YouTube Shorts. Good fucking lord my poor little brain.

Listen, I'm not a fan of the That Girl routine. There's no way in hell I'm going for a morning run do you think I'm a dickhead. On some days I do get sucked into a That Girl Instagram page and find myself watching 20,000 reels of the same shots of a white womans yoga mat and lemon water. There's a certainly something comforting about it, even though it's intention is to be inspirational. Oh Teddy's ranting about That Girls! Sorry about that.

The point is, as much as I don't believe in the ✨ Success, Manifest, Productive Morning routine ✨ rhetoric, I did feel my morning routine was missing something. After I would write my to-do list I'd have to get straight into ticking it off and that felt wrong.

I think morning pages is the solution to that. The term "brain dump" didn't really work for me, I think this does. Brain dump implied that these thoughts were silly and needed to be expelled in order to get to work. I like the idea of morning pages as it gives value to these morning anxieties and left over thoughts from the previous day.

3. I am a terrible writer

I am god awful at articulating anything. A conversation with me consists of "oh really? oh damn. oh HAHA. wtf? bruh? dorime. you know brett domino got his pants at a motorway service station?" yeah it's bad. My coursework without the proofreading from my own mother is unintelligible. Don't get me started on my tenses. I'm not sure why I struggle so much with writing but I imagine lack of practice has something to do with it. The thing is, I know I'm capable of great writing. Morning pages is a desperate attempt to unearth the... I was gonna say Shakespeare in me but that's not quite right.

A POEM I WROTE:

200222

2. I think I have

too much elbow.

I hope you enjoyed my reasons as to why I've decided to pick up this habit. I've been here for almost an hour with 1000 words and haven't even made it to the main part of the exercise. So here it goes.

I use the words but and a lot. I don't know what that says about me. Maybe that I have a lot to say and house many contradictions. Anyway this morning I listened to an album called Prioritise Pleasure by Self Esteem. I heard Self Esteem on the Cuddle Club podcast. Just typing Cuddle Club makes me crave fried chicken. Every Monday I get fried chicken and eat it while listening to Cuddle Club. Self Care at it's finest really. With the spicy bird clutched gripped in my tiny grubby hands I noticed Self Esteem, real name Rebbeca Lucy Taylor, sounds (accent wise) much like a little fellow named Rob J Madin. I like that theres no period after J, it's like it stands for nothing, it's just J! I think it stands for John but who am I to assume. With my oily paws I tapped into my web browser of choice "self esteem music where from" and my phone replied by displaying ROTHERHAM. Keep in mind, I have no idea how things work in the UK. They don't have states, I think they have counties? They have something called the North and South and the midlands. I honestly can't wrap my head around it. What was of importance to me was that Rotherham was accompanied on the map by another word in a larger font size that read SHEFFIELD. Which was all I needed to know.

I wondered if RJM was a fan of Self Esteem. I'd only just found her but he must know about her already, probably pre-self esteem era too. I logged that little thought in the back of my mind and it sat there. Until the other day where I was scrolling through Brett Domino's replies like an absolute stalker and saw he inquired about two tickets to see Self Esteem. I was a bit pleased with myself, I'VE CONNECTED THE DOTS! NO YOU HAVEN'T! Then this lovely morning I had another look at RJM's Best Albums of 2021 and noticed, oh yeah Self Esteem is on this.

"Stonking pop album from RLT.

Huge. 10/10."

Right there.

So now I'm listening to the album.

All the songs sound the same to me. That isn't a criticism, I just have really terrible ears. This happens with almost every album I listen to. So I have to listen to the album 3-4 times before I can actually hear the music. The other way is I sit there and listen and take notes. It sounds ridiculous because it is. I had to keep notes for Doja Cat's Planet HER. An exert from said notes:

"Woman: I've heard this one B4."

I've listened to Prioritise Pleasure almost twice now and my favourite track so far is How Can I Help You.

Let's talk about some juicy stuff now. Oh really teddy? We've been where for an hour and a half! Yes really! Sit down now.

I spoke to a dear friend last night regarding my personal qualms. Afterwards I felt a new sense of security and lightness. Is this what talking about your feelings honestly feels like? My main issue was my assignment that was due 2 days ago. I had put immense pressure on myself to make it marvellous which led to me procrastinating as per. But what my dear friend reminded me of was something of my character. Truth is I've been having an identity crises recently and she put to bed the nonsense thoughts I was having about who I am. She assured that some things are just not me. That somethings might look pretty and impressive but they're not me. She told me I have my own personal style. She said that I have my own way. Which as a creative is the best thing you can hear. I have a style? I have a me? Over the past few months I've been picking at idols and thinking "Oh I so wanna be them". I've been looking at Instagram and thinking "How do I get this style. How did this person come up with their style. Why don't I have this aesthetic. Why is everything in my room so mismatched. How do I unify my space." ABSOLUTE NONSENSE TO BE FAIR.

She assured me I just had to let my style grow, that it will come to me. Who you are will just, be. She has no style inspiration, she is herself. Which is absolutely true btw. If you know her you'll see her style and it is simply her.

This is what I needed to hear, as a designer and as a person. That I will live and who I am will follow.

So yeah. Breakthrough! That's all I have to say. Also that Self Esteem is quite similar to RJM, by that I mean they exert the same old millennial having a crises energy. Simplification but yeah.

[voltronbutheadcanons]

May I humbly ask a scenario where the reader reuniting with Shiro. Give me all the feels. Pls (Im real lost right now fam this season messed me up, I haven't slept well in days and I'm losing it XD)

I lowkey added the theories from our conspirators on Tumblr about Kuron and the logic behind this mysterious clone. Also, it may not be what you wanted, but I did give you dem feels :’) ~Mod Saffron

Up, down. Up, down. Slap. Up, down. Up, down. Sl-

“Hey, (Name)?” a voice suddenly called you out from behind your quarter doors. You caught the slimy putty that Pidge accidentally created in your palm and warily glanced towards the sliding doors from your pillow. You blinked owlishly and swallowed, saliva burning your dry throat.

“Yeah?” Shit, that came out raspier than you thought. You really needed water, but surprisingly, you weren’t feeling thirsty.

“Can….can I come in?” It was hard to register whose voice it belonged to, but whoever they were, they sounded a bit cautious. You detected a hint of nervousness within the request, but you sighed heavily and ignored it.

“Yeah, go for it,” you called out rather gloomily.

As you mixed the multi-colored slime between your fingers, you heard the sliding doors hiss open to reveal Hunk standing in the doorway. He took a step inside as the doors closed behind him and he proceeded to stand awkwardly near your bed, where you lounged lazily over the mussed sheets.

Dropping the slime beside you, you allowed your hands to fall flat on your stomach as you accommodated your guest. “Hey,” you greeted while your eyes scanned him up and down for any food.

His eyes were painted with sadness and pity. “Hi.”

You blinked once before the tense silence was broken between you two. “So, what’s up? Any recipes?”

Sighing heavily, Hunk crossed his muscular arms with tight fists. “No. Not yet. I’m trying to work on this new tech with Pidge that will allow us to find Lotor’s new ship.”

“He has another one?” You questioned with slight panic racing through your veins.

Hunk’s arms hastily unfolded to open, placating palms, as he waved them around anxiously. “No, no, no, no, no, no, no! I meant the ship that he made out of the same thing Voltron’s made of! You know, the one from the comet we got from that alternate reality?”

You slumped gently back onto your pillow, suddenly feeling drained. “Oh, right. That one.”

You waved your arm to the area near your feets on your bed. “Make yourself comfortable.”

“Oh, no, it’s fine.” Hunk chuckled a little before clearing his throat. “I just came to see how you were doing. You know, since…”

“Shiro?” You finished with a scoff. “Yeah, I know. It’s not him.”

That statement made Hunk pause to stare at you incredulously. “Wait, what?”

You exhaled a bit exasperatedly and sat up with a hoarse groan. “Look. I’ve been really suspicious about this…‘Shiro’ we’ve been having around for the past few days.”

Hunk finally took this as an invitation to sink down onto the bed, never breaking his confused gaze from your eyes. “But, he’s like your boyfriend! Your man, your “the one” guy! I thought you’d be happier now that he’s back!”

“That’s the thing, Hunk.” You pursed your dry lips, licking them briskly before continuing. “When Shiro disappeared, it was only a matter of time before he came back to us. He returned? Great. No one seems to care about the fact that he had super long hair upon his arrival to Voltron.”

Hunk scratched the back of his neck, thinking. “Yeah, well, he was gone for who-knows-how-long.”

You glared at the mechanic-gourmand, the bags under your eyes creating the impression of an evil woman. “Hunk, you and I both know that you’re a smart guy.”

A tint of rose suddenly slapped his round cheeks. “Well…”

“Think, man.” You interrupted. “We calculated every quintant–”

“Whoa, whoa whoa. Hold up. What’s that again?” asked Hunk sheepishly.

“Days.”

“Got it. Carry on.”

“We counted every quintant that Shiro was missing for Voltron’s formation strategies. It was roughly about four-and-a-half quintants before this mysterious person who claims to be Shiro arrives in a Galra pod.

“Strangely enough,” Your voice began to clear as you spoke more heatedly about your theory to the bewildered Hunk. “This person survived seven freaking days without food or water, and might I add on low oxygen level, and somehow didn’t even need a healing pod for his stomach to recuperate!”

Your gasp of breath allowed an opportunity for Hunk to hum his thoughts. “Yeah…now that I think about it, it all does seem a bit…”

“And that’s not even it!” You jumped at his agreement. “When I ran to hug him, he tensed up for two whole ticks before hesitatingly hugging me back. That’s crazy! The real Shiro wouldn’t even waste half a moment to embrace me! And what’s up with his new haircut, anyways? He looks like a janitor at a drug-infested school! I raised my boyfriend better than that, you know! He never kissed me since and I feel like he’s being so cold to me! Even Keith senses something’s up! I know how his ugly a-”

“Whoa there! Hey, settle down there, girl!” Hunk laughed nervously while grasping your shoulders with a gentle clutch. He pushed you back down onto the bed with a slight ‘bump’ on the foam mattress. You sighed yet again and shut your lids in embarrassment, your mind raging endlessly on more theories you spent nights awake for.

He scooted closer to your torso, cocking his head lazily to gaze at your closed ones. Hunk’s fingers reached out to stroke your dry hair and you sank into his touch. “Look, I know you really miss him. Even if that’s not really him.”

You squeezed your eyes tighter, brows furrowing as tears threatened to spill. “Yeah.”

His palm was warm when it grazed your cheek. “I may not be as caught up on this “clone” version of Shiro as you are, but what I do know is that you have not left your room in a long, long time.”

Hunk’s voice sounded like gravel against concrete when he chuckled under his breath. “And don’t ask me to tell you how long in Altean measurements.”

When you opened your stinging eyes, the first few drops of your sorrow slid slowly down your cheek, only to be wiped away by Hunk’s thumb. You strained to sit up, your empty stomach groaning loudly, as you moved to wrap your arms around Hunk’s plump torso.

You laid your cheek on one of his taut pecs as you silently sobbed into his shirt. It had the wonderful aroma of burnt herbs with a hint of sautéed mushrooms in the mix. The scent reminded you of home, where Shiro used to cook breakfast in nothing but a silly apron early in the mornings, his sheepish smile piercing your heart when he reminded you that he could not cook. You still loved him anyways.

Caught up in nostalgic thoughts, you didn’t notice Hunk tugging your frame against his body as he rocked you back and forth comfortingly. You stayed in his arms until you felt sleepier than before, your eyes brimming with redness. It stung to blink and your throat was drier from the lack of liquid in your body.

“Hey,” Hunk gently called to you once more, pulling back from your tight hold onto him. “Why don’t you get into the bath while I whip something up for you? I know you haven’t eaten in hours and you look like you could use some nourishment.”

You eyed him weakly with puffed lids and swollen lips, nodding in defeat. Hunk murmured a few words of comfort before scratching your scalp one last time and getting up from your bed, mattress creaking form his weight. He pulled you with him and carefully led your heavy feet to the Castle’s giant restroom.

Your footsteps were padded as they sounded through the empty corridors, leaving you with nothing but thoughtless images of people in your head. Keith, Lance, Allura, and the others popped up, all smiles and laughter. 

Shiro’s visage did not show, however, and you weren’t sure if you were grateful for this. Several pangs hit your heart whenever his name rang through your mind. 

Stop, you told yourself. This isn’t like you. Grow up.

You didn’t realize how much time passed since you arrived in front of the restroom, yet you did remember collapsing in Hunk’s arms, exhausted from movement. The sensation of his strong limbs hauling up into a cradle nearly rendered you to sleep, but your senses reawakened when your bare feet fell silently against cold tiles.

“I’ll be back in a few hours,” Hunk’s gravel voice alerted you, despite its softness. “Just take some time to relax, clear your head, and take care of yourself. ‘Kay?”

“Mm-hm,” you hummed back.

When he took his leave, the doors instantly locked behind his figure, insuring your privacy. You sighed and began to strip your clothing piece by piece, each article piling higher in a heap of dirty laundry.

 As you got closer to your hot skin, it became increasingly difficult to unbutton the layers of garb that you had slipped on and kept for the past few days. The room became warmer, but you didn’t bother wiping the beads of sweat from your brow.

Your aching arm reached out to press a few buttons in the round bathtub, hot water springing to life from the spout and slowly filling up the marble bath. You grabbed a few pearls, apparently known for being the best Altean bath bombs, and tossed them into rising water. Within a few ticks, the clear water had become a bubble-filled paradise.

Once the water reached a certain marker in the rings of the tub, the spout clicked shut and water flow ended almost immediately. You hadn’t noticed you’d been standing naked until the sound of rushing water was gone.

 You cautiously lowered a foot into the water for a touch test and once the steamy bubbles sent tingles though your toes, you sank down into the water completely, ignoring the burn on your skin. You hissed slightly through your teeth as your body adapted to the boiling heat of the bubbly water.

Several ticks passed as you sat in silence, the water sloshing every few moments you adjusted yourself. Your thoughts turned up empty when you attempted to think of something other than your missing beloved. The old sky of Earth, the sweet scent of grass, the ocean. Nothing. Every thought reverted back to a connection with Shiro.

You lazily brought a hand up to scrub at your forearm, trailing towards your shoulder. Your pruned fingers traced the dead skin there, mimicking the way Shiro used to when you took baths with him on bad days. 

He would scrap his nails as gently as he could across your skin, giving you the nice sensation of chills and sinking you into a state of relaxation.

You rubbed your eye with a soap-free hand, suddenly feeling the weight above your eyelids. You were being pushed into slumber due to your inconsistent sleeping schedule from the past few days. You took another deep breath and exhaled though your mouth, stretching your arms in front of you.

Well, maybe you could take a small nap. As long as you didn’t slip underwater and die. Then, again, that might not be the worst idea.

Shaking your depressing thoughts away, you reached back to hoist yourself onto a bulging seat in the marble bath and fluffed the bubbles around your breasts until they were hidden from sight.

As you leaned your head against your palm, you momentarily took a moment to close your heavy eyes and simply relax. The soft sounds of the Altean bubbles popping and the rippling waves of the tub allowed you to receive a clear mind.

The harsh lights of the bathroom didn’t ease your lead-like lids any further than they were and soon, you found your head slowly lowering until it settled upon the wet rim of the tub.

Takashi....you thought sadly as you slipped into darkness.

“(Name)?”

Your eyes snapped open at the echo of the voice. Still groggy from your nap, you hastily rose to accommodate your visitor. Your head whipped around and you realized with a few rubs of the eye that you were not in your bath as thought you were.

You were in a dark plain, the night sky glittered with countless stars. Lavender nebulae danced across your upper vision but if you stared directly at them, they would vanish from sight. An eerie glow illuminated the scenery, giving you a serene feeling.

Quickly glancing down, you saw that you were clothed in ivory garments of some sort, wide and airy. You spun your head around your lower body and noticed that the dress you wore accommodated the style of a loose wedding gown.

Almost immediately, numerous questions filled your poor mind. Where were you? Who dressed you like this? Who called out to you? Why weren’t you in your bath, naked and trembling with tears?

“(Name)?”

Your heart skipped several beats, each one more painful than the next. You didn’t realize you began to perspire until a few loose beads slipped down your brow, you hand coming up to hastily wipe them away. You twirled this way and that, nearly tripping over your gown in search of the voice.

Then, you saw.

It was him.

In all his glorious wounds and battle scars, Shiro stood in the middle of the plain meadow, the high grass waving around him as he trudged forward in search of you. His armor was still adorned from his last skirmish with Zarkon.

You stared for a few moments, your eyes drinking in the sight of the real Shiro, Takashi, walking around like a lame child. Your brain received no response as you forced yourself to call out, run, something! You just stood with your mouth agape.

Then, he saw.

In all your glorious beauty and waving garments, you stood at the edge of the dead meadow, the low grass blades cutting into your ankles as you made tiny steps towards his figure. Your clothes seemed different than what remembered you last in, pale robes distinguishing you as a bride.

Then, you both ran. Sound was lost as the wind waved in your ears, pants barely heard, tears falling faster than a waterfall when you both crashed into each other’s arms. Broken sobs and hiccups echoed as your hearing was restored. Color returned to your eyes as your arms desperately wound themselves tighter around your beloved Takashi.

He, for one, could not understand how this was happening, nor could he pinpoint where he was. All he wanted to know was if you were okay.

Sloppy kisses were exchanged, and so did the breathless questions in between.

“Where-smooch-have you been-smooch-all this-smooch-time?” you asked as you sucked on his plush lips.

“I-smooch-can’t say,” he panted. “For sure.”

When you finally pulled back to study his face, your lungs were burning for air and your fingers have found their way around his chin, stroking it softly as you placed a few pecks around his face.

Shiro closed his eyes, still breathing harshly, and pulled you into his lap. Girdling his hips with your limbs, you slumped against his chest, still kissing his cheeks and stroking his sideburns with your free thumbs.

You gasped when he tugged the front of your collar lower than appropriate and began to suck on the valley between your orbs “Stay.”

“I will,” Shiro mouthed over your skin.

“I know you’re lying,” you responded softly, curling your fingers into his buzzcut.

You felt his smile against your breast. “It’s alright.”

When you opened you eyes again, you found your arms folded across your torso in a tight self-embrace. You pried your lips cautiously from your forearm, where you could see your lipstains all over your skin.

Oh.

Releasing your arms in defeat, you allowed your eyes to finally let loose and rain down into the tub water, which had cooled sufficiently since your nap. Your skin had pruned severely from the ends of your body and your locks of hair damp and cold.

“It’s not alright,” you whispered to no one. “Lying is a sin.”