#moments where little comments dont quite land the same. relief when they do

[sparring-spirals]

there's a particular tentativeness to how imogen and laudna are interacting, that is so careful and raw and unsure- but still affectionate. still weighted. it feels like- both of them, reaching out occasionally, in turn, both of them drawing back a bit at different moments. its. so good. its a very specific post Incident/Argument tenseness that still has the threads of affection and effort underlying it, and its delicious and layered and i am thrilled.

[morizoras-cave]

Manners (Request)

Sherlock x gn!child!reader, John x gn!child!reader

Genre: fluff

Request Description: Thank you for saying you’ll write for Sherlock, I appreciate it :) Could you do one where all the peeps are round for dinner (Sherly, Mycroft, Greg, John ect) and John invites his cousin round (like age 9) and she’s just like REALLY polite and even when Sherlock says something really mean from one of his deductions she just brush’s it off and forgives him for it and even Mycroft likes her (PURELY PLATONIC PEOPLE) and she asks to see the brains in the fringe and Sherlock is ECSTATIC

Warnings: none really

(A/N): the only warning here is really that i dont remember the sherlock characters THAT well. and ive totally forgotten who sherly is, so this fic must live without her hahaha

“Fuck,” John mumbled, looking at you at the entrance to 221B Baker Street. He had to take care of you today, and while he usually loved taking care of you, his niece, today was not the day he had expected. 

You were the most delightful and polite girl, your mannerisms just made everyone around you smile. But John did not want you to meet the careless, brutally honest, and genius Sherlock. But today, the one damned day where he had to take care of you, there was a dinner with Sherlock, Greg, Molly, Mrs. Hudson, and Mycroft (the latter had with pleasure paid for it all).

“Language,” you said, giving him a warning glare. The action was enough to make him smile. His heart melted.

“Let’s go inside then,” he said reluctantly, deciding that there was nothing he could do about it. 

You entered the home, eyes glittering as you saw all the weird and unconventional items stacked on the shelves and furniture. You held your admiration, and politely brushed your shoes off on the mat, before taking them off. You then placed them in order, even taking the time to lightly push the others’ strewn-about shoes in a straight line.

John watched you with a smile. He had no idea how his aunt had produced such a person as you, but he was thankful for it. 

From the kitchen loud clattering and sizzling sounds came. Sherlock popped his head out, gaze first on John, then lowering to you. John took a deep breath, knowing he had to introduce you now. 

“This is Y/n. They’ve just turned-”

“9 years old..” Sherlock mumbled, looking a you with narrowed eyes. John sighed. You gave the sociopath a toothless smile.

“I’m sorry, sir, but I’m actually 9 and a half,” you walked up with him and then reached your tiny hand up for him to shake it. Sherlock looked at you, and you had no idea what he was thinking, but you hoped it was about shaking your hand. 

“Lower your hand, Y/n,” Sherlock said and disappeared behind the doorway to the kitchen. You lowered your hand slowly. John was already regretting bringing you over. “A nine year old’s hands? That’s an enormous number of bacteria I could gladly live without.”

“Nine and a half year old!” you called after him, but remained positive. It was his decision to not shake your hand, and it was your duty to respect that. 

You stepped further into the living room - or what was normally the living room, now just a room stuffed with a dining table that was too big for it. 

“I told you all we should’ve done this at a restaurant. Or my house. Or anywhere else, really,” Mycroft, you guessed, said from his place at the table. He had a very cat-like voice, you thought.

“Yes, well, now we’re here,” Mrs. Hudson (whom you’d met several times before, and who was always delighted to give you homemade cookies) argued. Just as she finished, you made your way up on your chair, greeting the guests with a smile. 

Currently seated was you, Mycroft, Mrs. Hudson, Greg (the police officer John had told you about), and John who was settling down beside you. Sherlock and Molly were in the kitchen, and by the sound of it, they were making soup. 

“Aw, who’s this?” Greg asked, pointing at you. 

“Y/n. Y/n Watson reporting for duty!” you said proudly. The people around the table aww’ed. 

“They’re a charmer, huh?” Mycroft commented. John nodded at this.

“Soup’s coming in! Soup’s coming in!” Molly warned, carrying a rather heavy looking pot into the living room, holding it with some cloth. She placed it down with a ‘plunk’, and then sighed in relief. “Gosh, I thought I was gonna drop it all.” 

“You were statistically very likely to drop it, you’re very lucky,” Sherlock said as he entered, sitting down on his chair at the end of the table. Molly flushed and sat down as well. 

“Dig in!” she said and everyone did, hoisting some of the boiling-hot pea soup into their bowls. You made sure to compliment Molly on the soup, to which she smiled with a smile that mostly said wait-why-is-there-a-nine-year-old-here.

You kept a proper conversation with everyone at all times, making sure to bring in the quieter ones. Meanwhile, John was staring at you in adoration because you were simply overbearingly cute, but also because in his head it was very unlikely that you came from the same gene pool, yet here you were.

“She’s quite polite, this one. Children these days usually have no discipline, no manners,” Mycroft said at one point, and from what you had gathered throughout the evening, that was the closest thing to a compliment you would get from him. 

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, but I think that kids my age can be very polite. Maybe you just don’t know the right kids!” you said, sipping your soup. Mycroft smiled and shook his head. Sherlock, who was sitting at the end of the table, soup untouched, seemed unamused. 

“Kids are dumb. Nine year olds are dumb. Gosh, people are dumb too, and you kids are just dumber versions of already dumb people,” he said finally.

Everyone at the table turned their heads towards you, wondering if you would snap and start yelling or crying. Instead, you snickered, putting your spoon down. 

“That’s a very bold statement, Mr. Holmes,” was all you said, and although you wanted to say more, you couldn’t stop snickering. Sherlock watched you, and you saw his face change. You couldn’t quite tell what it meant, but he didn’t retort. 

Slowly, people fell back into conversation, and so did you. The dinner was very pleasant, and you were happy to see that you had made a good impression. 

“So, Sherlock, you started cooking soup these days?” Greg pointed with his spoon to the pot, now only a quarter or so full. The noise of his spoon against the metal let out a hollow ‘clunk’. 

“No, no, I was in there supervising. Making sure Ms. Molly didn’t mess with my refrigerated brain.” 

At this, you gasped. 

“You have a brain?” you asked breathlessly, mouth wide open, and your hands on your cheeks in shock. Sherlock’s eyebrows furrowed.

“Yes, I do.”

“Can I see the brain, Mr. Holmes? Please, can I see your refrigerated brain, pretty please?” you begged, curiosity and adventurousness getting the better of you. 

John opened his mouth to protest, but Sherlock came first, with a small smile, that he didn’t seem aware was on his face: “Yes, of course!”

You tried to control yourself and not run into the kitchen, but your excitement was still very visceral. You were bouncing about, unable to stand still, and doing a little victory dance every once in a while. 

Sherlock opened the refrigerator theatrically, the light turning on and shining on you, as your eyes landed on the human brain. 

“Wooooooooow,” you squealed, “that’s so cool- I mean, that’s very impressive..” you could hardly contain your excitement, but Sherlock couldn’t either. No one was every excited about his brain (the one in the fridge, of course, the other was often a topic of interest). 

Sherlock then proceeded to give a full anatomical tour of the brain, taking it out and showing it to you up close, letting you hold it, and telling you all the facts. Meanwhile, John was having a mental breakdown, trying not to look. He knew very well that he would get in trouble with his aunt for this. 

“This is the frontal lobe. If you damage it, you become like me,” Sherlock said morbidly, showing the front part of the pink nerve. 

“That doesn’t sound all too bad, Mr. Holmes. You seem pretty cool,” you said passively, still fully entranced by the brain. Sherlock, however, took full note of this, eyes snapping to you immediately. He smiled. 

“Alright, I think it’s about time me and Y/n head home!” John said when he’d finally had enough. You were too polite to protest, so you just quite literally bowed to everyone and then left with John. 

When John came home later that night, after dropping you off back at his aunt’s place, Sherlock was still awake, brain in hand. 

“Uh, doesn’t that go back in the fridge?” John asked. 

“In a moment,” Sherlock responded. Then, “Why don’t they come over more? The kid.”

John looked at him in confusion. “Y/n? Why would I bring them over more?” 

Sherlock sighed, turning his attention from the brain. “I feel like I could give them good anatomical knowledge. Perhaps, teach them a bit about science and such.” 

There was a moment of silence and then John scoffed. 

“You really just want me to bring Y/n over, because they think you’re cool?” 

“That’s not at all what I said, John!” Sherlock protested, moving to put the brain back in the freezer. John sauntered off into his bedroom. 

“Whatever!” he said, and then the conversation was over.

But then, slowly, he started bringing you over more, each time letting Sherlock and you have your own weird conversations on life, people, biology and everything else. You become very rich in knowledge of science and anatomy, and in return Sherlock’s ego went through the roof. 

It was a fair trade, you decided, and you loved every moment of it. 

___________________________

Tag List:

@hera-the-writer @marvel-madness @40srogcrs @whatthefuckimbisexual @snarky–starky @garbage-potato @lozzypoz321 @rororo06 @shady80smusicsingercolor @ireadfanficforfun​ @deephideoutmilkshake​ @rae-is-typing​ @sophs-library​ @herecomesthewriterwitch​ @alicedanganh​ 

[wayward-mikaelson]

"This just gives me the creeps," I say setting down a ceramic figurine. It looked like it was a combination of a clown, a fairy, and an angel. It was super creepy. I go back to walking the house the boys and I were scoping out. "You guys got anything?" I ask getting back into the living room.

"Nothing but some creepy ass ceramic figurines," Deans yells from another part of the house. "Are we even sure this is a spirit?"

Sams voice came from the garage. "It's a spirit alright." I turned to see Sam holding something that had disgusting black ooze on it. "Ectoplasm."

I make a face. "Awe shit," I say. "I hate really pissed off spirits." I holster my gun and sit down on the wooden rocking chair. "What spirit would be so pissed off to attack a nice little old lady?" I ask.

"Any spirit," Dean says coming into the living room. "Most likely they knew each other at one point if the spirit is that pissed off." Dean holsters his gun and looks at me with a small smile. I can feel every hair on my neck stand up. Dean knew what he was doing to me and he loved to do it.

I realize that I was holding my breath and quickly stood up to only loose my balance and fall right in the direction of Dean Winchester. Dean caught me with that same smiled. "Thanks," I say pushing away from him. I turned to towards the door and saw Sams face. He knew I liked his brother and he knew that Dean liked to tease me. "Shut up." I say making my way to the door. "Lets just go back to the motel and get some research done. The faster we get this done the quicker we can go back home." 

The boys agreed and followed me out to the impala. The drive back to the motel wasn't that long but Dean wanted to stop for food. Very typical of him. Dean could eat a whole cow and later want to another whole cow. When we arrived back at the motel, we all set to work on research on deaths in the city, county, and in that neighborhood. We also looked into the history of the house. Nothing. That was until I came across something that was fishy. 

"Guys," I pick up my laptop and shoved in front of the boys. "Did you guys know that she was widowed about forty years ago. Her husband was killed when someone broke into their home. The case went cold. It says here that she didn't seem to shaken up about his death as she had claimed multiple times that he was abusing her. But no proof that he was. Even family and an exgirlfriend said that he would never do such a thing. Four months later she remarried his best friend. He died a few months ago of a heart attack which she was broken up over." 

Dean and Sam look it over. "Does seem fishy," Sam says. "Maybe the dead husband is stuck to the woman and his punishing her." Dean shook his head as he silenced his phone for the millionth time. 

"Or maybe the wife had an affair with the best friend and because during that time period divorce or leaving a spouse was frowned upon, she took it out on him and had the best friend kill him." Deans phone rang again and he silenced it again. Sam was thinking about the other possibility that the wife and best friend killed the possible ghost.

"Who the heck is calling you over and over again?" I ask. 

"I don't know. The number looks familiar but it can wait until the case is over." Dean says getting up and getting a drink. "We go the house tonight and wait for the ghost to show up and talk with him. See where he's buried and salt and burn him." Deans phone rang again. I grabbed the phone before Dean could silence it again.

"Hello?" I answer the phone. "Dean Winchesters phone. Who am I speaking to?" Before I could get a name Dean took the phone from me. 

"I'm sorry about that," Dean says. I could help but hear a female voice on the other end. Deans face turned white and he fell back into his seat. "Lisa?"

"Who's Lisa?" I ask turning to Sam whose face had surprise written all over it.

"An old flame," Sam says making eye contact with me. "We had Cas erase hers and her sons memories of Dean after a a demon kidnapped them and it went south. Lisa almost died."

I looked back at dean who had made his way out of the motel room. I followed him. "Lisa, calm down," Dean says. "I did what I did to protect you and Ben. It killed me to do that." Dean was quite for a bit then he spoke. "Okay, where do you want to meet? I can be there tomorrow. Then you can tell me how you remember." Dean turns around and sees me standing there. His face looked so pained. Like he was reliving the past. "Okay, wow thats close. I'll be there." he says and hangs up the phone. 

"Are you okay?" I ask as Dean walks passed me. 

"I'll be fine. I just need to meet Lisa. She why she remembers everything." Dean walks into the motel and I follow him in. We see Sam packing a bag.

"I found her dead husband, The one that was murdered." Sam puts a few rounds of rock salt into the bag. 

"Okay well, I'm going to meet Lisa in Saint Louis. Its a few hours from here." Dean began to throw together a bag. "If anything happens call me and I will be there."

I grabbed a bag too and began to fill it. "I'm going with you. Just to make sure you dont do anything stupid." Both the boys stopped and looked at me. "You wont be able to talk me out of it."

Dean closed his eyes and sighed. He knew that I was right and the look on his face looked like relief? Maybe? Who knew. I needed to know if this Lisa person was actually human or something that needs to die. I looked to Sam who saw my face and nodded. He understood why I was going.

"You guys go," Sam says slinging the bag over his shoulder. "I'll get a rental. If I need you guys, I'll call you." As sam walks passed you he leans in to whisper, "Make sure you bring him back. Do whatever you need to." 

*******************************************

The drive to Saint Louis was super quiet. Dean of course has his music on but it was tense in the car. Dean still looked pained over all of it. I asked him he wanted to talk about it but he said no. So we just sat and drove. For four hours. Only stopping for food and the bathroom. I texted Sam a couple of times to tell him that Dean wasn't talking and asked about his time with Lisa. Sam just told me that Dean had spent over a year with them and that erasing their memories tore him apart. He never really spoke about it. I look at Dean and begin to feel super sorry for him.

"I know youre talking about me to Sam," Dean says pulling into a restaurant. A fancy one. This Lisa person was really trying to get him back, I thought. Even Deans face knew he would be out of place here.

"It's not too late to run," I lean over to Dean. 

With that, Dean and I got out and walked into the restaurant. Even the severs dressed super nice. "Not to late," I whisper. Dean fakes laughs but I could tell that he was nervous and wasn't entirely sure about all of this.

"Dean?" a voice from behind makes the both of us turn around. 

There stood a beautiful woman. Long brown hair and dark eyes. How did Dean ever land a woman like that? I ask myself. I could not compare to that beauty that was radiating off her. I look at Dean who was just staring at her. Lisa notices me and instantly I see something change in her eyes. Was it jealously? 

"Lisa," Dean eventually chokes out. "You look amazing."

Lisa smiles a smile so big that I see one reason why Dean loved her. "Thank you, who's your friend?" She asks gesturing to me. I notice her manicured nails and look at my bitten and brittle nails. Still can't compete with her.

Dean is shocked back into reality. He turns to me and touches my shoulder. I look at him and see that he is looking me up and down with a smile on his face. I instantly blush and look at Lisa who clearly seeing the whole thing. Her eyes hardened. "This is YN," Dean says noticing Lisa's face. He slowly drop his hands.

"It's nice to meet you," Lisa says. "Will you be joining us?" She then asks. The tone is hardened too. I could tell that Dean heard it too. 

"Well, sort of," I say smiling. "I'll be at the bar." I begin to slip away when Deans hand grabs my arm. 

"Nope, you are sitting with us," Dean begins to pull me towards the waitress who had been waiting to sit us. In a low voice Dean whispered in my ear, "I need you by me for support." 

Once we were seated and menus handed out. Dean, who is sitting next you, looks over the menu and then leans forward. "So," he  says licking his lips. I notice Dean has a hard time looking at her in the eyes. "How's you get your memories back?" Whoa! To the point. Maybe Dean wouldn't go back to Lisa and her kid. 

"Can't we order and eat and catch up first?" Lisa asks laughing nervously. "I mean, we have so much to talk about."

I look at Dean who is staring at the table. "Lis," he says. "There really isn't nothing to catch up on. I had yours and Bens memories of me and the life I live taken away from you. To protect you after you almost got killed. To protect Ben from ever having to go into this life. Just tell me how you got your memories back."

Lisa sits back and waves the waiter on the moment he arrives at the table. I make a small face because one, I need a strong drink for this and two, I was hungry and wanted a fat and juicy steak. "I guess you haven't changed much," she says. I rose an eyebrow and stare at Lisa. 

"Whoa there," I say putting my hand on the table. "You don't know Dean at all. At least not anymore, so don't make comments like that because that makes you look like a bitch." Lisas eyes widened and I notice from the corner of my eyes Dean is looking at me. He doesn't cut in because he knows that once I start speaking like this, I won't stop until the thought is done. "I have been with the boys for two years. Deans past kills him. He has nightmare after nightmare some nights. He may be a dick at times but he has changed. So excuse him for wanting to know how you got your pathetic memories back. Now if excuse me, I need to splash my face with water or this water will end up in yours." I get up and let Dean know what to order me when the waiter got back. 

Once I was in the bathroom I pull out my phone and call Sam. As the phone rings I sit on floor of the bathroom stall. I have no idea where all that came from. What Lisa said to Dean, set off a spark in me. I didn't appreciate how she spoke to him. 

"Hey," Sam answered. "Hows it going with Lisa?" He asks.

"Lisa is a bitch," I say. "But thats not what I called you about. Hows the hunt? Did you finish it?" I needed a distraction for a bit or I was going to go out and say more things that I might regret.

"Yeah," Sam says. "I was able to talk to the murdered husband and he said that it was the best friend who killed him. While I was talking to him, I got a phone call saying that the wife died of a heart attack. The spirit was then salted and burned." 

"Thats great," I say picking at a loose strand from my shirt. "I'm glad it went well and that the spirit was willing to listen."

"Now tell me why Lisa is a bitch," Sam wasn't going to let me off that easy.

"Let's just say, she looks at me like I'm a threat and tells Dean that he never changed." I rip the strand off and let it fall to the floor.

"Ah," Sam says. 

"Yeah, anyway, I need to go before Deans thinks I ditched him." I hang up the phone and splash my face with water. I walk back to the table to see Dean getting up. 

"We should get going," Dean says pulling out his wallet. 

"Dean," Lisa stands up and blocks me from walking by. "It's never too late. We can still have what we had. I can live that life. Ben can have a father figure in his life." 

Dean looks up and makes eye contact with me. I can tell that he already made his decision. "Lis," he says. "You can't. It almost killed you last time. Now stay here, buy whatever food you want and enjoy a nice dinner on me." Dean threw two 50s on the table. "Let's go," he says to me. 

I squeeze passed Lisa and get a good look at her face. She is watching Dean as he walks away. She catches me watching and she looks away. I see a small tear fall down her face. What the hell happened while I was gone? 

Back on the road, I waited an hour to talk to Dean. "What happened back there?" I ask. "Did you get the answers you wanted?"

Deans hands tightens on the wheel and pulls off to the side of road and put the impala in park. "Yeah." he stares ahead of him. "She started having these dreams about me. Went to an actual psychic who pulled her memories back. But not Bens. She said she wouldn't do that unless I got back with her." Dean looks at me and I watch as he grabs my hand in his. "I told her it was impossible. I told her I didn't feel that way about her anymore and had feelings for some else."

I felt my heart skip a beat. I knew he was talking about me. I used my free hand to grab his shirt collar and pull him to my lips. 

[gabriellapatterson-blog]

That was legit-ness

AN: Thanks @wyattschreave​ for the RP. 

I sat in bed staring at the ceiling as I waited for something to happen, anything, please. Bed rest was going to do me more harm than good as I would soon die of boredom. Almost like someone had heard my dread there was a knock at the door.

Rose stood from where she had been doing some needlework and rushed herself over to the door, “O-oh Hello-o Prince Wyatt!” She said stuttering again. I wonder how they allowed her to work as a maid when she’s so shy. A smile spread across my face as I heard the name Wyatt. Thank goodness someone to talk to.

“Hi Wyatt! He can come in Rose!” I projected giving my permission. The maid then held the door open sneaking out of the room herself to leave us privacy.

Wyatt poked his head into the room, his eyes shut tight, “You decent?” He asked which caused me to snort.

“Yes I am decent come on in.”

He then opened his eyes and came in with a smirk as well as a covered plate. “I hope the other guy that was in the fight looks worse than you.”

I sighed in relief at the joke, thank goodness Wyatt wasn’t going to be stiff about this. I needed humour every once and awhile, “Oh thank goodness you're in a joking place. I made one with your brother and I dont think I've ever felt air more suffocatingly awkward. And as a matter of fact I did successfully tackle someone during the event. They probably weren't as beaten up as me in the end but they did seem fairly scared when I grabbed their gun.” I said the last part quite haughty. Still proud of my attempt.

He smiled a bit but raised a brow as I finished my story, “I see you didn't go down without a fight then. As expected. I'm kind of scared to ask what you did once you were armed though.”

I chuckled a bit at the anticlimactic end, “I ran. I may not go down without a fight but that doesn't mean I'm not a coward at the end of the day. Also you should sit I hate having too look up at people,” I suggested and pat a spot on my bed.

He cleared his throat, “Uh, maybe I like when people look up at me.” He replied as he frantically looked around for anywhere else to sit. Finally, he spotted a chair and moved it over to be beside my bed. I held him a chuckle at his total panic of sitting on my bed. What, does he not know how to sit on a bed? Does he have hemorrhoids? Am I just too repulsive to sit on the same piece of furniture with? Or am I not decent enough? Maybe they gave the selected like really crappy beds and he just doesn’t wanna sit on my bed? Honestly, I have no idea why he would panic so much at just sharing a bed. “But I'll be nice today.” He added before sitting down and revealing his covered plate had toast on it.

“You seem happier when this is at the breakfast table.” He explained which was true.

I chuckled, “Ben did say he likes to loom over you. Maybe you like doing the same to others to make yourself feel better like a bully victim being a bully. Granted Natalya and I left you plenty of shoes to pick from to fix that, but thank you for your niceness today.”  I stated then moved onto the toast.

“Glad you noticed. I don't see why its not there everyday its like the bread is good then you can do anything with it eat it plain or put all kinds of jams or curds. It's really the best breakfast food/snack. Plus it doesn't require utensils in chinese traps.”

“I only brought strawberry jam, but it's warm bread if that makes it any better.” He then noticed that I wasn’t fully sitting up, “Uh, do you need help sitting up?” He asked.

“No I should be able to stack some more pillows behind me to get me up straight. Though when moving my foot with the sprain does not stay lined up with the pillow so if you could move that for me while I get the back pillows that'd be great.Though, I will warn you......I'm not fully decent.. my ankle is exposed so you may have to shield your eyes from its lewdness.” I joked at the last part.

He rolled his eyes and clicked his tongue before putting the toast down on my nightstand table, then stood to go move the pillow. “It’s a rule Hazel and Layla came up with, okay?”

“Asking the selected if they're decent first? It seems silly to me, I don't think most people just lounge around in their underwear. It would be chilly.” I replied.

“And I don't mind the one flavor either, the toast itself is amazing as is and with additives.” I added.

He snorted, “It’s a rule that predates the Selection. We all had a bad habit of barging into places when we were younger of it was just our rooms...and it wasn’t really a problem until we almost walked in on Hazel changing. She pushed the door back before we entered and almost broke Ben’s nose.” I couldn’t help but to burst out laughing thinking about that encounter. The stress, the speed, the slam.

“I can't even begin to imagine either side. All of my siblings are girls after all so if we're changing it doesn't really matter where. Though I suppose its equivalent to my dad having a secret knock so we'd know it was him. Speaking of facial injuries, you okay there?” I asked since he had a scar on his cheekbone that was not there before the attack.

He passed me the plate of toast then reached to his face to touch the scar seeming like he had forgotten about it. “oh, yeah... it’s alright.” He replied then took a moment before adding, “You should’ve seen the other guy.”

I chuckled at bringing the previously mentioned joke back, “At least your takeaway makes you look cool, you could pull off a wicked pirate look for halloween. I'm just stuck in bed for an eternity with a pillow under my foot and thread in my hip.” I complained.

I took a piece of toast and stared at it for a moment, “I'm not sure if I should start with jam or try it plain first?” I mumbled as I weighed pros and cons.

“I've heard some people like being stuck in bed for eternity. But as for the toast, plain is no fun.”

“Not me. It's too boring plus I can't go on any runs or go swimming or do anything but look at a ceiling. It's truly exhausting I would talk with Rose more but she seems reluctant to come out of her shy shell so it doesn't really work.”

I then smirked ready to address the toast comment. I faced him and matched his eyes, “Oh really? After the lessons I assumed you would always be on the plain and safe side of things.” I teased before reaching for the jam.

He scoffed, “And you say I'm rude?”

“I was not rude. Just simply making a claim off of your previous actions. Whereas you do things like leave conversations without saying goodbye, snicker at people, and that mocking-” I gestured once more to his eyebrow area, “-Eyebrow thing.” Just as I complained about the eyebrow thing he did it again.

“I do not.” He retorted then seemed to notice he was doing the very thing he claimed not to do. He frowned to try and make his eyebrows both go down to a not mocking level. “-do it mockingly. It's just a facial expression.” He added to try and save his defensive I do not.

“a facial expression-” I paused to cross my arms defensively, “Of. Mocking.”

He rolled his eyes, “What am I mocking? It seems insensitive to mock a poor injured young miss.”

“See more mocking right there. Now you're mocking the fact that I'm injured, previously you were mocking my...Idunno gesturing or previous statement. See here let me try then you'll see how mocky it is.” I threatened and mimicked his stupid eyebrow thing.

He narrowed his eyes and replied with a voice saturated in sarcasm, “Oh no. I feel so mocked, how will I ever get over such a thing.”

I leaned over to try and play punch him but ended up putting pressure on my injured hip, “Ow ow ow ow ow bad idea on my part.” I replied as I tried to fix my position.

He frowned and leaned forward as he tried to figure out how to help, “What? What's wrong?”

I couldn’t help but to take advantage of the situation, now that he was leaning forward I could reach him and land my light shoulder punch. “Haha! ow still but I accomplished my goal. To reach you I tried to get more on my right side but that's where the stitches are so the pressure was bad. Fortunately, for me you leaned forward.” I explained with a grin on enough pain medication that that previous interaction didn’t hurt me too much.

He blinked then leaned back in his chair, “You're crazy. Start being more careful.”

I chuckled lightly, “I will. Though, it's not like I planned to lay on my stitches I had the full intent of just reaching over to hit you. It just played out that way and you happened to lean forward so I seized my chance.” I then started to spread some jam on my toast, “I've actually been pretty well behaved with my injuries this time. When I was 13 I broke my leg and refused to stop trying to go for jogs. Didn't work out well for me.” I added.

“You don't sound like a smart 13 year-old.”

“I'm not smart as an 18 year old. But at 13 I did have a little less of a brain. Ot drove my mom crazy since she's a doctor so she'd be trying to be a mom and a doctor when it was broken and go into a hyper care mode. She'd do it whenever we even got a cold too, she's probably losing it that she can't be my doctor currently. Your lucky that you don't have a doctor parent to micromanage your recoveries.” I added with an eye roll thinking about my mom’s drama whenever any of us got as light as a scratch.

A smile tugged at his lips, “Sounds like you wish she was here to micromanaging your recoveries.” He replied. Why does he think he can tell me how I feel? I mean he’s right, I do wish she were here. But that smirk like he’s some genius know it all is the most aggravating thing.

I scoffed and played the defensive, “Nope. Being injured without her is good practice for adulting without her. Though I do kinda have her here in a weird way.” I wasn’t going to let that smirk win. But talking about her made me remember a book that sat on my bed to my left.

“I was actually very glad to find this in the library, it's one of my dad's poem books. I haven't been allowed to read them before though so it's also a bit sneaky to have one. But my mom is mentioned in several. He's highly romantic.” I warned about the romance part.

He perked up and looked at the cover of the book, “Your dad's a poem writer?”

“Yup. He always wanted to be one but he didn't actually start writing well till he met my mom apparently. He’s a stay at home dad though for most of the time since mom likes to spend most of the day at the hospital and there are 4 children including me so dad would stay home and take care of us and write about mostly my mom. He wrote about me and my sisters every once in awhile too but I don't think he published them. Mostly they were out of angst of us refusing to eat our vegetables.” I chuckled.

“Do you like to read?” I asked after all he had perked up at the mention of my dad’s profession.

He laughed at my vegetable comment, “I do. Though I've never fully submerged in the art of poetry.”

“is your dad any good?”.

“Well, as his daughter I'm required to defend him to the grave and as a reader I also have not really read a lot of poetry so I'm not the best judge so after weighing those too I'm going to go with yes. He's an excellent poet.”

He nodded acting like he had a deep understanding of what I said, “You seem like a very good judge for that.” he replied before reaching for the book.”Let's see what I think with my super unbiased opinion.” I can’t decide if he’s opinion would be biased in favour of or against his poetry.

I pulled the book away from him, “Wait I don't wanna lose my spot and I don't have a bookmark.” I looked around for something to shove in the pages and ended up pulling a petal off of one of the flowers Ben had brought me to put in it. Then I handed the book to Wyatt, “Here. Do you know how poem books work?” I asked.

He then opened the book to the page with the petal in it, “It's a book. It has words. They happen to be poems.” He then gave me a presumptuous smirk which I was very glad I would get to crush, “Am I getting it right?” He asked.

“You and your brother both seem to have a strong tendency to be smug.” I replied and reached over to lightly pinched his cheek. He, like a drama queen, pulled back from the light, little, tiny, cheek pinch to rub his cheek like I had laid a full on punch on him.

“Yes you are technically right but you're also wrong. Poem collections are just collections of the poems. Poem books tend to have a story that follows a plot and each poem tells the story. Such as this one seems to be about my mom and dad in college. You can still just read a random poem from anywhere in the book and you'll get the author's style and what was going on in that segment since poems should still be able to stand alone. However, you'll miss the overall picture of the book.”

“Okay, I didn't know they'd follow a story. I guess that means your parents met in college.”

“It really varies from book to book but if it says collection it is certainly not in any order of a plot. Otherwise it’s likely to be a story but it could just be a collection under a different name. And yes they did meet in college. Mom had to take an english class required to graduate. They got married in the end of their first year since there both overly romantic doofs who decided to go straight for marriage.” I chuckled a bit at the last part.

He chuckled himself, “So that means you consider yourself to be more reasonable?”

I considered for a good long minute. I liked to think I'm reasonable. I’m for sure more sane than Emma, “hmmmm...nope. I'm just not afraid to admit that we're all doofs. If I were a more reasonable person I probably wouldn't have signed up for the selection. Are you a reasonable person?”

He thought for a moment and half folded his legs so that one leg had his ankle resting on his knee, “What would you say?” He asked.

“I'd say you are about as reasonable as a person who thinks "admiring a wall" is a valid excuse for lurking.”

Ah there it is again, the death glare, so sorry mother I lived through the attack but this is where I die. At the hands of a glaring Wyatt. “It was a joke!” He replied defensively. He sighed, “I’d say I’m reasonable if you take that away. Depends on my mood. Also on what you consider reasonable.”

I looked away from him with a tsk click of my tongue, “The boy is in denial of his true nature. Can't even accept that he's unreasonable like the smart and mature me.” I twirled a section of my hair in my finger as I spoke.

He rolled his eyes, “Everyone suffers from a certain lack of reason at some point in life.”

I chuckled, “You're right. Honestly, you seem like more of a reasonable fellow to me. I'm pretty reasonable myself in most cases as well. To defend myself on joining the selection being an unreasonable act of mine I did it for free breakfast from my friend so that makes it more reasonable.” I added the second part to defend myself.

“Get a free meal at the cheap price of joining a competition with thirty-five other girls to see who gets to marry a prince. Smart choice.”

“get a free meal at the cheap price of more free meals and meeting some new people. Seems smart to me.” I said then took a bite of my toast and held it up as exhibit A, “Free meal.” I added covering my mouth as it now had toast in it.

He smiled, “Okay, I guess you win.” HAH defeated, Schreave!

I smiled proudly before swallowing, “Would you have joined the selection?” I asked then went red as I realized all of the problems with my question and was met with a skeptical look from Wyatt,, “Had Ben not been your brother or the royal been a girl unless you swing the other way which is totally okay by the way…” I mumbled off, “...it would explain the musicals and the hair.”

He looked offended by my comments, woops, “There’s nothing wrong with my hair!”

“It's just very....elegant I suppose. In a way I'm not used to seeing straight males have theirs.” I said and fwooshed his hair bounce. “It's just would have made some sense had you been gay. Actually you didn't answer the question, are you gay? I'd still be your friend either way. Just checking.”

“I’m a strictly into girls kind of guy, sorry to disappoint. Didn’t know well groomed hair and appreciation for musicals was strictly left for gay people though.” He grumbled.

I chuckled, “I'm sorry for offending your hair and taste. Musicals are fine. I'm not super into them but thats just because my dad hates them and would never let us go so I've never actually heard them and should not judge.”

“They’re good. It takes a different type of story telling than normal albums. More direct. You’re dad made you miss out...though in all honestly, I didn’t get into them until I was older.”

“really? Maybe you could show me one. In return for me showing you the best poetry of the best you can show me a musical.”

He looked back down to the book in his hand, “Let’s see how good this is and I’ll consider it.” He then flipped to a random page, “Lets judge an individual poem first.”

He then smirked as he read over it and stood up from his chair holding the book in one hand and the other in the air as if he was contemplating life. One of my eyebrows raised curiously as I watched him, “My darling. My sunshine. My light.” He paused to turn his hand and shift it in the other direction, “You shine, you dazzle, you glow.” He then paused to clench his fist as I began to hold in laughter, “LIKE THE LIGHTS OF THE EIFFEL—”

I couldn’t take it anymore and had to burst out laughing, “This is some intense poetry spoken with real passion.” I replied through my laughter as I held up my own clenched fist to mimic his.

“I’m sure this is the intensity your father wrote it with.” He then cleared his throat and kept his fist extended, “IN THE CITY. OF. LOVE.” He gave a dramatic pause and looked to the ground, “If you were a city... you would be Paris..” He looked up and gave a smoldering look to a spot in the air, “because…” he squinted at the book, “Love surrounds you.” He finished then reread the poem.

“I thought light surrounded you?”

“No no she is the light.” I explained. The applauded him for his truly majestic reading.

“I'd love to hear another he has non plot related collection in the back of the book if you don't want spoilers.” I suggested.

He gave a small bow and walked back over to his seat, “Let’s see... “ He flipped to the back and read through some of them until he finally raised an eyebrow, “Oh, this one’s interesting…”

“'I’ve raised one well enough then came another two daughters now gifts from their mother.” He said reading the first few lines normally. Oh, this must be about me. Since two daughters would be Riley and I.

He then gave me a pointed look before continuing, “Unfortunately at the ripe age of three, their teacher miss Miranda Lee taught the younger to sing…” DAD NO.

Wyatt was clearly holding in laughter as my cheeks turned darker and darker shades of red, “For little over a month now, I have been unable to think. All I hear is that horrible tweet. Itsy bitsy spider, it never ends. Her singing is like—” He had to stop as he started laughing. He tried to speak through the laughter, “the sound of a microwave beeping as it stops. It alarms you! And you wish it to stop but it simply will not shut up!” He stopped for longer now as he burst out into laughter.

I turned to grab a pillow from my bed and chucked it at him, “Don't laugh! I was three what do you expect! I mean that daughter was three could have been another one of us, maybe I'm the eldest or maybe it's not based on real life!” I hissed defensively.

He ignored me and cleared his throat to speak again this time with a fighter voice and another clenched fist as he looked up to the ceiling like he was looking to the heavens, “ITSY BITSY SPIDER I WISH I COULD CRUSH YOU—”

He chuckled as he looked back down to the book, “Dang, your dad is harsh.” He smiled as he looked down at the page and finished the poem, “but unfortunately, you’ve taught me the struggles of fatherhood.’

I snatched the book from him, “You can't read it now till I've read through the rest of them. And I was three can you honestly expect a three year old to be an amazing singer?” I rolled my eyes, “No you can't. but you can expect them to be annoying and bother their father.” I answered my own question and crossed my arms in fury.

He plopped back down in his chair and just smirked the whole time, “so you admit it  was you?” He grinned like he had won something which just made me more embarrassed.

“Sure. fine. yes. It was me I drove my father crazy with itsy bitsy spider when I was three. Apparently, I liked the hand motions a lot but couldn't sing the key. Happy? You probably were a worse singer than me at three anyways.” I attacked.

“Wow.” He chuckled and leaned back in his seat with his arms up in defense. “Low blow from Patterson, but it’s a miss.” He said and leaned forward on his knees. “I‘ve always been a great singer.” I bet he’s fibbing to win.

“You've been known to lie and say things like youre a wall admirer to get out of a situation. Prove you aren't lying then, Schreave.” I replied and crossed my arms proudly since I had caught him in his lie.

He tensed up nervously, “I’m not going to sing in front of you.” HAH I WIN!

“Liar liar pants on fire.” I smirked as I had won this.

He got kind of flustered but glared again at me, “I don’t need to prove it to you.” He then crossed his arms defensively, “I’ll live without your validation.”

“Eek. Damn Wyatt, back at it again with the murderous glare.” I referenced with a slight shudder.

He laughed, “Shut up.” A grin then spread across his face as it seemed an idea hit him, “I’ll sing if you sing itsy bitsy.” What a prick.

I huffed as I thought. On one hand I’d be able to catch his lie, on the other I’d have to face public humiliation. “Fine. There's no harm since either I prove I can sing and I'm better or you get caused the pain of my fathers poem.”

I then took a breath in and started, “tHe ItSy BITSY sPiDeR wEnT Up THe WaTeR SpOUT!”

He laughed, “Down came the rain and washed the spider out.” He finished and decided to throw in some hand motions shoving the spider in my face.

I scoffed at his showy move. Sure his lines were better but thrusting his spider motions into my face was extra. I grabbed his hands and lightly squeezed them, “Crushed the spider.” I said referencing my dad’s poem.

His eyes widened at the sudden contact but he smirked, “See? There's your dad's passion.” Suddenly, he seemed to realize how physically close we now were which caused his face to turn red and his body to freeze.

This just caused me to want to tease him more. I moved closer to him keeping our hands still together, “Oh no, is something wrong? You seem a little broken.” I chuckled and booped his nose.

He tensed up more but finally was able to speak up again after the nose touching, “Don't do that.” He scoffed. Though, it wasn’t my fault Wyatt had an upturned nose that seemed to call for booping and that his reactions led to humourous hysteria, I had to consider his feelings as well and if he wasn't a fan of contact I really would have to stop.

I giggled and held up my hands in surrender, “Sorry, your brother makes funny faces when he's scared to death, you seem funny when you're embarrassed by simple human contact.” I chuckled a bit at my commentary.

He grumbled, “No I don't.”

I crossed my arms, “You do too! Your face gets all red and you tense up. Why don't you like other peoples contact anywho?” It seemed like a weird thing to be particular about. Don’t most people crave human contact?

His ears were still red and he avoided eye contact with me, “It's not that I don't like it. I just prefer my personal space, nothing wrong with that.” I suppose that makes sense. But I couldn’t let Wyatt off the hook that easily.

“Wow, I had no idea the tops could turn such a cherry red.” I exclaimed with a smirk about his ear tips.

He glared at me and stood up with dramatic flare. Yet again like a drama queen. “I will leave and take my toast with me.” It’s technically my toast since he gave it to me but I get the threat.

I decided to match his drama, “No no no. I'm so sorry oh dearest wisest Prince Wyatt uh-I-dont-know-your-middle-name Schreave. Please don't take the toast I'm injured. Please kind prince show mercy.” I begged with a dramatic pleading look in my eyes as I gazed up at the prince who could provide me the only love I would need for my eternal life, toast.

His eyes were still narrowed into a murder glare but he sat back down. “Tad too dramatic.”

“Sorry, just trying to truly lament my deepest apology. I am related to a poet after all. Do you expect me not to be dramatic?”

“Poets are also supposed to be sensible.”

“I am too sensible.”

“I require proof of this.”

“A non sensible person would be walking around on a hurt foot, Since I am sensible I have stayed in bed. Proof. Game. Set. Match.” That doesn’t really mean you’re sensible, just that you aren’t insane, Gabby. Maybe he won't notice though.

He seemed to listen intently to what I said but snorted at my last phrase, “How many games were we playing right now?”

“I think just the one of am I sensible, though can Wyatt really sing may have been another overlapping.” Though, that already had its conclusion.

“Game. Set. Match... are those volleyball terms?” He asked ignoring my comment.

“Technically but it's more commonly used for Tennis. Do you not watch sports?”

“Oh. Tennis. Right. I’m good at watching, not terminology. I understand baseball and soccer. Tennis is more up Aran’s alley from what he’s told.” I was supposed to teach Ben tennis. Whoops guess that won’t happen for a while.

“I knew those terms sounded familiar though.” He paused and let out a long sigh, “So close to getting it right.”

“Do you play baseball and soccer or are you just a fan of watching?”

“You were the girl that Ben taught how to play baseball, right? He’s not the only Schreave who knows how to play. I played soccer too, but I’m better at aiming with my hand than with my leg.”

We talked for a bit longer about sports before I suggested we play a game. I hadn’t satisfied my competitive drive in forever since I’ve been stuck in this bed. I suggested darts and we looked around for where we would even put a board before Wyatts eye caught a picture on my nightstand table.

It was from my sixth halloween or so. Mom, dad, and I were in the picture since Riley took it. I was dressed up as a very fat and glitter cupcake.

“Is that one of your sisters?” He asked with a smirk as he picked up the framed photo. Shit. I can’t give him anymore amo than I’ve already given him today.

“Yup sure its my little sister Mae can I have it back now?”

He seemed suspicious of my reaction, “Why? How old is she?” Why what? Is something wrong.

While my brain focused on why he would say why my mouth slipped and I provided the honest answer that Mae was only a little over a year old.

He raised an eyebrow and turned the frame like it was a piece of evidence, “Why does she look like a 6-year-old cupcake then?” God I’m an idiot.

“Ah-umm did I say Mae? No no I must have meant Eliana my eight year old sister definitely Eliana for sure is what I meant.”

“This girl looks too young to be eight. Actually, she looks like you now that I take a good look at it…”

I huffed, this lying was taking up too much work, “Fine, you figured it out sherlock, it's me.”

He gave a fake pout, “Why would you hide that important information? You were quite the cupcake.” He said as he stared at the photo. Why was he so into it? Oh yeah he loves photography.

“It wasn't my best costume okay. I just was in a phase where cupcakes were my thing. And I'm going to accept that as a genuine compliment so thank you.” It wasn’t my best plus I was a truly ugly child. Lots of baby fat, very little photogenicness.  

“Oh yeah you did say you liked photography since you gave Ben the...album. Was it quite a fire album?” I asked chuckling a bit remembering how embarrassed he was that I had asked if he made the songs or not.

“I told you it's still not finished... and it's probably not that impressive, but Ben's fond of you girls, and claims to enjoy going through my pictures,” He let out a small chuckle and rubbed the nape of his neck.

“So it's a fun project. One day he'll get to go back and flip through it thinking "wow, I actually invited 35 girls to come and fall in love with me."

“I'm sure that'll be a wild memory. Mine will probably be along the lines of "wow can't believe I got all that free food. Miss it now"” I then did a disappointed snap that normally goes along with people being like gosh darnit.

He shrugged, “You never know what'll happen.”

“Oh right I do have a backup plan. Maybe you'd be willing to help with it?” Oh wait he’s going to get the wrong idea. A backup plan that’ll allow me to stay at the palace for the free food that he would help me with? His thoughts will definitely will not be accurate to my actual plans.

“Uh...what?”

“Oh right more context. I have a plan so I can stay and get unlimited food without marrying anyone. Bens agreed to help. I hide in a pantry. There's so many in the kitchen that they wouldn't notice. Then I can eat the good food for free all the time.”

“So your plan is moving into the pantry and maybe going through another cupcake phase, stealing those all the time?”

“Hey!” I then held up my hands in defense, “I said nothing about cupcakes. You probably had a childhood obsession anyways. Probably more embarrassing than cupcakes.” I huffed.

“I’m sure you were a lovely cupcake fanatic, I’m not judging you.” He said with an amused grin, “I can’t say I was ever obsessed with a dessert, however.”

I glared at his grin and scrunched my nose before moving closer to get a real good look at his mocking. “There it is again.”

He raises both eyebrows, clearly playing innocent, “What?”

“Oh great now you've gone and made it doubly worse. You're mocking again. Amused smile, now the eyebrows.” I couldn’t help but smile though as this back and forth was fun for me at this point.

He laughed a bit, “Anything else on your list I should stop doing?”

“That's all I can thin- oh wait. At breakfast. Every morning, when I unfold my utensils you don't say anything but I feel the mocking in the air. Stop making the air foul.”

“Oh, so I’ll just-” He paused and closed his eyes, “-avoid looking at you at all times. Will that stop the air from becoming foul?”

“No then the air just becomes awkward. Also you can't avoid looking at me, I'm too eye catching,” I paused to pose with one hand on my hip and the other on the side of my face, “Kidding of course.”

He opened his eyes and rolled them, “Yes, of course.” He then pretended to hold up an invisible camera and said, “click.”

Going along with the picture joke I replied, “Oh no, you can't take pictures of me for free. Now you're in debt to me. I'll have to think of a way you can pay me.”

“I didn't take an actual picture.” He replied which made me roll my eyes, he must really think I’m stupid.

“I know. I was joking. I have eyes. Still even an imaginary picture has a deep cost. You'll really have to work your way out of debt.”

He thought for a moment, “You know, that toast was made as an extra request to the most expensive chef in the country. It’s not part of your regular meal plan as Selected. You’ll really have to work your way out of debt unless I pay for it…”

I scrunched my nose as I had been played, “Fine. I'll ignore your debt if you ignore mine on the toast. Deal?” I said before I offered my hand for a business shake.

He looked down at my hand first before shaking it, “Why'd you have to look first? Were you scared I had one of those prank buzzers or something?”

“I’ll have you know, Ben fell too easily for those when we were little.” I wonder if he has trust issues now. Ben I mean. From all of the Wyatt shocking.

I chuckled, “Like how easily you feel for Natalya and I's shoe prank?”

He gave a flat look, “That was just weird and uncalled for.”

“It was funny and you know it. Don't try and deny it.”

Suddenly his voice raised so a high pitch one trying to mock me, “Oh Wyatt,” He paused for a dramatic hand gesture, “Please admire this wall with me.”

Fine I’ll mock him back. I lowered my voice, “Leave me alone, Gabriella. I need to sit in my room and be angsty with my tennie tiny feet. Rude statement rude statement, death glare.” I then did a death glare of my own to push my point which was met with a sincere and much more chilling death glare from Wyatt.

“Why do you keep saying my feet are small! My shoe size is 10.5—perfectly average for a 6 foot guy!” He broke.

I gasped, “You have six feet? I had no idea.” I joked avoiding the question.

“I said foot not feet. Basic grammar, Cupcake.” He replied not taking any of my humor. The nickname cupcake would have been nice had I not known it was intended to be an attack on my pride.

I rolled my eyes as I tried to think of a painful nickname, bigfoot? Glarey mcglare boy? Rude boy 2.0? Mixtape album rapper? “Fine, I'll give you that, wall-philic.” I said pulling back to my oldest insult for him.

“I make a joke one time and there’s no escaping it now, huh?”

“I dress up as a cupcake one time and there's no escaping it now, huh?”

“You admitted you had a childhood obsession.”

I grumbled as I knew he was right, “Fine I guess that's a different situation. I'll let the wall stuff go.” I agreed.

He gave a proud cocky smile as he had won but his wristwatch interrupted us with its beeping. “I’ll send a dart board with a maid for you to use later, but I have to go now.” Thank God I’ll have something to do. Though, I felt a bit sad that Wyatt was leaving. I had been enjoying our conversation even the dramatic poem readings.

“Oh, well thanks. It was nice of you to stop by, and to bring the toast.” I would have walked him out but considering my circumstances I had to remain in bed.

He shrugged and stood up, “I heard you were trapped in here and was wondering what would really hold you back from breakfast.”

“Oh yeah, have you been missing your meal neighbor? No one to embarass you in front of your family. Unfortunately I have to eat up here. But it was sweet of you to come visit.” I chuckled a bit at my own comment of embarrassing him.

“See? I can be a good person. You just have to be nice.”

“I am always nice. Anyways, good luck on whatever it is you set an alarm for.”

“Meeting. Hopefully we'll figure who was behind this soon.” He gave a small smile before he waved goodbye and walked to the door. I gave a wave goodbye myself. I had almost completely forgotten about the attacks while I was talking with Wyatt. It was weird that something which had been stopping me from rest was so easily forgotten during a simple conversation.

I sighed as the door closed and I was left alone. I adjusted some of my pillows and took satisfaction in my moment alone. I hadn’t been alone in what felt like an eternity, though I’m sure Rose is rushing her way back to my side.

I close my eyes and decided to use my time to try and sleep. Maybe with the attacks not pounding at my mind I would be able to get some quality sleep.

And I did. That is, until the end of my dream. Ben and I were on a romantic date. Walking, holding hands, talking. Until finally he leaned in for a kiss. It felt even better than the ones he had been giving me. But when I pulled away it wasn’t Ben who I had kissed. It was Wyatt looking down at me with that horrible, smug, amused, cocky grin. He just replied with a simple reference,

“That was legit-ness.”

I shot up in my bed covered in sweat as I tried to gather my thoughts. What the fuck was that dream?