#the ''Things'' I constantly heard from the ''Brain-Washed Group Think'' People that I call Family & Friends was Horrible

[miracleonice87]

Begin Again, part two

with Mathew Barzal

a/n: in honor of @kerwritesthings’ birthday (that’s right, go wish her a happy one if you haven’t already!)… Hayden and Mat are back! part one was one of the earlier pieces I wrote, and it was a combo of a reader/oc, which I don’t really like to use in my writing now, but I’m sticking with it for consistency’s sake. title is based on T Swift's song, which I obviously don't own and all that stuff.

warnings: swearing, allusions to sex, nothing graphic

word count: 5.3K+

_____

“Hayden!” you heard from across the Coliseum concourse, just moments after you’d stepped through the doors of the main entrance. A stunning platinum blonde with a dazzling smile quickly approached, waving excitedly. Your first instinct was to look over your shoulder to try and determine who the woman was speaking to, since you didn’t recognize her, but she had called your name.

Instead, you forced a small smile and tentatively stepped toward her. As soon as she was within arm’s reach, she gathered you into a tight hug.

“Sorry, I’m a hugger!” she exclaimed, then stepped back and fanned a hand across her chest. You couldn’t help but notice the rock on her left ring finger, not to mention her perfectly manicured nails and pristine blue silk Islanders jacket, paired with a white t-shirt, black jeans, and snakeskin boots. “I’m Sydney, but you can call me Syd. It’s Sydney Esiason Martin, actually. I’m Matt Martin’s wife, but all the guys just call him Marty,” she explained, her hands gesturing animatedly all the while.

It was all coming together in your brain now, that Mat must have arranged for Sydney to be on the lookout for you, and you nodded slowly, your smile growing.

“I’m Hayden,” you offered, but of course, she already knew that, you thought as you mentally kicked yourself. “It’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you, and Marty, too.”

Sydney beamed, her eyes glittering. “Yeah, you, too!” she said. “It isn’t often Barzy brings a girl around the group. Well, honestly… it isn’t ever, actually,” she said with a lighthearted giggle. “You must be pretty special.”

You breathed a chuckle and swiped your tongue along your bottom lip, lost for words.

Sydney must have sensed your unease, because after a beat, she gave your upper arm a light squeeze and nodded her head toward the escalators leading to the suite level.

“C’mon, I’ll show ya where we’re sitting,” she said. “I’m starving. I think I want a pretzel with cheese. Are you hungry? They have the most incredible nachos up there, just wait…”

And as Sydney rambled on about the delicacies to be found in the family suite, your anxieties about meeting the people there suddenly shrunk, and you found yourself thinking that you were going to like this “Syd.”

_____

The game was a blowout.

New York beat Ottawa 6-1, and Mat had a goal and three assists, not to mention the night’s second star. You had held your own in the family box, and Sydney had been the perfect guide — introducing you to the kindest of the guys’ partners and avoiding the ones that side-eyed you standoffishly, whispering in your ear that so-and-so had dated two NHLers in the past, and so-and-so and her boyfriend were constantly on and off, and that Syd didn’t expect them to be around for long, so don’t worry about them. You mostly spent the evening nodding along politely to various conversations, giggling at Sydney’s over-the-top antics, and making small talk with some of the veterans’ wives. They all seemed relieved to know that you were familiar with the hockey world and, therefore, had at least a hint of what you were (potentially) getting yourself into.

But one thing you hadn’t expected? When Syd turned to you a few minutes after the game ended and said, “Oh! Matt just texted me. He said Barzy wants me to bring you downstairs.”

You swallowed your last sip of beer, hard.

“Downstairs?” you asked softly after a long pause.

“Uh huh!” Sydney nodded emphatically, tucking her phone into her Louis Vuitton bag and patting your knee. “He probably wants to introduce you to some of the boys. Don’t worry,” she said with a nonchalant wave of her hand, doing her best to calm your nerves.

You nodded slowly and reached for your own, much less expensive, bag. “O-okay.”

Ten minutes later, you were in the depths of the Coliseum in a lounge across from the locker room, Sydney chatting away about how when playoffs start, you’ll have to join her and the other girls for tailgating in the parking lot before the game, because it’s such a blast, and it’s a lot easier to watch your significant other knock the shit out of someone (or get the shit knocked out of him) when you’re tipsy. You stayed noncommittal, all the while questioning in your mind whether Mat would even want you around once playoffs started.

But you didn’t have long to dwell on that, because a moment later, the locker room door swung open, and two tall, broad, light brown-haired men stepped through it, Mat close on their heels. You could have sworn you heard him sharply whisper “please don’t embarrass me” before they crossed the hallway, but then again, maybe that was just in your head, because immediately after, Mat gave you a huge smile and stepped forward to pull you in for a hug.

“Hey!” he greeted warmly, then completely caught you off guard by pecking your lips, right there in front of half a dozen of his teammates and their partners.

You touched your fingertips to your lips, feeling them buzzing at the unexpected contact. You recovered as quickly as you could and smiled back at him, lost in the way he looked in his sharp grey suit and in how he smelled fresh out of the shower.

“Hi,” you said quietly.

And just as you studied Mat’s appearance, he was studying yours — taking in your royal blue blazer, the way your light-wash jeans hugged your curves perfectly, and, of course, admiring the Manolo Blahniks you’d scrimped and saved for two years to purchase.

“Nice shoes,” Mat commented, winking flirtatiously. You giggled, his words echoing the very first he had ever spoken to you back in the coffee shop. “Seriously, though, you look beautiful, Hayden,” he added.

Your cheeks warmed, and you tucked your hair behind your ear as you glanced down at your feet.

“Thanks, Maty,” you said quietly. “You look great, too.”

With an appreciative nod, he pressed his hand to your lower back and guided you nearer to the men accompanying him, who had already greeted their significant others — Syd kissing Matt, and Grace, you remembered, hugging her husband, whose name you couldn’t quite recall.

“Well, Hayd, you know Syd and Grace now, but I want to introduce you to their husbands, Marty and Anders,” Mat said, motioning toward them. “Anders is our captain, and Marty’s like my team dad.”

You giggled at that, glancing up at Mat fondly before focusing back on his teammates and extending your arm.

“It’s so nice to meet you both,” you said, shaking their hands.

“You, too,” Anders said. “I’m glad you came out tonight.”

“Yeah, Barzy won’t shut up about you, and now we see what all the fuss is about,” Marty said, laughing at his own joke as Sydney poked him in the ribs playfully.

“What’s this about Barzy not shutting up?” you heard from behind the wall of well-dressed men in front of you, before an icy blue-eyed man stepped forward. Mat rolled his eyes.

“And this is Tito,” Mat said, waving his arm toward the man you knew to be his close friend. “Don’t let him fool you — he doesn’t ever shut up, either.”

Tito smirked at that and held out his hand.

“It’s nice to meet you, Hayden,” he said kindly. “You’ll have to come back — you must’ve been our good luck charm tonight.”

You shook your head shyly. “No, no, I can’t take the credit,” you insisted. “That was all you guys. But yes, it’s so nice to meet you, too, Tito.”

Tito smiled, looking between you and Mat, and before Tito could offer a response, Mat spoke into your ear.

“I got us a reservation at this place nearby,” he said, his low tone making the hair on the back of your neck stand up. “I don’t wanna rush you, but we should probably get going. Besides, hopefully this is far from the last opportunity you’ll have to hear my friends chirp me.”

You smiled up at Mat, admiring the way his still-damp hair fell perfectly around his sculpted face, and nodded.

“Sure, let’s go,” you told him.

_____

“Okay, favoriiite... NFL team.”

“Seahawks," Mat answered. "Since Seattle’s not far from Coquitlam, you know?”

You nodded. “Plus Russell Wilson and Ciara are everything.”

“Everything,” he agreed dramatically, knocking his knuckles on the table for emphasis. “What about you?”

“Oh, Pats all the way,” you proclaimed, sitting back in your chair. “The day Brady signed with the Bucs was top five worst days of my life,” you added emphatically.

Mat clucked his tongue. “Awww, poor baby,” he said teasingly, throwing you a wink. You rolled your eyes.

“Okay, okay, your turn. Next question,” you said, reaching across the table for his hand, tracing the veins there with your fingertips as Mat beamed at you, unable to think immediately of another inquiry as he was too distracted by your soothing touch.

Finally, he cleared his throat. “Alright, uh,” he began. “How about... oh, what was your favorite movie as a kid?”

A faraway smile spread slowly across your lips as you looked just past Mat, recalling laying on the floor of your den back in Maine, Nick by your side as you watched the same VHS tape over and over again.

“You’ve probably never heard of it,” you started, shaking your head. “But, uh, it was called Brave Little Toaster.”

Mat stilled.

“Shut up,” he deadpanned.

Your brows pulled together, puzzled. “What?”

Mat chuckled in disbelief. “Brave Little Toaster was my favorite movie as a kid.”

You narrowed your eyes at him. “You’re lying,” you accused.

Mat put up his hands in innocence.

“Swear!” he insisted. “You can call my sister right now. We watched it every day for years.”

You could only grin stupidly. “Us, too,” you told him. “Sequels weren’t that good, though,” you added, taking a sip of your wine.

Mat nodded, looking pleased with that assessment, and thought not for the first time that night about how easy this all felt with you. How right. From the simplest thing to the most important.

“No, no, they were trash,” he laughed. “Brave Little Toaster Goes to Mars, and, uh... shit, what was the other one… uh, Brave Little Toaster…”

“To The Rescue,” you finished, Mat echoing the last word before you both fell into a fit of giggles.

“I cannot believe we have this much in common, Maty,” you said when you finally caught your breath.

“Yeah, pretty crazy, right?” Mat said. You nodded as he reached for his gin and tonic. “Feels like I’ve met my other half,” he said.

You pressed your lips together in an attempt to hide your shy smile, dropping your gaze to your lap. From across the table, Mat squeezed your hand. Then, a voice piped up from behind you.

“I hate to interrupt…”

You turned in your seat to find the maître d' leaning toward you, an apologetic look in his eyes.

“We’re going to be closing, so I just wanted to ask—”

“Oh, god, did we close the place down?!” you asked apprehensively, glancing around the room to discover that, indeed, you and Mat were the last two in the room.

“Shit, I’m so sorry,” Mat said, flustered. “I didn't even realize. We’ll get out of your hair. I’m so sorry, sir. Really.”

The man shook his head in understanding and left the table as the waiter approached with the bill.

Suddenly, your stomach dropped. You couldn’t even fathom how much two steak dinners and drinks for the both of you would cost at a place like this. You felt guilty for agreeing to come here instead of suggesting something less extravagant, and you braced yourself as you waited for Mat to make some noise of disgust at the number on the check, just like you’d been used to at the end of date nights for so long.

But, it never came. Mat simply tucked a few bills into the fold, and looked back up at you with a smile and a contented sigh.

“You ready?” he asked easily.

You nodded. “I’m ready for anything with you.”

Mat jutted out his chin proudly and came around to pull out your chair. With his hand gently resting on the small of your back, he guided you to the valet station in front of the restaurant while you waited for his car to be brought around. All the while, Mat felt his heart thudding against his ribcage as he contemplated his next move.

Unaware of his internal struggle, you turned to him with a smirk as you awaited the car’s arrival, and you slipped your hands into his jacket pockets as you leaned into his chest.

“My hands are cold,” you explained simply, while Mat nodded, thinking that there was no better feeling than you reaching out for him. He only wanted to be near to you, ever, always, which brought him to finally posing his long anticipated inquiry.

“Hey, uh…” Mat began, clearing his throat nervously. “I was thinkin’, maybe you’d wanna come over to my place, like, maybe for the night? Honestly I just… I just wanna spend as much time with you as I can, especially since we’ve got another roadie coming up. And I’d love to just curl up on the couch with you, maybe watch a movie—“

“Yes,” you answered softly, but firmly. You had never been more certain that yes, you wanted to go home with this person. Right now.

Mat was caught off guard by your confident answer, and he smiled down at you in disbelief.

“You sure?” he asked. “There’s no pressure, Hayd. I know this is moving fast and all.”

You nodded. “It is,” you concurred. “But it feels… good. It feels right. And I wanna come home with you, Maty.”

Mat grinned from ear to ear and grasped your face with both his hands, kissing you deeply just as his car pulled up to the curb. He took your hand and gave it a squeeze.

“Let’s go then.”

_____

You did spend the night at Mat's that night, and the next night, and the one after that. But the one after that, Mat wasn’t around, and was instead in Raleigh for the first half of a two-game road trip. So, you were surprised when, while you were watching the game, you heard your doorbell ring. Frowning, you jogged to your door and hit the intercom.

“Hello?”

“Yeah, Miss Parker?”

“This is she.”

“Got a delivery for you. Says it’s from an ‘M. Barzal’?”

You smirked, tucking your chin to your chest.

“I’ll be right down.”

Seconds later, you were bounding down the stairs to meet the delivery person, who stood on your building’s front steps holding a stout bouquet of full, white peonies. You thanked them as you took the bouquet in your hands, staring down at it wistfully as you closed the door behind you. Not bothering to wait until you were back in your apartment to read the note, you pulled the card from the envelope tucked within the bouquet.

Hayd,

Pretty flowers for my pretty girl. Be home soon. Don’t forget about me.

MB

_____

“Baby sis!”

You heard your brother’s booming voice on the other end of the line three days later, sounding a bit distant. By that and the sound of papers shuffling, you knew he had you on speaker at his office. “What’s up, Hayd?”

You smiled at his eternally effervescent tone.

“Hi, Nicky,” you greeted. “Oh, nothing much.” Lie. “Just wanted to give you a call and check in.”

“Aww, I’m flattered,” Nick replied. “But you know that I know you better than anybody else, right? I can tell by your voice that you’ve got something to say. What’s goin’ on? Lay it on me.”

You bit your bottom lip. Damn him. Even all the way from Boston, he could still read you like a book. You couldn’t help the girlish giggle that escaped you as you admitted, “Okay, okay. I wanted to tell you that I, uh... I met somebody.”

You could practically hear his eyebrows shoot up over the phone.

“Really?” Nick drawled, lengthening both syllables dramatically. You rolled your eyes at his theatrics, but still, you beamed.

“Really,” you confirmed. “Somebody you’d, uh... somebody you’d actually probably recognize.”

“What do you mean? You cop yourself an attorney or what?”

“No,” you responded, fussing with the frayed hem of your cropped sweater. “No, not quite—“

“What, a Yankee then?”

Your eyes widened at his surprisingly accurate interruption. He was more on the nose than he knew.

“Well... not a Yankee, but...”

“Shut up,” he cut you off once more. “A Met? A Jet?”

You bit at the skin around your polished plum fingernails before you spat out, “An Islander.”

Silence. Then, a bellow.

“What?!”

That was Nick. Ever the thespian.

“It’s Mat Barzal, Nicky,” you answered matter-of-factly. “Like something out of a goddamn rom-com, I met him in a coffee shop about a month ago, and we’re… we’re dating. He’s my boyfriend.” You uttered the last words of your statement with an astonished laugh. It still seemed too good to be true just in your own head — telling someone else made you sound certifiably crazy, even to your own ears.

“I- … how... Jesus! What?!” Nick sputtered. “Hayden! What the fuck! Well, ‘m happy for you, but I’m just… I think I’m in shock right now.”

You groaned with a pained chuckle.

“I know. I’ve been in shock this entire time,” you concurred. “But Mat, he’s… he’s amazing. It sounds so cliché, but he’s just such a normal guy. He’s super polite, funny, thoughtful—“

“Plus he’s an absolute man rocket,” Nick added enthusiastically.

You put a hand to your forehead, rolling your eyes once more.

“Spoken like a true former hockey player,” you commented.

Quickly moving on from your remark, Nick asked, “So, when do Annie and I get to meet him? Seen him on the ice for years but I gotta make sure he’s good enough for my baby sis.”

You smiled warmly at his often-used term of endearment and replied, “Well, yeah. That’s kinda the main reason I wanted to talk to you. He plays the B’s next weekend, on Sunday, at the Garden. The game’s at 1, I think, so… uh… he got us tickets — three tickets. He wants me and you and Annie to go to the game and then he wants us all to go out together—“

“Done,” your brother spoke up firmly before you could even finish. You beamed at his confirmation, despite the fact that he had interrupted you for what felt like the hundredth time in your three-minute call.

“Really?” you asked, scrunching your nose tentatively. “I know you guys are really busy, especially with wedding planning and stuff, and I’d totally understand—“

“Hayden, stop,” Nick spoke sternly. “Seriously. It’s no problem. Sundays are good for us. Besides, even if I did have plans, I’d cancel them for this. Meeting my sister’s new boyfriend is a big deal.”

Absentmindedly, you nodded, though he couldn’t see it.

“Well, thank you, Nicky. It means a lot. I’ll let Mat know you can make it. He’ll be so excited,” you told your brother happily.

“Awesome,” Nick replied warmly. “So what about Mom and Dad? They haven’t met the kid yet, have they?”

You snorted. “Nicky, you’re only two years older than him,” you pointed out. “You can’t call him a kid.”

“Sure I can!” he insisted. “He’s dating my kid sister — that makes him a kid to me.”

You sighed, amused.

“Whatever. But no, they have not met him yet,” you said. “That’ll happen soon enough, you know? I mean, you know how Dad can be — he can come off as kinda gruff, even though you and I know he’s a teddy bear. And Mom, she’s just gonna fall in love with him, and I’m not ready for that just yet.” You chuckled as you heard Nick offer a hum of understanding on the other end of the phone. “Besides, he has a lot of respect for you, and you guys have a lot in common. I just think it would be great for the two of you to meet first,” you said.

“What do you mean he has a lot of respect for me?” Nick asked, sounding puzzled.

One of your brows quirked of its own accord and a smirk stretched across your lips. You’d unwittingly skipped over the best part — the best part for Nick, anyway.

“Oh, I didn’t mention that?” you asked smugly. “He remembered you. The first day we met, I told him my brother played in the Q, he asked my last name… and immediately, he remembered you.”

You heard Nick suck in a breath. “You can’t tell me shit like this, sis,” he said. “Annie always says my ego is already too big as it is, and you just inflated it even more.”

You couldn’t help but burst into laughter, amused by his declaration.

“Well, that’s facts,” you replied. “He remembered the injury, but most of all, he remembered how good you were. He was really glad to hear you’re doing well now.”

“Marry him, or I will,” Nick deadpanned. You could tell he was trying to use humor to mask any emotions your statement had stirred up.

“Oh, Annie would love to hear you say that,” you scoffed, then you glanced at the clock above you. “Listen, I gotta get to the Coli, but I’ll—“

“Oh, my god, my name is Hayden, and my boyfriend is an Islanderrr! I have to get to the Coli to watch him playyy!” your brother mimicked ruthlessly.

You growled at Nick’s playful mocking of you and spat, “Hey, you want these B’s-Isles tickets next weekend or not?”

Immediately, Nick shaped up.

“Just kidding, my darling baby sister! I’ll let you go, and I’ll see you next weekend,” he said.

“Deal. I’ll call you once Mat and I go over the details and stuff,” you promised.

“Sounds good. I’ll talk to ya then. Hey — one more thing,” Nick said hurriedly.

“What’s that?” you inquired as you swung your handbag over your shoulder and grabbed your jacket from the hook in your entryway.

“Are you happy?” Nick asked, his voice more solemn than it had been throughout your entire conversation — more solemn than it almost ever was. Your lips stretched into a slow grin.

“Honestly, Nicky…” you began, a dreamy sigh leaving you as you paused pulling on your jacket. “Yeah. Yeah, I’m super happy.”

You could hear Nick smiling as he replied, “Good. I can tell. You deserve it, Hayd.”

“Thanks,” you answered softly. “It feels really good.”

“It does, doesn’t it?” Nick retorted knowingly. You hummed in agreement and he added, “Alright, I’ll talk to you later. I love you, baby sis.”

“I love you, too, brother,” you replied. “Bye.”

You tapped the red button on your screen to end the call and slipped your jacket the rest of the way over your shoulders as you headed for the door. Just as you reached for the knob, your phone dinged with a text alert.

MB 😍: See you after the game, beautiful. Sushi and sleepover at my place tonight? Up to you. Just let me know 😘

You felt your cheeks warm as a smile stretched across your face, grinning like an idiot at your phone as you had every day for the last month — not that you cared. In fact, it was a welcome change from the sighs and eye rolls you used to emit when reading texts from your last significant other. You felt grateful for this new beginning, this flood of long-dormant feelings you didn’t know you’d ever feel again.

Your fingers flew easily across the keyboard as you typed your response: Sounds perfect. Count me in. Good luck, baby 💋

Within seconds, as you pulled the door closed and headed for the parking garage, his reply lit up your screen.

MB 😍: 🥰

Yeah, you couldn’t have said it better yourself.

_____

The next weekend after dinner, Nick stood with his arm wrapped around Annie’s shoulders, waving goodbye as he watched you and Mat turn and walk down the sidewalk in front of the restaurant hand in hand. Annie squeezed Nick’s waist as he sighed.

“What’s the matter?” Annie asked with a soft smile.

Nick shook his head.

“Nothin’,” he said. “Absolutely nothing is the matter. That kid is… I mean, he’s somethin’ else, huh?”

Annie chuckled thoughtfully.

“He really is,” she agreed. “I’ve known your sister since she was a kid, and I’ve never seen her so giddy as she was today with him.”

“Yeah, me either,” Nick said, his voice sounding far away. “I feel like… I dunno, I feel like this might be the real thing. I know it sounds crazy to say that already.”

Annie grinned, leaning her head against his shoulder. “I don’t think it’s crazy,” she said. “I think they’re really in love.”

Nick breathed a laugh through his nose, shaking his head. “Who woulda thought? My sister and an Islander. Shit.”

_____

“Don’t freak out,” Mat spoke, an anxious smirk on his face as his eyes glimmered.

“Maty!” you whined. “You’re scaring me. What the hell is it?” you asked, your eyes landing once more on the white box tied with a blue satin ribbon.

“Just open it,” Mat instructed, leaning forward to rest his elbows on his knees as you studied him cautiously.

You shook your head, wondering what on earth he was up to, but pulled the ribbon to loosen the bow nonetheless. You pulled the top of the box off and peeled away the tissue paper beneath to reveal a denim jacket, the name “BARZAL” and the number 13 embroidered in blue and orange on the back, along with an Isles logo, a blue heart, and plenty of gemstones.

You silently looked toward Mat, who gazed at you expectantly.

“It’s a WAG jacket,” he explained. “You’ve probably seen some of the girls wear them to games.”

You nodded slowly, unable to think of even a single-word response. You knew what it was. You just couldn’t believe it was yours.

You looked back down to the jacket, then finally back at Mat. He moved from his seat on the couch to sit beside you on the loveseat, taking your hand.

“Listen, I know it’s still really early on, but, I… it just felt like a no brainer to me, Hayd,” he said, his words rushed. “You totally don’t have to wear it if you don’t want to — there’s no pressure. But with the playoffs coming up, Syd asked me if I wanted to have one made for you, and I said I did. I didn’t know if I should clear it with you first, but I wanted to surprise you with it, so I—”

“You… you want me to wear this to games?” you interrupted, your brows furrowed.

Mat’s own face contorted with confusion.

“Y-yeah… yeah, of course I do, baby,” he said. “You’re my girlfriend. And I want people to know it.”

You tried to hide your unsureness under a tight smile as you ran your fingers along the decals adorning the jacket, trailing your touch down the seams. You weren’t sure if you would ever get used to being someone that your significant other was proud of and wanted to show off to the world. Past that, you couldn’t believe that Mat had purchased this for you on his own, with no strings attached — just by looking at the custom item, you knew it had been far from cheap. Every day, Mat made you feel like the most special person in the world, and sometimes you weren’t sure why he bothered, or why he’d chosen you when he could have literally anyone else.

But instead of voicing what your insecurities and your past traumas were screaming at you, you simply decided to take Mat at his word — something you’d been working hard on since the start of this relationship. You flashed a million dollar smile and threw your arms around his neck.

“Thank you, Maty,” you whispered into his ear. You felt his arms tighten around you, his hands gently caressing your back. “This means so much to me.”

Mat smiled over your shoulder and kissed your temple.

“It means everything that you wanna wear it,” he told you, pulling back. “I can’t wait to see you in it.”

You beamed and glanced back down at the garment.

“You want me to try it on?” you asked excitedly, like a little kid just home from a back-to-school shopping spree.

Mat nodded, smiling. “I would love for you to try it on,” he assured.

You wasted no time pulling the jacket from the box and lifting it up. You put one arm into the first sleeve, and Mat guided the other arm after it. Upon closer inspection, you could see your own name embroidered into the wrist of the left sleeve, along with a date in matching script on the other sleeve.

“What’s this?” you asked, smoothing your finger along the thread as you held out your arm to Mat.

The corners of his lips ticked upward into a smile. “The day we met,” he said simply.

You met his eyes and immediately leaned in, grasping his face in one hand as you kissed him, overwhelmed by his constant thoughtfulness.

“Thank you,” you repeated, and Mat only nodded. He took your hands and squeezed.

“Stand up, show me,” he insisted.

You giggled and obliged, doing a little spin with your arms outstretched as Mat laughed.

“Wow, baby, it looks great on you,” he said, in awe. “I absolutely love it. Do you like it?”

You nodded, biting at your bottom lip.

“It’s perfect,” you said, smoothing your hands along the fabric. “I’m definitely wearing it to the next game.”

Mathew nodded, pleased to hear your declaration, and crooked his finger, inviting you closer. You stepped forward, rested your knees on the couch on either side of his lap, and looped your arms around his neck. Mathew began to peck at your lips, jaw, and neck playfully.

“You look,” kiss, “so good,” kiss, “with my name,” kiss, “on your back,” kiss, followed by a mischievous squeeze to your butt.

You felt heat rise from your chest, up your neck, to your face, and you leaned back to rid yourself of the jacket and carefully toss it onto the back of the couch, causing Mat to pout his lips.

You shook your head, placing your index finger to his pucker.

“For what I have planned to say thank you, I’m not gonna wanna be wearing anything nice,” you told him, removing your finger to kiss his lips.

Mat raised his eyebrows and hummed his approval.

“How about not wearing anything at all?” he asked, cockiness in his tone as he tugged at your t-shirt. Following his cues, you removed it from your body and tossed it onto the floor.

“Whatever you say, Barzal,” you said, though Mat was too focused on your lacy bra to think of a response.

Instead, he hoisted you over his shoulder as you squealed with laughter, hauling you to the bedroom and leaving the denim jacket to be worn another day.

[minheeology]

cravity reaction ➳ your first big fight.

requested? : yes!

pairing : cravity x neutral!reader

genre : angst.

warnings : angst, mild cursing.

word count : 3.1k

a/n : i got a little carried away on the angst, but i made sure at least one of them had a cute ending. i hope you enjoy!

serim

when you chose to date serim, you knew you were taking a big risk. the two of you were constantly busy in your own ways, meaning you wouldn’t have much time to see each other. to make up for being away, you two would facetime every night or simply just text until one of you fell asleep. however, you missed being in serim’s arms more than anything. and so, with a heavy heart, you asked serim to come see you that night once he got out of practice. of course, he agreed, and show up later that night. what he was expecting was a serious conversation with you.

“hey, can we talk? i wanted to do this in person.” you started and watched as he nodded and took a seat beside you.

“of course.. what’s wrong?”

“i know we said that we could make it through anything, but being away from you has been really hard. i know you have a job to do, but it isn’t easy to be away from you all the time. i thought i could handle it, but i can’t.. i feel like it isn’t fair to you since you handle it fine.. i don’t want to be the clingy one in the relationship who feels like i can’t live without you..” you took a deep breath before going to speak again, but serim cut you off,

“what are you saying? you think i don’t miss you? i miss you all the time. you’re always on my mind.. i hold back from telling you these things because i always get scared you won’t miss me as much-”

“you think i don’t miss you?” you repeated his words back to him, “did i not just say that i miss you? i miss watching movies with you, and baking cookies for every holiday. i miss just being with you.. but this.. this is not what i meant when i said we could do this.. it thought it’d be easier than this!” your voice broke at the end and you watched as serim’s expression changed.

“y/n..” he spoke slowly, “let’s think about this and talk it out later, okay? we’re both letting our emotions get the better of us..”

you knew he was trying to be civil, he always tried to be during conflicts, but it wasn’t easy when he was right. your emotions got in the way of a lot of things that you did, it was one of the things he loved most about you. but right now you could tell it was hurting him. 

“i think you need to go serim..”

“yeah.. i think i should.” his voice trailed off before he got up and made his way towards the door, not wanting to fuel the fire anymore, “goodnight.”

allen

allen was always a happy-go-lucky person. it was something you envied about him. luckily for you, he was your boyfriend, and he was always there to put you in a better mood. but right now, he was doing anything but that.

allen had invited you to come hang out with him and his friends, and you gladly accepted the offer. you wanted to meet the people that allen had spoken so highly about. the entire ride there, allen was telling stories about things that he and his friends had done, and you had to admit, they did sound like a lot of fun. this made you more excited to meet them.

unfortunately for you, the people allen had described to you were not the same people you met. the kind people he had told you about were nowhere to be found as they started to make crude and inappropriate jokes. of course, allen was telling them to cut it out and tone it down, but that was the most that he did. eventually, you were sick of the jokes and decided to ask allen to leave,

“what? no way, you said you wanted to meet them for the longest time.. can’t you just stay a little longer?” he begged, talking loudly over the music that was playing.

“no, allen, i’m not comfortable here! these people are not the same ones you told me about..” you grabbed your bag and slung it over your shoulder.

“they are too the people i told you about! this is how they always are.. why can’t you give them a chance? i’ll tell them to stop.” he tried to reason with you, knowing he wasn’t doing a very good job. 

“i did give them a chance.. and they should have listened to you the first time you asked them to stop.. if these are the people you hang out with, then i don’t know you at all! you can stay, but i’m going home..” you spun around to leave, hearing allen calling after you.

allen knew he should have stopped you, but he valued both you and his friends and didn’t want to hurt anyone’s feelings. though, it was clear now that he did hurt someone’s feelings, and they were yours.

jungmo

you and jungmo had started dating a few months before christmas, and your family had decided to throw a party this year. they told you to bring jungmo so he could get to know the family, and you happily agreed. jungmo was over the moon excited to meet your family, no indication of being nervous on his face. no matter how many times you asked him about being nervous, he said he wasn’t worried.

this rang true when you got to your parents’ house. jungmo held conversations with everyone he ran into, each one flowing effortlessly. since he was getting on with people so well, you decided you could leave him on his own while you went and greeted people in your own way.

you had only been away from jungmo for a few minutes when you heard his laugh, along with many others, ring through the room. making your way over, you wanted to see what everyone was laughing about. what you didn’t expect was for you to be the butt of the joke.

“i know, i mean, i told y/n their shirt wasn’t that cute but-..” jungmo fell silent upon seeing you in the group surrounding him.

“what?” you spoke angrily, “you told me this was your favorite shirt of mine.”

“i’m just making conversation! it’s a joke.” he explained but you were having none of it.

“no, jungmo, the joke was me bringing you here.” you stormed away, leaving the once cheerful room in silence.

he followed behind you, catching you when you were standing alone on the back deck. he stared at you for a few minutes, trying to find the words to say. you took notice, and decided to spare him his words,

“i bring you to meet my family and you completely embarrass me. that’s humiliating, you know. they probably think i let you walk all over me now! today was not supposed to go like this, i mean, how am i supposed to trust you? do you talk shit behind my back every time i leave you alone?”

“no! no, i don’t.. please understand, i was just trying to make people laugh- i know i shouldn’t have joked about you but someone brought up your shirt and i just agreed without thinking! you have to believe me. i’m sorry..” he was tripping over his own words at this point just trying to make you understand.

“i can’t forgive you right now.. i just need time.” you spoke quietly, “i need time to think. can you just.. go somewhere else?”

jungmo nodded and ducked back inside, his heart feeling heavy as he realized now how badly he had messed up.

woobin

you came home after a long day of work, just wanting to go to sleep. upon walking in the door, you heard noise from the kitchen. thinking nothing of it, you went to your bedroom and changed into pajamas before climbing into bed. once your head hit the pillow, you fell asleep almost right away. your slumber only lasted about an hour though, since you woke up to your boyfriend, woobin, shaking you awake. you went to yell at him for waking you, but the look on his face had you feeling concerned.

“what’s wrong? is something happening?” you asked as you sat up, wiping your eyes.

“are you forgetting something?” he raised an eyebrow at you, causing you to start racking your brain.

after several seconds of you saying nothing, woobin scoffed, “today is our anniversary.. i spent all day cooking a meal for when you came home, but instead you walked into our bedroom without and word and fell asleep.”

realization hit you and your words started pouring out, “baby, i am so sorry, i was just so tired from work.. i had a terrible day, my boss was being a bitch.. you know how it is, and things are hard-”

“you think i’m not tired? i was working all day too. i worked ten times harder so i could get done early and come home to surprise you with a meal.. are you even going to say thank you?” he tilted his head, waiting for you to say something.

“of course i’m thankful, but you don’t have to get so mad at me! people forget things all the time! i messed up, what else do you want me to say?”

woobin took a deep breath. he knew he was overreacting, but he couldn’t help but think you were being selfish. he started thinking carefully about his words before opening his mouth to speak again.

“dinner is in the microwave. your favorite.. if it’s cold, warm it up for two minutes.” he mumbled before walking out of the bedroom and into his office, where he slammed the door behind him. he figured it was better to cool off before seeing you again.

wonjin

it started off as a joke. you and wonjin had been taking playful jabs at each other all night, all in good fun. although, after a while, it was less about fun and teetering on the edge of insulting each other.

“i hate that you don’t wash the dishes.”

“i hate that you never want to do the laundry.”

“yeah? well i hate your nagging. it’s annoying.” wonjin’s last statement seemed to be the final straw for you.

“if i’m so annoying then play this game by yourself.” you stood up, not knowing why it was this of all things that got you riled up.

“baby, wait.. i didn’t mean to call you annoying, it just..”

“slipped out?” you cut him off, “things that slip out are still things you were thinking about.”

wonjin looked guilty. the small smirk that was once on his face had disappeared, a frown in its place. he didn’t say anything for a few minutes. neither of you did. you didn’t know how you ended up in this position when it all started as a little game. the silence was unbearable, so you opted for leaving the living room and sitting in the bedroom. moments after leaving the room, you heard the familiar calling sound of facetime, and moments later, you heard serim’s voice faintly.

“i messed up.. i really messed up,” wonjin started to talk, explaining the situation to serim. you decided not to listen, putting on some music to drown them out so you didn’t have to think about everything right in that moment.

minhee

in private, minhee was all for kisses and cuddles. around his friends, he was a whole new person. you were lucky if he would even hold your hand when his friends were around. you didn’t mind though, you knew he wanted to keep a certain image around his friends for whatever reason. as dumb as you thought it was, you respected his wishes.

one day, minhee came home while you were working on homework. running out to greet him, you failed to notice his friends behind him as you pulled him into your embrace.

“hi baby, how was your..” you paused once you noticed his friends looking at the two of you.

“baby?” one of minhee’s friends laughed, “i didn’t think you’d be one of those people, dude.”

minhee looked down at you with an unreadable expression as you pulled away from him. neither of you said anything to each other, minhee only spoke to his friends.

“today isn’t a good day.. i think you guys should go home, alright?” he mumbled and watched as his friends left as quickly as they had arrived.

once they had disappeared out the door, minhee turned to you once again.

“are you serious? you knew they were supposed to come over today! god, do you even listen to the things i tell you? do i even matter to you?” he exploded, his eyebrows furrowed.

“i-i forgot! how am i supposed to remember everything? i was so caught up in my homework that i was excited to see you! for a distraction! and if course i listen to you, and of course you matter! i’m just having an off day!” your explanation seemed to mean nothing to minhee as he walked past you.

“you’re not seriously mad, are you?” you followed behind him, grabbing his hand to make him look at you, “can we talk about this?”

“not right now, okay? i need to think..” he said calmly which, to be honest, was more concerning then when he was yelling.

 you didn’t question him any further, watching as he disappeared into the kitchen.

hyeongjun

walking into class early in the morning, the last thing you expected was to see your boyfriend, hyeongjun, flirting with somebody else. someone had taken your usual seat beside your boyfriend and was laughing over-dramatically at things he was saying. your classmates looked at you in confusion, wondering why you weren’t saying anything. however, deep down, you hoped that hyeongjun would ask the person beside him to leave, but it was clear that he wouldn’t be doing that any time soon. rather than causing a scene, you sat beside your best friend minhee, who happened to be sitting right in front of hyeongjun.

“y/n?” you heard hyeongjun behind you, but instead continued a conversation with minhee about the homework from last night.

after a whole class of avoiding hyeongjun, he finally caught up to you in the halls.

“what?” you asked, “wouldn’t you rather go walk with your new seatmate?” 

“what? no! what are you talking about? i was just being nice to them.” he pleaded, “i didn’t want to be mean by telling them to move away..”

“well it didn’t look like you wanted them to leave anyways.” you kept up the wall you had built, “i have to go. minhee and i have to use this study period to work on our project..”

“can we talk about it after school, then? please? i hate when you’re upset with me.” he kept trying as you walked away, a frown on his lips when you didn’t reply to him.

taeyoung

it was your birthday and taeyoung was finally coming to see you after a long time of being apart. he had taken this day off specifically to see you, and was supposed to be on his way any minute. 

minutes turned into hours and soon it was almost 10pm. taeyoung was supposed to be at your apartment seven hours ago. feeling defeated, you pulled your phone out and texted taeyoung to ask if he was ever going to show up.

↳ to taeyoung : are our plans still on?

after sending the text, you had decided to change into pajamas since you figured taeyoung was probably not coming. it broke your heart to think that he would have forgotten your birthday, but you knew that he was busy now that he was an idol. however, this didn’t stop the anger from bubbling up in your chest. it boiled over when you heard your doorbell ring at a quarter to eleven. when you opened the door, taeyoung was standing there. he opened his mouth to speak, but you didn’t want to hear it.

“where were you? what were you doing all day? no calls, no texts, nothing. what could you have possibly been up to?” you interrogated him right away, not even moving to let him inside yet.

“i got called in for an emergency meeting and i got so caught up that i.. forgot! i forgot, okay? jungmo asked if i wanted to go shopping and i said yes.. so i lost track of time..”

“we’ve had this planned for months! you promised you’d be here. you’ve never broken a promise before, so why now?” you watched his face drop.

“i’m sorry..” he pulled the flowers he had for you out from behind his back, “will you at least take these?”

taking the flowers, you nodded your head, “you can come in, but it’s not going to be very fun.”

taeyoung loved you too much to just leave, so he took your invitation to come in, even if it meant you wouldn’t look at him almost the whole time.

seongmin

you and seongmin had just finished your homework and were now standing in front of the tv in your living room. you two had decided to play just dance, which might not have been the best idea on your part considering he was a professional dancer. nonetheless, you decided to go along with your plan to play. you played song after song, but you never even came close to beating seongmin. that was until your final song, when you were finally in the lead. right as you were about to win, you felt seongmin’s arm hit yours, making you miss the move. ultimately, you lost the round in the last few seconds. seongmin cheered in victory as you plopped down on the couch with a frown on your face. seongmin looked at you, his happy expression changing to match yours.

“what’s wrong? are you okay?” he asked, sitting beside you.

“i’m fine.” you shrugged.

“don’t be a sore loser, y/n! i’ll let you win the next one!” he tried to cheer you up, clearly not understanding why you were upset in the first place.

“i would have won if you didn’t hit my arm!” you pouted at him, “i was so excited and now it isn’t fun anymore..” 

“come on,” he whined, “i didn’t mean it! i’ll even buy you ice cream!”

“and a cookie?”

“and a cookie,” he chuckled, “come on.”

[mae-gi-writes]

Plus One | Kevin Moon (Around The World Collab)

When your boyfriend of eight years suddenly decides to break up with you right before your destined trip for your cousin’s wedding, nothing can cure your broken heart. In a desperate attempt to make you feel better, Kevin states that he will be your plus one.

Genre: little angst, fluff, friends to lovers. 

This fic is part of a collab “Around The World”, featuring different countries x the boyz members. I had the utmost pleasure of working with such an amazing group of talented writers for this project, so please don’t forget to check out their works too! ^^ <3 

This fic is takes place on Mauritius Island. 

Word count: 9k IZ A LONG ONE SO BUCKLE UP BUTTERCUPS

Tagging: @aniyawoos​ @chaoticdeobi​ @moondustaeil​ @juyeonzz​ @atbzkingdom​ @2hyunjae​ @jopping-to-my-kpop @jeongsinkookie @ihearttbz​ @heartyyjeno​ @bahnmi07 @sadlandia​ @itsquxxn​

-----------

Eight years, gone just like that. 

I stare at a spot on my navy blue suitcase, not really focused on what’s before me and more concerned about the memories flickering past  my lids. I can’t help it. Everytime I see luggage, it makes me think of the way I kicked him out of my life. Everytime, a slab of pain will grab my heart between its icy fingers and squeeze it so that I can barely breathe. Everytime, until I feel like I’m drowning inside dark waters without the real desire to swim to the surface. 

My psychiatrist told me that it had been for the better. That it had been an obsessive, unhealthy kind of love in the first place. But was it better now that I couldn’t even feel my heart in the hollow space where it’s supposed to be? 

“Y/N.” 

Still, I remember the messages on his phone, the way his touch would feel strange, eerily hollow for some reason, the way he’d avoid my eyes whenever he’d tell me that he was going out with the guys. I remember smelling his coat and recoiling at the cheap scent of perfume clinging to it like second skin, how he’d constantly tell me how wonderful I was-- too wonderful for him -- and that I should find better, that I didn’t deserve someone like him.

And then, when I’d stumbled into our flat a little earlier than I was meant to -- since my gym class had been cancelled -- and took note of the trail of shoes, followed by a coat, a shirt, a thong, before my ears picked up on the noises echoing from the bedroom doors…

“Y/N?” 

His face when he spotted me, the astounded expression like a dog that had just been caught sneaking into the pantry. And the girl, a prettier woman, a curvy woman, with red lips and with those beautifully deep red wine locks tumbling down her back with the perfect physique that could make any man drool. That girl, who was none other than one of my good friends at work and who had spent most part of the year listening to my rants about him. 

“Y/N!”

“Huh?” My head whips up when I register my name being called out, looking up to see a raven-haired, petite-faced man leaning against the bedroom doorway with raised brows and a concerned expression on his face. 

“Oh, you’re here,” I say, as he crosses the doorway and sits beside me. The bed dips down under his weight as he tilts his head in that knowing manner of his, “daydreaming again?” 

“No,” I mumble, but he sees right through my facade and with a sigh, his arms wrap around my shoulder before pillowing his head against my shoulder. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs as I allow myself to lean back against him, against his comfort. His lavender scent wraps around me, a little bed of comfort amidst all the pain. 

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I murmur, tears stinging the corner of my eyes, “it hurts, Kev.” 

He only holds me a little closer, a little tighter.

If there is one person that I can trust more than myself, it’s Kevin Moon. I’ve known Kevin ever since high school, having hung out in the same friend group until we had become partners for an art project. It was only then that we’d become closer, and had been close ever since. With his angular features and almond mono lidded eyes and thin lips that were constantly shaped in a pout, the Korean-born man had moved to Canada when he was young, just like I had a few years ago. He had kept me afloat during my university days, I had comforted him through his first break up. He had been present during my final Fine Arts Photography Exhibition, I was up all night coming up with re-branding concepts for his design project. Overall, Kevin had pretty much been a constant in my life, you get the gist of it.

When he found out that my boyfriend had cheated just a few days before our destined trip to attend my cousin’s wedding -- mind you, I had been sobbing waterfalls and it was a miracle he even understood me through my blubbering mess -- he had half a mind to storm up to the guy and rip his throat out. But he did the most surprising thing; booked a ticket for himself and turned up at my flat on the eve of the departure, stating that he was going to accompany me to that wedding, whether I liked it or not.

My cousin, Emma, was getting married right where home was: Mauritius. The memories I once had of the small island nestled right in the Indian Ocean on the right of Madagascar, was of my grandma’s comforting food, the sea scented air that washed along with the too-white sandy beaches, the multitudes of merchants selling all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables on the side of the road, and small corner stores that looked like they had come out of a 1960’s movie. People liked to claim that Mauritius was paradise on earth, and in a way, it is.

“Come on,” Kevin had nagged when I shook my head adamantly. He’d wriggled his plane ticket before my nose, “you’re not going to let that loser spoil such a happy event are you? Emma’s waiting for you!” 

In the end, he’d won. Which is why we are here, staying at my cousin, Emma’s, apartment in a village called Moka, located at the foot of a mountain and has an abundance of forestry adorning the sides of the road. It's chilly here, in comparison to the harbourfront, and constantly smells like fresh rain and has a gentle fresh breeze blowing through.

“You know, assholes like him are not worth thinking about,” Kevin says now, his arm a gentle soothing caress up and down my back, “your brain might rot.” 

I can’t help but let out a soft, choked up laugh.

“It’s our first day here, let’s not ruin it by thinking about him, hm?” Kevin continues soothingly and I nod in agreement. He’s right. I’m just wasting time by reliving memories that I should be banishing from my mind. 

“Okay!” he brightens up then, “where shall we go? The sea? The market? Or do you want to go eat?!” 

--------------

The first few days are about meeting up with family and rediscovering Mauritius for what it is. Emma gives me a full-fledged hug the moment I open the door to her house, pressing me close to her with such motherly warmth that it takes everything in me not to break down right then and there. I greet my uncles and engage in small-talk with my aunts, help my grandma out in the kitchen as she continuously asks me why I’ve gotten so thin. While I know the main reason, I decide to smile and spare her the details, as embarrassing as it is. 

No one mentions him, until one of my uncles slips during a conversation with Kevin, “so you’re Y/N’s boyfriend. Such a pleasure to meet you! We’ve heard so much about you that we started thinking she was just making things up.” 

“Er--” Kevin reddens, “I--” 

“So how did you two meet?”

It is at this very instant that my mouth decides to move on its own and I blurt out, “we’re high school friends.” 

“Oh highschool sweethearts! How cute!” 

Kevin doesn’t fail to mention what a mistake I’ve made to lie to my entire family to save face.

“I feel guilty,” he says as we walk out to the car, keys dangling from my wrist. 

I unlock the car, “it’s fine. We’ll be in and out before they know it. They don’t have to know anything.” 

“Hm, sure.” 

After some well-deserved family time, Kevin and I decide to head to the west of the island to catch the sunset, my camera stuffed neatly in the backseat, where Kevin has tossed a few spare towels just in case. We each have donned our swimsuits for the occasion and it doesn’t take an expert to see the excitement thrumming through Kevin’s veins as he sits beside me like an excited child in the passenger seat. 

“I never realized that you guys drive on the left side of the road,” he comments, head whipping back and forth in-between the passage of cars. 

“Yeah, it takes some getting used to, especially if you’re crossing,” it is then that I notice that there is a newly built mall as we turn left at the green light, “hey, that’s new. I’ve never seen this before.” 

“Cas-ca-velle,” he mumbles out with that strong accent of his. He is definitely not one to know French and I’ve been acting as his translator all along, considering that my family speaks French at home, “what does that mean?” 

“Beats me. It’s just a fancy name for a new shopping mall,” I peer into its parking lot, “wanna visit?” 

“Whatever floats your boat, honey. I’m all in.”

The mall is longer than it is wide, with white archways decked with wooden-style roofs that give way to an open-plan exterior. A wide beige cemented pathway occupies the space, with shops lined on either side. 

“I never realized, but you guys are very multicultural,” comments Kevin as we pass by another family of four chattering quickly in a mixture of French and Creole. 

“We’re similar to Canada that way.” 

“Do you miss it here?” 

My eyes glance over at him, notice the soft empathy in his expression.

“I guess I do sometimes,” I say while I kick at a stray pebble, “It’s like homesickness. But in a way I can’t quite explain,” after a moment, I ask, “do you miss Korea?”

“The food, mostly,” he grins bashfully, “my halmeoni makes a killer gamja tang.” 

“Let’s go visit her one day.”

“Is that a promise?” he asks as I shrug, “if you want it to be.” 

It’s a little past six when we drive up to the Flic En Flac beach and as we gather our things, my eyes light up upon falling on a nearby roti stand. I quickly slap Kevin’s arm in my bout of excitement. 

“Ouch! What? What is it?” 

“Kevin, you’re not going to believe this,” I point at the stand in question, “this roti stand? It’s the best roti in Mauritius. Here, take this,” I don’t wait before shoving my bag and camera in his arms, “I’m gonna buy us some. You go and find us a spot on the beach.” 

“But--” 

I don’t wait for him to finish his sentence before taking off, greeting the merchant who is just about to be wrapping up to ask whether I can get two rotis with ‘cari saumon’ (roughly translated into salmon curry mixed with indian spices), local and freshly made. The smell wafts through the folded paper wrappers as I grab them. They smell just like my childhood, where everything had just been as easy as having rotis by the beach without a care about the future that is to come. It’s nostalgic and I can’t help the smile tugging up my mouth at the thought. 

Kevin is already settled atop a pair of spare towels and looks up at the sound of my footsteps approaching. I pass him one of the paper wrappers and he takes a peek, confusion flitting across his face. 

“This smells spicy,” he mutters loudly enough for me to hear, “it looks like naan bread.” 

“It is,” I agree, “except it’s flatter and more like a crepe.” 

Throwing me a hesitant glance, he takes a small bite. I watch his face go from confused to impressed in a few seconds, before his eyes whip up to mine, “woah, this is good.” 

“Told you so.” 

“But this is really, really good,” he can’t help but marvel at it and laughing, I proceed to dig into my own roti, allowing my mouth to be filled with that salty fish taste melting along my tastebuds, the curry spices giving it the nice tangy kick you wouldn’t find anywhere else. The roti is soft and practically melts on my tongue and I can’t help but moan at how good it is. 

“God, this is everything I’ve been looking for my whole life,” I find myself telling him, wrapped up in momentary bliss, “this, this is everything.” 

I can feel his eyes on me, so intense that my own flicker up in question. He drops his gaze the moment I do and I frown, confused. 

“What?” I can’t help but ask, wondering why he suddenly seems so meek, so shy and awkward, “what is it?” 

“Nothing,” he replies like he’s trying to be casual, except that it’s anything but. When he gazes back at me, I notice the warmth in his maroon eyes, more the color of caramel in the dim light from the sunset basking his profile in a golden glow, “I think--I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you so happy, since...” 

He doesn’t need to continue, for I know where this is going. Indeed, this is the first time in many months that I haven’t paid any attention to the hole inside my heart. 

And it feels good.

“Yeah,” I murmur as I watch the sun settle on the ocean’s horizon, fire kissing water, “I don’t know, I just feel like this is nice. Like it’s right.” 

I spare him a glance from the corner of my peripheral and watch him shift. His sleeveless shirt slips, allowing me a glimpse of the naked skin underneath. I quickly look away, slightly embarrassed at the notion of even thinking of him in such a way. 

“That’s how you should be, Y/N,” Kevin murmurs back just as softly. It’s almost like talking too loudly will break the sudden spell that has settled over our shoulders. He takes a sip of his beer before continuing, “you’ve suffered enough for someone who deserves nothing but shit for what he’s done.” 

There’s a small pause as I digest his words. Then, I manage to murmur out, “thanks, Kevin.” 

“No problem.” 

Another small bout of silence ensues, covered up by the sound of the ocean roaring up the sand, distant birds chirping in the fading light of the sunset drowning into the now orange-flecked waters. 

“Hey Y/N.” 

I glance at him. He’s gorgeous, even more so somehow. Maybe it’s the time of the day, maybe it’s the mood, or maybe it’s the way my heart can’t help but be swallowed in gratefulness whenever I look at him.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you know water has memory?” 

I choke on my beer, “do not-- and I mean this-- do not quote Frozen with me.” 

“Huh, I tried.” 

---------------------------

“So, Kevin huh?” 

My eyes shoot up to meet Emma’s in her crusty-dust-filled mirror, presently lounging on her bed and flipping through a book as I had been trying on my bridesmaid gown. Kevin is downstairs, helping out with the barbeque grill with the rest of the family, and it is only now that I get to have some alone time with the woman I consider my sister. 

She’s the only one that knew the exact details of my breakup, and that Kevin is only a mere replacement to cover my humiliated ass. I remember her trying to calm me down when I had called in a frenzy, practically hyperventilating because of the amount of pain that gripped at my heart and was choking me of all air. 

I revert my eyes back to the dress, a baby blue as bright as a summer sky, and smooth my hands down my sides, “he’s been so good to me, ever since…” I can’t finish the sentence, voice already wobbling at the thought that comes with it.

“Hey,” Emma’s murmur causes me to look up, and in her eyes I see a flicker of understanding, “he’s not worth it.” 

“I know,” I swallow back the tears crawling up my throat, “I know, it’s just--a hard pill to swallow.”

A hand comes to a rest at my elbow, before my cousin tucks her chin atop my shoulder, “it’ll be alright, Y/N. He doesn’t deserve you." 

I nod. Then, just to change the subject so that I don’t break down in her arms, I gesture towards the dress, “so? How does it look?” 

Emma tugs at some pieces here and there, rearranging the fabric as she sees fit, “I think it looks good. You look gorgeous. Kevin will swoon, for sure.” 

“It’s not like that,” I hurriedly say as I strip out of the dress and put it back on its hanger, “we’re just friends.” 

“Mhm,” she throws me a pointed look, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “'just friends' doesn't feel right..” 

“Emma, really? Right after my breakup?” 

“He came to Mauritius just for you Y/N,” she squeezes my shoulders comfortingly, “doesn’t that count for something?” 

“Well, we’ve been friends since high school so…”

“I don’t think just any friend in high school would do such a thing if I asked,” Emma catches my eye in the mirror, her gaze deep and meaningful, “just think about that.” 

I just nod in hopes that she’ll stop yapping away at my nonexistent relationship with Kevin, whatever that means. The hole in my heart is still so raw and filled with pain that I can’t even start thinking about another relationship. The thought alone is enough to drain me of all energy and I decide to brush it off for now as I follow Emma out in the backyard now filled with familiar chatter and the smell of cooked meat wafting through the air, with the sky bruising a soft purple to signal the end of a long summer day. 

Catching sight of Kevin as I bring out one of the many salad bowls that my family has prepared, my lips can’t help but twitch into a slow smile when I see him by the grill, whipping away the multitudes of flies zipping back and forth as my other cousin deftly flips the sausages upside down with a trained rhythm that only years of experience can bring. 

“Kevin! You’re not doing your job right!” my cousin cries playfully. Kevin attempts to flap the newspaper around while screeching, “oh god, my eyes are burning!"

“Someone bring more meat!” My cousin hollers. 

“There’s more?!” 

“He’s doing a great job,” my grandmother’s voice brings my attention back to the salad bowl in my hands, and I quickly bend to kiss her cheek as she continues, “better than any of your other cousins. They never help out.” 

“That’s because you pamper them too much, grandma,” I grin at her and follow her to the dining table where my aunts are already settling down amongst themselves. 

The evening passes by with good food and good company, the sky darkening and dotting with a veil of stars that has Kevin gawking in awe. I'm not surprised, you don't see skies like that anywhere, a sky that isn't so intoxicated with modern chemicals. My uncles take it upon themselves to introduce Kevin to all the types of Mauritian delicacies, such as chickpea fritters we call 'gato pima', small balls of graped choko vegetable and minced pork 'niouk yen', and to top it all off, a plate of cornmeal pudding also known as 'pudine mai' that makes Kevin's eyes go wide with surprise.

"This is dessert?" He holds it up in his hand, "with ...cornmeal?"

"Sure is," one of my aunts chime in with a smile, "made it just this morning."

It's past midnight when we get back to our little apartment with Emma's dress hanging off my arms, which Kevin doesn't hesitate to grab from my hold despite my protests. 

"It's fine dude," he flashes me a quick smile, albeit tired, and my heart does this weird little squeeze in my chest at his thoughtfulness. 

He's kind. Too kind. I really don't deserve someone like him. 

"I'm sorry," I say as we settle onto the small couch, shoulders fitted snugly against each other, "my family is kinda overwhelming."

"No no," Kevin looks over, edges of his lips curled up, "I actually love your family, you know."

My chest warms, "thanks."

There is a moment of silence that we enjoy, the day's events sinking into my bones. 

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hm?"

My eyes slide over to catch his, dark pools glimmering with a certain softness that catches my attention. 

I bite my lip. It suddenly feels a little warm.

"What is it?" I ask, voice hoarse.

"Is oreo a sandwich?" 

I sit up so suddenly that I jostle him, "wait--what?"

He grins up at me with that little nose scrunch that I can't help but find endearing, "is oreo a sandwich?" I open my mouth to answer but he beats me to it, "is cereal a soup?"

"Stop."

Reclining back to lace his hands at the back of his head, he says, "is ketchup a smoothie?" 

"Stop it."

"What about hotdogs? Are they sandwiches?" He continues in a singsong voice and rolling my eyes, I make a move to punch him once more. But he's faster, hand shooting out to hold my wrists. He pulls me over and I stumble, knee pressing against the side of his leg. 

"Come on. Answer it," he wriggles his eyebrows.

"Nope."

“Don’t be a party pooper.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

"Are you sick of me yet?" His face is so close that I notice the creases at the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

"That's an understatement."

"But really, do you think oreo is a sandwich?"

"No! Oreos are just oreos!"

“You’re no fun,” He pouts before finally releasing his hold. I draw back with a roll of my eyes, settling beside him once more and pillowing my head onto his shoulder.

Emma’s right. Kevin had sacrificed so much to be here with me, and he doesn’t even know Emma. Yet, he immediately dropped everything so that he could be my plus one, so that I wouldn’t have to face the music alone. The thought makes my heart swell with emotion and suddenly I’m all too aware of his presence beside me. 

I shift to gaze at him, eyes tracing the curve of his nose, the indent above his lips before I whisper, “hey Kevin.” 

“Hm?” 

“Why’d you come?” 

His eyes flicker over to mine then. A heartbeat passes. For a moment, I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat suddenly throbbing a little too loudly in my chest. 

“Good question.” 

Another pause. 

“That’s not an answer,” I laugh slightly, to show that it’s all just fun and games.

But when I catch his eyes next, there’s something else brimming in them. They’re tender with emotion and it catches me so off guard that I almost don’t catch his next set of words:

“Because I care about you.” 

My heart gives a quick lurch but I somehow can’t tear my gaze away. I want to say something. Anything. 

But all I can muster is a soft, “oh.” 

“Why do you ask?” he asks, voice hoarse.

I hesitate, “Emma asked why. And...I guess I wanted to know too.” 

“Oh.” 

The air feels heavy, heightened with the things that are threatening to slip off the edge of my tongue. A mixed series of ‘but why’s and ‘can’t you tell me more’ jumbling up my thoughts with so many possibilities that I decide to stay quiet for the sake of not ruining the moment. Because there’s this lingering fear that once I do say something, then it’ll just pull me down a rabbit hole that I can’t crawl out of, that the only escape lies on the other side.

And I don’t know if I want to take that leap yet. My heart is already so fragile with the aftermath of a love that went wrong. I don’t know how much more I can take. 

So I just stay quiet and let out a soft sigh, and though Kevin shifts as if he wants to say something, he doesn’t. The question just hangs there between us, in-between the slithers of moonlight and in the cold Moka air, like a perpetual ghost we ignore as we drift off to sleep.

----------

Something shifts between us after that. It’s unspoken of, but suddenly, I am all too aware of Kevin as a whole. Things that I hadn’t noticed before surface as we spend most of our free time visiting the rest of the island; like how he loves ruffling his hair whenever he feels uncomfortable, or the way his bicep curls as his arm drapes over the wheel with the barest hint of muscle that is enough to be attractive yet subtle, or how he smirks in that attractive way of his whenever he thinks something is undeniably adorable. 

The good thing about having Kevin is that I don’t get to think of him all too much, which is a blessing in itself. It’s been days since I’ve shed another tear and for that, I have to say I’m glad that I’m making progress.

We spent the last few days before the wedding traveling around the island to visit all the touristy spots that I know Kevin will enjoy, like a hike all the way to the top of Le Morne mountain, where I explain that’s where slaves would throw themselves off when their masters would find them. We visited Bois Cheri, a tea-making factory where Kevin had the pleasure of tasting all different kinds of teas cultivated in the fields below, and ate lunch on the Caudan Waterfront as we gazed at the boats lulling along the harbour. 

“Woah, this place makes me feel like I’m in Aladdin somehow,” Kevin’s mouth is wide agape as his eyes try to take in the endless racks of stands selling fresh fruits and vegetables of the day. The Port-Louis Bazaar has always been one of my favourite places to visit, but it’s also one of the busiest. Even now as we attempt to squeeze our way through, people are jostling us here and there, causing me to press my bag to my chest in case any pickpockets are nearby. I prompt Kevin to do the same. 

“Hey Y/N, I wanna check out the bags over there,” Kevin motions towards the hand-woven baskets situated at the far end of the market and I nod as we keep moving forward with the crowd like a pair of salmons trying to swim upstream. But there’s so many people, it’s so suffocating that it gets hard to keep up with Kevin’s figure. Someone elbows my shoulder and I groan, stumbling to the side in irritation, only to get pushed forward by another. 

“Seriously--” I curse under my breath, when a hand suddenly appears before my eyes.

Looking up to see Kevin’s outstretched arm, I am only greeted with his bashful smile and averted eyes. 

“Come on,” he doesn’t even wait for my consent before slipping his palm over my own and tugging me along, his hold firm and strong despite his skinny frame and the action is enough to render a flurry of butterflies soaring over my stomach. 

Stop, I try telling my subconscious. That does nothing, however, to stop my neck from tingling with unfamiliar heat. 

Kevin’s hand feels so warm. It’s comfortable, safe. 

And I’m liking it a little too much.

He doesn’t let go when we reach the desired stand and talk over which bag looks the best and keeps his hand in mine for the entirety of our journey back to the car. Only when I unlock the doors that his palm finally drops from my hold and air rushes over my palm that is now a little too cold without his warmth. But while a multitude of questions are burning the back of my throat, they fall apart halfway through at the thought of his answer, before I decide to drop it altogether. 

Kevin, on the other hand, doesn’t seem the least bit affected. 

When the day of the wedding finally rolls around, I drive my car to Emma’s after a quick breakfast that Kevin surprised me with -- to my surprise, he’d managed to make a decent eggs and toast without burning the place down -- so that I can help her get into her gown and more importantly so that she doesn’t run away, lest her mind goes in a frenzy at the thought of tying the knot. 

“You’ll be fine,” I reassure her, teasing a few of her curls so that they slip down to her chest in a perfect wave. She looks stunningly beautiful, with her strapless white dress that shimmers with diamonds in the light with every movement she makes. 

I reach out to smooth over her veil so that it falls on either side of her face, frames her perfectly, and notice her big brown eyes staring back at me through her vanity mirror. 

“You look beautiful,” I can’t keep the awe from my voice. 

Her face blossoms into a smile, “you too.” 

“Ah come on, you can’t say that to me on your wedding day,” I shove her playfully on the shoulder, “you’re the star of the show. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.” 

“Okay mom,” she rolls her eyes before changing the subject, “So, how have things been? With Kevin?” My hands freeze in mid-action, “It’s good.” 

I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s giving me a pointed look.

I sigh, “well, okay. Maybe you’re right. About the whole…’just friends’ thing not being true.” 

“Why?” she straightens up, turns to me, “what happened? Did you kiss? Did he make a move--” 

“No we didn’t kiss,” I’m quick to answer as my cheeks heat up. And after a few beats of hesitation, I give her a summary; the way he’d looked at me that night with eyes that held so much in them that it had made my chest swell, the way that he’d snitch glances at me whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention, and the fact that he’d grabbed my hand and didn’t let go even long after the crowd wasn’t an issue anymore. 

Emma’s eyes are wide and sparkling with a feeling that I know all too well, I can practically see the cogs turning in her head and quickly shook mine in rapid retaliation, “Emma, no.” 

“But--But he’s perfect for you!” she bellows in protest, “What do you mean ‘no’?!” 

“I can’t go there. Not after,...not now, it’s too soon…” 

She rolls her eyes, “it’s not like he’s asking you to marry him, christ’s sake. He likes you, and I feel like you’re only trying to deprive yourself because you feel like it’s not right.” 

“It’s not right--”

“Who says so?” she cuts me off then, her gaze hardening on mine with such intensity it takes everything in me not to flinch back, “who says it’s not right? It doesn’t matter if it’s after two days, two weeks, two months. You think I don’t know how it feels to be heartbroken? You can’t just keep thinking about the past. You’re going to hurt yourself that way.” 

My teeth sink down onto my lower lip, her words like ice-cold knives aimed straight at my chest. 

“What you can control, right now, is the present, Y/N.” 

“I know,” I mumble out half-heartedly.

“I can see it, you know, the way he looks at you,” she shakes her head, “even if you don’t like him back, you gotta be aware of all that he’s done for you.” 

Her hands find their way to mine, enclosing them in her grasp before squeezing them with such care that I can’t stop the tears crawling up the back of my throat. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs next, “I don’t want to pressure you if that’s not how you feel. That--That was not my intention,” her eyes latch onto mine, filled with understanding, “I just want you to be happy.” 

Happy. 

That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. 

“Don’t you dare cry now,” Emma says while waving her hands around in warning, “you’re going to ruin your makeup and we definitely don’t want that.” 

I sniffle, trying my best to hold in the tears now brimming through my eyes, “you’re right,” I attempt to smile, albeit it’s wobbly, “we don’t.” 

“Come here,” she tugs my arm so that I fall into her embrace. Her head finds her way to my shoulder and she hugs me tight, not caring that her veil is getting all bunched up and wrinkled, “you’ll be okay,” she whispers, one hand stroking my back, “you’ll be just fine, little one.” 

Then, pulling back and pushing a few strands away from my face, she flashes a bright smile, “we should probably head to the church soon.” 

----------

“We now declare you, Vincent and Emma, as husband and wife.” 

The church explodes in a round of applause and I join in the clapping, furiously trying to keep the tears of joy at bay. Vincent has been there for Emma ever since they met at work and it has been the most beautiful love story ever since; filled with the purest kind of love no one can imagine. Beside me, I feel Kevin’s hand coming to squeeze my shoulder in a reassuring manner and I feel warm all over despite the rush of emotion in my heart. 

The wedding reception is to take place at a fancy restaurant overlooking the harbourfront. Our family has booked the venue for the evening, and as I enter, I take in the baby blue veils that come down each corner of the restaurant, sprinkles of glitter here and there as we make our way to our assigned tables that each have a baby blue napkin shaped in swans. 

I don’t even have time to place my butt down when I hear a voice call out, “Y/N! Look how big you’ve gotten!” 

Of course, big wedding ceremonies only mean that we get to meet all of our extended family that we haven’t seen since forever, and they’re all too happy to chat with me about living overseas. Soon enough, I’m bustled off to a table and look back over my shoulder to mouth a quick “I’m sorry” to Kevin. Bless his soul, for he only smiles and shakes his head, his hand motioning for me to go on.

I manage to catch up with cousins I haven’t seen since I was a little girl, talk over appetizers with excited aunts who want to know all about how it feels like to live away from family for such a long time, and nod along to the old uncles trying to get me to give a concrete answer about when and where will my wedding take place. 

“Come on Y/N! You’re the next one after Emma for sure,” one of my uncles bellow, face flushed red as a result of the glasses of wine he has downed like water. He is Emma’s father, no surprise that he’ll want to get drunk from happiness and pride. It is his daughter’s wedding after all. 

He leans close with a conspiratorial look in his eyes, “so tell me,” his eyes glance over to Kevin, currently deep in conversation with another one of my distant aunts. I watch as he says something to make her laugh, and something inside my chest warms at the action, “is he the lucky guy that’s going to ask for your hand?” 

“Do you think he’s the one?” another uncle pipes up. 

I purse my lips and attempt to shrug, “it’s early days,” I try laughing it off although it sounds forced, “who knows what can happen.” 

“He’s a good kid,” an aunt says, “you know how we all have this sixth sense? Well Y/N, I have a good feeling about this young man. Don’t let him go. Something tells me he’s a keeper.” 

A wild imaginative speculation, considering that we’re not even dating. But I nod along and say that yes, I’ll tell them whenever I decide to tie the knot.

It’s only when the dance floor opens and people start pooling onto the dance floor after the first dance -- led by no other than the bride and groom themselves -- that I finally allow myself to breathe. I find my way back to my chair, back to Kevin’s warm smile flashing in my direction as his eyes take in the fatigue lining my face. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” is the first thing he tells me the moment I plop my butt onto my designed seat, the one that’s been kept cold ever since I stepped foot into the dining hall. 

I gratefully accept the glass of wine he offers me, swallowing it down in a few gulps, “thanks,” I sigh with relief, “I needed that.” 

“How was catching up with family?” 

“It couldn’t be as bad as being left behind,” I peer over at him, guilt flooding me at the prospect of having left him all alone, “sorry. It’s just that everyone--” 

“Oh stop that,” Kevin nudges my shoulder with his, “don’t be sorry. It’s totally normal. I’m happy for you. And I wasn’t left behind. I had a wonderful time talking to your aunt. She seemed so happy to tell me what your childhood was like.”

“Bet you liked that, didn’t you?” 

“Hey, it works as blackmail. Why wouldn’t I like that?” 

“Dork.” 

“You’re friends with this dork.” 

“Oh piss off,” I slap his shoulder playfully in retaliation, causing him to laugh softly as we watch couples glide across the dance floor like swans over water. The lights have dimmed, the yellow hues now replaced by soft cool blues and purples that cause Emma’s dress to shimmer every time she turns. She’s absolutely stunningly beautiful, and the way she and Vincent are gazing at each other just scream of pure love that wraps around them in a golden mist so enchantingly beautiful that I find myself catching my breath in the back of my throat. 

“She’s so beautiful,” the words fall from my mouth without meaning to, and I feel Kevin’s eyes on my face from the corner of my peripheral.

“You are too.” 

I bite my lip and narrow my eyes at him playfully, “thanks, but why do I have a feeling that this isn’t a compliment?” 

“It isn’t,” he holds my gaze, “it’s just the truth.” 

Emotion lodges at the back of my throat. I stare at him. He stares back, a glimmer of tenderness echoing through the dark pools of black, his whole expression relaxed into a face that appears flooded with affection for--

Me. 

For some reason, no words seem to come to me as I open my mouth and close it. Embarrassment slowly bubbles through my stomach. I look away, unable to contain the goosebumps suddenly exploding across the back of my neck with that same familiar uncomfortable sensation I keep getting around him these days. Like I’m standing atop a cliff and preparing myself to jump.

“Wanna dance?” 

I blink in surprise, before turning to the said young man beside me who has his head cocked to the side with that same expression. My heart can’t help but squeeze inside my chest before I push down the rising protest searing through my brain. 

I nod. And off we go onto the dance floor. His hands settle on my waist, mine atop his shoulders in a casual sling. There’s enough distance between our bodies to show that we’re not together and yet, I can’t deny that electrical tension that keeps on pulling me towards Kevin like a magnet. I wonder if he feels it too, that searing heat that is so palpable I can feel sweat break out from the back of my neck. Asking, though, would mean that I’m aware of what’s happening, asking would imply that I want something to happen.

Maybe I do. 

Maybe I do want to grab life by the reins myself and steer it wherever I want it to go. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

I blink. Right up into Kevin’s brown orbs, his hair catching the shades of blue from the disco balls. My throat runs dry. 

“Uh--” my mind tries to scramble for a response, any response, “just--uhm, it’s kind of like our last day here.” 

He cocks his head, “sad?” 

“Kinda. I like it here,” my eyes brush over Emma and Vincent’s forms in the vicinity, catch my grandma sitting at one of the tables, little cousins running all over the place. Then, I look back at the said young man gazing at me with that undecipherable look in his eyes that makes my heart sing, and try not to squirm as I continue softly, “it feels like home.” 

“We can always come back,” he uses ‘we’ as though it’s now an adventure kept between the two of us, a secret to our own little neverland that nobody knows about. I can’t help but smile at the thought. 

“Do you want to come back?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? Hell yeah I want to come back. The views are amazing, the food is out of this world, and your family has been really kind to me.” 

“I’m sorry, they are kind of overbearing when you first get to know them.” 

“I love it,” Kevin says seriously, “I love that they’re overbearing. Couldn’t have asked for anything more.” 

If I had any doubts, the sincerity dripping from his eyes is enough to wipe out any suspicions left from his compliment. The sudden urge to hug him rocks through me and my hands fist on the back of his shirt in response. 

We keep on dancing silently, bobbing from one foot to another for a few minutes more before he speaks up softly. 

���Y/N?” 

“Hm?” 

“I wouldn't mind getting married here.” 

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “really now?” 

“Yup,” he grins, “really.” 

“Your future wife will have me to thank for that.” 

“Maybe my future wife won’t have to thank you.” 

There it is. That same borderline flirting that’s been happening for days on end. 

“And why is that?” I probe, partly just to tease him, and partly because I just want to know.

“Maybe she might be right here, in this room.” 

“Didn’t know you were into one of my cousins,” I start looking around the room, only for one of his hands to cup my cheek to turn my face back to his. 

There is none of that teasing glimmer now. His eyes are darker, gazing down at me with such emotion that the breath catches in the back of my throat and the air halts in my lungs. We gaze at each other for a few beats longer, before I feel his thumb graze my cheek. Gently, so gently like he’d stroke a flower petal. 

Swallowing at the heat of his hand cupping the side of my face, my hands unconsciously tighten on the back of his neck. He senses my nervousness, but only pulls me slightly closer so that we are mere millimeters from each other, noses hovering over each other in a space that causes my heart to stutter inside my chest. 

When he opens his mouth next, his alto is hoarse, pent-up with emotion. 

“I wasn’t talking about your cousins.” 

My heart practically jumps to my throat, teeth biting onto my lip. 

I can’t hear the music, nor the people. I can’t hear anything except for my pounding heart and Kevin’s soft breaths washing over my face. 

His eyes search mine and we hold gazes for a moment too long.

“Y/N?” 

I press my lips together, “Y-Yes?” 

He moves even closer then so that his nose brushes mine in the most intimate of ways. 

“I--” 

“Y/N! I was looking all over for you!” 

We spring apart like we just got burnt just in time for one of my cousins to grab onto my arm. He sends an apologetic smile at Kevin, before explaining, “we just need to sort out the takeaways. She’ll be back in a second!” 

And without listening to my protests, he proceeds to drag me away from the said young man on the dancefloor. I look back, mouthing an ‘I’m sorry” once more -- it’s the second time that night!-- and see the raven-haired man laugh good-naturedly before shaking his head and waving me away. That does nothing to keep my heart from cartwheeling out of my chest, swelling up with such affection that I grin back despite the earlier predicament. 

One thing’s for sure: I’m not done talking with Kevin Moon yet. 

----------

I find him sitting alone in the tiny garden that overlooks the decorated pavillon a few hours later. His figure, illuminated by the soft yellow hues of interior light, seems to glow in the dark, the moon bouncing off his hair and catching the strength of his cheekbone when he turns and catches me staring. He only smiles though -- that beautiful tender smile that I keep seeing more and more these days -- before waving me over. 

“What are you doing out here all alone?” I ask as I reach his figure. A soft breeze dances along the back of my spine, cool in contrast to the warm stickiness of the air. 

“Your smaller cousin was showing me what she’d learnt in astronomy at her school,” he tilts his head up at the sky, “she’s quite the prodigy at that.” 

“The next woman to land on the moon,” I joke.

“Jeez, I should get her autograph.” 

“Wise idea,” that’s when I feel his hand slip into mine and I look down at him, blinking. He grins a little shyly, before tugging me forward so that I all but stumble right into him, halfway sprawled across his lap. 

Heat explodes through my chest at the proximity of our bodies and I can’t help but avert my gaze from his, partly embarrassed that maybe there might be someone around to see, and partly because it’s only recently that I’ve started seeing Kevin in a new light that being so close makes my heart choke up and my mind to run blank. 

We’re close. So close I feel his breath mingle with mine. My hands settle atop his chest lightly, “Kev,” I breathe out but nothing follows, too scared to verbally voice out what is going on for fear that it might all crumble into nothing. 

I don’t want false hope. I also don’t want his heart -- or mine -- to break. 

This friendship is too precious to let go. I can’t imagine a life without Kevin in it.

“Listen Y/N,” Kevin’s voice is soft, a hushed murmur resonating through his chest as his eyes search mine, “I think we both know what’s happening here.” 

I nod mutely. 

Taking a shaky breath, he continues, “I don’t want to do anything that will hurt you. I know it’s been tough and that you’re still healing. I just--I just want to know.” 

As his words wash over me as gently as the forest leaves rustling around us, I feel the warmth of his hand cupping my cheek, holding me like I am fine china and stroking my skin with his thumb so that butterflies suddenly rush along my middle.

I bite my lip so hard I can taste blood, " I-- well, I think you already know how I feel."

"I know," he breathes, "but I need to hear it from you."

As if it isn't hard enough to come face to face with my own feelings, having Kevin stare me down as though I put the moon in his sky makes me want to squirm with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. 

“I like you,” I blurt out then, “a lot.” 

There is a few seconds delay, before a shit-- eating grin --the biggest I’ve ever seen -- spreads across Kevin’s face like sunshine peeking through the clouds.

“Enough for us to go on a date?”

I nod mutely. I don’t trust my voice, not right now when I already feel so pathetic. Kevin’s grin softens into a tender smile, one that I can’t help but return when our eyes meet in the most intimate of ways. Suddenly, the air feels charged and alive with electricity, the heat between our bodies palpable as his hand moves to the back of my neck. 

He tugs. I follow. 

His lips find mine mid-way in a delicate kiss. 

It’s soft. Softer than any kiss I’ve ever had. Kevin’s mouth parts over my own in a gentle caress, before he tilts his head to the side and captures my lower lip between his. 

I gasp slightly at the contact, hands unconsciously tightening around his neck. 

Slowly leaning away, I notice the film of lust like a dull glow at the back of his maroon orbs, just the slightest hint that he wants me as a woman. And that makes my lungs constrict, air suddenly halting in the back of my throat.

My skin is prickling with the aftermath of his touch. I let out a soft breath before he covers my mouth with his once more and all thoughts fly out of my brain the moment he does. 

I don’t really know how long we spend outside, exchanging the softest of kisses underneath the moonlight, until I hear the soft exclamations of my family’s voices suggesting that it is time to head home. So I part from the said man and can’t help but blush at the lack of space between our bodies.

“We should probably head back,” I hate how wanton I sound, like I’ve just sprinted a mile when in truth I’ve been sitting in this very spot for the last hour.

He agrees and I descend from his lap, his hand subtly finding mine as we walk back to the wedding hall. 

Emma is still saying her goodbyes, her hair now dotted with glitter, probably from the decorations that my younger cousins took pleasure in bathing her in. Her face lights up as soon as she spots our entwined hands and I try not to meet her eyes for I know exactly the kind of smug look she'll be giving me. 

"Enjoyed the wedding?" She says as soon as we're within earshot.

"That must've been the best cake I've had in my life," Kevin lets out a dramatic sigh, "and that says something."

"Do I trust your taste buds though?" She teases.

"I'd be offended if you didn't," he gasped in mock offense, before they both break into playful chuckles.

As we exchange our goodbyes and Vincent engages Kevin in a conversation, Emma takes this chance to drag me to her side as she whispers, "so you gonna tell me the tea or am I going to have to extract it from you?"

I press my lips together as I try to control the heat searing through the back of my neck, "...we kissed."

She gasps, "No way! OH MY GOD! Are you guys a thing then?!" The answer is as clear as water on my face and she clamps a hand over her mouth, would've jumped up and down if she could've, "OH MY, OH MY GOD. I knew it! I just knew this was going to happen--"

"Shut up!" I hiss, scared that Kevin might overhear and think I'm a big fat tattle tale. My eyes quickly swivel over to his and I'm glad to find his head bent towards Vincent in concentration. 

"You need to tell me everything," Emma's eyes are sparkling, "like--as soon as you have some free time."

"You--" I send her a pointed look, then jerk my head at Vincent, "--need to tell me everything."

"Oh I will, don't worry."

"Anyway, I'll talk to you after your honeymoon."

"Okay," I turn around to find Kevin, not failing to notice the smirk playing on Emma's lips. I slap her arm in response, causing her to laugh before she calls out: 

"Don't forget to use protection!"

-----------

"We'll come back right?"

That's the first thing that Kevin states as soon as we step inside security, away from the tears of my family that I just left behind a few seconds ago. My heart still aches when I think of their faces, all crumpled and blinking at me with tissues in hand and noses as red as traffic lights. But I seek comfort upon feeling Kevin's hand slip through mine as we walk towards our destined gate. 

"Sure," I look at him; at his red-tinted cheeks (probably the aftermath of a sunburn), his newly tanned skin a fresh contrast against his white shirt, and the permanent grin that seems impossible to wipe off his face. My heart instantly flutters.

It's only been a few days since we've confessed our growing romantic interest in each other, but I can already feel the weight of his love pouring out of his heart and into mine the moment he realized that my arms would be there to catch him when he fell.

"I'm not going to wake up to an empty bed tomorrow morning, am I?" He’d joked when we stumbled, half-asleep, into Emma's flat after the wedding. 

I frowned at him, "Why would you think that?"

"Just in case you think that kissing me was a mistake."

A small pause ensued, in which I realized that despite all my fears and all the pain I had been carrying in my heart ever since we landed on my motherland, I had not once considered how Kevin might be feeling at this very moment. 

My eyes quickly took note of his countenance, sweeping right up to his face only to notice the flash of vulnerability in his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth were tense, cheekbones taught against his skin as he awaited for my answer with baited breath. 

Clearing my throat, I whispered, "it wasn't."

A soft smile tugged at his lips, "good to know."

His answer seemed so genuine, so wholehearted that my chest tightened in a mixture of gratefulness and affection, so much so that my arms automatically reached for him to tug him close. My nose found its rightful place at his neck and I breathed in his comforting  lilac smell that I enjoyed so much.

I felt him take a breath. Then, softly, a hand caressed the back of my head. I buried even closer if that was possible.

"I really want this to work," my words were a muffled mess and I was surprised that he understood.

"Me too," he murmured into my hair, "and it will work. I promise I won't break your heart Y/N."

Looking back now at this tender moment in which we both weren't certain of where we were stepping, I can't help but laugh at the thought, for now the love and attraction is so natural I'm amazed it has taken this long to flourish. 

Maybe I hadn't been looking the right way. Maybe I had been searching so far out and wide that I hadn't noticed that my safe harbour is the one standing right beside me.

"Hey Kevin," I call out.

Kevin turns towards me, where he'd been watching planes take off from the ground into the gorgeously blue sunny sky.

"Yeah?" 

“I’m really glad you came.” 

There's a few beats of silence although his mouth immediately cracks into that gorgeous, crooked grin of his that I adore so much. 

“Me too.” 

----

[birdiefw]

JJ MAYBANK | NOT MY CHOICE PT. 1

Part Two — Here

Requested by: @maybebanks

Summary: You’ve always been a Pogue despite your wealth and had been friends with John B. and his crew for as long as you could remember. However, you were also dating Rafe Cameron but your friend didn’t know, and worst of all, it wasn’t your decision. But one day Rafe sees you and JJ together and decides to show you and JJ who you belong to.

Warnings: swearing, anxiety, sexual assault, groping, ANGST (IF ANY OF THESE MAKES YOU UNCOMFORTABLE PLEASE DON’T READ)

Y/ND/N = Your Next-door Neighbor

A/N: Thank you so much for requesting! I’ve been trying to come up with another idea for a JJ imagine and I’m so glad you sent me this! I’ve decided to make this into two parts, so I hope you don’t mind that I saved a few details of the request for the next part! I hope you enjoy, too!

[not my gif!!!]



You were three weeks into your relationship with Rafe Cameron and you hated it.

Around your parents he was kind, thoughtful, and gentle — which is why they forced you into a relationship with him against your wishes by filling Rafe’s head with the idea that you were just playing hard to get — and you were unable to tell him no. But when your parents weren’t around, he someone else completely, and it terrified you.

He was erratic, controlling, and manipulative. You knew part of it was because of the drugs he took as often as he could, but that didn’t excuse his ruthless actions. His own relationships with his family was rocky at best, and you could see it was taking a bigger toll on him than he would’ve cared to admit. You knew better than to question it and went along with whatever he wanted in order to keep him happy and feeling in control; you’d seen him lose himself once and you didn’t want that to happen again. You didn’t think he’d physically hurt you with as much as he claimed to care about you, but you were never too sure with him.

Anytime you managed to get some free time away from him and your family, you found yourself with the Pogues down in the Cut. They knew you were wealthy, but that didn’t stop them from welcoming you in once they got to know you and saw how kind and caring you were — which you thanked Kie for as she was the one you’d befriended first. You were close with the rest of John B.’s group — especially JJ which was a surprise to both of you.

You didn’t expect to be so drawn to the most reckless and destructive one of them all, but you saw how kind and gentle he could be. He didn’t think he’d find you as enticing as he did either, but he wasn’t complaining. You treated him better than most and accepted him for who he was even with all of his flaws.

He didn’t show his soft side a lot, but you’d seen it more than the others had as if fate was trying to tell you two something you were failing to see for yourself; perhaps that was why you two wound up spending the day together.

With John B. job hunting, Kiara waitressing at The Wreck, and Pope delivering groceries, you and JJ were the only ones with some free time. JJ was supposed to work later, but until then the two of you decided to go surfing wfilr the sun was still shining brightly in the sky and the waves were nearly perfect. Rafe was apparently working out with Topper and Kelc, and knowing them, you’d figured it wouldn’t be a while until they were done. They often ended up at one of their houses afterwards, so you didn’t think Rafe would want to spend anytime with you.

“You comin’ or what, Y/N?” JJ laughed, catching your attention. “We ain’t got all day!”

You suddenly blinked back to reality, gaping as the blond boy was already out in the water and his heart racing with excitement. You scoffed offensively, hurrying after him with your surfboard in tow. “What the fuck, JJ?” You whined, quickly getting on the board and paddling towards him. He loudly laughed, water splattering onto your faces as you moved closer and closer to the gushing waves. “I can’t believe you left me behind!”

“It’s not my fault you weren’t paying attention,” he replied shortly.

You huffed, playfully rolling your eyes. “You’re a shithead, Maybank.”

“Yeah, but you like it.”

Rather than answering him or giving him an even bigger ego boost, you just splashed him and made your way towards the rolling waves with him right behind you. There were only a few other people lounging at the beach, the annual Fourth of July parade more interesting to the town than the waves that never left. Your parents were helping out with the Red Cross float, but you knew they wouldn’t realize you weren’t there in the crowd. JJ could’ve cared less, and as you got to your feet on your board and gliding across the water, you didn’t regret skipping out on it and going to the beach with your favorite Pogue.

———

It wasn’t until a few hours later when you and JJ conquered as many waves as you could that you two decided to call it quits and go and get some food. You’d fallen off your boards more times than you would’ve cared to admit, but you didn’t mind it. The water comforted you every time you fell into it, cooling off your warm skin that the sun was harshly beating down on. JJ came to your aid every time your body tumbled off your board, helping you back onto it with ease, and you did the same with him.

Surfing was dangerous, but it didn’t feel like it when you were with JJ.

When you were with him, you didn’t have to constantly worry about your parents, Rafe, or all of the responsibilities you were currently neglecting to do. All of your worries washed away with the sea and were pushed down to depths of the ocean where only the seaweed would feel the tension. You’d bickered on and off the entire time, trying to one up each other with each wave that came to tower over you two. There were a few times you almost fell face first when you saw JJ doing a trick you’d never seen before, but you caught yourself almost every time. Almost.

Saltwater harshly clung to your hair, the water trickling down your skin as you made your way out of the water. Your board was lazily tucked under your arm once more, a smile adorning your lips while your feet pushed into the wet sand. JJ was right beside you, his hair dripping and looking a little more dark than normal. He was heavily breathing and his shoulders were a little red — as were yours — but his smile never deterred nor did the joyful shine in his eyes that simply couldn’t be missed.

“I don’t know which one of us did worse today,” you laughed, stopping in the sand a little ways away from the water. You pushed your board down into the ground, slightly leaning against it with yours lips pulled up into a genuine grin.

JJ did the same, lightly wiping at his wet faces when a few drops trickled past his eyes. “Really? ‘Cause I’m pretty sure you wiped out more than I did.”

You huffed and shoved his arm. “I did not!”

“Did too!”

You scoffed and shook your head. You were too hungry to continue with this. “You know what? I’m gonna let you have this one, but just this once.”

“Wow, how thoughtful of you, Y/N,” he chuckled.

You laughed along with him and began to walk ahead with JJ a little ways behind you. “I am very thoughtful, thank you very much.”

“Sure, whatever you—”

“Y/N?” Your entire body froze when you saw Rafe making his way towards you and JJ. He wore a yellow tank top and black shorts, a few pieces of his hair falling in his face like he hadn’t used enough gel to keep its kicked back. His features were stern, eyes narrowed and locked in JJ. Your breath hitched in your throat the closer he got to you, unsure as to how he knew where you were.

“H-Hey, Rafe,” you stammered nervously, unable for bring yourself to face JJ. You couldn’t imagine what must’ve been going through his head. Since when did you become friends with Rafe? “W-What’re you doing here?”

Rafe clenched his jaw, his gaze swiveling from JJ to you. He was only inches away from you, and JJ had his fist clenching and unclenching. “Y/ND/N said you were at the beach,” he answered, looking back to JJ. “I finished early with the boys and I thought we could catch some waves.”

“Sorry, man, you’re too late,” JJ said, smugly smirking.

“Oh, am I?” Rafe taunted darkly. You gulped, your head slowly turning to face JJ. His eyes locked with yours, brows furrowing together at the unreadable look on your features. “I think that’s up to me and Y/N, Pogue. Isn’t that right, babe?”

“Babe?” JJ repeated in disbelief, eyes widening like a deer stuck in a set of headlights. Your heart sank into the lowest pit of your stomach, seeing JJ’s face fall. He didn’t want to believe it, and you didn’t want to either. “You’re joking.”

“What’s it to you?” Rafe scoffed, coming to stand beside you. He was a little too close for comfort, most certainly pushing his boundaries more than he ever had before. But you were almost paralyzed, your brain trying to piece together a way for this to go better than how you feared it would.

“Rafe, let’s just go—”

“No, hold on,” Rafe denied. He came up partially behind you, raising his brows towards a seething JJ. “You don’t believe me, do you?”

“Why should I?” JJ snapped. His eyes widened when he saw Rafe lean in close, gingerly pressing his lips to your neck. One of his hands touched your hip, going around and squeezing your ass like he was marking you to show JJ you belonged to him.

Your mind screamed at you to tell him to stop, to shove him away and make a run for it, but you couldn’t. Instead you held a poker face, doing your best to keep your breathing even so you didn’t alert either boys of your discomfort. You could’ve sworn JJ was trying to kill Rafe with his darkened eyes, but you weren’t showing any signs that you didn’t like it. You harshly bit your tongue, not wanting your urge to cry to take over and anger Rafe.

That was the last thing you needed.

“You like that, don’t you, Y/N?” Rafe murmured against your skin, making sure JJ heard him.

You meekly nodded, forcing a faint smile on your lips. “Yes,” you managed to breath out.

Rafe seemed pleased with your answer and stopped. He pressed a kiss to your cheek and took your hand in his, tugging you away from JJ. “Let’s get outta here,” he said, shooting JJ a nasty glare. “Kelc is throwing a party and we can’t miss it.”

“Okay,” you squeaked out. You allowed him to pull you along and in the direction of his bike, biting your bottom lip. You stole a glance back at JJ, and for the first time, he was left completely speechless.

———

A/N: I hope y’all liked this! Feel free to send me some more requests!!

[harrysbbby]

Super Rich Kids

Pairing: Rafe Cameron x Reader

Summary: Rafe and Y/N are young and in love, not to mention filthy rich. But does money really buy happiness? Based on Super Rich Kids by Frank Ocean

Words: 3k

Warnings: drug use, swearing, mentions of su*cide so please be mindful if this would be triggering. a whole lot of angst

Start my day up on the roof

There's nothing like this type of view

Point the clicker at the tube

I prefer expensive news

Rafe Cameron was an anomaly. Too spoilt to hang with the Pogues, too much of a delinquent to fit in with the Kooks. But he made do.

One of his favourite things was watching the sunrise from the roof next to his room’s large bay window. It centred him, calmed him. His mind was constantly racing, so seeing the orange glow rise over the trees, was nothing short of relaxing.

He would usually do this while scrolling through his phone, checking Instagram, seeing what party had happened the night before across Figure Eight. Fox News would send him updates, you know, rich people paying rich people to tell middle class people to blame poor people. And he supposed he fed into that idea, but as the sun hit his eyes, making him squint, he didn’t think further into it.

New car, new girl

New ice, new glass

New watch, good times babe

It's good times, yeah

Wind blew through your hair as you drove along the highway. You laughed raising your hands above the open windscreen, feeling the air on your fingertips. You could feel the diamond ring wobble on your finger, pulling your hands down to admire it. It matched your icy diamond bracelet, courtesy of your new boyfriend.

Rafe leant over placing a hand on your thigh, the cold feeling of his Rolex catching your attention. You could see your reflection in his glasses as you smiled at him. You leant over, placing a kiss on his cheek, before throwing your head back, whooping into the open air.

She wash my back three times a day

This shower head feels so amazing

We'll both be high, the help don't stare

They just walk by, they must don't care

The steam of the shower blended in the air with the smoke of weed, creating a damp leafy smell. Your soapy hands ran over his skin, washing off the dried saltwater. You grabbed the shampoo, foaming it up in your hands before reaching up to run it through his hair. He held your waist, securing your stance against him as you washed the salt and sand and seaweed from his hair.

He leant his head back, letting the water run over his head. He could feel your lips on his neck. He let out a throaty groan, gripping your bare ass. You giggled into his neck, hand running through his hair, ridding him of the rest of the shampoo.

He felt euphoric.

The two of you were giggling uncontrollably as you exited the shower, leaving puddles along the lavish floors of the main bathroom. You were wrapped poorly in the white fluffy towels, when you heard the vacuum cleaner whir from down the hall.

“Oh shit, the maid is here,” you cursed. Rafe’s bloodshot eyes lit up as hushed chuckles escaped his mouth. You tried to shush him, but your laughter was louder than his.

You made a run for it, sprinting down the hall, leaving drops of water behind. You slinked past the maid in the open living room upstairs. She didn’t even flinch as your white-towel clad bodies raucously giggled all the way to your room.  She had seen similar scenes a hundred times through. She’d found the bottles of alcohol hidden in your room, or your stash of weed. She needed the money, she needed employment from your family, she didn’t care what you did. You and Rafe collapsed onto your bed, still giggling out of your minds.

A million one, a million two

A hundred more will never do

Rafe went home that night. As he entered the house, he heard his dad summon him to the kitchen.

“Hey son,” he greeted him, not looking up from his paper, “I transferred some more money into your account today, saw you made some pretty decent purchases.”

“Yeah,” Rafe cleared his throat, “they’re for my, uh, new girlfriend. You always told me how to treat a girl right, Dad. I really think you’d like her.”

“That’s lovely,” Ward eyes never wandered from the page he was intently staring at. Rafe’s shoulders hunched as he made his way upstairs, unsure his dad even registered his retreating footsteps.

He took out his phone, opening up his banking app, surveying the hefty total. His heart didn’t pick up like it used to when he saw the number rise. He felt empty and unloved, but as your name appeared in a notification at the top of his screen, he thought, maybe, he would have a chance of filling that void.

Too many bottles of this wine we can't pronounce

Too many bowls of that green, no Lucky Charms

“I never understood what this is called,” your words slurred as you held the bottle up to your eyes, squinting as your hazy eyes struggled to focus.

“Who gives a shit! It tastes good either way,” Rafe leant forward, snatching the bottle from your hands, taking a large swig. You drunkenly laughed before pulling him into a kiss.

Music blared as the party pumped around you. Topper, who was sitting on the other side of Rafe, rolled his eyes.

“It’s ‘mow-ey’ if you’re show-ey and Mo-et if you know-it,” he said taking the bottle from Rafe’s hand, pouring the bubbly liquid into two flutes and passing them back to you and Rafe, “so please, be classy.”

You immediately downed the drink in one go, tipping your head back as you went.

“Or,” one of Rafe’s other friends drawled, reaching into his back pocket, “we could do some of this.”

You eyed the bag of leafy green substance. You held onto Rafe’s bicep, as he grabbed the bag from his friend’s fingers.

You were slouched on the couch, Rafe lazily slung over your middle as you stoked his hair.

“Do you ever wish we had a normal childhood?”

Your high took away your inhibitions, your mouth moving before your brain could stop it. Rafe swivelled in his spot below you, glancing up at your face. He thought about what he had the other night: the void in his chest, the feeling of being unloved, but the feeling of doing whatever the hell you wanted when you wanted was so freeing, but was it freeing enough? He answered honestly.

“I…I don’t know.”

The maids come around too much

Parents ain't around enough

Too many joy rides in daddy's Jaguar

“Why is your house always being cleaned? How does it even have enough time to get dirty again?”

You laughed at Rafe’s question as you led him into the garage.

“You know my mother, she’s a germaphobe. One speck of dust and she brings the cleaning day forward a half a week!”

You opened the door to the garage, smiling as Rafe’s jaw dropped. He inspected the glistening gold, pristinely kept Jag.

“Now, my parents are out of town, which is the only reason I’m letting you do this,” you pointed your finger at him, before tossing him the keys. As he ran past you to the car, he planted a kiss on your cheek, swinging open the driver’s side door, “Please be so careful, my Dad will kill me if we do anything happens to it.”

You joined him in the car, smiling as he delicately ran his hands over the interior, little ‘oh my God’s escaping his lips. He placed the key in the ignition, hearing the car turn on, allowing an appreciative moan to escape his lips.

“Let’s take this baby for a spin!”

Too many white lies and white lines

Super rich kids with nothing but loose ends

Super rich kids with nothing but fake friends

You walked inside the party, Rafe’s friends immediately ushering him away from you.

“Look, what I’ve got.”

Rafe’s eyes train in on the white powdery substance in the small plastic bag. He gulped. He’d drunk and done drugs before, sure. But cocaine was different. Although its white colour glistened against the glass of the table, its darkness was encompassing.

“Babe! Where are you?”

Rafe heard you call his name. He hushed the boys around him.

“Later, later.”

He ran up the stairs, finding you and spinning you around, capturing your lips in a kiss. It caught you off guard, but you melted into it.

You hummed as he released you before capturing the sight over his shoulder.

“Ew gross. Cocaine is disgusting. Makes people so violent. Promise me you won’t become like them,” you caressed Rafe’s face nodded your head towards the guys behind him.

“Yeah of course. I would never,” he nodded, allowing you to drag him away, casting one final look at the white powdered table as you went.

It was hours later, and you still couldn’t find Rafe.  He left you at the beer pong table to go to the bathroom, but had never returned. You weaved your way through the party, before his blue polo caught your eye. He was hunched over a table, a group of rowdy, aggressive boys surrounding him, one hand up to nose. You stomped over to where he was faced away from you, tapping his shoulder harshly.

He rose, turning his head, catching sight of you. He stood to his feet quickly, hastily wiping the white under his nose.

“Y/N, I—” he started, but your raised hand cut him off.

“No Rafe, I’m just… so disappointed, I really didn’t think this was you.” He looked like a scorned puppy, eyes wide and lip pouted. Problem was, he was meant to be your ride tonight. All your things, including your car, at his house. But very obviously he could not drive. You crossed your arms over your chest, “Give me your keys. I’m leaving. I don’t care if you come or not.”

He quickly fished into his pocket, handing you the keys as you continued to glare at him. You stalked away. He felt one of the boys hands come to grasp his shoulder as another laughed.

“Bro, your Mrs is mad!”

“She’s gonna give you the best angry sex—"

“Just, shut up!” Rafe snapped angrily. The rage burning inside of him was like nothing he had ever felt before. The heat rose, as if steam emitted from his years, his skin felt like it was on fire. He shrugged the guy’s hand off his shoulder, jogging to catch you before you left.

Real love, I'm searching for a real love

Oh, real love, I'm searching for a real love

Oh, real love

You and Rafe had just exited the Golf Club, walking hand in hand towards his car. It was your 6 month anniversary. You celebrated with an amazing meal, and Rafe even surprised you with an amazing new dress and shoes for the evening. You were super impressed he had managed to pick it out, but understood more when he said he had gotten Sarah’s help. Regardless, it flattered you, as he had clearly been paying attention as the dress was the same one you had eyed off shopping together just weeks previous.

The chilly night air hit your skin causing you to shiver. Rafe let go of your hand, shrugging off his suit jacket, before wrapping it around your shoulders.

“Thanks,” you smiled. You reached his car, leaning against the passenger side door as Rafe held both your hands, “I had a really great time tonight.”

“Me too,” he pulled your head up to meet his, placing his lips gently on yours. This kiss felt different than the others, more passionate, slower and more tender. Rafe pulled away looking into your eyes. He felt a warm feeling in his stomach, like it was summer, butterflies floating around.  His knees felt weak, as he whispered, “I love you.”

He had never said it before. He don’t even think he had felt it before, ever. He didn’t get this feeling when he was with other girls or his family. He felt nervous, worried that this wasn’t the feeling he was meant to have.

“I love you too,” the anxiety pulsating through his body subsided when he heard those words. He pulled you in for another kiss and he knew. This was what it was meant to be like: love. Real love.

We end our day up on the roof

I say I'll jump, I never do

But when I'm drunk I act a fool

Talking 'bout, do they sew wings on tailored suits

You had reached the Cameron house, following Rafe up to his room. He immediately moved across the room, stepping outside his large window. You huffed, following him, knowing your argument wasn’t over. You sat next to him, bringing your legs up to your chest, looking out over the trees, looking as if they were glistening under the moonlight.

“You know, sometimes, I think it would be easier if I jumped.”

His voice was solemn, yet serious. He sounded as if it was something he had genuinely considered, hard expression staring off into the middle distance.

“Rafe,” you started, but he continued.

“I think, it would be so much easier to just end this life, start the next. See what’s in store for the afterlife. But then I think, would there even be a spot for a person like me in heaven?”

You didn’t know what to say. Your skin felt hot and your heart was beating out of your chest.

“You’re not a bad person, you just… do stupid stuff sometimes,” you tried to calm him. But his expression didn’t change.

I'm on that ledge, she grabs my arm

She slaps my hand

It's good times, yeah

Sleeve rips off, I slip, I fall

The market's down like 60 stories

He was stood now, but his feet were unsteady. He looked almost unwell, sweat beaded across his forehead. You stood slowly arms outstretched, watching as his feet shuffled. They took one too many little steps, missing one of the roof tiles, causing him to wobble.

“Rafe!” you screamed, reaching forward grabbing his arm. You used all the strength in your body to pull him towards you. It worked but sent both of you falling back onto the roof. He landed next to you. You groaned as you sat up, rubbing your elbows which took the brunt of your fall.

“What the fuck was that Y/N?” his voice was gravely. He shoved you away from him, as he struggled to get to his feet again. You stood slowly.

“What the fuck was what? You were gonna fall, Rafe!” you yelled back, your face holding a bewildered expression.

He felt the fire burning inside once again. But now the voices that had been drowned out from the sticky substance flying up his nose, had begun crawling out of the void

No one loves you.

Your father thinks you’re a failure.

No one loves you.

You’re not gonna get anywhere.

Why would she love you?

“I don’t need your fucking help, okay?” His voice was venomous. You could feel droplets of spit hit your face, burning as if they were poisonous. Tears welled in your eyes as he continued to scream, “I’ve never wanted it. You were a good fuck, but you don’t mean anything to me!”

“You don’t mean that,” you whispered. It was the drugs talking. He was Rafe, your Rafe, and he loved you.

“Yeah, I do.” The certainty in his voice was piercing. The voices were egging him on: you mean it, you mean it. But really, he felt it. Nothing meant anything to him. The void was swallowing him up whole and he didn’t want to take you with him. “Everything in my life is shit, okay? Including you. I don’t need you telling me what to do and I especially don’t need you for anything else. We’re done.”

Tears were falling rapidly down your face. His expression was so hard, it alone couldn’t have cracked your heart. Sobs began escaping from your lips, watching as he breathed heavily. This was not the boy you fell in love with. This was the shell, overtaken by his self-loathing and unfulfillment. You wiped your face, collecting yourself.

“So what that’s it?” you asked, already knowing the answer. Rafe didn’t say anything, the only movement coming from him being the heavy rise and fall of his chest. “I really hope you figure out whatever’s going on with you,” your voice was so shaky the words nearly didn’t come out. You swallowed the lump in your throat as you hastily climbed back through the window, wanting to get away from him as quickly as possible.

The heat had subsided from Rafe’s body as he watched you leave. Your tears had dampened enough of the fire for him to realise what he had just done.

She never loved you.

You’re a failure.

How could anyone ever love you?

He heard your car start from the driveway, seeing the red reflection of your lights against the trees get dimmer and dimmer. You were gone. And you were never going to come back.

And some don't end the way they should

My silver spoon has fed me good

A million one, a million cash

Close my eyes and feel the crash

So you and Rafe broke up. You’d run into each other at parties occasionally, barely making eye contact and definitely never speaking. Over time you showed up with a new boyfriend, clad in designer wear. Rafe continued to hand in the corner, snorting blow and a bottle Moet in his hands, desperately clinging to the last thing he had left, you.

The Cameron money stood well over time, aiding Rafe and his addiction. But every snort came at a different kind of price. His emptiness grew larger and wider, fully encircling his body. The only thing reminding him he was alive was the pit in his stomach, ignited every time he got high.

At night when he would close his eyes, begging slumber to take him he would see your face. The wind blowing through your hair. Your smile. What it felt like to feel loved. Something he hadn’t felt until he met you and hadn’t felt since he lost you. He was empty and unloved.

Real love, ain't that something rare

I'm searching for a real love, talking 'bout real love

Real love, yeah

Real love

I'm searching for a real love

Talkin' 'bout a real love

✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨✨

a/n: I never really write angst jsjdjajsj but lemme know what you thought.

Tags:

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[ao3porcelainstorm]

poison ivy & stinging nettles 24

On Ao3

Pairing: Sherlock/OFC

Rated: M

Warnings: eventual violence, torture, swears, adult themes (no explicit smut)

Chapter 23 - Chapter 25

Chapter 24- Wildflower

~~~

pick me a wildflower in the morning and i'll hold it with me always where I'm going and when i feel sorrow or death is in my view i'll wear my wildflower perfume

-Wildflower Perfume (The Dead Tongues)

~~~

“Which English chemist and physicist is credited with the discovery of hydrogen?” Amelia challenged on the walk to the museum.

“Easy, Henry Cavendish,” Sherlock answered. “Which artist is credited with starting the impressionist movement?”

“Is that a joke? Claude Monet,” Amelia shot back. “What’s the rarest naturally occurring element in Earth's crust?”

“Astatine,” he furrowed his brow. “What Greek hero was the Statue of David originally one tended to be?”

“Hercules,” she smirked. “What year was Prozac authorized by the FDA for market distribution?”

“I’ll give you a month and year- December of 1987. Though the Belgians approved it a year prior.”

“Could you two cut it out? You both have very big brains, congratulations,” John cut in. “We’re here.”

“How many years ago was this museum established?” Amelia whispered, pointing to the British Museum” entrance sign.

“267,” Sherlock smirked. “Who was credited with its early founding and contributions?”

“Sir Hans Sloane,” she replied. “What was the name of the 17th Century mansion that originally housed the collection?”

“Montagu House, and will you two quit it?” John nodded up toward the museum director and a pair of administrators who were approaching the trio.

“Good morning,” he greeted, shaking everyone’s hands but Sherlock’s, who kept his arms crossed in front of him. “I do hope you have good news.”

“I’ve determined who stole the painting,” Sherlock stated.

“And pray tell, where is it?”

Sherlock eyed the female administrator next to the director.

“Why don’t you tell us, Mrs. Harvey?” he asked and the woman immediately flushed.

Stammering through a lie, she realized the jig was up and sprinted for the exit.

Fortunately, two guards stopped her before she could get very far.

“The police retrieved the painting in her flat this morning,” Sherlock explained curtly, following the director through the main atrium of the building. “I deduced it was her after she mentioned having to pawn a necklace the last time I was here.”

“It was an easy way to make a quick buck with a not so famous painting,” John agreed.

“She was the only one who had access to it, along with two other interns who weren’t scheduled to be here the night it went missing,” Sherlock continued.

“Ironically, they attended an art show at a gallery I knew the owner of,” Amelia added. “He was more than willing to let us confirm their alibis with the security footage.”

“She would have gotten away with it had she not left behind a scuff mark from her broken high heel,” Sherlock noted. “The measurements matched a woman of her height and weight precisely.”

“Incredible,” the director clapped his hands together. “I knew I made the right call in contacting you.”

He thanked the group again, inviting them to luncheon once the painting was returned to the museum, which John and Amelia both accepted enthusiastically.

“Why do I have to go?” Sherlock whined on the way home.

“Because you look good in a suit,” Amelia grinned.

“Because you saved the picture and deserve a little credit,” John added with an eye roll at Amelia’s comment. “Besides, a newspaper story will add a little more validity to the blog, which will bring in more clients.”

“I agree, I do look very nice in a well-cut suit,” Sherlock mused. “I’ll go. Briefly.”

Amelia smirked at John when he realized how easily she’d convinced Sherlock.

“Can you convince him to get rid of the kidneys in the freezer?” he asked quietly.

“I heard that,” Sherlock responded without a look back.

“They are really gross Sherlock,” Amelia cringed. “They’re long past necrotic. There can’t be anything worthwhile left.”

“I didn’t realize the two of you had such pressing business in the freezer,” he scoffed. “I’ll dispose of them tonight.”

“And not in the garbage disposal,” Amelia warned. “Last time you stunk up the apartment for a month because we couldn’t get the liver fully washed out. Walk it out to a bin or give them back to Molly.”

“You’re too high maintenance.”

“And you have gross hobbies, but healthy relationships are about sacrifice,” she threw a bright smile back at him.

“Amazing,” John awed under his breath. Amelia Brenner was a Sherlock-whisperer.

The pair bickered a little about the best way to get rid of human remains, with John citing various medical codes that Sherlock constantly ignored.

“What happens if someone reports a poorly disposed femur to the Yard?” John challenged when they walked through the front door. “There’s a dignity to these things.”

“I try not to empathize with remains,” Sherlock stated.

“That’s a little sad,” came Amelia’s response. “They were people, at one point.”

“And now they’re dead.”

“But they had loved ones,” she continued, smile faltering. “People who probably mourned their passing.”

“These were unclaimed corpses, no one bothered to come to find them,” Sherlock countered, pulling off his jacket and scarf.

“That’s even sadder,” Amelia’s expression fell some more. “What if they couldn’t claim them because they couldn’t afford a funeral? Or someone’s son was missing because of drug addiction or something and they didn’t even know he was dead- but his body was too mangled to be identified and now the family will never have closure?”

The men both stopped and looked at her, standing in the doorway, close to tears.

Turning to Sherlock, John pointed toward her and frowned.

“And that’s why the kidneys do not go down the garbage disposal, have a little respect, won’t you?”

~~~

The luncheon was enjoyable, even with Sherlock’s general attitude about the whole thing.

“Diamond cufflinks,” he commented when the director handed him a small package. “Mine are held with buttons…”

“He means 'thank you',” John cut in, glaring at Sherlock when he took the package.

Amelia was busy chatting with some of the museum docents, asking about some of the artifacts the massive museum held. She clapped enthusiastically, balancing a champagne flute between her fingers when Sherlock and John posed with the painting.

“How come we haven’t started a scrapbook?” Amelia teased once the boys were free from their press obligations. “I’m betting that was a great picture.”

“The blog is a scrapbook,” John noted and Amelia nodded.

“You’re right,” she hummed, sipping her drink. “We should upload newspaper clippings. The validity of the blog and such…”

“You’re unemployed, sounds like a fun project for you,” John laughed, clapping a hand on her shoulder.

“Collecting newspaper clippings of my, er,” she paused, looking to Sherlock listening to one of the donors gush about his success. “Sherlock.”

“Boyfriend?” John tried, plucking a champagne glass off a passing waiter’s tray.

“Is he?” she asked with a cringe. “Doesn’t act like any I’ve had before.”

“Haven’t you two talked about it?” he asked.

“Not explicitly,” she mumbled, holding the glass up and finishing the rest of her drink in a swallow. “Is that an explicit conversation we should have?”

“Are you exclusive?” he rephrased.

“That…” she frowned, her brows knitting together. “I’m assuming? We both end up in a bed together at the end of the day.”

“You should probably clarify that,” John hummed, grabbing another glass of champagne for his friend. She took it gratefully, downing it in a single sip.

“It sounds so dumb when you say it out loud though,” she grumbled, bringing a hand to her cheek and making a mocking face. “Oh, Sherlock will you be my boyfriend?”

“I thought I was the one who was supposed to ask,” Sherlock commented over her shoulder.

“Why do you always do that?” Amelia set her glass aside, turning to adjust the collar on his shirt. He tried to push her hands away, but after a glare, he let her continue fussing with the unwieldy clothing.

“He’s very sneaky, Mia,” John tipped his glass in her direction.

“It is my job to be discreet,” Sherlock countered, watching Amelia’s expression until she seemed satisfied with the fold in the shirt.

“So, what do you think?” she asked.

“I think I should have worn a tie,” he touched the collar.

“I agree, but I wasn’t talking about that,” she snorted. “Are we… going steady?”

“Going… steady…?” he asked, biting back a laugh, sharing an amused smirk with John. “I didn’t realize you wanted me to ask you to the big homecoming dance.”

“Fine, if we were dating, we’re now broken up,” Amelia smacked his chest, causing him and John to erupt into a fit of giggles.

Giggles.

The two grown-ass men were snickering like a couple of children at an art exhibition for a stolen painting they found.

“Amelia,” Sherlock caught her by the arm, pulling together the most sincere expression she’d seen on the detective. “Will you… go steady with me…?”

His voice broke at the end, another round of chuckles overcoming the pair.

“Nope, you two are being mean at my cultural inconsistencies and I no longer wish to be your friend, goodbye forever,” she turned on her heel and started for the exit.

“Oh thank god,” John muttered, following hurriedly after her. “Throw a bigger scene and get us out of here.”

“Something like this?” she grabbed a random drink off a nearby table and threw it at his chest. A hand over her head, she spun around and moved swiftly to the door. “Goodbye John Watson, you’ve broken my heart for the very last time.”

“I think I’m in love,” Sherlock stared after her, absently handing his friend a fabric napkin.

“She ruined my favorite shirt!” John sputtered, dabbing at the cloth.

“-Still caused a pretty good scene,” Sherlock gestured to the perplexed looks from partygoers around them. “Time to follow through, old chum.”

~~~

“I promise, I’ll get it cleaned,” Amelia repeated for the hundredth time once they’d returned to Baker Street.

“You have absolutely no impulse control,” John grumbled, though he had long forgiven the auburn-haired florist.

“It’s a personal flaw I’ve been trying to work on,” she countered through a sigh.

“You should start with trying not to challenge people to shoot you,” Sherlock mused from the top of the stairs. “Someone is actually going to shoot you one day.”

“Or me,” John muttered, distinctly recalling the exact scene the day her uncle shot him.

“That was not my fault,” she pointed toward him. “You jumped in the way. I was fully prepared to take that bullet.”

“It was aimed at your head, you idiot,” John sighed.

“It’s not my fault neither of you has sufficiently taught me the appropriate life skills required to be your friend,” she reasoned. “You’re a soldier, and you’re… you. I’m just a nerd who is really into plants. What can I do? Throw flower petals at the bad guys?”

“You did throw a potted peony at your uncle,” John reminded her. “That did knock him out.”

“Thanks, John,” she huffed.

Sherlock listened to the conversation, dropping into his chair and considering Amelia’s words, fingers steepled in front of him.

She wasn’t wrong. Compared to him or John, she was a positive pushover. If she got into a fight, she might have an upper and because of her height, but against a skilled fighter? She stood no chance.

Not to mention her tendency to throw insults and punches first, and ask questions later, she was bound to end up in some dire situation without him or John to help her.

And after Sherlock was gone-

“-I’ve shot a gun once,” Amelia was bickering with John.

“How is that possible? You’re American,” he gaped back at her.

“We don’t fire our 44’s at breakfast time,” she blinked back at him. “Did you think we all are given an assigned firearm at birth?”

“We’re going to teach you how to fight,” Sherlock stated, cutting into the conversation. “Properly.”

“But what other excuses will I have to bring you with me to the toilet?” she asked sarcastically.

“If you two shagged, that’d be a good excuse,” John murmured, earning a punch in the arm from his female friend. He scowled at her, holding his arm. “You didn’t even do that right. Don’t tuck the thumb, you’ll break it.”

“You’re too preoccupied with our sex life,” she snapped back.

“You two need to get it out of your system,” he said, pointing between Amelia and Sherlock. “It’s messing with the energy of the flat.”

“You’re a butt,” Amelia grumbled, going in for another (proper) punch and being blocked by the now smug doctor. “You can’t do that. I’m learning.”

“Ha, ha,” John rolled his eyes, pointing to the nearby bookshelves and television. “Not near anything of value, you aren’t.”

“We should go to the recreation center,” Sherlock voiced. “Amelia, change into something more practical.”

“The one you stole a pass to?” John asked when Amelia looked down at her dress sadly.

“I barely got to wear it for an hour,” she mumbled, retreating to her room when Sherlock just stared in response. “You’re impossible. Saturdays are for rest.”

“You started it,” John smirked after her. “Do you need my help?”

“I think I’m going to need as much help as possible,” Sherlock replied after the pair heard Amelia stumble down the final steps to the basement and call up that she was fine.

~~~

tomorrow'll be leaving before nightfall my captain has now heard sirens call and as the ships sail the ocean so blue ill bathe in wildflower perfume still picks two wild flowers every morning and waits in wake of love still returning and calls for post-run every afternoon to send me wildflower perfume

Chapter 25

[xserpentlife]

Intrigue

Requested: Anon - If I could make a Malachi x reader request if you write Ghoulies? Reader constantly getting into trouble at Riverdale high so she's sent to Southside High after being expelled. When moving to Southside she starts up her mischief again and catches the eyes of the Ghoulies. She gets taken to Malachai for spray painting Ghoulie terf at school and the reader and Malachai instantly click?

A/N: hope you like this!. I also decided to stop doing mood boards unless I have inspiration, forcing myself to make them for every story is pointless. Also, be sure to send in requests because mine are open. 

Word Count: about 1890

*Flashback*

“Look principle Honey, I didn't mean to…”

“Didn’t mean to what Y/N? Dye Briane’s hair blue with her shampoo?”

“Hey, not my fault she stole it out of my shower bag” In reality, it was your fault you hated Briane, a girl constantly causing trouble for anyone she came into contact with. You wanted payback. Payback for the way she talked about your friends, and family. So you played a helpless prank on her, and you got in trouble.

“You still did it on purpose Ms. Y/N”

“And you are proving that how…”

“Ms. Y/N some respect please”

“Mr. Honey, you are talking about respect here when you have none for me. I did nothing wrong to Briane. You are siding with her because of our past. Because she is from the rich side of the North. Years I have been bullied by her and not once did I punch or cause blood, because I am way more of a decent human being then she is, I did nothing wrong Mr. Honey”

“Fine Ms.Y/N I will call it at a draw and you will both have 2 nights of detention” You smiled to yourself. “However, you are on very, very thin ice considering you were just here a week ago for allegedly replacing the dead frogs with live ones in last weeks biology classes.”

“Mr. Honey…”

“No Ms. Y/N like I said thin ice do you understand”

“Yes sir I do”

“Good now get out of my office”

*Flashback Ended*

“For weeks now you had been warned daily of the thin ice you were on with Mr. Honey, but you kept your distance and your cool. You needed school, needed it to get out of riverdale and not have to deal with the treacherous town. You may have done all those things, but they were innocent pranks to only get back at the ones that wronged you. You needed to defend your turf, it was what you were always taught before your parents passed. Your grandmother engraving into your brain that you needed to protect yourself before protecting others.

School had been a hassle, every teacher constantly watching every move you made. Every student trying to get you out. No one at riverdale ever liked you, they always saw you as the problem child. The one who dressed in dark clothes, and caused trouble, but none of them knew you at all, or had been through or known the things that you have. You went by your day to day after the incident with Mr. Honey, trying to stay out of trouble as possible. You got a detention for not doing homework, but you never got in real trouble. That was until science lab 3rd period two weeks into your thin ice warning. You were paired up with Briane, for an experiment where a cloud of white would rise when the chemicals were combined. You were in charge of the base and she was in charge of the reactant. However, as soon as you looked away to wipe your hands off for safety she poured the entire bottle of reactant in before screaming at the top of her lungs.

“Briane! You are interrupting the other students what is the meaning of this”

“Y/N, Ms. Murphy Y/N put the entire bottle into the mixture” You turned around stunned, you hadn’t even been looking when she did it, and then you saw the bubbles arise and begin to pour over the smoke filling the air”

“Everyone out of the classroom this instant, we will have to have it cleared for safety. Ms. Y/Nand Ms. Briane come to the principal's office with me at once!”

“Mr. Honey before you say anything I didn’t do it, I swear on my life, I was washing my hands when it happened, I wasn't even paying attention”

“Ms. Briane would you like to say your side”

“Oh yes Mr. Honey thank you so much. Well I was minding my business writing down our lab results of the temperature because I had poured the base, and when I looked up Y/N was pouring the whole jar in, I tried to stop her but she just kept pouring and then I screamed because I was scared and Ms. Murphy came over. Oh gosh, I don’t know why she would ever think to do that if we had more harmful chemicals we all could have died!”

“Everything will be fine Ms. Briane, you can leave my office now”

“Thank you, sir”

“Now Ms. Y/N”

“Mr. Honey, I promise I didn’t do it”

“Well it seems there are other stories at play here, and in our previous meeting, I told you, thin ice. I have decided to transfer you to Southside High”

“No Mr. honey please!”

“It is out of my hands Ms. Y/N”

“No it is literally in your hands, you incompetent piece of shit, You know what. I am fucking glad that I am not going to be a part of this pretentious north siders can do no wrong school. Good riddens, asshole!”

“Ms...”

“Shut up, I’m grabbing my stuff and you’ll never see me again, and you know what I am sooo glad I don’t have to look at your stupid face ever again”

You left the school on a bad note but did it really matter when you were going to a school that barely had programs let alone taught the kids what they needed to know. It was as if your entire world crashed down. Your grades would decrease, your barely existent social life would now diminish completely, and most of all your mindset. You gave up on being the girl that was good at school, but bad on the outside.

You started not caring, picked up art. Learned how to tag and make it so your print was known enough to be you but not to be identified in your other works. You praised your art teacher and got very close with her very quickly. You confided in her, she herself was a student at Riverdale high at one point, kicked out because she lived on the southside and they found out. You related with her in a way you hadn’t with anyone else, but that didn’t stop you from doing way worse things than shit Riverdale high could ever fathom.

When you first got to southside high you completely painted your locker, not crazy but definitely not allowed. You took money from people, yeah you never spent any of it, actually put it in for charity collections, not that anyone knew that. Everyone knew you as the new kid, that just did bad shit. No one knew why no one knew your background or history and no one cared to know one bit. You liked it that way, you enjoyed the animosity. You then moved from the school to walk around the town after ditching for the day. You luckily still live in the house your parents had once owned on the northside, now it looked like a rundown abandoned building on the outside, guess that matched the way your life was turning. You tagged the entire gas station, then the park moving up the hills and down the valleys tagging everything in your sight. Art was your outlet and the southside, your canvas. You had no idea you caught the eyes of a gang called the ghoulies. You didn’t know the turfs, or the sides, you were just a visitor in a town with many rules and regulations you had no idea about. You made a mistake tagging the run-down building on the corner, officially in ghoulie territory. But no one had caused you trouble before, so you were not expecting to turn around and find 5 men and women around in black studded jackets.

“Hello…”

“NO bitch tagging our turf who the fuck are you”

“Wait… your turf?”

‘Yes, this is Ghoulie territory and we are taking you to the king” You had no idea what they were talking about, you felt a bang against the back of your head before you were out cold. You woke up slowly words being heard around you your vision slowly clearing from the blurriness

“Spraying our turf huh doll?” You have seen this guy, seen him around the school more often than you like to admit. He always seemed to be where you were, lurking around corners, and tagging his own spots how he would like, but you never said a word to him, your rule of keeping to yourself always in the back of your mind. You knew of the ghoulies enough to know people on the northside were afraid, but in reality, them all standing in front of you, they were no scarier than a group of 3-year-old children.

“What...? Just figured I'd have a little fun, turns out your ghoulies are a lot less scary than people think. Oh, y/n by the way and you are ...”

“Malachai... a lot scarier than people think, nice to meet you doll, boys let her go, and leave the room, I’ll deal with her”

“Deal with me, I like the sound of that” You were let go, dropped to the ground, as Malachai ushered the men out of the room. You got up finding a chair and putting your feet up and onto his desk that resided in the back of the room.

“Off”

“What? The big bad ghoulie is a germaphobe”

“Nah I just like shiny things, and you doll are currently on my radar” He swiped your feet off the desk before plotting on top.

“So what are you gonna do to me dear king?”

“Talk”

“Talk…”

“You are an enigma Y/N, I want to get to know you”

“No one ever does… what do you want from me?”

“Like I said you intrigue me, I just want to get to know who you are. We are… similar”

“I’m not sure we are…”

“Stay here…”

“Alright” Malachai came back with a photobook, a photo book that once we started flipping through you realized it was him, a boy living on the northside. A boy in a big house on cherry street, with a mother and father, and sister. Grandparents, Christmas parties and… then it was taken from you.

“You’re from the northside?

“Like I said we are similar”

“How did you know I am from the northside”

“Lucky guess I’d say”

“And you… lived there?” “There are a lot of things people don’t know about me, like I said we are similar Y/N”

“I wanna know how”

“Guess you’ll have to stay to find out”

“Apparently so”

[ayellowcurtain]

SKAM NL S3 EP2 - Lucas Van Der Heijden

Nothing happened, they just talked. 

Lucas doesn’t understand why his brain keeps reminding him of bright brown eyes looking at him. It was dark outside, but Lucas could clearly see Milan’s eyes and his memory kept every little detail. Not just his eyes but the way he looked at Lucas even when the group of girls came and dragged them back to the party.

Lucas didn’t have the time or the courage to ask for his number or social media or anything. So now he’s stuck, looking at his phone. He wrote Milan in every way he could think Milan could be written. And none of the profiles that Instagram suggested is his Milan.

He looks at the ceiling, dropping his phone by his side, hit by his own nonsense. His fucking Milan. What a stupid thought. 

Lucas has no idea of his last name either so his research is a dead end.

“I need some help…” Ralph comes in uninvited like always, pushing Lucas’ legs to the side so he can sit on his bed. “Does this guy look creepy?” Lucas takes a second to sit on the bed, looking at the picture. It’s a shirtless guy and the angle is so weird, you can barely see his face.

“How will I know?” Ralph sighs, looking at the picture again, showing the picture to Jayden too. He also sits on his bed but cares enough to get Ralph’s phone, touching the screen with two fingers to zoom in.

“You wanna fuck him?” Lucas takes a deep breath, looking at Ralph as he shrugs and thinks about it for a second. “If he’s just a piece of ass...” Jayden shrugs too and gives the phone back.

“Does he wanna be fucked?” Lucas tries, relaxing against the window behind him. He doesn’t know why he’s even engaging in this conversation, Ralph can get carried away sometimes.

“I don’t think any of us has any problem fucking, to be completely honest.” Jayden nods his head, relaxing against the wall, looking at his own phone, but still listening to the conversation.

“What do you need our help for then?”

“I think he’s one of those straight guys.” Lucas frowns, looking at the blonde that’s still staring at the same picture. “You know the ones.”

He feels his entire face warming up and Jayden laughs. He doesn’t know “the ones” in person, but he heard about it and he can also imagine. It doesn’t mean he likes the stupid jokes and how Jayden and Ralph act like they know every inch of him. They don’t. He knows there’s nothing he can say that will make them change their minds.

Everyone stays in silence and Lucas grabs his phone again. He’s sick of the unknown already, so he goes to Janna’s Instagram and types again: Milan.

Just like magic, there he is. How was Lucas so dumb? Of course, someone would have him by now. The profile picture doesn’t show much of his face, but just enough that Lucas can recognize him even with a beanie on and a hoodie covering his perfect mouth and jaw.

He doesn’t have many pictures posted, the last thing it’s a video, posted almost three months ago. Lucas makes sure to put it at the lowest volume before he can press play. 

Milan is skateboarding and the sun looks like it’s rising in the horizon, the streets are empty, but Milan keeps looking at both sides when passing by a crossroad. Whoever is filming calls for him and Milan turns his head, smiling so big, but he also looks tired, they were probably drunk, coming back from a party, Lucas has been there to know well the feeling and the faces with drunk smiles.

The stranger calls for Milan again after almost half a minute of silence and he looks back again, smiling, sticking his tongue out. He’s ridiculously handsome. Lucas wants to meet him, know more about the boy, his opinions if he still skates.

When he’s done watching the video for the fifth time, he realizes. If Milan ever looks again at the video, he’ll see Lucas’ name as one that watched the video after almost three months that he posted it. If he still uses Instagram but doesn’t post, he’ll know that Lucas was randomly stalking him today.

Lucas looks around the room again, Ralph is still on his phone, lying down on Lucas’ bed and Jayden is sitting on his bed, also very busy with his phone. If today is the day Milan sees his name and picture as one of the viewers on his video, Lucas might as well add him and play it cool. They talked for some time and they go to the same school, it’s ok to have each other on their social media.

Once that is out of the way, Lucas scrolls through the other posts, careful not to accidentally like random pictures. The bleached hair is new, he used to have his hair down to his shoulders almost two years ago, then it was shorter, very similar to Kes’, with wild curls pointing to every direction, but just a little lighter and then the Milan that he knows in person, with bleached hair that a few months back might have been a buzz cut. He keeps scrolling his notifications down, checking if there are new notifications, but it’s still empty. Maybe Milan really stopped using it and Lucas added him for no reason.

-

Lucas clicks on the button on the right side of his phone to check again: no new notifications. 

“Bro, stop looking at your phone, seriously. I’m talking to you!” Kes’ hand comes in front of his phone, moving from one side to the other so Lucas can look at him. He sighs and nods his head when Lucas finally puts his phone back inside his jeans pocket.

“What’s up?”

“What do you wanna do today after school? My parents are out if you wanna go to mine to chill for a little…” Lucas shakes his head. Going to Kes’ sounds good, he needs to relax and they haven’t spent that much time together these days. Lucas is trying to avoid the conversation that he knows Kes wants to have.

Kes will ask why he moved out, how his mom is doing, how is he doing, if Lucas is watching out for his mom even from afar, etc, etc. And Kes is right, Lucas should be taking care of her, but he just needed some time to himself after moving out. He’ll visit his mom soon.

It’s funny how they turned out to have two very different family situations. Lucas loves going to Kes’ place, it’s never fully empty, never completely organized, there’s a lot of people so he gets it that it’s hard to keep it clean all the time. And somehow the messiness makes it more like a home. 

“Sure, I can go to your place.” They shake hands and Kes smiles, giving him a hug. Jayden finally shows up, hanging himself around their shoulders.

“Hey, boys!” Lucas bends down just enough to get rid of Jayden’s arm around his shoulders and when he looks up to catch up on the conversation, he sees him, walking across the yard.

Light wash high waisted jeans, comfy and fitted black hoodie and mustard-y converse with white socks. He walks with so much confidence, both hands deep inside the front pockets of his jeans. It’s the most basic and yet, he looks like a model with all the style and the attitude. 

They’re very far from each other, but Milan turns his head just enough to catch Lucas’ eyes like he knew Lucas was staring at him. They keep looking at each other, Lucas can’t make his eyes look any other direction until someone comes right in front of him, too close even, and a kiss on the cheek makes him finally blink, adjusting his eyes to see who’s talking to him.

“How are you? Feeling better from the migraine?” Lucas needs one long breath in to remember when he had a migraine or what she’s even talking about. The blonde, small girl that apparently fell in love with him after a kiss or two. Emma. He didn’t have a migraine, but he said he had it so she could leave him alone at the party. He quietly left without saying goodbye after that.

“Yeah, thanks, I’m better.” He looks to his sides, Kes and Jayden seem more interested in her and her friends that are always by her sides. Lucas is too worried about himself to care. He should have chosen a different shirt this morning, this one is too old, he was too sleepy to mind it and now he looks like a child in front of Milan. He’s still on the other side of the yard, but he’s wearing sunglasses now.

Even if he can’t see his eyes, Lucas feels like he’s being watched. There’s no way to be sure from this far. If Milan is not looking, he’ll notice if Lucas starts staring at him. The thought doesn’t stop Lucas from looking anyway.

-

Maybe he should just stop being lazy and walk home, but it’s too hot and he doesn’t want to walk alone. Kes and Jayden went to Kes’ place and he didn’t feel like it, he’ll meet them later at whoever’s party they’re going to tonight. The Emma girl invited him (and the boys) to hang out later, but Lucas really doesn’t feel like it, so now he’s just praying something more interesting will show up.

Finally, the bus stops right in front of him and he puts his phone in his pocket, getting inside. As he looks to the back to see where he can sit on a nearly empty bus, he sees Milan getting in at the same time with the tiniest smile on his lips. There are only a few older people spread around the seats, there’s more than enough room for both of them to choose.

Lucas usually likes to seat in the back, as far away from strangers as he can. He doesn’t know what to do now, so he just walks to the back like he normally would do. Milan is looking at every row then back to Lucas like he’s waiting for Lucas to decide for him.

He stops in the corridor right next to the last row that has only two seats right next to each other. Milan raises his eyebrows, still standing, with his hand on the back of the seat that Lucas chose, he’s waiting for Lucas and so he goes to sit on the window seat and Milan finally sits by his side.

Milan is definitely not shy, he’s still constantly looking at Lucas while with a smile on his lips. A smile that says a lot that Lucas is not ready to admit. He’s looking at his hands and at Milan’s hands too. Lucas is not good with measurements, but he imagines their hands would fit well. His hands are a little bit smaller and paler.

As Milan is watching his every move, it’s probably not that hard to see what Lucas is looking at. He opens his right hand slowly with the palm up and with his left one, he runs his fingertips all the way from his palm to his fingers, holding his own hand and Lucas can’t help but laugh, shaking his head, looking out the window.

They stay in silence for way too long, Lucas wants to talk, to know Milan, but he doesn’t know what to say now that he was caught staring.

“Going home?” Milan finally asks and Lucas feels like he can breathe again.

“Yeah...you?” He looks at the other one and Milan nods his head, relaxing on his seat.

“Yes. No parties tonight?” Lucas opens his mouth slowly, his lips are dry and glued together, but he nods his head.

“There’s one I just...don't know if I’m going. And you? Why are you going home on a Friday?” Milan turns his body a little and Lucas feels like he can do the same and so he does, leaning against the window.

“I don’t know many people around here yet, but it’s nice to stay at home too. Don’t you like it?”

“I do sometimes, but it’s hard when you share your house, your bedroom…” He sighs, not daring to talk about his actual house situation.

“You share your bedroom?” Milan raises his eyebrows, but he’s not judging, his features are always soft when talking to Lucas.

“Yeah, unfortunately. I live with some friends.” It’s probably not the best to tell someone you’re interested in that you live with other invasive teenagers, but it’s better than if he was still with his mom.

“You don’t like your friends?” Lucas laughs, shaking his head.

“I like my friends. I just wish I had some privacy to smoke in peace, not having to share my joint or my bed.” Milan nods his head like he gets what Lucas means. For the first time since they sat down, Milan looks around and pats his pockets. When he seems to find whatever he was looking for, he puts his hand inside the pocket and pulls out slowly, showing his joint to Lucas.

“If you really don’t like to share, I can give this to you, but you could smoke at my house, we could eat something too…”

Lucas should think about Milan being a stranger and how being alone with him is not the smartest idea, but he accepts it without even second-guessing.

-

Maybe it wasn’t the best idea to smoke. Lucas has never been so high. Milan’s couch feels like it’s filled with water, every little movement creates a wave in his body and all the way to Milan, sitting right next to him.

Lucas is not that bad of a person and he shared the joint, but Milan doesn’t seem as affected as him.

“Stay here, I’m gonna make something for us to eat.” Milan’s hand rests on his thigh as he talks and gets up. When he stops touching Lucas, the skin is still tingling where his hand rested. Lucas puts his hand on his thigh and holds it a little tighter, hoping that it would make him feel Milan’s touch again.

From the couch he can see the kitchen, it’s a very small apartment with some furniture, but it’s the minimum. It feels cozy and intimate and Lucas could easily live here.

Milan looks at him every once in a while and whenever that happens, they exchange smiles and private laughter. Lucas doesn’t know why they’re laughing, but it feels good, it calms his pounding heart a little.  

He gets up slowly, steadying himself on his feet before starting to slowly walk to the kitchen door, offering the joint for Milan to finish.

“I’m way too high.” He explains when Milan stops making sandwiches to look at the joint and to Lucas. Milan bends down a little and opens his mouth and Lucas feels his brain expanding a million times, almost exploding as he places the joint in between the pouty lips.

He swallows hard when he notices that his mouth was open, almost drooling while he was giving the joint back. Milan doesn’t seem to mind, raising his eyebrows as he goes back to giving the finishing touches to their sandwiches.

It looks delicious, but Lucas is sure even a shoe box would look delicious right now. He’s starving. He lost track of time a long time ago, but he’s sure they spent a whole lot of time, maybe hours just smoking on the couch, talking a little and enjoying the long silences, pretending like they weren’t looking at each other every few seconds.

Lucas stays at the door, watching Milan cook. He probably looks so gone, but he doesn’t mind. If Milan notices it’ll make his life so much easier.

Maybe it’s the weed, but Lucas wants to kiss him for hours and tell him all his secrets, Milan doesn’t seem to be the judgy type.

“You like cheese?”

Lucas frows, taking a second to answer.

“You’re really asking me if I like cheese? Who doesn’t like cheese?” Milan smiles as he can with the joint still in his mouth. He nods his head while putting the slices of bread on top of the four sandwiches he made.

“People who are lactose intolerant, probably.”

“Fuck you!” Milan seem to have an answer to that at the tip of his tongue, but he doesn’t say it, just dabs the joint inside the sink and leaves it there, the tip of his tongue just wets his lips quietly and he offers Lucas the plate with their lunch.

“I’m just gonna get us some beer.”

Lucas holds the plate and turns on his feet to go back to the couch. As soon as he sits, Milan shows up at the kitchen door, showing him four cans of beer, but he puts it on the coffee table as someone knocks on the door.

He looks just as surprised as Lucas, Milan opens his mouth one and two times.

“Shit, I forgot about them. It’s just some friends, you can stay.” He explains as he walks back to the door, still looking at Lucas.

“I thought you didn’t have friends.” Lucas teases and Milan just raises his eyebrows and rolls his eyes and Lucas understands the gesture like whoever is at the door isn’t really Milan’s “friends”.

He takes a deep breath before opening the door.

“I think I lost my keys…” The brunette girl says and another girl and a guy pass by her and Milan to get inside. They’re blocking most of Lucas’ view, but Lucas sees perfectly when the girl kisses Milan, putting both hands in his neck and giving him a quick kiss on the lips. Lucas feels his empty stomach sinking as the other two walk back to the living room side by side.

[colitisandme]

It’s no coincidence that ‘stressed’ is ‘desserts’ spelt backwards. That’s what I typically dived towards when I was stressed or sad. Desserts equaled gluttonous happiness. Whenever I was anxious, I ripped into packets, tubs and cake shaped items with joy and frenzy. Desserts and stress were my bed fellows. They were brilliant friends, hogging all the blankets under the duvet of my life, leaving me cold, plump, hyperactive, covered in sugar and shivering, with no cover on me, cursing the fact I didn’t wear fluffy socks to bed. my mind would whirl away like a washing machine. And so, cold and shivering with my hair on end, looking like a deranged Womble, I would end up seeking something sweet to eat. Instantly after the first mouthful, my hair would become less wild, my thoughts would be less chaotic and I would sink into a pile of sugary blissfulness. So when I had to give up sugar, I was, well stressed irronically.

Stress and worry have followed me around my whole life, from when I was in Primary school right up until present day. It has become such a huge part of my existence, I didn’t feel right unless I was worrying about something or constantly going over things in my brain. Not just tangible thoughts. Nope. My worries consisted about serious things that are going on in the world, my finances, my families happiness, the house, husband wellbeing, friends, have I upset anyone? Am I being a good wife? To other thoughts and worries like; Have I locked the door? Have I turned off the tap? To really helpful thoughts and worries like; ‘I am pretty sure I heard a crunch under my foot when I put out the rubbish? ... Why didn’t I turn the light on? Oh my god was that a snail? What if his family are waiting for him to come home. What if, because he never appears, the mum snail becomes an alcoholic, becomes hooked on nettle wine, and the children forgo their education to look after her. Eventually they leave because she’s just too much to handle, and so, alone and drunk, she sings songs about her lost love, while hiccuping and wailing in a nettle wine stupor ... And it will be all my fault.’ So round and round my thoughts and worries went, until I felt like a hamster on a wheel, running and running and going nowhere. I didn’t vocalise these worries. They were all internal. I just couldn’t switch off.

I beat myself up for anything that goes wrong. Nobody need punish me, I do a great job of that myself. Once when I was very young, I decided that the cat simply had too many whiskers that she didn’t need. Even at aged 5, I reasoned I was doing her a favour and she was probably absolutely fed up with having an even number of whiskers on each side. I was sure that if she could speak she would beg me to reduce her grooming time, as she was taking simply ages to preen her whiskers, tell me stories about when she would get laughed at by all the other cats for having rediculous symmetrically numbered and placed whiskers, and longed to remove herself from mediocrity and boredom. Well I certainly didn’t want her to be a laughing stock. Happy to oblige.... *snip* (I probably should have stopped when the cat tried to scrabble away from me, eyes wide with fright as I confidently strode over to her, gleefully, with arms outstretched looking like Edward Scissor Hands, but never the less I was convinced I was doing her a favour.)

I came downstairs clutching a traumatised, angry cat in one hand, and a pair of scissors and newly trimmed whiskers in another. I proudly showed off the new look to my parents. They were not as open to the new aerodynamic moggy as I had hoped, and freaked. I immediately lost it. I sobbed. I apologised over and over to the cat, I tried glueing her whiskers back on, I stroked her, cuddled her, I was convinced I had ruined her life. I was inconsolable. I spent many days after that setting up a makeshift counselling clinic for my cat, where I would stroke her and make sure she knew what a beautiful cat she was and I told her I was sorry that was going to be lob-sided, and struggle getting in to tiny gaps, and try and make up for what I did by taking extra special care of her. My parents didn’t chastise me, because nothing they could do could make me feel any worse than I did. Even at age 5, I worried a lot.

So you can imagine that as adulthood embraced me, just how easily worrying had become a part of me. As natural as breathing. Stressing about everything became normal. Overthinking was critical to my daily life. I lived each day on high alert, in case I needed to jump into action and fix whatever needed fixing, just like I tried to do with the cats whiskers. I am at my best in a crisis, and god knows I have had many to deal with in my life. I love being Superwoman. I love saving the day. But being in this hyper-alert state was not fun and certainly not healthy.

I became ill after a BIG burnout. I had been playing Superwoman for too long. I had been living on the edge for months, I was always stressed, I wasn’t sleeping, I was in pain, I was withdrawing, I was experiencing horrendous brain fog which was really sodding useful as I had just started an incredibly stressful job, where I would drill myself to be perfect and chastise myself for processing information incorrectly. On top of this I was dealing with a managerie of outside issues. Very quickly and surprisingly, (to me as everyone closest to me would describe me as the strongest person they knew,) my health and mental health imploded like a double whammy firework. I did not know it was coming, but oh my god when it did, I was floored. I had never been so ill. I was scared. I knew that I could not continue doing what I was doing. I needed to change my behaviours. I needed to spring clean my brain. I couldn’t turn to sweet treats anymore to relieve that anxiety because cake or sugar would make my bum explode. I needed to find another less ‘caboom, fire in the hole type way’ to manage my anxieties and stress.

IBD forces me to think purely in the present because I have to spend a huge amount of energy simply functioning. I have to stay in the moment. If I worry or think further past a day/ week it becomes impossible, as I am never sure what one day will look like from the other. Stress hugely exacerbates my IBD symptoms. I learnt this very quickly. The more I worried about why the hell my body was being so unco-operative, the worse my body felt and the more angry it got. And with IBD there is a lot to stress over. Finances, health, stigma of having an invisible illness, work, isolation, diet, questions over future plans etc. It’s a big thing to deal with. It’s enormous. So I worried and got worse and worried and got worse. And so eventually, feeling like I had been kicked by a horse, totally hungry, weak, prone to explode, sugar deprived and looking like a bum with eyes, with my wonderful Mum’s encouragement and support, I came across meditation and mindfulness.

Meditation and mindfulness have helped me manage my stress. After phone calls chasing mental health appointments, referrals and cursing the incompetence of Drs, mental health professionals and admin teams, I turn to mindfulness and meditation as a way of calming my mind. It has taught me to accept things, the way they are during the moment because that may change in the next moment, And be in the moment with it. For example, the pain I get with IBD can feel like your belly is being sawn in half. It feels like a group of can can dancers, jig about on my groin, back and stomach wearing high heels, and using exquisite timing and excellent rhythm, stomp on my intestines, causing me to chew my fist in distress. If I use mindfulness and meditation during painful episodes like this (sometimes whilst crossing my eyes, grinding my teeth and chewing the carpet) it helps me not to fight the pain, but to breathe through it and accept it in the present. When I am anxious, Meditation takes my mind away to another focus in a gentle way, and if my mind wonders off like a hyperactive butterfly, it gently brings it back again. It’s not easy. Sometimes it definitely does not work, but sometimes it does. I have learnt to focus on my breathing, I have trained my brain to change each thought. From a time where the thoughts on a day to day basis felt like they were running around my brain on fire, screaming fire engine noises, wearing a bucket on their head, careering into other thoughts who fanned the flames with a manual citing ‘50 ways to put out a fire’ and can’t work the hose, to a calmer place. One where my thoughts can pick flowers, float in a babbling brook, frolic with fluffy animals and where the fire extinguisher is readily available. Because IBD has forced me to strip everything back in my life, there is no room for extreme stress. No room for high anxiety, because it just hurts me. Physically and mentally. Where as before, I would keep my worries to myself because I didn’t like bothering people with them, now I talk about them, accept the things I cannot change, appreciate things in the moment and change the things I can change. So strangely in that way, IBD has probably saved my life. It’s very strange how things work. I am the most ill I have ever been and should be the most stressed I have ever been, but I can’t be, because that would make me even more ill. Don’t get me wrong it’s still a battle. But I try. I try to appreciate every moment. I appreciate every mouthful of food, and take ages eating it, where as before I would thoughtlessly shovel it in.

I start each day with a mantra and meditation, and even though sometimes Its not effective, I can honestly say that practicing Mindfullness and meditation, are the best stress relievers and stress deterrence I have ever had. They are also the best dessert substitute I have ever had, because meditation doesn’t make my jeans bulge, make me act like an over excited toddler at a birthday party or attract an enthusiastic colony of ants who desire to lick my sugary face. So if like me you are a natural worrier, I urge you to not get so stressed out, you end up gnawing on yourself like an Octopus and try it. Doing a little a day may just take the edge off and sometimes just doing that will help deal with things a little more positively. And when we are living with a long term chronic disease like IBD, being positive, even in the face of a huge challenge like this, is everything.

[mmsinwritings]

Plus One | Short Story

Synopsis:

When Emily's boyfriend of three years suddenly decides to break up with her right before her destined trip to attend her cousin’s wedding, nothing can cure Emily's broken heart. In a desperate attempt to make her feel better, her best friend Kevin states that he will be her plus one. 

Genre: romance, comedy, drama

-----

Three years, gone just like that. 

I stare at a spot on my navy blue suitcase, not really focused on what’s before me and more concerned about the memories flickering past  my lids. I can’t help it. Everytime I see luggage, it makes me think of the way I kicked him out of my life. Everytime, a slab of pain will grab my heart between its icy fingers and squeeze it so that I can barely breathe. Everytime, until I feel like I’m drowning inside dark waters without the real desire to swim to the surface. 

My psychiatrist told me that it had been for the better. That it had been an obsessive, unhealthy kind of love in the first place. But was it better now that I couldn’t even feel my heart in the hollow space where it’s supposed to be? 

“Emily.” 

Still, I remember the messages on his phone, the way his touch would feel strange, eerily hollow for some reason, the way he’d avoid my eyes whenever he’d tell me that he was going out with the guys. I remember smelling his coat and recoiling at the cheap scent of perfume clinging to it like second skin, how he’d constantly tell me how wonderful I was-- too wonderful for him -- and that I should find better, that I didn’t deserve someone like him.

And then, when I’d stumbled into our flat a little earlier than I was meant to -- since my gym class had been cancelled -- and took note of the trail of shoes, followed by a coat, a shirt, a thong, before my ears picked up on the noises echoing from the bedroom doors…

“Emily?” 

His face when he spotted me, the astounded expression like a dog that had just been caught sneaking into the pantry. And the girl, a prettier woman, a curvy woman, with red lips and with those beautifully deep red wine locks tumbling down her back with the perfect physique that could make any man drool. That girl, who was none other than one of my good friends at work and who had spent most part of the year listening to my rants about him. 

“Emily!”

“Huh?” My head whips up when I register my name being called out, looking up to see a raven-haired, petite-faced man leaning against the bedroom doorway with raised brows and a concerned expression on his face. 

“Oh, you’re here,” I say, as he crosses the doorway and sits beside me. The bed dips down under his weight as he tilts his head in that knowing manner of his, “daydreaming again?” 

“No,” I mumble, but he sees right through my facade and with a sigh, his arms wrap around my shoulder before pillowing his head against my shoulder. 

“It’s going to be okay,” he murmurs as I allow myself to lean back against him, against his comfort. His lavender scent wraps around me, a little bed of comfort amidst all the pain. 

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I murmur, tears stinging the corner of my eyes, “it hurts, Kev.” 

He only holds me a little closer, a little tighter.

If there is one person that I can trust more than myself, it’s Kevin Moon. I’ve known Kevin ever since highschool, having hung out in the same friend group until we had become partners for an art project. It was only then that we’d become closer, and had been close ever since. With his angular features and almond mono lidded eyes and thin lips that were constantly shaped in a pout, the Korean-born man had moved to Canada when he was young, just like I had a few years ago. He had kept me afloat during my university days, I had comforted him through his first break up. He had been present during my final Fine Arts Photography Exhibition, I was up all night coming up with re-branding concepts for his design project. Overall, Kevin had pretty much been a constant in my life, you get the gist of it.

When he found out that my boyfriend had cheated just a few days before our destined trip to attend my cousin’s wedding -- mind you, I had been sobbing waterfalls and it was a miracle he even understood me through my blubbering mess -- he had half a mind to storm up to the guy and rip his throat out. But he did the most surprising thing; booked a ticket for himself and turned up at my flat on the eve of the departure, stating that he was going to accompany me to that wedding, whether I liked it or not.

My cousin, Emma, was getting married right where home was: Mauritius. The memories I once had of the small island nestled right in the Indian Ocean on the right of Madagascar, was of my grandma’s comforting food, the sea scented air that washed along with the too-white sandy beaches, the multitudes of merchants selling all kinds of fresh fruits and vegetables on the side of the road, and small corner stores that looked like they had come out of a 1960’s movie. People liked to claim that Mauritius was paradise on earth, and in a way, it is.

“Come on,” Kevin had nagged when I shook my head adamantly. He’d wriggled his plane ticket before my nose, “you’re not going to let that loser spoil such a happy event are you? Emma’s waiting for you!” 

In the end, he’d won. Which is why we are here, staying at my cousin, Emma’s, apartment in a village called Moka, located at the foot of a mountain and has an abundance of forestry adorning the sides of the road. It's chilly here, in comparison to the harbourfront, and constantly smells like fresh rain and has a gentle fresh breeze blowing through.

“You know, assholes like him are not worth thinking about,” Kevin says now, his arm a gentle soothing caress up and down my back, “your brain might rot.” 

I can’t help but let out a soft, choked up laugh.

“It’s our first day here, let’s not ruin it by thinking about him, hm?” Kevin continues soothingly and I nod in agreement. He’s right. I’m just wasting time by reliving memories that I should be banishing from my mind. 

“Okay!” he brightens up then, “where shall we go? The sea? The market? Or do you want to go eat?!” 

--------------

The first few days are about meeting up with family and rediscovering Mauritius for what it is. Emma gives me a full-fledged hug the moment I open the door to her house, pressing me close to her with such motherly warmth that it takes everything in me not to break down right then and there. I greet my uncles and engage in small-talk with my aunts, help my grandma out in the kitchen as she continuously asks me why I’ve gotten so thin. While I know the main reason, I decide to smile and spare her the details, as embarrassing as it is. 

No one mentions him, until one of my uncles slips during a conversation with Kevin, “so you’re Emily’s boyfriend. Such a pleasure to meet you! We’ve heard so much about you that we started thinking she was just making things up.” 

“Er--” Kevin reddens, “I--” 

“So how did you two meet?”

It is at this very instant that my mouth decides to move on its own and I blurt out, “we’re high school friends.” 

“Oh highschool sweethearts! How cute!” 

Kevin doesn’t fail to mention what a mistake I’ve made to lie to my entire family to save face.

“I feel guilty,” he says as we walk out to the car, keys dangling from my wrist. 

I unlock the car, “it’s fine. We’ll be in and out before they know it. They don’t have to know anything.” 

“Hm, sure.” 

After some well-deserved family time, Kevin and I decide to head to the west of the island to catch the sunset, my camera stuffed neatly in the backseat, where Kevin has tossed a few spare towels just in case. We each have donned our swimsuits for the occasion and it doesn’t take an expert to see the excitement thrumming through Kevin’s veins as he sits beside me like an excited child in the passenger seat. 

“I never realized that you guys drive on the left side of the road,” he comments, head whipping back and forth in-between the passage of cars. 

“Yeah, it takes some getting used to, especially if you’re crossing,” it is then that I notice that there is a newly built mall as we turn left at the green light, “hey, that’s new. I’ve never seen this before.” 

“Cas-ca-velle,” he mumbles out with that strong accent of his. He is definitely not one to know French and I’ve been acting as his translator all along, considering that my family speaks French at home, “what does that mean?” 

“Beats me. It’s just a fancy name for a new shopping mall,” I peer into its parking lot, “wanna visit?” 

“Whatever floats your boat, honey. I’m all in.”

The mall is longer than it is wide, with white archways decked with wooden-style roofs that give way to an open-plan exterior. A wide beige cemented pathway occupies the space, with shops lined on either side. 

“I never realized, but you guys are very multicultural,” comments Kevin as we pass by another family of four chattering quickly in a mixture of French and Creole. 

“We’re similar to Canada that way.” 

“Do you miss it here?” 

My eyes glance over at him, notice the soft empathy in his expression.

“I guess I do sometimes,” I say while I kick at a stray pebble, “It’s like homesickness. But in a way I can’t quite explain,” after a moment, I ask, “do you miss Korea?”

“The food, mostly,” he grins bashfully, “my halmeoni makes a killer gamja tang.” 

“Let’s go visit her one day.”

“Is that a promise?” he asks as I shrug, “if you want it to be.” 

It’s a little past six when we drive up to the Flic En Flac beach and as we gather our things, my eyes light up upon falling on a nearby roti stand. I quickly slap Kevin’s arm in my bout of excitement. 

“Ouch! What? What is it?” 

“Kevin, you’re not going to believe this,” I point at the stand in question, “this roti stand? It’s the best roti in Mauritius. Here, take this,” I don’t wait before shoving my bag and camera in his arms, “I’m gonna buy us some. You go and find us a spot on the beach.” 

“But--” 

I don’t wait for him to finish his sentence before taking off, greeting the merchant who is just about to be wrapping up to ask whether I can get two rotis with ‘cari saumon’ (roughly translated into salmon curry mixed with indian spices), local and freshly made. The smell wafts through the folded paper wrappers as I grab them. They smell just like my childhood, where everything had just been as easy as having rotis by the beach without a care about the future that is to come. It’s nostalgic and I can’t help the smile tugging up my mouth at the thought. 

Kevin is already settled atop a pair of spare towels and looks up at the sound of my footsteps approaching. I pass him one of the paper wrappers and he takes a peek, confusion flitting across his face. 

“This smells spicy,” he mutters loudly enough for me to hear, “it looks like naan bread.” 

“It is,” I agree, “except it’s flatter and more like a crepe.” 

Throwing me a hesitant glance, he takes a small bite. I watch his face go from confused to impressed in a few seconds, before his eyes whip up to mine, “woah, this is good.” 

“Told you so.” 

“But this is really, really good,” he can’t help but marvel at it and laughing, I proceed to dig into my own roti, allowing my mouth to be filled with that salty fish taste melting along my tastebuds, the curry spices giving it the nice tangy kick you wouldn’t find anywhere else. The roti is soft and practically melts on my tongue and I can’t help but moan at how good it is. 

“God, this is everything I’ve been looking for my whole life,” I find myself telling him, wrapped up in momentary bliss, “this, this is everything.” 

I can feel his eyes on me, so intense that my own flicker up in question. He drops his gaze the moment I do and I frown, confused. 

“What?” I can’t help but ask, wondering why he suddenly seems so meek, so shy and awkward, “what is it?” 

“Nothing,” he replies like he’s trying to be casual, except that it’s anything but. When he gazes back at me, I notice the warmth in his maroon eyes, more the color of caramel in the dim light from the sunset basking his profile in a golden glow, “I think--I think that’s the first time I’ve seen you so happy, since...” 

He doesn’t need to continue, for I know where this is going. Indeed, this is the first time in many months that I haven’t paid any attention to the hole inside my heart. 

And it feels good.

“Yeah,” I murmur as I watch the sun settle on the ocean’s horizon, fire kissing water, “I don’t know, I just feel like this is nice. Like it’s right.” 

I spare him a glance from the corner of my peripheral and watch him shift. His sleeveless shirt slips, allowing me a glimpse of the naked skin underneath. I quickly look away, slightly embarrassed at the notion of even thinking of him in such a way. 

“That’s how you should be, Emily,” Kevin murmurs back just as softly. It’s almost like talking too loudly will break the sudden spell that has settled over our shoulders. He takes a sip of his beer before continuing, “you’ve suffered enough for someone who deserves nothing but shit for what he’s done.” 

There’s a small pause as I digest his words. Then, I manage to murmur out, “thanks, Kevin.” 

“No problem.” 

Another small bout of silence ensues, covered up by the sound of the ocean roaring up the sand, distant birds chirping in the fading light of the sunset drowning into the now orange-flecked waters. 

“Hey Emily.” 

I glance at him. He’s gorgeous, even more so somehow. Maybe it’s the time of the day, maybe it’s the mood, or maybe it’s the way my heart can’t help but be swallowed in gratefulness whenever I look at him.

“What?” I ask.

“Do you know water has memory?” 

I choke on my beer, “do not-- and I mean this-- do not quote Frozen with me.” 

“Huh, I tried.” 

---------------------------

“So, Kevin huh?” 

My eyes shoot up to meet Emma’s in her crusty-dust-filled mirror, presently lounging on her bed and flipping through a book as I had been trying on my bridesmaid gown. Kevin is downstairs, helping out with the barbeque grill with the rest of the family, and it is only now that I get to have some alone time with the woman I consider my sister. 

She’s the only one that knew the exact details of my breakup, and that Kevin is only a mere replacement to cover my humiliated ass. I remember her trying to calm me down when I had called in a frenzy, practically hyperventilating because of the amount of pain that gripped at my heart and was choking me of all air. 

I revert my eyes back to the dress, a baby blue as bright as a summer sky, and smooth my hands down my sides, “he’s been so good to me, ever since…” I can’t finish the sentence, voice already wobbling at the thought that comes with it.

“Hey,” Emma’s murmur causes me to look up, and in her eyes I see a flicker of understanding, “he’s not worth it.” 

“I know,” I swallow back the tears crawling up my throat, “I know, it’s just--a hard pill to swallow.”

A hand comes to a rest at my elbow, before my cousin tucks her chin atop my shoulder, “it’ll be alright, Emily. He doesn’t deserve you." 

I nod. Then, just to change the subject so that I don’t break down in her arms, I gesture towards the dress, “so? How does it look?” 

Emma tugs at some pieces here and there, rearranging the fabric as she sees fit, “I think it looks good. You look gorgeous. Kevin will swoon, for sure.” 

“It’s not like that,” I hurriedly say as I strip out of the dress and put it back on its hanger, “we’re just friends.” 

“Mhm,” she throws me a pointed look, a mischievous smile tugging at the corner of her lips, “'just friends' doesn't feel right..” 

“Emma, really? Right after my breakup?” 

“He came to Mauritius just for you Emily,” she squeezes my shoulders comfortingly, “doesn’t that count for something?” 

“Well, we’ve been friends since high school so…”

“I don’t think just any friend in high school would do such a thing if I asked,” Emma catches my eye in the mirror, her gaze deep and meaningful, “just think about that.” 

I just nod in hopes that she’ll stop yapping away at my nonexistent relationship with Kevin, whatever that means. The hole in my heart is still so raw and filled with pain that I can’t even start thinking about another relationship. The thought alone is enough to drain me of all energy and I decide to brush it off for now as I follow Emma out in the backyard now filled with familiar chatter and the smell of cooked meat wafting through the air, with the sky bruising a soft purple to signal the end of a long summer day. 

Catching sight of Kevin as I bring out one of the many salad bowls that my family has prepared, my lips can’t help but twitch into a slow smile when I see him by the grill, whipping away the multitudes of flies zipping back and forth as my other cousin deftly flips the sausages upside down with a trained rhythm that only years of experience can bring. 

“Kevin! You’re not doing your job right!” my cousin cries playfully. Kevin attempts to flap the newspaper around while screeching, “oh god, my eyes are burning!"

“Someone bring more meat!” My cousin hollers. 

“There’s more?!” 

“He’s doing a great job,” my grandmother’s voice brings my attention back to the salad bowl in my hands, and I quickly bend to kiss her cheek as she continues, “better than any of your other cousins. They never help out.” 

“That’s because you pamper them too much, grandma,” I grin at her and follow her to the dining table where my aunts are already settling down amongst themselves. 

The evening passes by with good food and good company, the sky darkening and dotting with a veil of stars that has Kevin gawking in awe. I'm not surprised, you don't see skies like that anywhere, a sky that isn't so intoxicated with modern chemicals. My uncles take it upon themselves to introduce Kevin to all the types of Mauritian delicacies, such as chickpea fritters we call 'gato pima', small balls of graped choko vegetable and minced pork 'niouk yen', and to top it all off, a plate of cornmeal pudding also known as 'pudine mai' that makes Kevin's eyes go wide with surprise.

"This is dessert?" He holds it up in his hand, "with ...cornmeal?"

"Sure is," one of my aunts chime in with a smile, "made it just this morning."

It's past midnight when we get back to our little apartment with Emma's dress hanging off my arms, which Kevin doesn't hesitate to grab from my hold despite my protests. 

"It's fine dude," he flashes me a quick smile, albeit tired, and my heart does this weird little squeeze in my chest at his thoughtfulness. 

He's kind. Too kind. I really don't deserve someone like him. 

"I'm sorry," I say as we settle onto the small couch, shoulders fitted snugly against each other, "my family is kinda overwhelming."

"No no," Kevin looks over, edges of his lips curled up, "I actually love your family, you know."

My chest warms, "thanks."

There is a moment of silence that we enjoy, the day's events sinking into my bones. 

"Hey," he murmurs.

"Hm?"

My eyes slide over to catch his, dark pools glimmering with a certain softness that catches my attention. 

I bite my lip. It suddenly feels a little warm.

"What is it?" I ask, voice hoarse.

"Is oreo a sandwich?" 

I sit up so suddenly that I jostle him, "wait--what?"

He grins up at me with that little nose scrunch that I can't help but find endearing, "is oreo a sandwich?" I open my mouth to answer but he beats me to it, "is cereal a soup?"

"Stop."

Reclining back to lace his hands at the back of his head, he says, "is ketchup a smoothie?" 

"Stop it."

"What about hotdogs? Are they sandwiches?" He continues in a singsong voice and rolling my eyes, I make a move to punch him once more. But he's faster, hand shooting out to hold my wrists. He pulls me over and I stumble, knee pressing against the side of his leg. 

"Come on. Answer it," he wriggles his eyebrows.

"Nope."

“Don’t be a party pooper.” 

“You’re so annoying.” 

"Are you sick of me yet?" His face is so close that I notice the creases at the corner of his eyes when he smiles.

"That's an understatement."

"But really, do you think oreo is a sandwich?"

"No! Oreos are just oreos!"

“You’re no fun,” He pouts before finally releasing his hold. I draw back with a roll of my eyes, settling beside him once more and pillowing my head onto his shoulder.

Emma’s right. Kevin had sacrificed so much to be here with me, and he doesn’t even know Emma. Yet, he immediately dropped everything so that he could be my plus one, so that I wouldn’t have to face the music alone. The thought makes my heart swell with emotion and suddenly I’m all too aware of his presence beside me. 

I shift to gaze at him, eyes tracing the curve of his nose, the indent above his lips before I whisper, “hey Kevin.” 

“Hm?” 

“Why’d you come?” 

His eyes flicker over to mine then. A heartbeat passes. For a moment, I wonder if he can hear my heartbeat suddenly throbbing a little too loudly in my chest. 

“Good question.” 

Another pause. 

“That’s not an answer,” I laugh slightly, to show that it’s all just fun and games.

But when I catch his eyes next, there’s something else brimming in them. They’re tender with emotion and it catches me so off guard that I almost don’t catch his next set of words:

“Because I care about you.” 

My heart gives a quick lurch but I somehow can’t tear my gaze away. I want to say something. Anything. 

But all I can muster is a soft, “oh.” 

“Why do you ask?” he asks, voice hoarse.

I hesitate, “Emma asked why. And...I guess I wanted to know too.” 

“Oh.” 

The air feels heavy, heightened with the things that are threatening to slip off the edge of my tongue. A mixed series of ‘but why’s and ‘can’t you tell me more’ jumbling up my thoughts with so many possibilities that I decide to stay quiet for the sake of not ruining the moment. Because there’s this lingering fear that once I do say something, then it’ll just pull me down a rabbit hole that I can’t crawl out of, that the only escape lies on the other side.

And I don’t know if I want to take that leap yet. My heart is already so fragile with the aftermath of a love that went wrong. I don’t know how much more I can take. 

So I just stay quiet and let out a soft sigh, and though Kevin shifts as if he wants to say something, he doesn’t. The question just hangs there between us, in-between the slithers of moonlight and in the cold Moka air, like a perpetual ghost we ignore as we drift off to sleep.

----------

Something shifts between us after that. It’s unspoken of, but suddenly, I am all too aware of Kevin as a whole. Things that I hadn’t noticed before surface as we spend most of our free time visiting the rest of the island; like how he loves ruffling his hair whenever he feels uncomfortable, or the way his bicep curls as his arm drapes over the wheel with the barest hint of muscle that is enough to be attractive yet subtle, or how he smirks in that attractive way of his whenever he thinks something is undeniably adorable. 

The good thing about having Kevin is that I don’t get to think of him all too much, which is a blessing in itself. It’s been days since I’ve shed another tear and for that, I have to say I’m glad that I’m making progress.

We spent the last few days before the wedding traveling around the island to visit all the touristy spots that I know Kevin will enjoy, like a hike all the way to the top of Le Morne mountain, where I explain that’s where slaves would throw themselves off when their masters would find them. We visited Bois Cheri, a tea-making factory where Kevin had the pleasure of tasting all different kinds of teas cultivated in the fields below, and ate lunch on the Caudan Waterfront as we gazed at the boats lulling along the harbour. 

“Woah, this place makes me feel like I’m in Aladdin somehow,” Kevin’s mouth is wide agape as his eyes try to take in the endless racks of stands selling fresh fruits and vegetables of the day. The Port-Louis Bazaar has always been one of my favourite places to visit, but it’s also one of the busiest. Even now as we attempt to squeeze our way through, people are jostling us here and there, causing me to press my bag to my chest in case any pickpockets are nearby. I prompt Kevin to do the same. 

“Hey Emily, I wanna check out the bags over there,” Kevin motions towards the hand-woven baskets situated at the far end of the market and I nod as we keep moving forward with the crowd like a pair of salmons trying to swim upstream. But there’s so many people, it’s so suffocating that it gets hard to keep up with Kevin’s figure. Someone elbows my shoulder and I groan, stumbling to the side in irritation, only to get pushed forward by another. 

“Seriously--” I curse under my breath, when a hand suddenly appears before my eyes.

Looking up to see Kevin’s outstretched arm, I am only greeted with his bashful smile and averted eyes. 

“Come on,” he doesn’t even wait for my consent before slipping his palm over my own and tugging me along, his hold firm and strong despite his skinny frame and the action is enough to render a flurry of butterflies soaring over my stomach. 

Stop, I try telling my subconscious. That does nothing, however, to stop my neck from tingling with unfamiliar heat. 

Kevin’s hand feels so warm. It’s comfortable, safe. 

And I’m liking it a little too much.

He doesn’t let go when we reach the desired stand and talk over which bag looks the best and keeps his hand in mine for the entirety of our journey back to the car. Only when I unlock the doors that his palm finally drops from my hold and air rushes over my palm that is now a little too cold without his warmth. But while a multitude of questions are burning the back of my throat, they fall apart halfway through at the thought of his answer, before I decide to drop it altogether. 

Kevin, on the other hand, doesn’t seem the least bit affected. 

When the day of the wedding finally rolls around, I drive my car to Emma’s after a quick breakfast that Kevin surprised me with -- to my surprise, he’d managed to make a decent eggs and toast without burning the place down -- so that I can help her get into her gown and more importantly so that she doesn’t run away, lest her mind goes in a frenzy at the thought of tying the knot. 

“You’ll be fine,” I reassure her, teasing a few of her curls so that they slip down to her chest in a perfect wave. She looks stunningly beautiful, with her strapless white dress that shimmers with diamonds in the light with every movement she makes. 

I reach out to smooth over her veil so that it falls on either side of her face, frames her perfectly, and notice her big brown eyes staring back at me through her vanity mirror. 

“You look beautiful,” I can’t keep the awe from my voice. 

Her face blossoms into a smile, “you too.” 

“Ah come on, you can’t say that to me on your wedding day,” I shove her playfully on the shoulder, “you’re the star of the show. Don’t let anyone take that away from you.” 

I don’t have to look at her to know that she’s giving me a pointed look.

“Okay mom,” she rolls her eyes before changing the subject, “So, how have things been? With Kevin?”

I sigh, “well, okay. Maybe you’re right. About the whole…’just friends’ thing not being true.” 

“Why?” she straightens up, turns to me, “what happened? Did you kiss? Did he make a move--” 

“No we didn’t kiss,” I’m quick to answer as my cheeks heat up. And after a few beats of hesitation, I give her a summary; the way he’d looked at me that night with eyes that held so much in them that it had made my chest swell, the way that he’d snitch glances at me whenever he thought I wasn’t paying attention, and the fact that he’d grabbed my hand and didn’t let go even long after the crowd wasn’t an issue anymore. 

Emma’s eyes are wide and sparkling with a feeling that I know all too well, I can practically see the cogs turning in her head and quickly shook mine in rapid retaliation, “Emma, no.” 

“But--But he’s perfect for you!” she bellows in protest, “What do you mean ‘no’?!” 

“I can’t go there. Not after,...not now, it’s too soon…” 

She rolls her eyes, “it’s not like he’s asking you to marry him, christ’s sake. He likes you, and I feel like you’re only trying to deprive yourself because you feel like it’s not right.” 

“It’s not right--”

“Who says so?” she cuts me off then, her gaze hardening on mine with such intensity it takes everything in me not to flinch back, “who says it’s not right? It doesn’t matter if it’s after two days, two weeks, two months. You think I don’t know how it feels to be heartbroken? You can’t just keep thinking about the past. You’re going to hurt yourself that way.” 

My teeth sink down onto my lower lip, her words like ice-cold knives aimed straight at my chest. 

“What you can control, right now, is the present, Emily.” 

“I know,” I mumble out half-heartedly.

“I can see it, you know, the way he looks at you,” she shakes her head, “even if you don’t like him back, you gotta be aware of all that he’s done for you.” 

Her hands find their way to mine, enclosing them in her grasp before squeezing them with such care that I can’t stop the tears crawling up the back of my throat. 

“I’m sorry,” she murmurs next, “I don’t want to pressure you if that’s not how you feel. That--That was not my intention,” her eyes latch onto mine, filled with understanding, “I just want you to be happy.” 

Happy. 

That’s a word I haven’t heard in a long time. 

“Don’t you dare cry now,” Emma says while waving her hands around in warning, “you’re going to ruin your makeup and we definitely don’t want that.” 

I sniffle, trying my best to hold in the tears now brimming through my eyes, “you’re right,” I attempt to smile, albeit it’s wobbly, “we don’t.” 

“Come here,” she tugs my arm so that I fall into her embrace. Her head finds her way to my shoulder and she hugs me tight, not caring that her veil is getting all bunched up and wrinkled, “you’ll be okay,” she whispers, one hand stroking my back, “you’ll be just fine, little one.” 

Then, pulling back and pushing a few strands away from my face, she flashes a bright smile, “we should probably head to the church soon.” 

----------

“We now declare you, Vincent and Emma, as husband and wife.” 

The church explodes in a round of applause and I join in the clapping, furiously trying to keep the tears of joy at bay. Vincent has been there for Emma ever since they met at work and it has been the most beautiful love story ever since; filled with the purest kind of love no one can imagine. Beside me, I feel Kevin’s hand coming to squeeze my shoulder in a reassuring manner and I feel warm all over despite the rush of emotion in my heart. 

The wedding reception is to take place at a fancy restaurant overlooking the harbourfront. Our family has booked the venue for the evening, and as I enter, I take in the baby blue veils that come down each corner of the restaurant, sprinkles of glitter here and there as we make our way to our assigned tables that each have a baby blue napkin shaped in swans. 

I don’t even have time to place my butt down when I hear a voice call out, “Emily! Look how big you’ve gotten!” 

Of course, big wedding ceremonies only mean that we get to meet all of our extended family that we haven’t seen since forever, and they’re all too happy to chat with me about living overseas. Soon enough, I’m bustled off to a table and look back over my shoulder to mouth a quick “I’m sorry” to Kevin. Bless his soul, for he only smiles and shakes his head, his hand motioning for me to go on.

I manage to catch up with cousins I haven’t seen since I was a little girl, talk over appetizers with excited aunts who want to know all about how it feels like to live away from family for such a long time, and nod along to the old uncles trying to get me to give a concrete answer about when and where will my wedding take place. 

“Come on Emily! You’re the next one after Emma for sure,” one of my uncles bellow, face flushed red as a result of the glasses of wine he has downed like water. He is Emma’s father, no surprise that he’ll want to get drunk from happiness and pride. It is his daughter’s wedding after all. 

He leans close with a conspiratorial look in his eyes, “so tell me,” his eyes glance over to Kevin, currently deep in conversation with another one of my distant aunts. I watch as he says something to make her laugh, and something inside my chest warms at the action, “is he the lucky guy that’s going to ask for your hand?” 

“Do you think he’s the one?” another uncle pipes up. 

I purse my lips and attempt to shrug, “it’s early days,” I try laughing it off although it sounds forced, “who knows what can happen.” 

“He’s a good kid,” an aunt says, “you know how we all have this sixth sense? Well Emily, I have a good feeling about this young man. Don’t let him go. Something tells me he’s a keeper.” 

A wild imaginative speculation, considering that we’re not even dating. But I nod along and say that yes, I’ll tell them whenever I decide to tie the knot.

It’s only when the dance floor opens and people start pooling onto the dance floor after the first dance -- led by no other than the bride and groom themselves -- that I finally allow myself to breathe. I find my way back to my chair, back to Kevin’s warm smile flashing in my direction as his eyes take in the fatigue lining my face. 

“You look like you could use a drink,” is the first thing he tells me the moment I plop my butt onto my designed seat, the one that’s been kept cold ever since I stepped foot into the dining hall. 

I gratefully accept the glass of wine he offers me, swallowing it down in a few gulps, “thanks,” I sigh with relief, “I needed that.” 

“How was catching up with family?” 

“It couldn’t be as bad as being left behind,” I peer over at him, guilt flooding me at the prospect of having left him all alone, “sorry. It’s just that everyone--” 

“Oh stop that,” Kevin nudges my shoulder with his, “don’t be sorry. It’s totally normal. I’m happy for you. And I wasn’t left behind. I had a wonderful time talking to your aunt. She seemed so happy to tell me what your childhood was like.”

“Bet you liked that, didn’t you?” 

“Hey, it works as blackmail. Why wouldn’t I like that?” 

“Dork.” 

“You’re friends with this dork.” 

“Oh piss off,” I slap his shoulder playfully in retaliation, causing him to laugh softly as we watch couples glide across the dance floor like swans over water. The lights have dimmed, the yellow hues now replaced by soft cool blues and purples that cause Emma’s dress to shimmer every time she turns. She’s absolutely stunningly beautiful, and the way she and Vincent are gazing at each other just scream of pure love that wraps around them in a golden mist so enchantingly beautiful that I find myself catching my breath in the back of my throat. 

“She’s so beautiful,” the words fall from my mouth without meaning to, and I feel Kevin’s eyes on my face from the corner of my peripheral.

“You are too.” 

I bite my lip and narrow my eyes at him playfully, “thanks, but why do I have a feeling that this isn’t a compliment?” 

“It isn’t,” he holds my gaze, “it’s just the truth.” 

Emotion lodges at the back of my throat. I stare at him. He stares back, a glimmer of tenderness echoing through the dark pools of black, his whole expression relaxed into a face that appears flooded with affection for--

Me. 

For some reason, no words seem to come to me as I open my mouth and close it. Embarrassment slowly bubbles through my stomach. I look away, unable to contain the goosebumps suddenly exploding across the back of my neck with that same familiar uncomfortable sensation I keep getting around him these days. Like I’m standing atop a cliff and preparing myself to jump.

“Wanna dance?” 

I blink in surprise, before turning to the said young man beside me who has his head cocked to the side with that same expression. My heart can’t help but squeeze inside my chest before I push down the rising protest searing through my brain. 

I nod. And off we go onto the dance floor. His hands settle on my waist, mine atop his shoulders in a casual sling. There’s enough distance between our bodies to show that we’re not together and yet, I can’t deny that electrical tension that keeps on pulling me towards Kevin like a magnet. I wonder if he feels it too, that searing heat that is so palpable I can feel sweat break out from the back of my neck. Asking, though, would mean that I’m aware of what’s happening, asking would imply that I want something to happen.

Maybe I do. 

Maybe I do want to grab life by the reins myself and steer it wherever I want it to go. 

“What are you thinking about?” 

I blink. Right up into Kevin’s brown orbs, his hair catching the shades of blue from the disco balls. My throat runs dry. 

“Uh--” my mind tries to scramble for a response, any response, “just--uhm, it’s kind of like our last day here.” 

He cocks his head, “sad?” 

“Kinda. I like it here,” my eyes brush over Emma and Vincent’s forms in the vicinity, catch my grandma sitting at one of the tables, little cousins running all over the place. Then, I look back at the said young man gazing at me with that undecipherable look in his eyes that makes my heart sing, and try not to squirm as I continue softly, “it feels like home.” 

“We can always come back,” he uses ‘we’ as though it’s now an adventure kept between the two of us, a secret to our own little neverland that nobody knows about. I can’t help but smile at the thought. 

“Do you want to come back?” I ask.

“Are you kidding? Hell yeah I want to come back. The views are amazing, the food is out of this world, and your family has been really kind to me.” 

“I’m sorry, they are kind of overbearing when you first get to know them.” 

“I love it,” Kevin says seriously, “I love that they’re overbearing. Couldn’t have asked for anything more.” 

If I had any doubts, the sincerity dripping from his eyes is enough to wipe out any suspicions left from his compliment. The sudden urge to hug him rocks through me and my hands fist on the back of his shirt in response. 

We keep on dancing silently, bobbing from one foot to another for a few minutes more before he speaks up softly. 

“Emily?” 

“Hm?” 

“I wouldn't mind getting married here.” 

My eyebrows shoot up in surprise, “really now?” 

“Yup,” he grins, “really.” 

“Your future wife will have me to thank for that.” 

“Maybe my future wife won’t have to thank you.” 

There it is. That same borderline flirting that’s been happening for days on end. 

“And why is that?” I probe, partly just to tease him, and partly because I just want to know.

“Maybe she might be right here, in this room.” 

“Didn’t know you were into one of my cousins,” I start looking around the room, only for one of his hands to cup my cheek to turn my face back to his. 

There is none of that teasing glimmer now. His eyes are darker, gazing down at me with such emotion that the breath catches in the back of my throat and the air halts in my lungs. We gaze at each other for a few beats longer, before I feel his thumb graze my cheek. Gently, so gently like he’d stroke a flower petal. 

Swallowing at the heat of his hand cupping the side of my face, my hands unconsciously tighten on the back of his neck. He senses my nervousness, but only pulls me slightly closer so that we are mere millimeters from each other, noses hovering over each other in a space that causes my heart to stutter inside my chest. 

When he opens his mouth next, his alto is hoarse, pent-up with emotion. 

“I wasn’t talking about your cousins.” 

My heart practically jumps to my throat, teeth biting onto my lip. 

I can’t hear the music, nor the people. I can’t hear anything except for my pounding heart and Kevin’s soft breaths washing over my face. 

His eyes search mine and we hold gazes for a moment too long.

“Emily?” 

I press my lips together, “Y-Yes?” 

He moves even closer then so that his nose brushes mine in the most intimate of ways. 

“I--” 

“Emily! I was looking all over for you!” 

We spring apart like we just got burnt just in time for one of my cousins to grab onto my arm. He sends an apologetic smile at Kevin, before explaining, “we just need to sort out the takeaways. She’ll be back in a second!” 

And without listening to my protests, he proceeds to drag me away from the said young man on the dancefloor. I look back, mouthing an ‘I’m sorry” once more -- it’s the second time that night!-- and see the raven-haired man laugh good-naturedly before shaking his head and waving me away. That does nothing to keep my heart from cartwheeling out of my chest, swelling up with such affection that I grin back despite the earlier predicament. 

One thing’s for sure: I’m not done talking with Kevin Moon yet. 

----------

I find him sitting alone in the tiny garden that overlooks the decorated pavillon a few hours later. His figure, illuminated by the soft yellow hues of interior light, seems to glow in the dark, the moon bouncing off his hair and catching the strength of his cheekbone when he turns and catches me staring. He only smiles though -- that beautiful tender smile that I keep seeing more and more these days -- before waving me over. 

“What are you doing out here all alone?” I ask as I reach his figure. A soft breeze dances along the back of my spine, cool in contrast to the warm stickiness of the air. 

“Your smaller cousin was showing me what she’d learnt in astronomy at her school,” he tilts his head up at the sky, “she’s quite the prodigy at that.” 

“The next woman to land on the moon,” I joke.

“Jeez, I should get her autograph.” 

“Wise idea,” that’s when I feel his hand slip into mine and I look down at him, blinking. He grins a little shyly, before tugging me forward so that I all but stumble right into him, halfway sprawled across his lap. 

Heat explodes through my chest at the proximity of our bodies and I can’t help but avert my gaze from his, partly embarrassed that maybe there might be someone around to see, and partly because it’s only recently that I’ve started seeing Kevin in a new light that being so close makes my heart choke up and my mind to run blank. 

We’re close. So close I feel his breath mingle with mine. My hands settle atop his chest lightly, “Kev,” I breathe out but nothing follows, too scared to verbally voice out what is going on for fear that it might all crumble into nothing. 

I don’t want false hope. I also don’t want his heart -- or mine -- to break. 

This friendship is too precious to let go. I can’t imagine a life without Kevin in it.

“Listen Emily,” Kevin’s voice is soft, a hushed murmur resonating through his chest as his eyes search mine, “I think we both know what’s happening here.” 

I nod mutely. 

Taking a shaky breath, he continues, “I don’t want to do anything that will hurt you. I know it’s been tough and that you’re still healing. I just--I just want to know.” 

As his words wash over me as gently as the forest leaves rustling around us, I feel the warmth of his hand cupping my cheek, holding me like I am fine china and stroking my skin with his thumb so that butterflies suddenly rush along my middle.

I bite my lip so hard I can taste blood, " I-- well, I think you already know how I feel."

"I know," he breathes, "but I need to hear it from you."

As if it isn't hard enough to come face to face with my own feelings, having Kevin stare me down as though I put the moon in his sky makes me want to squirm with a mixture of embarrassment and excitement. 

“I like you,” I blurt out then, “a lot.” 

There is a few seconds delay, before a shit-- eating grin --the biggest I’ve ever seen -- spreads across Kevin’s face like sunshine peeking through the clouds.

“Enough for us to go on a date?”

I nod mutely. I don’t trust my voice, not right now when I already feel so pathetic. Kevin’s grin softens into a tender smile, one that I can’t help but return when our eyes meet in the most intimate of ways. Suddenly, the air feels charged and alive with electricity, the heat between our bodies palpable as his hand moves to the back of my neck. 

He tugs. I follow. 

His lips find mine mid-way in a delicate kiss. 

It’s soft. Softer than any kiss I’ve ever had. Kevin’s mouth parts over my own in a gentle caress, before he tilts his head to the side and captures my lower lip between his. 

I gasp slightly at the contact, hands unconsciously tightening around his neck. 

Slowly leaning away, I notice the film of lust like a dull glow at the back of his maroon orbs, just the slightest hint that he wants me as a woman. And that makes my lungs constrict, air suddenly halting in the back of my throat.

My skin is prickling with the aftermath of his touch. I let out a soft breath before he covers my mouth with his once more and all thoughts fly out of my brain the moment he does. 

I don’t really know how long we spend outside, exchanging the softest of kisses underneath the moonlight, until I hear the soft exclamations of my family’s voices suggesting that it is time to head home. So I part from the said man and can’t help but blush at the lack of space between our bodies.

“We should probably head back,” I hate how wanton I sound, like I’ve just sprinted a mile when in truth I’ve been sitting in this very spot for the last hour.

He agrees and I descend from his lap, his hand subtly finding mine as we walk back to the wedding hall. 

Emma is still saying her goodbyes, her hair now dotted with glitter, probably from the decorations that my younger cousins took pleasure in bathing her in. Her face lights up as soon as she spots our entwined hands and I try not to meet her eyes for I know exactly the kind of smug look she'll be giving me. 

"Enjoyed the wedding?" She says as soon as we're within earshot.

"That must've been the best cake I've had in my life," Kevin lets out a dramatic sigh, "and that says something."

"Do I trust your taste buds though?" She teases.

"I'd be offended if you didn't," he gasped in mock offense, before they both break into playful chuckles.

As we exchange our goodbyes and Vincent engages Kevin in a conversation, Emma takes this chance to drag me to her side as she whispers, "so you gonna tell me the tea or am I going to have to extract it from you?"

I press my lips together as I try to control the heat searing through the back of my neck, "...we kissed."

She gasps, "No way! OH MY GOD! Are you guys a thing then?!" The answer is as clear as water on my face and she clamps a hand over her mouth, would've jumped up and down if she could've, "OH MY, OH MY GOD. I knew it! I just knew this was going to happen--"

"Shut up!" I hiss, scared that Kevin might overhear and think I'm a big fat tattle tale. My eyes quickly swivel over to his and I'm glad to find his head bent towards Vincent in concentration. 

"You need to tell me everything," Emma's eyes are sparkling, "like--as soon as you have some free time."

"You--" I send her a pointed look, then jerk my head at Vincent, "--need to tell me everything."

"Oh I will, don't worry."

"Anyway, I'll talk to you after your honeymoon."

"Okay," I turn around to find Kevin, not failing to notice the smirk playing on Emma's lips. I slap her arm in response, causing her to laugh before she calls out: 

"Don't forget to use protection!"

-----------

"We'll come back right?"

That's the first thing that Kevin states as soon as we step inside security, away from the tears of my family that I just left behind a few seconds ago. My heart still aches when I think of their faces, all crumpled and blinking at me with tissues in hand and noses as red as traffic lights. But I seek comfort upon feeling Kevin's hand slip through mine as we walk towards our destined gate. 

"Sure," I look at him; at his red-tinted cheeks (probably the aftermath of a sunburn), his newly tanned skin a fresh contrast against his white shirt, and the permanent grin that seems impossible to wipe off his face. My heart instantly flutters.

It's only been a few days since we've confessed our growing romantic interest in each other, but I can already feel the weight of his love pouring out of his heart and into mine the moment he realized that my arms would be there to catch him when he fell.

"I'm not going to wake up to an empty bed tomorrow morning, am I?" He’d joked when we stumbled, half-asleep, into Emma's flat after the wedding. 

I frowned at him, "Why would you think that?"

"Just in case you think that kissing me was a mistake."

A small pause ensued, in which I realized that despite all my fears and all the pain I had been carrying in my heart ever since we landed on my motherland, I had not once considered how Kevin might be feeling at this very moment. 

My eyes quickly took note of his countenance, sweeping right up to his face only to notice the flash of vulnerability in his eyes, the way the corners of his mouth were tense, cheekbones taught against his skin as he awaited for my answer with baited breath. 

Clearing my throat, I whispered, "it wasn't."

A soft smile tugged at his lips, "good to know."

His answer seemed so genuine, so wholehearted that my chest tightened in a mixture of gratefulness and affection, so much so that my arms automatically reached for him to tug him close. My nose found its rightful place at his neck and I breathed in his comforting  lilac smell that I enjoyed so much.

I felt him take a breath. Then, softly, a hand caressed the back of my head. I buried even closer if that was possible.

"I really want this to work," my words were a muffled mess and I was surprised that he understood.

"Me too," he murmured into my hair, "and it will work. I promise I won't break your heart Emily."

Looking back now at this tender moment in which we both weren't certain of where we were stepping, I can't help but laugh at the thought, for now the love and attraction is so natural I'm amazed it has taken this long to flourish. 

Maybe I hadn't been looking the right way. Maybe I had been searching so far out and wide that I hadn't noticed that my safe harbour is the one standing right beside me.

"Hey Kevin," I call out.

Kevin turns towards me, where he'd been watching planes take off from the ground into the gorgeously blue sunny sky.

"Yeah?" 

“I’m really glad you came.” 

There's a few beats of silence although his mouth immediately cracks into that gorgeous, crooked grin of his that I adore so much. 

“Me too.” 

[babyconnectingworld]

How To Cope With Anxiety Caused By The Coronavirus Outbreak – For Parents

How are you coping with Coronavirus Outbreak?  If you are struggling, you are not alone.  This is not normal, and we all have to go easy on ourselves.  However, some of us need more than just giving ourselves permission to let some things go right now.  Some of us need to take extra measures to make sure our mental health stays in check during this time. It would be one thing to solely deal with the stress of your entire family having to change every aspect of your lives. However, we have the uncertainty of the Coronavirus outbreak itself. How do I protect myself and family? What can I do to help the health care workers on the front lines? Add to that all of that the uncertainty regarding when this will all end, and it is enough to make even the calmest person anxious. Working on your mental fitness right now is easier said than done.  Most of us parents already had a large amount of stress upon us.  Just keeping up with our households while shuttling kids around and working a job was hard enough.  Sure, we no longer have to shuttle the kids around, but keeping them entertained without going out and about is a real challenge for many of us.  Now, we feel the pressure to keep up with a household that is continuously lived in, a kitchen that is constantly being used as your children tell you “I’m hungry”.  Some of us are trying to work from home and must referee sibling wrestling matches while on Zoom calls.  Some of us are trying to save our small businesses with little to no time.  Why?  Because we are now our children’s teachers on top of everything else. You have likely seen the meme about our grandparents being asked to go to war, and we are just being asked to sit on our couches.  The thought of catching up on Netflix series and actually reading a book would be a dream come true, but that is far from reality. Parents would do anything for a nap during social distancing, but we just do not have the time. Parents are finding they have less time than normal, and honestly, that is the even case when doing the bare minimum during these social distancing days. Of course, there are some parents out there that are rocking it.  They are taking advantage of every virtual tour of a park or museum while doodling with Mo Mo Willems at lunch and a Pinterest board dedicated to all of the creative art that they will do with their kids.  When you see social media posts, you feel even more anxious.  You wonder if you should make a schedule of all of the amazing opportunities your kids have to learn by all of the amazing companies throwing free resources your way, but the thought of making that schedule overwhelms you. STOP! Give yourself Grace.  But giving yourself grace is not enough.  You need to take some steps to manage the constant pressure you will be under in the coming weeks.  For some of you, a prescription may be necessary to bring a sense of calm to this new (temporary) way of life.  However, that should not be your first step.  There are so other ways to cope with the stress and anxiety that comes with this unprecedented lifestyle we are currently experiencing. Read More: 5 Unique Ways to Destress as a SAHM Coronavirus Outbreak Coping Strategies Check Out It is okay to check out for a bit. Just keeping up with the news or maybe a very engaged Facebook group might seem overwhelming at this time. You do not have to do all the things. You will have to let go of things that are not serving you well during this time, and that is okay! Turn Off The Television Do not have the cable news stations on all day with constant coronavirus coverage. We know it is out there. We know what we should do to combat it. Stay at home! Wash your hands! It’s okay to get updates throughout the day but do not become obsessed. It will heighten your sense of anxiety and lack of control. Similarly, do not stream Netflix all day. Accomplish something each day. Create a Schedule It does not have to be a strict schedule but have some sense of order to each day. Make the weekdays feel like weekdays and celebrate the weekends. Give yourself things to look forward to. Wine down Wednesdays, Take Out Thursdays, Movie Night Fridays, Sweet Treat Saturday.

Walk away You are likely on edge right now, even if you do not realize it. Before blowing up at loved ones, try walking away, even it is just to another room. If the kids are on your last nerve and there is another grown up in the house, go to the next step … Get Outside Go for a walk. Go for a run. Get on your bike and explore the area around your home. Mow your lawn. Tend to your garden. Get a projector to play movies in your back yard with your family on movie night.

Happy Hour With Friends You are probably starting to miss your friends. Set up a time to hang out virtually with them. Facetime a single friend or create a zoom conference call for a group of friends. You need to laugh with your friends. Try to one-up each other with your Coronavirus outbreak trials and tribulations. Another idea is getting up before your family for coffee time with friends. Of course, this would only work with your friends who you do not mind seeing you with no makeup and bedhead! Video Call Facetime Chatting Communication Concept Meditate Have you been meaning to add meditation into your daily routine? There are many benefits to meditating including reducing anxiety. For those new to meditation, you will likely need all the help you can get to be in the right mental space to meditate effectively. Both Headspace and Calm apps are fantastic solutions to learn about meditation. Both apps offer free elements of their program, so there is no need to purchase a paid version while you are testing things out. Yoga Being in and around your house means you are likely not moving like normal. Those of you bending over your kiddos and keeping track of their school work may feel even more strain. Stress in and of itself causes you to carry your body in different ways which affect your muscles. To combat this, try yoga at home to stretch and strengthen your muscles. Making yoga part of your daily routine also comes with the benefit of forcing some time for meditation. There are YouTube channels and apps that allow you to easily bring yoga into your home. A couple of favorites are Yoga By Adriene on YouTube and the Down Dog app which is currently free through May 1st. Down Dog allows you to tailor your yoga routine to your level and the elements of practice that are more important to you.

Essential Oils There are many health and therapeutic benefits associated with essential oils. There are many essential oils that tout relieving anxiety, but the most popular by far is lavender. There are quite a few mixtures aimed at alleviating anxiety. If you do not own a diffuser, this is a great time to experiment with one. Even if you do not feel that the oils are helping reduce anxiety, at least your house will smell nice since you have to be in it so much right now! Take an Epsom Salt Bath A bath is relaxing by nature. Many times we do not take one because we do not have time for it in our crazy schedules. Now, we have nothing but time. Warm water increases your body temperature which helps regulate anxiety. Adding Epsom salt to your bath can help even more because the magnesium sulfate in the salt can calm anxiety and lower blood pressure. Flowers It may sound silly, but flowers have a way of brightening our moods. In fact, a study conducted by Rutgers University found that flowers were found to improve emotional health by triggering feelings of happiness, satisfaction, and social comfortability.

Yale’s Happiness Course This immensely popular Yale course which is actually titled ‘The Science of Well-Being’ is being offered for free via Coursera. Per the Coursera website, here is what you can expect from this course: In this course you will engage in a series of challenges designed to increase your own happiness and build more productive habits. As preparation for these tasks, Professor Laurie Santos reveals misconceptions about happiness, annoying features of the mind that lead us to think the way we do, and the research that can help us change. You will ultimately be prepared to successfully incorporate a specific wellness activity into your life. Keep A Gratitude Journal People dealing with anxiety are more prone to negative thoughts. By documenting what you are thankful for each day, especially now when life is nothing like we’ve experienced before, it helps us stay in a positive, more peaceful state of mind. It is so easy to worry about what we can not control which causes anxiety. When you focus on what you do control and are grateful for, you will feel at peace.

CBD Products If all else fails, and you need a little extra something, try a natural supplement before getting a prescription. CBD seems to be all the rage right now, it is everywhere. CBD is the part of the cannabis plant that does not give you a high. CBD can be used as an anxiety treatment in a myriad of ways including gummies, tinctures, balms, face masks, and lotions. You have heard this a lot over the last few weeks, but it has to be said – this too shall pass. Sure, you know that somewhere back in your brain, but it does not feel that way now. Things will be different going forward again, but we will not have to spend the rest of our lives in our homes. It is totally acceptable to feel anxious about the disease, the pressure of being in your home for weeks on end while entertaining and schooling children, explaining Coronavirus to your children, not knowing how long we will live like this, and trying to understand what the world will look like when this is over. However, there is not much you can do right now other than practicing social distancing and washing your hands. If that lack of control has caused anxiety for you, please try some of the above suggestions to help you get through the next few weeks. Photo Credits: unsplash.com and pixabay.com Read the full article

[thestrategicmom]

Lessons from Kindergarten on Balancing Your Purpose with Motherhood:

If there was ever any doubt, mothers at least know that being a mom isn’t easy. While motherhood is filled with countless joys, it involves caring for and developing a life that’s dependent on you for survival. This requires love and countless sacrifices, which can often result in perpetual feelings of exhaustion ranging from fatigue to complete burnout. 

Regardless of your age, how many children you have, where you live, or how insanely capable or talented you are, it isn’t always easy being your best self when you’re consistently under pressure to live up to unrealistic expectations (self-imposed or otherwise). Simply put, the struggle is real!

On my journey to be more intentional with my life, and the constant juggling act of managing personal and career ambitions with trying to be an amazing mom, I was reminded of Robert Fulghum’s best-selling book “All I Really Need to Know I Learned in Kindergarten.” 

This insightful book is a set of essays about the enduring life lessons that are taught and/or reinforced in kindergarten, and how they are relevant throughout all stages of our life. Robert’s list of the ‘things he learned in kindergarten” are simple, but fundamental rules like:

Share everything.

Play fair.

Don’t hit people.

Put things back where you found them.

Clean up your own mess.

Don’t take things that aren’t yours.

Say you’re sorry when you hurt somebody.

Wash your hands before you eat.

Flush.

Warm cookies and milk are good for you.

Live a balanced life—learn some and think some and draw and paint and sing and dance and play and work every day some.

Take a nap every afternoon.

When you go out into the world, watch out for traffic, hold hands, and stick together.

Be aware of wonder….

While most of the above list is self-explanatory and one of the items on his list is about living a balanced life, as someone who’s ‘been to kindergarten’ on two separate occasions, as a student and again as a teacher, I began to ask myself, “What if the fundamentals of balancing motherhood with personal development and growth were also grounded in the lessons we learned in kindergarten?”

As I’ve outlined below, the simple answer is...yes, they are or, at a minimum, they could be.

Be Present…

I can still remember being so excited to say “Present!” in Mrs. Gandy’s kindergarten class when she announced my name during roll-call! However, if I fast forward to my current reality, I realize how often I’ve been the very opposite. Being present is all about being more focused and engaged in the now, rather than focusing on what’s to come or what has to be done in the future. Which isn’t to say you shouldn’t worry about those things, but it’s about making a conscious decision to quiet the noise of your mind and focus on who or what is in front of you.

So, make a conscious effort to ‘mark yourself present’ during the moments of your life:

Start small - Try being present for two or three minutes at a time, and build from there. 

Compartmentalize - Focus on what’s most important in the moment.

When you’re home, rather than focusing on the tv or your phone, focus on your beautiful child or your significant other, focus on the fleeting intimate moments between you that can never be fully captured in words or with a photograph.

When you’re at work or serving your personal passions, rather than focusing on the clock, focus on the task at hand, focus on working with your team, focus on solving that next business problem or listening to a client or customer voice their needs.

As your kindergarten teacher would say, use your five senses - Being present in the moment is about embracing and connecting with what you’re seeing, what you’re smelling, what you’re touching, hearing, or tasting so that you can truly experience your life.

Life is made up of billions and billions of moments, if our goal is to live a purposeful and intentional life, then we must embrace what life has to offer by being intentional, present and attentive to our purpose in as many of those moments as possible.

Celebrate the Small Wins… 

Being a kindergarten teacher for two years, I saw first hand the power and importance of positive reinforcement. If a child walked quietly down the hall, they received a sticker. If a child learned to read a new word, they received a special cheer. If a child answered a math problem correctly, they were told to kiss their brains. As children, our wins were celebrated, no matter how small. 

Unfortunately as adults, we often over look the small victories focusing only on big things like birthdays, anniversaries, or that new raise or promotion, but as busy moms, we have to celebrate our small wins:

Successfully make it to daycare minutes before the pick up deadline? Give yourself a pat on the pack.

Beast your presentation at work? Give yourself a cheer.

Somehow fit going to the gym into your jam-packed schedule of work and home to-dos? Clap for yo’ damn self. You deserve to be applauded!

Acknowledging and celebrating your victories boosts self-confidence, incentivizes desired behaviors, and motivates us to reach further and accomplish more.

Use Your Words aka Don’t be Afraid to Ask for Help… 

As moms, we have to be masters of multitasking, whether it’s holding your child in one arm while you complete a task with the other or dashing from one thing to the next. We’re constantly planning and preparing for things we need to do or pick up, places we need to be and people we need to see, with our children being a key part of how we decide what we need to do and how we need to do it. 

However, as the old African proverb says, it takes a village to raise a child!

I’m extremely fortunate to have my husband who’s a phenomenal partner and helpmate, but even with his support, and the occasional support of others, I still often feel overwhelmed and overworked.

However, what I’ve learned from my experience as a mom trying to balance a meaningful life within the home with a purposeful life outside of the home is: (1) moms and especially single moms are real life superheroes; and (2) all moms, regardless of how much support they have from family or partners, need to learn to ask for help. 

I don’t know where this notion came from that, in order for women to “have it all,” they need to “do it all” and “be everything to everybody,” but it isn't healthy or attainable, and it needs to end now!

Use your words freely and openly to ask for help, to ask for support, and to ask for guidance and advice. If you don’t communicate your needs at home, at work, and everywhere in between then they more than likely won’t be met. While moms (especially single moms) are real-life superheroes, the reality is, none of us are superhuman and even if we were, superheroes need help from time to time (Have you seen the Avengers?). We all need support, we all need allies, but most importantly, we all need help.

Regardless of what you’ve heard, asking for help isn’t weak or defeatist, it’s brave, empowering, and an absolute necessity to reach our potential  as moms, professionals, and human beings!

Sharing is Caring…

Sharing continues to become increasingly more important in our society and culture. From the explosion of social media and the sharing economy to the countless companies looking to promote more knowledge sharing and collaboration across employee groups, everyone is trying to get in on the sharing movement. While I’m sure our five-year-old selves didn’t explore the philosophical meaning of sharing is caring, sharing is caring is all about offering our tangible and intangible possessions to others in an effort to acknowledge their humanity and empathize with their wants or needs with the hope that, if the shoe were on the other foot, they would do the same.

As a mom, sharing can be a powerful exchange that involves the gift and receipt of ideas, lessons, and experiences, allowing us to be heard, be inspired, and inspire.

Find A Tribe: Find a group of like-minded people in your personal and professional life who you can bond with, relate to, and share experiences, difficulties, and successes. This could be your Mom Tribe, Work Tribe, or what I like to call your ‘Home Team,’ or family and friends who are willing to hear you out, help you problem-solve, and support you in becoming the best version of yourself. There’s an undeniable solace in sharing experiences or best practices and knowing that there’s an innate commonality and kinship among you that reaffirms you are not alone.

Share the Wealth and Feel Wealthy: Tell others about your goals, your experiences and your challenges so that they can support you, hold you accountable, and join in celebrating your wins. Be willing to listen and do the same for them. Sharing takes a level of vulnerability and can at times be scary because you’re giving a part of yourself or something you hold valuable to others, but it is equally rewarding and mutually inspiring for that same reason.

Being a mom in today’s modern world certainly isn’t easy, but it also isn’t impossible. In fact, if we reflect on some of the basic principles we learned as children, we might begin to wrap our heads around how we can set ourselves up for success.

Remember, no one’s perfect; that’s what erasers are for. It’s about growth, community, and never giving up because every day you juggle your mom ambitions with your personal purpose, you get stronger and better. Give yourself time and space to blossom into the amazing mom boss you are intended to be because while they say “practice makes perfect” it doesn’t, practice actually makes PROGRESS! 

If you enjoyed this post and would like more information on being intentional with your motherhood, check out my posts on value and goal-based living, intentional self-care, childcare and development, and relationships. 

[itsworn]

Getting My First Mopar

Greetings, my fellow Ghoulz!

It’s that time again … I would like to open by expressing my heartfelt thanks, to everyone who takes the time to read my little articles. I have great fun writing them and most assuredly, never really have the time I’d like to devote to them, but today is different. It’s Thanksgiving Day, and I’m at the shop. The Worman family has made it a tradition, since we moved into our new location, to have Thanksgiving meals here, along with other family celebrations. I mean, why not? We have a full commercial kitchen, a killer diner area adorned in early 1970s decor, including an original, unrestored Rock-Ola 444 to spin the “Hot Wax” as the Wolfman himself would often proclaim. We even have the wonderful Graveyard Theater to amplify the feelings of the era. But, logistics aside, I can’t think of a better place to give thanks than here at the Graveyard. I not only recognize, daily, just how blessed I am, but also equally, that I’m thankful.

Now, please don’t think that because I’m feeling especially nostalgic and sentimental, or that it’s a holiday, that this article is going to be filled with doting recollections of warm times past or bromides of hopeful futures. Undoubtedly, you’ll get your fill of old-fashioned yarns spun by your favorite grandfather, filled with platitudes like “those were the days” and “you should have been there.” So, I’ll save that for the next time I’m paid a visit from the ghost of Thanksgiving past.

The Dodge Charger Part: It was the summer of 1977, and I was 14, going on 15. I had saved up my paper route money to buy a 1971 Honda CL-100 Scrambler. It was a whopping $296 at Gillette’s, a little motorcycle shop in Glenwood. I loved that little bike and so did my mom. I rode it everywhere, even to deliver papers on my three routes. Of course, I know you’re wondering how a 14- to 15-year-old kid with no driver’s license could ride a motorcycle on public highways … well, I just did. I rode alleys, back roads, behind stores, you name it. I also confess that I received my share of tickets along the way, 19 if I recall correctly, and all before I was old enough to drive.

The reason I ended up with three paper routes is the exact same reason I have a best friend named Royal Gayland Yoakum. You see, I had two paper routes near my house for quite some time, and one day I got a call from our team leader at the Eugene Register-Guard, Dave Harding, who asked me if I’d like to take on another route. I quickly accepted the offer, as I liked having money of my own to buy model cars, or for trips to 7-Eleven for Big Gulps and candy, among other things, and I didn’t mind the work because it gave me a legitimate reason to ride my Honda. Just before we hung up I asked, out of curiosity, who it was that had the route before me. Dave replied, his name is Royal, and he’ll take you on the route your first day to get you familiar with all of the houses and customers. I thought nothing of it and the following week, I met Royal for the first time.

Upon meeting Chrome Dome, I was shocked to find that he was the same age as me. I thought for sure someone with a name like Royal and the eagerness to just hand his paper route over, was bound to be old and decrepit … like 30 or something. After exchanging introductions, I found myself unable to resist asking him, “Why are you giving up your paper route, don’t you need money?” To which he took a semi-deep, relaxed breath, planted his hands in the front pockets of his jeans, blinked once, all with slow, intentional motions and replied, “I need my space, man.” And those five simple words have always best described my friend, Royal G. Yoakum.

I recall the moment I spotted the Dodge Charger that would serendipitously link me to my legacy, which is Mopar. I had gone with a buddy to the employment office in Springfield, where he was to fill out an unemployment claim, having just been laid off from a truck washing job at UPS. The employment office was located upstairs, in what now is Springfield City Hall. The library is also located upstairs. In fact, this building is all “upstairs.” It was originally built as a retail mall. It had functioning escalators, retail stores, and snack shops. Underneath was all parking. For some reason, the mall didn’t last long, before morphing into the current Gateway mall located several miles away.

When you walked up the stairs on the north side of the building, there was a small landing area, just outside the doors to the entrance. This is where I told my friend, George, I’d wait for him. Now, his first name isn’t really George; that was his middle name. But, for some reason, there were people who called him Andy and some who called him George. I don’t know why I chose to be in the latter group, but I did. His brother was a good friend of mine, Jerry. You’ve heard me tell stories about this, larger-than-life guy who befriended me and quickly became my version of Bill Brasky. That Saturday Night Live character who seems much larger and more far-fetched in death, than he ever was in life. Like in the sketch, I have many tall tales of Jerry and myself — things I witnessed and things I heard. Jerry died early in life, he was just 30, but his legend lives on in my heart.

Soon after George went into the building, I found myself leaning casually on the concrete barrister, spitting from the second floor to the steps beneath, in an attempt to tighten my pattern. It was minutes later when I looked up in a northeast direction and spotted her. It took a moment for my brain to calculate what my eyes were seeing and cross-reference the vision with my, at that time, shallow database of cars. As soon as my brain caught up, and I realized what I was seeing, I felt a sense of urgency for George, Andy, what-the-hell-ever, to get out of here so we could go check it out. I had to wait, that’s to be sure, because that’s how it works. Like watching grass grow as my dad would say. Everything takes longer if you’re in a hurry. I guess I felt like Arnie Cunningham must’ve felt when Dennis drove by Christine that fateful day. Arnie was impatient for his friend to “go back,” and I was impatient for my friend to “get out.”

In what seemed like an eternity, as the saying goes, my buddy finally made it out of the building to join me at the top of the stairs. I was pacing by the doors so as not to lose any time on garnering his attention. We walked over to my former spitting nest, and I pointed her out to him. The house was probably 500 yards away, as the crow flies. The Dodge Charger was covered in maple leaves, dirt, sap, and pretty much anything that had landed on it over the years. It hadn’t been washed in a very, very long time — three years to be exact. Not since the Charger was towed out here on a car trailer, behind a 1976 Dodge Power Wagon, from Michigan, by its owner. An owner who I was about to meet.

I remember it well, my buddy’s reaction to the Dodge Charger was much like Dennis’ reaction the first time he saw the 1958 Plymouth in Roland Lebay’s yard; in the Stephen King novel, Christine. While George didn’t come right out and call it a piece of “crap” like Dennis quipped of Arnie’s first love, he sure had no interest in checking it out. He said, “It’s a Dodge Charger, right?” I replied, “Yes, indeed, a 1970 in fact.” I was pretty proud of myself at the time for being able to call the make, model, and year. However, my prideful moment quickly transformed to make room for angst as George, in his infinite desire to constantly damper the spirits of anyone in his proximity. It didn’t really bother me as I was tempered to most of his cutting jabs, already. With some hesitance, he accompanied me on the short walk to 626 N. A Street.

The small house sat on an elevated piece of land, back from the road 40 feet, or so. I remember feeling that the house felt like a person, sitting on high and looking down on us in judgment as if to say, “What the hell do you want?!” Well, I know what I wanted, and I wasn’t leaving without knowing more. As I circled around the Dodge Charger and inspected it closely, even to rub my finger on the fender to see what color the car really was under all the muck, George sat aloof at the foot of the maple tree, smoking a cigarette, Camel, I’m sure. The same tree that had shed its organic spring coat to cleverly camouflage the car’s true color was providing shade to my miserable friend.

After looking over the old gal (that’s what guys sometimes refer to cars as) for reasons unknown, I walked up the short, steep stairs to the front porch and knocked on the wooden screen door. It took a minute or so, but I didn’t have to knock twice before I was greeted by a, shall I say, portly fellow with a large beard and an even a larger smile. He opened the screen door before he knew what I wanted and introduced himself with a handshake, “Howdy, I’m Butch (who was also the owner of the 1976 yellow Dodge Power Wagon).” At the time, I thought “Wow, this is a really cool dude, what a nice cat.” At first, I thought to myself, “Maybe he’s always this way, and if so, what a great guy to know.” Upon further reflection, he was a great guy and had a heart of gold, but, he probably also knocked on his fair share of doors in hopes of buying some discarded automotive relic, much like I did, and felt the need to, as the Bible says, “Do unto others.”

We talked for a little bit on the porch. Shortly after discussing the car, how it got here to Oregon and what his involvement with the car was, he offered to start it up. Frankly, I was shocked that he had the confidence to make that offer, considering it didn’t look like the hood of the car had been opened in at least a couple of years. Butch sat in the car, pumped the gas pedal a bunch of times and cranked her over. It didn’t fire. Then, like the shampoo commercial, he lathered, rinsed, and repeated, until it thundered to life. He had put glass packs on the car with 1971-style B-Body exhaust tips on it, and it sounded great! Oddly, it didn’t smoke or make a much-anticipated death rattle or knock, it just purred. We walked around the car for a bit as George sucked on his death sticks under the big tree, occasionally darting his eyes up to give me the “Gawd, look at ya, Worman,” look. That was his favorite, I think, just to look you up and down and invite you to “look at yourself,” with a contemptuous, judgmental pitch in his voice. “Well, whatever George, this is my day so look all you want. I’m buying her.” I thought to myself.

Butch killed the mill, we walked back to the front of the house and up the steps to the quaint porch area. We exchanged pleasantries for a moment, but I was anxious to get down to “business.” I waited for a pause in the conversation and then asked the question I had been dying to ask since I saw the car from up on the stairs at the employment office, “How much are you asking?” Now, while I was prepared to hear the worst, “Sorry, the Charger’s not for sale, kid.” I was ever hopeful that not only would it be for sale, but also that the price would land somewhere in the realm of possibility for me, but honestly, I had no idea. My robust new found friend didn’t take long; he was ready for the question and launched the answer without aim. “$475,” he exclaimed. That number rolled off his tongue with all the poised surety of a coverall-clad, used car salesman named Junior Samples, professing that you should, “Come down and have a look, I’m honest Junior Samples, if you can’t trust me, who can you trust? The stock number is BR549.”

Well, it wasn’t Junior, it was Butch and in fairness, Butch was much sharper than old Junior Samples had ever dreamed of being. Butch was a Mopar guy from the time he was 16 years old and had never stopped, at least not by the time I met him, and he was 35 years old. I extended my hand to him, shook it firmly, in classic salesman fashion and said, “Sold.” It took me over a year to wheel and deal and save the money to buy my Charger. I traded my little Honda CL-100s in on a 1968 Impala, two-door hardtop, at J.L. Morgan Motors over on South A Street where it meets Main and becomes a four-lane highway. I then traded the Impala a few months later to a guy who lived in the El Rancho trailer park, across the street from the 7-Eleven that Royal and I frequented multiple times a day. The guy had a 1972 Toyota Corona Mark II, four-door sedan. I thought a straight trade would be fair, so I made the deal. It took me a few months to get the Toyota up to where I thought I could list it in the Money Saver. The Money Saver was our family bible. As kids, we couldn’t wait for it to hit the newsstand at 7-Eleven so we could grab a copy, along with a Big Gulp, and head to my house to dream.

It took one day for the Corona to sell. I got $375 for it — not bad, considering I was in the Impala about $300 clams. This money, along with $50 I had earned from my paper route and mowing lawns, put me over the top.  So, finally, I was off to visit Butch.

Look, I could drone on and on about my experience buying the car. You know, the way Chrome Dome and I hot-stepped it from 14th and E Street to 6th and North A Street in record time. Or how we wrote up the deal, Butch counting the cash while informing me, with what seemed each lick of his finger, how he bought and sold this car and that car and all of his wheeling-dealing conquests to my expressionless face. I could tell you in detail about how Royal and I drove the car to my house and how we spent the afternoon cleaning it with sponges, brushes, and an entire can of Mom’s Ajax cleaner as she dotingly looked on from the living room window. But in truth, I’ve already burned up way more than my allotted word count for this article and that part of the story deserves much more time.

In closing, I’ll leave you with this postscript to ponder. I no longer have my beautiful Charger. I haven’t seen her in almost 40 years. I hope she’s out there somewhere, alive, and that her new owner is loving her as much as I did — though I doubt that’s possible. But in truth, it’s probably gone to that great Mopar graveyard in the sky, waiting patiently for me to shuffle off this mortal coil, so that we can be at last reunited. At least that’s the way I see it.

I’ll write more about the old gal and the times I had with her. The times in my life that, at the moment, seemed like nothing extraordinary. But now, in the rearview mirror, are much great than they appeared.

I’ve been called a memory chaser, one who lives in the past, ya know. Well, maybe I am, that’s OK by me. If you’re not, that’s cool too. I just would like to say, if you come across a 1970 Dodge Charger and she’s still wearing her dog tags, check and see if there’s an XP29L0G118 still visible through the windshield, and if so, tell her I miss her.

The post Getting My First Mopar appeared first on Hot Rod Network.

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Here Are 4 Tips to Help Your Kids Be Their Best Selves

Raising two kids has taught me a lot about how to help children become their best selves. Four key themes have emerged in my years as a mother, and I believe they will be helpful for all the parents and educators out there, the people shaping the lives of our children.

1. Speak an affirmation statement to your children

Affirmation is a strong encouraging proclamation. Positive talk molds the emotional well-being and beliefs of your children.

Imagine that you are 4 years old. Your mom and dad tell you how dumb you are daily. Flash forward a decade and you’re a high school freshman who’s only heard negative talk for 10 years. Your parents have not affirmed your intelligence, have not confirmed your ability to do and now you do not believe that you can achieve greatness.

My daughter was born to a mother who was an addict. I met her three weeks after her birth, and she needed four more weeks in the hospital to get the drugs out of her system.

God told me to find a scripture to speak over her and I have spoken it for four years. Psalm 139:14 states, “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.” It means that God made you full of life and you are unique, special and made with purpose.

I have spoken that phrase to her consistently since she was three weeks old—after hearing me do it, my husband started doing the same. She now says it herself and is full of joy when she says it. I have affirmed that she is a special, delicate, wonderful person. A lot of folks told me she would experience many difficulties because of what she was predisposed to. But I do not allow her beginning to define her identity.

So I want to ask that every parent find an affirmation statement to say to their children. I found mine in my faith and if you are not a person of faith then find an inspirational quote that aligns to your values.

2. Read and converse with your children constantly

My husband and I are constantly conversing with our children about various topics. I also read to and with them as time permits every week. As a working parent, I find it difficult to carve out the quality time, so I have learned that the car is my classroom.

My daughter can identify the letter Z—the first letter of her name—on any license plate because I am constantly pointing it out. She and I chat about brushing her teeth, washing her face, the outfit she will wear, the snack she will have in the morning, where we are going in the morning, the traffic, etc.

Essentially, we talk from the time she wakes up until I drop her off at daycare in the morning. Why? She needs to hear as much language as possible so that her brain is stimulated and ready to learn.

I will admit that I do not talk to her as much on my way home because I am exhausted but I do ask her about her day before I go silent or put on music, take a phone call, etc. She also brings me a book to read to her a few times a week and she thinks she can read because some of the stories are very familiar to her.

3. Do not put limits on your kids or allow others to do so

My son is on the autism spectrum—likely Asperger’s—which means his social skills are not natural to him like you and me. Therefore, because I recognized early that he had a deficit, my husband and I filled the gap with as much as possible.

Well meaning people gave me a laundry list of what he would not be able to do (tie his shoes, ride a bike, care for himself, do anything that was not dependent on my husband or me). He’s proving them wrong.

My son has had an individualized education plan (IEP) since he was 4 years old, and he has progressively built his independence through school. We have moved from him having a one-on-one aide in first through third grade, to a shared aide in fourth through sixth grade, to a resource class in seventh and eighth grade and to only social work and counselor support for high school.

My husband and I put him in Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, a small groups at Rush University Arts Center, a small group with a speech language pathologists to teach him social skills and a computer coding class with BDPA at Roosevelt University.

On his own, my son has joined at school the Anti-Bullying Club, Math Club and this year will be entering his second year as a debate team member. Yes, debate team. My son, the boy who so many people said wouldn’t be able to communicate, is no longer afraid to speak in public. He’s doing so well that, when he recently went to a 10-day summer camp, I only got two phone calls with a request.

My son can have a conversation with anyone because my husband and I did not allow people to put barriers around his abilities. Yes, he still needs some social development and social skills growth, but I am confident that he will be fine.

Please know that although I did not have an affirmation statement for my son, I did constantly talk and read to him and I did not allow people to tell me what he could not do. When a parent gets a diagnosis of autism and they start to lose hope, I encourage them to expose that child to as much as possible and see what the outcome will be.

I was (and am) stubborn, I did not buy into what autistic kids cannot do and I did not buy into what effects drugs have on kids. I push my kids as far as they can go and not as far as someone says they will go.

4. Share and live your values and traditions with your children

Recently, my husband and I have been talking to our son about what we value as a family. We wanted to know what he sees as the principles we live by, standards of behavior and what is important to us. He can tell us what they are.

My son shared that faith, education, family time and finances are important to our family. My husband and I agreed. We are Christians so we attend church on Sunday, we pray as a family and we read the Bible.

I am an educator and my husband works in a high school so we expect that our kids will be third-generation college students.

We spend time together as a family on weekends, family vacations, dinner time, driving, etc. We had a blast on a recent family vacation in Tennessee.

We are good stewards of our money. We do not have cable television, I do not buy my kids the latest clothes and shoes because I value experiences over things. We go to dinner a couple of times a week, my son is in summer camp, we have checking, savings, mutual funds, retirement funds and more.

My son went to camp this summer for 10 days by himself and he had $50 to spend and he only spent $20. Why? He said that he does not like giving away his money too quickly because he wants to save it.

Remember that you are your child’s first teacher. What impression are you leaving on them as they grow and develop into adults?

Photo by Eye For Ebony, Unsplash-licensed.

Here Are 4 Tips to Help Your Kids Be Their Best Selves syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com

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[ixvyupdates]

Here Are 4 Tips To Help Your Kids Be Their Best Selves

Raising two kids has taught me a lot about how to help children become their best selves. Four key themes have emerged in my years as a mother, and I believe they will be helpful for all the parents and educators out there, the people shaping the lives of our children.

1. Speak an affirmation statement to your children

Affirmation is a strong encouraging proclamation. Positive talk molds the emotional well-being and beliefs of your children.

Imagine that you are 4 years old. Your mom and dad tell you how dumb you are daily. Flash forward a decade and you’re a high school freshman who’s only heard negative talk for 10 years. Your parents have not affirmed your intelligence, have not confirmed your ability to do and now you do not believe that you can achieve greatness.

My daughter was born to a mother who was an addict. I met her three weeks after her birth, and she needed four more weeks in the hospital to get the drugs out of her system.

God told me to find a scripture to speak over her and I have spoken it for four years. Psalm 139:14 states, “You are fearfully and wonderfully made.” It means that God made you full of life and you are unique, special and made with purpose.

I have spoken that phrase to her consistently since she was three weeks old—after hearing me do it, my husband started doing the same. She now says it herself and is full of joy when she says it. I have affirmed that she is a special, delicate, wonderful person. A lot of folks told me she would experience many difficulties because of what she was predisposed to. But I do not allow her beginning to define her identity.

So I want to ask that every parent find an affirmation statement to say to their children. I found mine in my faith and if you are not a person of faith then find an inspirational quote that aligns to your values.

2. Read and converse with your children constantly

My husband and I are constantly conversing with our children about various topics. I also read to and with them as time permits every week. As a working parent, I find it difficult to carve out the quality time, so I have learned that the car is my classroom.

My daughter can identify the letter Z—the first letter of her name—on any license plate because I am constantly pointing it out. She and I chat about brushing her teeth, washing her face, the outfit she will wear, the snack she will have in the morning, where we are going in the morning, the traffic, etc.

Essentially, we talk from the time she wakes up until I drop her off at daycare in the morning. Why? She needs to hear as much language as possible so that her brain is stimulated and ready to learn.

I will admit that I do not talk to her as much on my way home because I am exhausted but I do ask her about her day before I go silent or put on music, take a phone call, etc. She also brings me a book to read to her a few times a week and she thinks she can read because some of the stories are very familiar to her.

3. Do not put limits on your kids or allow others to do so

My son is on the autism spectrum—likely Asperger’s—which means his social skills are not natural to him like you and me. Therefore, because I recognized early that he had a deficit, my husband and I filled the gap with as much as possible.

Well meaning people gave me a laundry list of what he would not be able to do (tie his shoes, ride a bike, care for himself, do anything that was not dependent on my husband or me). He’s proving them wrong.

My son has had an individualized education plan (IEP) since he was 4 years old, and he has progressively built his independence through school. We have moved from him having a one-on-one aide in first through third grade, to a shared aide in fourth through sixth grade, to a resource class in seventh and eighth grade and to only social work and counselor support for high school.

My husband and I put him in Cub Scouts, Boy Scouts, a small groups at Rush University Arts Center, a small group with a speech language pathologists to teach him social skills and a computer coding class with BDPA at Roosevelt University.

On his own, my son has joined at school the Anti-Bullying Club, Math Club and this year will be entering his second year as a debate team member. Yes, debate team. My son, the boy who so many people said wouldn’t be able to communicate, is no longer afraid to speak in public. He’s doing so well that, when he recently went to a 10-day summer camp, I only got two phone calls with a request.

My son can have a conversation with anyone because my husband and I did not allow people to put barriers around his abilities. Yes, he still needs some social development and social skills growth, but I am confident that he will be fine.

Please know that although I did not have an affirmation statement for my son, I did constantly talk and read to him and I did not allow people to tell me what he could not do. When a parent gets a diagnosis of autism and they start to lose hope, I encourage them to expose that child to as much as possible and see what the outcome will be.

I was (and am) stubborn, I did not buy into what autistic kids cannot do and I did not buy into what effects drugs have on kids. I push my kids as far as they can go and not as far as someone says they will go.

4. Share and live your values and traditions with your children

Recently, my husband and I have been talking to our son about what we value as a family. We wanted to know what he sees as the principles we live by, standards of behavior and what is important to us. He can tell us what they are.

My son shared that faith, education, family time and finances are important to our family. My husband and I agreed. We are Christians so we attend church on Sunday, we pray as a family and we read the Bible.

I am an educator and my husband works in a high school so we expect that our kids will be third-generation college students.

We spend time together as a family on weekends, family vacations, dinner time, driving, etc. We had a blast on a recent family vacation in Tennessee.

We are good stewards of our money. We do not have cable television, I do not buy my kids the latest clothes and shoes because I value experiences over things. We go to dinner a couple of times a week, my son is in summer camp, we have checking, savings, mutual funds, retirement funds and more.

My son went to camp this summer for 10 days by himself and he had $50 to spend and he only spent $20. Why? He said that he does not like giving away his money too quickly because he wants to save it.

Remember that you are your child’s first teacher. What impression are you leaving on them as they grow and develop into adults?

Photo by Eye For Ebony, Unsplash-licensed.

Here Are 4 Tips To Help Your Kids Be Their Best Selves syndicated from https://sapsnkraguide.wordpress.com