#Friends marshmello

[royalarchivist]

Bagi: Everyone can sleep in their own bed. Did you stop to think that Pac went to bed, but he went to sleep... where? In what bed? The same bed as everyone else?

Bagi: [Reading chat] "In Fit's bed" Good answer.

Bagi: Fit will wake up to a better base, there will be plenty of beds and stuff. Dude, I'm going to set up Pac and Fit's room. Here, surrounded by flowers. The beds– my god, they're not exactly the same color, but I won't break any of the others because I think they're Bad's. Next to the flowers... Pac and Fit's beds.

Bagi: Guys, I know a lot. I know everything.

Bagi sets up a little "surprise" for Fit and Pac when the log back onto Realm! 🤫🌹

[athousandbyeol]

dancing on the edge, 'bout to take it too far it's messing with my head, how i mess with your heart if you wake up in your bed, alone in the dark i'm sorry, gotta leave before you love me.

❣ love tag:

@kxttxnkxttxn @pxvvar @vecchiozooeee @forcebook @forcebookish @ellasaru12 @seatawinans @chinho-kun @16-kitsunemochi @nihilisticcondensedmilk @a-slut-for-vegaspete @xandriana18 @themainlightfragrance-blog @fuckingcrescendos @sillybiscuitshepherdskeleton @first-kanaphan @25shadesoffebruary @ahxiang @alcairsei

[side note: if anyone wants to be tagged in my future edits, do reply under this post. thank you :)]

[unorthodox-soundwave]

Lyrics That Have Aro Vibes™ from Songs I Like

i dunno how many of these are meant to be aro--probably none--but i don't care. they are aro now. even if it doesn't really make sense in the full song. they're aro because i said so.

(cutoff bc it's a sorta-long post)

Turning Out - AJR

"Am I ready for love? / Or maybe just a best friend / Should there be a difference / Do you have instructions?"

Turning Out Pt. ii - AJR

"I think I probably wasn't in love with you / I think I probably loved the idea of you"

Crush Culture - Conan Gray

"And no one cares if you two made out / I'm sick of the kissing cult" (this one was very hard to pick a lyric from but i think this is the most fitting for today specifically)

I Don't Need Your Love - SIX

"That I don't need your love, no, no / I don't need your love, no, no"

When - Dodie

"I think I've been telling lies / 'Cause I've never been in love"

Crush - Tessa Violet

"But that's not what I wanna do now / And I'm not tryna be with you now, you now"

Oh No! - Marina and The Diamonds

"TV taught me how to feel"

FRIENDS - Anne-Marie & Marshmello

"You say you love me, I say you crazy / We're nothing more than friends"

[shiebunnie]

marshmallow <3

[my-chaos-radio]

Release: February 9, 2018

Lyrics:

You say you love me, I say you crazy

We're nothing more than friends

You're not my lover, more like a brother

I know you since we were like ten

Don't mess it up, talking that shit

Only gonna push me away, that's it

When you say you love me, that make me crazy

Here we go again

Don't go look at me with that look in your eye

You really ain't going away without a fight

You can't be reasoned with, I'm done being polite

I've told you one, two, three, four, five, six thousand times

Haven't I made it obvious?

Haven't I made it clear?

Want me to spell it out for you?

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

Haven't I made it obvious?

Haven't I made it clear?

Want me to spell it out for you?

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

Have you got no shame? You looking insane

Turning up at my door

It's two in the morning, the rain is pouring

Haven't we been here before?

Don't mess it up, talking that shit

Only gonna push me away, that's it

Have you got no shame? You looking insane

Here we go again

So don't go look at me with that look in your eye

You really ain't going away without a fight

You can't be reasoned with, I'm done being polite

I've told you one, two, three, four, five, six thousand times

Haven't I made it obvious? (Haven't I made it?)

Haven't I made it clear? (Haven't I made it clear?)

Want me to spell it out for you?

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

Haven't I made it obvious?

Haven't I made it clear? (I swear I have!)

Want me to spell it out for you? (Want me to spell it out for you?)

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

That's how you fucking spell "friends"

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

Get that shit inside your head

No, no, yeah, uh, ah

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

We're just friends

So don't go look at me with that look in your eye

You really ain't going away without a fight

You can't be reasoned with, I'm done being polite

I've told you one, two, three, four, five, six thousand times

Songwriter:

Haven't I made it obvious? (Haven't I made it obvious?)

Haven't I made it clear? (I made it very clear)

Want me to spell it out for you? (yeah)

F-R-I-E-N-D-S (I said F-R-I-E-N-D-S)

Haven't I made it obvious? (I made it very obvious)

Haven't I made it clear? (I made it very clear)

Want me to spell it out for you?

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

F-R-I-E-N-D-S

SongFacts:

Marshmello / Anne-Marie Nicholson / Eden Anderson / Richard Boardman / Jasmine Thompson /Natalie Dunn /Sarah Blanchard /

Pablo Bowman

👉📖

[mostunderratedawards]

Most Underrated Pop Dance Performance

Choose Your Fighter - Ava Max

Salvaje - Nathy Peluso

Other Boys - Marshmello ft Dove Cameron

If Only I - Loud Luxury x Two Friends feat. Bebe Rexha

Drinkin' - Joel Corry x MK x Rita Ora 

Car Keys - Alok ft Ava Max

[rewritethelyrics]

Friends Move On

Type: Parody

By: Kayday

Credits to: Marshmello and Anne Marie

Original song: FRIENDS by Marshmello and Anne Marie

First time I saw you, first day back in school

You chose to sit next to me.

Sticking together, we're growing closer, creating our own stories.

Formed a group chat where we talked shit

We were only careless teenagers, that's it.

Two years to build bonds, two years was so long till I moved again.

I miss the time when I was young careless and free.

As I grow up, joy stripped itself away from me.

I sit in my own dread, own room, own company.

You said you had some other plans three times this week.

Wasn't it so obvious, so inevitable? I thought we were eternal.

M-O-V-ED-ON

Are you gonna remember me? Remember what was then?

Our everything fades so easily, M-O-V-ED-ON. M-O-V-ED-ON.

I've tried to fit in, I've tried to make friends.

Guess I have moved on well.

I have your number. "Let's talk together." Feels like talking to myself.

You responded within two days. Conversation in a quiet place.

Spend some time, I'm sure. It'll be a good cure to my mental health.

I fear what remains is a corpse of memories

You won't remember and stories I can't complete.

I go through my selfish greed everyday with gritted teeth.

I was too dependent on you, so shame on me.

Wasn't it so obvious, so inevitable? I thought we were eternal.

M-O-V-ED-ON

Are you gonna remember me? Remember what was then?

Our everything fades so easily, M-O-V-ED-ON. M-O-V-ED-ON.

F-R-I-E-N-D-S. Thought we'd always stay best friends.

F-R-I-E-N-D-S. Thoughts are running through my head.

Where will I be? F-R-I-E-N-D-S. We were friends.

Friends move on. It's a part of life unchangeable.

We leave our marks, our laughs, our tears on our people.

Rowing through my teenage years with no place to go.

I will move on whether or not my sadness shows.

Wasn't it so obvious, so inevitable? I thought we were eternal.

M-O-V-ED-ON

Are you gonna remember me? Remember what was then?

Our everything fades so easily, M-O-V-ED-ON. M-O-V-ED-ON.

(End)

Parodied by: Kayday

[laura-davies]

FRIENDS ft. Marshmello - Anne-Marie and Marshmello

[vjhero]

Marshmello & Anne-Marie - FRIENDS (Music Video) *OFFICIAL FRIENDZONE ANT...

[kaciebello]

Hi, first of all, I LOVE the chats you create about Slytherins! ❤️❤️❤️ I was wondering if you could make one based on the lyrics of the song FRIEND by Marshmello and Anne-Marie.

thank you ❤️

Friend by Marshmello and Anne-Marie

Slytherin boys texts genre: angst warning: none note: Happy 2025 all of you! Masterlist Social media masterlist ☀ Prompt list ☾

Taglist

@klimovatereza-blog , @lafrone ,@enfppuff , @rafegfs , @frogtape , @lovelyygirl8 , @catiwinky, @leeleecats , @ghostgardn , @reverse-soe , @ultramarinetovelvet @jazz-berry , @justatadbonkers , @partnerincrime0 , @schaebickel , @deluluassapocalypse , @adreamingpendulum, @imobsessedwitholiviarodrigo , @happydragonfrog , @harvey-malfoy , @helendeath , @caffeine-addict-slug , @mrvlfanman , @pink-heartz , @feistyfox47 , @nickspotatoesalad , @elltheawkward , @myunperfektstorys , @wnbweasley , @shespeaksinsongs , @africancracker , @broadwaybaby123 , @stardustsymphony , @romantasyreader28 , @chelawrites , @catching-fire-in-the-wind 

[our-arospec-experience]

Let's start a list of arospec songs:

I'll start with aro songs:

i'm so tired - troye sivan

FRIENDS- anne-marie, marshmello

break your heart- taio cruz, ludacris

never been in love- will jay

[fandomzwriterk]

I want to request Yandere Scott Summers x reader. Basically they are in a situation where they get into a situation where they have to fake date, but they are not in an actual relationship but Scott is yandere for the reader. I think adding the yandere into the story add so much more drama into it lol.

A/N: for you Mon Ami, I’ll do it. (Damn it I can’t stop talking like Remy thanks X-Men ‘97)

Warnings: cursing

F.R.I.E.N.D.S

(Yes I listened to Friends by Marshmello while making this… and I might’ve been playing Ghost of Tsushima too…)

“Scott!” You heard from behind you

You turned your head, seeing Jean Grey walking up to you and Scott Summers while you two were out in the town for a little fun break from “work”.

“Jean? What are you doing here? Is something wrong?”

“No I just… I just wanted to see what you were up to. I see you’re pretty much free so would you like to go out for dinner?”

Jean ignored that you were there, standing right next to Scott, looking at him with a “what the fuck” kind of glance. He was conflicted, but looked Jean up and down before saying anything.

“Not interested Jean.”

“What? But I thought you liked me?”

“Still undecided about it. Now if you don’t mind I’m with another friend at the moment.”

He ushered you away, walking down the sidewalk grabbing your hand and pulling you along.

“Scott this joke… it’s causing a rift between you and Jean.”

Scott stopped, letting your hand go and watching you pull away from him.

“I’ll admit it, it was fun but I can’t keep doing this to Jean. You know we’re not actually in love right? I like Remy remember?”

“Right… Remy. I forgot about that.”

He looked disappointed, most likely disappointed in himself for agreeing to help you and then let it get to his head.

“Remember all I wanted was to make him jealous because he was pining for Rouge? I still want him Scott. We’re just friends, you and I.”

You felt bad, you really did. Scott was a good friend to you all these years and now it felt like you were betraying him and his trust. You could see the hurt behind those ruby glasses, you always could.

“I’m going to head back now. I think I need to clear my head.” Scott spoke bluntly, turning away from you to walk down the alley and into the darkness

You sighed, feeling a sense of worry and dread creep up your skin. But, you still felt true to your heart, knowing you had feelings for Remy despite “dating” Scott. So, you walked along the street to head back to the X-Men Mansion.

“My cherié what are you doing out at this time?” You hear behind you

You spin around, hiding your face by looking down to the ground as you noticed Remy following close behind you.

“Remy! What’re you doing here?”

He shrugged, walking up to you to walk right next to you. His charming smile made your heart beat so fast you thought all your blood was rushing to your face.

“Well I came here lookin for a very fine lady that I can take out to dinner tonight.”

“And you picked me? Why not Rouge?”

“Don’t worry about her my little lady Mister Remy Lebeau has you all to himself tonight.”

You could swear you were dreaming and even if you were, you sure as hell didn’t want to wake up.

“Now come on this way cherié. I’ve got plans at a place Gambit thinks you’ll like.”

And he held his hand out to you, waiting for you to grab it. Shyly, you took it, noticing Remy pulling you closer to him as he started to walk, you keeping pace with him.

“I take it Scott’s never done this before right?”

“Hm? Oh Scott? No we’re just friends. I could never love him that way.”

“Huh. Miss Jean says you and him were together. She’s been trying to get him to pay attention to her, but he’s got his eyes set on something else.”

“Well, I don’t feel the same way. If anything I like-“

And you just shut your mouth before you could say anything else to embarrass yourself. Remy looked to you, his crimson black eyes giving you a mischievous look, his smile was practically a grin that said “I’ve got you right where I want you” and you were trying so hard to not pay any attention to it.

“Go on cherié. Don’t stop now Gambit wants to hear what you were gonna say.” He teased

“Never mind I’ll just-“

Remy pulled you closer, your side right against his as you looked up, staring him in the eye. He knew what he was doing, and maybe he was reading your mind. Oh how you didn’t want him to see the things inside your head.

“Does somebody want to tell me something?”

His behavior had you melting, way harder than your dumb acting with Scott could ever do. Remy made you feel something, something that “dating” Scott can’t give you.

“I want to say a lot of things but I can’t find the words.”

He chuckled, putting a hand to your cheek while the other still held onto your hands. He caressed your face, resting his fingers behind your head and continued to stare into your eyes.

“I love you cherié. More than anything. Yes… more than Rogue and more than myself. You are so perfect to me my dear.”

You used your other hand, pulling Remy down for a kiss, feeling him ease the tension in his body as he held you against himself, feeling your chest against his as you two stared into each others eyes.

“Maybe I’ll take a relaxing night in bed with my cherié over dinner. How does that sound?”

You shook your head, no words coming out as you felt your brain just slowly turn back on. Remy kissed you! He actually did! So, that’s a victory for you isn’t it? Well…

“Y/N!” You heard

And it was Scott, just standing a few feet away almost in the middle of the street. Granted it was night, but he looked like he didn’t give a shit in this moment.

“Get your hands off of her Remy.”

“No chance mon amí. Finders keepers.”

Scott came running, Remy slightly pushing you out of the way as Scott took Remy down to the ground. Scott’s hand was around Remy’s throat, pushing him down hard into the pavement.

“I said she’s mine.”

That line came out of Scott like a feral growl. What was going on with him?

“And you… you don’t listen to a damn thing I say do you? You’re mine you get it? You may not love me but I love you, so you’re mine as long as I’m around.” He growled at you now

Remy looked between the two of you.

“So you used her to get over Jean well congratulations Scotty you did just that. But trust me my friend…”

Remy put a hand on Scott’s shoulder, both men staring each other down like they would kill each other over you. At least Remy would do it to protect you, like right now.

“You ain’t gonna like this when you wake up.”

And Remy sent Scott flying back with a small blast of his kinetic energy, getting up and grabbing your hand to pull you along. You could hear Scott screaming and yelling with anger.

“Bring her back right now Gambit! She’s mine! All mine! Not Jean! Her!” You heard him yell

A/N: continuation? I guess we’ll have to see. I almost made a reference to my Trailblazer X-Men OC and I just went “fuck I haven’t said that yet in my other story”. Anyways I hope you enjoyed!!

[killersfool]

hiiii i’ve a wee fluff imagine idea for bobby!! : )

bobby and the reader live together in a flat in dublin and the reader goes to trinity uni to study english literature (or smt else that has like a lot of reading and essay writing anol that craic) and she’s falling behind in a lot of her assignments and it’s all piling up and she’s just all overwhelmed and doesn’t know how to cope.

she ends up breaking down into sobs or shutting down at random points in the day due to stress and rob hasn’t got a clue what’s wrong and keeps noticing these random break downs throughout the week.

basically he comforts reader and helps to organise herself and just all fluffy cute comfort fic <333

If I could flip back time, bend the seconds and go back three years ago, I would do it right now.

Pile after pile of flashcards, annotated books with pastel post-it notes shooting out of the sides, folders of Irish poetry I can hardly understand, tattered photocopies of Hozier lyrics, every work of Shakespeare staring at me from my overcrowded booksheld — dusty, messy, probably even dank. Miss Carter has decided to set three more assignments onto my workload for the week. An essay on crime fiction (I haven't even read the first book on the reading list), my creative writing portfolio and then another essay analysing a piece poetry of my choice. Reading and highlighting Hozier's lyrics of 'I, Carrion (Icarian)' is the only thing keeping me going. Phoebe Bridgers blasts through my ears. It's quarter to 11. I need a break. An early night would be nice. Or TV. But do I really want to sit next to Robert whilst he watches his weird YouTube videos?

I kick my table. Not out of anger. Not out of irritation. I just want to see all of my notes topple ontp the floor. They do. Then I'm kicking the table three more times. Or maybe eight. All my flashcards are on the carpeted  floor, next to my discarded, empty packet of pinballs. I'd stolen them from Robert's stash. He'll never find out.

Climbing over my pile of unread books by my doorway, I push open the door. It squeaks. Some oiling would be nice. Trinity college really provides the best for their students! 

I still wish my roommate was also doing English, someone to bond with over shared trauma, to gossip about our nightmarish teachers and fellow students. But no, this guy is doing a degree in bloody mathematics. The complete dichotomy of English. No similarities. No way of comparing the courses to eachother. Him and his terrifying videos that he watches with his shoes up on the armrest, cheek in his open palm, drinking a cup of tea. Like it's that simple. Numbers and sin, cos, tan and circle theorems and whatever tragic nonsense is being spouted in his lectures.

He hardly speaks to me. Three years together and I barely know him. Sometimes I tag along with him when he goes out for breakfast. Once every two weeks. Sunday morning. We talk about school, about friends, about anything that pops in our heads. Yesterday we spoke about music. He originally wanted to pursue a career in music. A band. But they didn't work out. He took a gap year to pursue this group. So he's a year older than all of the other third years. He doesn't let that faze him. When he told me stories about his band, 'Inhaler', I had to lose eye contact, look down at the pink marshmellos floating about in my cup. He looked lost. This wasn't the place for him. He missed the confidence upon stage, the ability of making something out of nothing. Life is unfair. That is when I realised it. Hearing about shattered dreams and names of songs that were never produced.

I also realise life is unfair right now, as I accidentally bang my hip onto the kicthen island, the knife-like corner lodging itself into my skin. It's like the world is against me. 

Sometimes I wonder if Robert thinks I'm an idiot. I feel like I'm an idiot when I walk past his bedroom, hunched over his laptop, headphones on as he works through the most difficult maths questions I've ever encountered in my life. He makes university seem easy. Has his allocated times for study, going out with friends, the gym, practicing bass, going though record shops, meals, watching TV. Everytime he gets home, he drops his things down in the kitchen. I sneak a glance at the big green 'A*' on all of his test papers. I look up to him. His intelligence, his masterful management of time. I'm always too frightened to ask him how he does it. He'll think I'm stalking him. 

Me, on the other hand, I waste time. I don't have balance. I never have time to be with my friends. Always locked up in my room. A prisoner. Essay after essay. Poem after poem. Book after book. A constant cycle I've been in for three whole years. The stress is weighing down on me like a hundred bags of bricks. I need to stop for a second. To breathe in. To calm down.

So I do the last thing I would normally do. I go into the living room and sit beside Robert on the sofa. He's half asleep, jeans cuffed, hair all over his face. He sees me walk in, glances up, eyes big and speculting. He instantly moves his spindly, spider-like legs from the armrest to give me some space. I can hear some sort of maths video playing on the TV. I'm scared. At least it's not English. I'm immune to maths. It doesn't affect me anymore. Whatever logorhythmic scale this American YouTube man is yapping about isn't making my face contort at all — it's like sorcery.

This could be a way of winding down. Maths. I'm calmer now. No changes of focus or narrowing of perspective. No pathetic fallacy or magical realism. Just messes of words that don't really make sense at all.

"'D'you want to watch TV? I can turn this off if you want." Robert has his thumb on the home button.

"Leave it on. I just need a moment."

He dubiously puts the remote back down. He yawns, stretching out his arms and leaning back. I hate it when boys do that. With his parted, manspreaded legs, adams apple bobbing, head rolled back. It's idiotic. Completely idiotic. He doesn't seem too intrigued by Mr American man. The video is a guy next to a whiteboard writing millions of brain-numbing equtions. Robert is nodding along. I think I'm going to cry. I don't know why I want to right now. My hip is actually starting to throb and ache. I look down at my jeans. There's a hole in them. There's blood. It's wet. I hadn't noticed before. It's properly pouring out blood.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I exclaim, hand pressing down onto the cut through my jeans.

Robert swiftly nears me. He's looking at me up and down, hands trying to find a place to move to. It's dark in the room. He reaches for the lamp switch. "What is it? Are you okay?"

"I'm bleeding. Jesus christ. That kills. Fuck me."

He passes me his jacket and says, "Apply some pressure." 

Then he runs out of the room. Fast as a plane. A man on a mission. Long curls dancing to the rhythm of his steps. Mr American man won't shut up about algebraic expressions. He's got a really bald head. Glimmering. 

Robert is back. He has bandages. I don't know where he got those from. Antiseptic wipes, plasters, sweets, even a cup of tea. He was only gone for about five seconds. How did he manage to get all of that? He hands me the cup of tea and sweets whilst asking, "What happened?"

"I walked into the island like an eejit. I'm so feckin' stupid."

"Just breathe, okay. You're not an eejit. I do that every day." 

I have to unzip my jeans to let him check the cut. Which is awkward, to say the least. He's looking at me like a doctor — not really caring about seeing my skin — but I'm still so shy around him. He sees me struggle with the button. He undoes it, fingers coming in contact with mine. They're slender. So very perfect for the bass guitar. Then he's unzipping my jeans. Only the tiniest bit. A mere centimetre of my knickers appear out of the top. Any more than that and I'd be flush as a tomato. I've always had a little crush on Robert. Being stuck with a really smart bass guitarist with the dreamiest eyes for three years is enough to make a person fall. The reason I've been avoiding him lately has been due to that fact. I don't want to make it obvious.

He finds the cut. It's bled through my knickers, making a big blot of dark red. He pulls down the waistband of my pants, prepared to wipe the wound. I have to grind my teeth together to prevent a sob from escaping me. I'm crying. Stressed and hurt and just wanting to dissolve into nothing. The cold draft of wind isn't improving the situation. If only there was no such thing as coursework and I couldn't glide my way through university like Robert. 

More and more blood. I think I might pass out. The blue-eyed boy is knelt down on the floor, knees biting into the carpet so that he can properly see where to put the bandage. 

"So how's English going?" He's not looking at me. Only at the wound. I don't think he's noticed that I'm crying. I don't want him to. I cover my face with bloody hands, accidentally smearing the metallic substance onto my nose. 

I don't know what to say. Do I tell him how much I regret picking it? Do I make this already awkward situation about ten times worse? I hate when people pity me. I hate when I feel like eyes are lingering for far too long when I cry. But when Robert looks at me, it's different. The pools of serenity circling his iris aren't looking down at me with a sort of aristocracy. That's how my English peers stare me down. No, instead, he's looking at me like there's a billion questions rushing across his forehead. He just needs to decide which one to ask. Or to simply say nothing. Like I am. We've both learnt how to cohabit in silence. To walk past eachother and ignore the feathers of conversation falling between us. We're busy. Always busy. Except for those perfect Monday mornings that I always look forward to. Especially the one time when he showed me around his favourite record store. He had asked me to choose him a record to buy. I walked through the entire shop, fingers shifting records, reading unfamiliar artist names. Then, I saw it, the — now bane of my existence — Hozier's 'unreal unearth'. He bought it. He'd told me he only really knew 'Take Me To Church'. I'd leant against the till as he paid and said, 'it'll change your life.' Then he'd locked himself in his room. Through the ever so thin walls — paper thin — I could hear each track hum into my room. I never got the chance to talk to him about the album. I think the thought of bringing it up made me feel sick — due to the English essay upstairs still waiting patiently to be finished.

Now there is an excuse. To talk. I'm injured. I don't want to move. He's still attempting to wrap a bandage over my stomach, then across my back until it's around my torso. I feel his fingers graze my skin with every subtle movement, along my spine, the small of my back, my abdomen, my hip bone. He's still looking at me. Searching. Like I'm a new island and he's an explorer trying to name me.

"What's up, sweetheart?" He finally talks again. His words are throaty, emananting from the pits of his throat. He's still wrapping, waiting for an answer.

"Just college. You know. It's killing me."

He shakes his head. "You're so smart."

"Says you."

He shakes his head. "Look, this might be a bit weird but sometimes when you leave random essays lying around or even creative writing. I read them. They're incredible. Your mind just works in such an interesting way."

I'm at a loss for words. He reads those? Those are usually just failed attempts that I toss aside. Scrap paper. Strange drawings. I don't even want to look at them.

"You get top grades in every test," I sigh. "I'm barely passing. I'm the worst in the class. My professors hate me, I've got so much work, I'm falling behind in every assignment—"

Then I'm properly crying. Sobbing. Breathing so heavily I think I might collapse. Heaving. Sniffling. Covering my face so he can't see me. I'm like a child. Pathetic. Stupid. Worthless. I was never good enough for Trinity. Why did they let me in?

Warm arms, press of skin. Just above the wound, over my chest, arms dig into my body, hugging me from behind. Head burrowing onto my shoulders, knees into the sofa. His lips ghost the back of my neck. Tears are falling down. He turns me around to face him. I hate how he's seeing me like this. My cries are usually saved for when he's out with friends or blasting music on his record player. He's never seen me this vulnerable, just utterly ripped into shreds by the hands of life. His scent is making me feel better, the tissue now on my cheek makes me feel better, the quiet words of 'breathe, let it all out, it's okay' make me feel better. He's calming me down. I start to forget what I was even crying about when I look into his eyes. This intense eye contact. Remembering his height. Even sat down, his torso is far longer than mine.

"I've got an idea," he murmurs, peeling his body away. I miss the warmth. I miss the touch. 

"What is it?"

"We should go somewhere. Get out for a bit. Say it's a 'mental health field trip'." He curls his fingers to accentuate the apostrophes."Maybe down to the Cliffs of Moher. When you're all healed up of course."

"Give me a week."

"A week? I'll be the judge of that." He raises an eyebrow, now tying up the bandage.

"Where did you learn all this?"

"I'm actually first aid trained. Did it in my first week of uni." He takes a deep breath, settles back onto the sofa. 

I take a sip of my tea. My eyes are surely blotchy and red. I bet there's mascara all over my face. "Thank you so much."

"No problem at all. Do you want to tell me what's going on? Is there any way I can help?" He's referring to my school work. "I was alright at English in high school. No where near as good as you are. But maybe another opinion might help you."

"I'm really stuck on a Hozier analysis."

"I never told you how much I love that album. It's perfect." His eyes glow like they do when he's talking about something he loves. Usually it's caused by talking about playing bass, but right now it's due to the beauty of Hozier's music. "I learned the bass line of De Selby part two."

"Show me. Now." I don't even ask. It's simply a demand. Anything to take my mind away from that cut still bleeding profusely. A little concert would be nice. Especially if said concert involves watching Robert play bass. I sometimes peek through the crack in the doorway to see him sat down on his bed, pick between his index and thumb, bass guitar on his lap, headphones over his ears. The pure concentration on his face is unparalleled. Notes thrum quietly through the room. He falls into any piece of music.

"Alright." He laughs at my enthusiasm. "Then I'll help with your English."

"Thanks." This is probably the most I've ever spoken to him. I'm mumbling each word, not wanting to look into his eyes.

He disappears once again. This time I hear the thudding footsteps over creaky floorboards. I hear a door squeak open, the faint patter of rain upon the ceiling, the quiet murmur of distant sirens as night blooms. It's tranquil. For a moment, I'm at peace. Until I remember the stack of unread books in my bedroom. I groan into my hands. Everything just keeps getting worse and worse and—

He's back. Not empty handed. Bass in one hand, Hozier lyrics and my pencil case in the other.

"I emailed your professor about the trip. I'm sure she'll be okay with it." He's off again. He comes through the door with his amp and lead. He plugs both in. 

"You're a life saver, Rob," I say.

He starts twisting around the knobs on the bass. Volume up. Then he's tuning. He smiles up at me. I think I'm staring. I think he can tell. His long fingers, tattoos, rings. It's all too much. My fingers are restlessly tapping the armrest. My legs are up on the coffee table. He pulls out his phone and plays the song. Then I'm lost in the music. His eyes are closed as he slides his fingers up and down the neck of the bass, as he stomps his feet down on the carpet to every drum beat. If only I could go back to the days I'd go to concerts every day. If only I could go back and see 'Inhaler' on a world tour, watch Robert from the crowd, completely in his element. Exhilarated, chanting, knowing every lyric like it's my mother tongue. Sometimes I wonder what life could've been like if the band had worked out. If the world did realise just how incredible they are. But, here, appreciating each pluck of every string, the grin as he watches me. I can't take that for granted. 

[januscorner]

Pride Playlist Day One: Aromantic

Not A Love Song by bülow

Never Been In Love by Will Jay

Aromatic Moodboard by Maxwell Anthony

Home by Cavetown

Heart Heavy by MotherMother

Lollipop 16:9 By MIKA

Crush Culture by Conan Gray

Love Love Love by Of Monsters And Men

Don’t Fall In Love by Danko Jones

Friends by Anne-Marie and Marshmello