#I have irrational fears about my therapist complaining about me behind my back | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hvlfwygod · 5 years ago

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shiver | griffin, ben, gabriele, len, patrick

summary: it’s an unusually cold night in New Athens trigger warning: anxiety/panic attack mention, blood

The temperature had dropped lower than expected, and Griffin wished he’d brought his sweatshirt. His exposed arms were covered in goosebumps, and the slight breeze that rustled grass and leaves compelled him to cross them, trying to coax warmth back in.

“Are you cold?” Len asked from their spot beside him and snugly wrapped in a cardigan.

Griffin eyed the clothing enviously. “I just don’t want to make another shirt. I have so many.” His words seemed to carry a flair, like he was bragging. Maybe he wouldn’t have cared another night (it was true he hadn’t paid for an outfit in five years, and that, to him, was noteworthy) but it felt like a particularly cruel jab now, with Len this glum.

If the comment bothered them, though, they didn’t show it. “We can go back now if you want, I feel like I’m just complaining in circles.”

“You’re allowed to complain in circles, though,” Griffin replied with a tiny shrug. Another breeze cut through the uselessly thin t-shirt he was wearing; he valiantly ignored it. “Would you let me complain in circles?”

Len shrugged in return. “Yeah. I know. It’s just frustrating. I know that people have had, like, years and years to train but I feel like I should be picking up on something by now.”

Griffin couldn’t understand why this mattered so much, but he supposed he had a failsafe if he couldn’t hold his own in battle, so he kept this opinion to himself. “I think we all suck at first.” He winced. “Not that you suck. Sorry. Just that...”

“No, I get it. I’m much better at learning like, languages and memorizing words. I need more time.” Len said. “Stage combat was always my weak spot,” they added, chuckling in a resigned way that made Griffin think he was doing a poor job at comforting them.

He shivered again. “Yeah. But I don’t believe that you’re doing as bad as you think you are.”

Len smiled a little. “You’re so cold, dude, let’s go back.”

“I’m fine!”

“You’re literally shaking. It’s late anyway.”

“I don’t care. Here,” Griffin pointed to the spot of orange glowing up ahead. “Lets go sit by the fire. I promise I won’t freeze to death.”

“Okaaaaaaay,” Len said, but the were clearly cheered that Griffin didn’t want to end their night just yet.

When they asked if he was willing to take a midnight stroll through camp, he’d been surprised. He never thought he’d be one of the people they’d turn to when they were feeling down. Maybe everyone else was already asleep, sure, but he chose to believe Len picked him specifically.

Already at the campfire sat a pale, skinny man, staring blankly into the crackling flames. Len, upon seeing him, became serious all over again, as quiet and stiff as when they first started walking. Griffin, upon seeing him, jolted; he had been trying to find a funny video he saw hours earlier and hadn’t looked up from his phone until they were in the circle of benches.

The man’s eyes lifted from the fire and he frowned at their collective expressions. He looked familiar, but Griffin couldn’t recall a name. “Sorry, did I scare you?”

“No,” Len answered, at the same time that Griffin said “do you work at the cafe?”

He looked between the two of them for a moment, then nodded. “I do, yeah. I can get out of here if you guys want to be alone.”

Len sat down at the closest seat to them, which happened to be the furthest from the man. Griffin frowned. “I mean... If you want. You live in... town?”

Another small nod. “Yeah. I just liked to um... come here, sometimes.” Another quick glance to Len, and Griffin followed suit. They looked supremely uncomfortable. “But it’s late,” he continued, “so...” He unfolded himself and got to his feet— Griffin wasn’t sure why, but he was expecting someone shorter to emerge from sitting.

"See you around,” Griffin offered by way of goodbye. The man just nodded for a third time, and walked off. Once he was gone, Griffin sat down, exhaling loudly. “That was weird. Do you know him?”

“Not really,” Len said. Already, tension was melting off their shoulders. “My siblings have pointed him out to me, though. They don’t like him. I’m not sure why but from how they talk it’s not good.”

“Yikes.” Griffin stared into the nighttime as if he could still see the man’s retreat. “I bet you could take him, though.”

Len snorted. “You think so?” They smiled at Griffin and he felt himself relaxing again, too. He put a palm flat against Len’s back, between their shoulder blades and moved his hand in little circles, trying to comfort them like his dad might have. The heat from the fire spread over them both.

“Forget him. And forget all that stuff about combat. Tell me about your... hm, your favorite playwright. Living playwright.”

Len scooted a little closer to him, their smile spreading. “Just one?”

—————

He barely remembered the walk through town, through the woods, through camp, ending at the fire. Which was concerning.

Everything beforehand was still clear, at least, though it got fuzzy around the time he’d been lacing up his shoes. He’d had, gods, a lot of whiskey, repeatedly refilling the glass before reaching the bottom so he never finished his first cup. A simple enough explanation for the gaps in his memory, but no less concerning. Ben never drank that much anymore.

His entire torso was a hopelessly tangled knot of nerves. A rumbling panic followed him like a shadow no matter where he stepped. It loomed on the horizon, pleasantly and casually informing him that he couldn’t outpace it forever. I know, Ben grumbled to— he needed to stop personifying his anxiety, he was talking to himself.

He wondered if Jacob would still be awake when he got back, still sitting in the same place he’d been when Ben announced that he was taking his walk. He wondered if, when he came back inside, Jacob would sense the drifting, uncertain manner of speech, the slight quiver in Ben’s limbs, that always preceded panic attacks. He wondered if Jacob would feel vindicated, then immediately scolded himself for the uncharitable thought.

A whisper of noise caught Ben’s attention (and brought his heart straight up into his throat) but when he swung his gaze around he saw nothing but grass swaying in the breeze. He shivered. “Gods,” he said to no one. “Fuck. Calm down, Bentley.”

Ben hated to admit it, but he knew Jacob was probably right to essentially bully him into therapy. He hated it. He hated every single morning his roommate cheerily asked if he’d made that appointment yet— which was every morning, and had been for weeks. He hated that it was starting to wear him down.

Damn him, Ben thought bitterly. He regretted explaining a single thing about his childhood, now that it led to this. Jacob had the common decency to not treat him like a porcelain doll— Ben might have moved out if that was the case— but this wasn’t much better.

The worst part was that he couldn’t even tell on Jacob because everyone would agree with him. No, the worst part was that he agreed with Jacob.

But what was he going to tell a therapist? I know exactly what the problem is, the ghost of the person I killed follows me around and I’m starting to lose it.

Alternatively: I’m hallucinating everything, so on top of being a murderer, I’ve already lost it.

He shivered again, and picked up his pace. The trees started to clear, giving way to the edge of New Athens.

Ben could very nearly hear the voices of several friends tell him there was plenty more reasons to go, but he shoved them away. He didn’t want to think about it, because then he would start to think about letting them down. It felt different this time. But everything led back to Colin and it would never stop. His life preceding that afternoon and all the years after circled back to him, over and over. How could he explain why he couldn’t make this useless appointment to Jacob without Colin bubbling up through the floorboards?

A familiar, sharp guilt sprang out from the tangle of nerves. His heart felt impossibly heavy as it thudded too fast in his chest. He felt alone and exposed under the dark sky, no more trees left to conceal him.

Stark, irrational fear greeted him along with the bare sidewalks. He saw people in the distance like hazy, dreamt-up visions, streetlights dangling in the darkness, surreal and unreachable. Please don’t happen right now.

He’d had way too much whiskey. And he was sure, he was certain, he wouldn’t make it home before a revenant found him, dragged him back to shadow. Please, please don’t happen right now.

Shaking, Ben hurried home.

—————

It was uncanny. Gabriele exited the bar— feeling a sudden need for chilly, fresh air— just as a person passed the building. They were rushing, and clearly nervous. It felt like a cue. For a fleeting, disorienting moment, he thought he was seeing a ghost. But... no, this person was far too alive, and Gabriele was almost embarrassed to have made the mistake. Their hands were hidden in their pockets, face tucked down, moving just shy of a jog. It seemed that whoever they were, they were hoping to pass by unseen.

Shame, then, that the sight compelled Gabriele so urgently to follow. His goddess was watching, arched over him, staring down with the endless voids of her eyes. It might be nothing but curiosity on Nut’s part, or a simple observation she wanted him to see. He waited for the figure to get further down the street before he started to walk behind them.

She was saying something, but he didn’t quiet catch it. The ancient tongue did not click in his brain, not when he was so focused on keeping the stranger in sight and looking as cool as ever while doing it. The breeze bustled him along, unseasonably chilly.

His cue quickly seemed to change. Maybe she’d lost interest, or maybe this stranger was just meant to be the first step of many. He could sense his goddess like she was walking with him, a scatter of footfalls echoing in his mind.

Sure enough, the stranger turned left, and Gabriele felt a tug on his elbow, guiding him to the right. He obliged, leaving the stranger behind. Whatever they were running from, he wished them well.

What followed was a half-empty street. Gabriele frowned as he slowed his gait. Many of the homes had lights shining, still; when he passed beneath a window, he heard a quiet croon of music. This street was populated. But the feeling that came to him was incomplete. No, monco— only the Italian served. Incompiuta, maybe, or... interrupted, sospeso.

Gabriele stopped moving altogether. His goddess was whispering again and he strained to hear it. It sounded like her voice was falling directly from the sky, pattering off the sidewalk like large drops of rain. More of the same: guasto, frammentare, jagged and bloody stitches.

Worry moved him now more than curiosity. He found a bench and sat, tucking his legs underneath him. The wood was cool, and he shivered. Taking a deep breath, Gabriele looked up to the sky. Show me. She did.

Gabriele watched the stars until they came down to him. Endless eyes gave him sight, and he stood, walked, until he reached the banks of a river he did not know. She knew it well, though, and urged him to step in.

Gabriele made it as far as his knees before he heard the chatter. A current begged him to swim home, no... away from home. The water gathered around him, soaking his clothes through.

He was shivering, back on the shore, and something was bleeding. He couldn’t sense what, but he was afraid to move lest he come undone. Something was probing in the back of his mind, hand grasping at air. He felt his coming up to meet it, fingertips just, just missing. His goddess found his palm, placed something soft there. The softness went over his head, cocooned him, and he curled up on his bed. But he knew whatever waited on the other side of the veil could rip him back into inky nothingness at any moment.

The bed became earth, became a lake of scarlet spilling from a body that was and was not his, became an airless void that looked to him like the sky empty of its stars, became a name, a name, a hand grasping through the dirt, through the water. Bones and flesh rebelling against the call, unfolding and unfolding and unfolding. A bird fluttered its wings impossibly, and his heart moved in time.

Gabriele found himself again, folded over, his hands pressed to his stomach. He trembled, cold. “Co... Cosa dovrei fare?” he asked aloud because he didn’t trust himself to form the thought coherently.

The taste of the river coated his tongue. He felt himself on a boat, rowing. He saw the stitches, bursting and wrong, all wrong, and him, picking them apart.

To this day, Gabriele did not completely comprehend the messages his goddess sent. But he understood a warning when he saw one. He understood a mission when he heard one. “Ho capito, dea. Grazie.”

—————

They wound up moving to the porch of the Dionysus cabin and Griffin finally stopped acting tough and made himself a new shirt. It looked like the flannel that someone had been wearing in a video Griffin showed Len earlier.

“That’s so cool,” they sighed, pinching the fabric. “I’ll never get used to the fact you can just, do that.”

He shrugged, but Len could see the little smile even in the dark. “Thanks.”

Music was playing from Len’s headphones, which was split between the two of them. Conversation came in small bursts at this point, Ricky Montgomery filling the comfortable silences in between. Griffin was leaning into his hands, eyes closed. Len by contrast was still replaying the frustrating afternoon they’d had. Archery practice had gone... fine. Jesse had even complimented their form, but to Len the words had felt empty. A consolation, something nice to say because everything else was critical.

Their hands still hurt, the memory of cramps in their fingers from hours before. Sighing, they cracked their knuckles.

“Hey.” Griffin’s pointer finger pressed into Len’s shoulder. “Are you on a hamster wheel in your brain right now?”

Len scoffed, their eyes weirdly stinging. They begged themself not to cry right now and their tear ducts blessedly listened. “Yes.”

“I promise you’re making it a bigger deal than it needs to be.”

“I knoooow,” they groaned, putting their head in their hands. “I know, I know. I just... I dunno. I feel like I’m running out of time.” It was Griffin’s turn to scoff, but before he could argue them, Len continued. “Not like, in life. I just... I wanna go to college sooner rather than later. And I’m, I guess, afraid to go back out there and not be ready to hold my own.”

Griffin’s mouth pushed to one side while he thought about this. “Well... You did it before, right?”

“Not really,” Len mumbled. “I never really had a problem until I did, you know? And then I came right here. I was being stalked by this really creepy monster. And I didn’t even get rid of it! Oh, shoot,” they lowered their voice, “we have to be quiet because my sister is asleep. Anyway, I was pretty much useless. Do you know Brett?”

“No.”

“He’s cute. Um... I mean.” Len blushed. “He’s a child of Nike. He’s from Georgia, too. He like, by pure luck, was in town when this was happening. He saw what was going on and rescued me.”

“What? That’s so cool! Sorry.” Griffin nearly whispered. “That’s so cool.”

“Yeah...” Len sighed again. “He was sooo good. He made it look super easy. I just, I feel like I haven’t retained anything since getting here. If I walked out of here tomorrow I’d be a sitting duck.”

“I can teach you a few things if you want,” a voice behind them said.

Headphones flew as Len whipped around and Griffin jumped nearly out of his skin. Patrick waved from his spot in the doorway to Len’s cabin. His shirt was on backwards, and he was lighting a cigarette.

Len was not one to harbor negative emotions about other people. They forgave their middle school bully the first day of freshman year, and couldn’t even bring themself to hate the seniors who ruined the set pieces for 42nd Street. Patrick was no different: Len did not dislike him, but they definitely didn’t trust him. And seeing him here at this time of night felt wrong.

“Um...” they started. Griffin’s hands were fumbling to pause the music. “That’s okay. I’m already getting lessons from Jesse.” They realized belatedly that Patrick was related to Jesse, which— wow, that made no sense.

There was no sound save for the sizzle of Patrick pulling on his cigarette. He breathed out the smoke slowly, his eyes sharp with annoyance at Len’s response. The image made him look like a poor imitation of a very annoyed dragon, Len thought to themself.

“I’m not an archer,” he replied eventually.

“So...”

He took another drag before continuing. “So, pick something else you want to know. There’s more to life than whatever Jesse’s showing you. And if you’re not retaining it, maybe he’s a bad teacher. I could give you the basics for a spear, easy.”

They tried their best to stay stoic, but now Len was annoyed, too. “No thanks. If I want to learn that I already have Tai to show me.”

Patrick’s face morphed instantly into a scowl. Len felt a terrible satisfaction. Was this petty on their part? Yes. They’d never even discussed training with Tai, but Len wanted Patrick to go and thought this was the best way to make him leave.

He didn’t. Patrick just rolled his eyes and kept smoking. “I see he’s gotten to you, too.”

Griffin crossed his arms over his chest. “Hey man, can you leave us alone?”

Patrick held up the cigarette. “The lady of the house says I have to smoke outside. If you have a problem, take it up with her.”

For some reason, knowing that their sister was up way later than she said she’d be, all over this guy, made Len actually angry. They weren’t sure what to do with their hands, so they copied Griffin, crossing their arms and glaring at the man. He stared back at them, and they huffed. “Why do you even smoke at all?”

Len felt a little invisible line keep their gazes locked on each other, like they were staring down a tunnel and Patrick was at the end of it. They didn’t look away.

Patrick paused. Len expected a comeback, or at least another eye roll, but instead the man leaned closer, frowning as if he hadn’t heard them. “What?”

Len’s nostrils flared. They hadn’t broken eye contact yet, an impressive feat for the child of Dionysus. “Do you think you look cool? Because you don’t. Those things just make you die faster.”

Patrick still looked lost. “Um... What are you saying?” He angled his head toward Griffin but still didn’t move his eyes away. “Did any of that make sense to you?”

Len flushed. How could someone be this condescending? It would never make any sense to them. “Don’t answer him, Griffin.” (Griffin, good boy, didn’t answer Patrick.) “Just forget it, don’t make my sister stay up late, she has work tomorrow.” They turned back around before he could respond, picking up their phone and pretending to search for something.

“What the fu... Oh my god. Whatever.” There was some mumbling behind Len’s back, the scrape of Patrick stomping out his cigarette, and eventually the click of the door as he went back inside.

After a moment of silence, Griffin snorted. “Dude,” he said, breaking down into laughter. “What the hell is going on? Why do we keep running into weirdos tonight?”

Len released a breath and let the anger go, then shook their head. “I have no idea.” The spell of a bad mood broke, and they started giggling, too. “Maybe we should call it a night before we catch a third strange and unusual demigod.”

That only made Griffin laugh harder. He put a hand over his mouth to muffle the sound. “Gods. Yeah, yeah, I should sleep.” He wiped a tear from his face, then slid out of his flannel. “Here, you earned this.”

“Griff—”

“I mean it. I have way too many clothes.”

“You’re gonna be cold!”

“I’m literally two minutes from my cabin. Take it. The longer you take the longer I’m exposed to the elements”

Len felt like they might cry again. “Ugh, fine, gimme.” They snatched it from his hand. “Go home.”

Griffin stood up. “I had a very nice night, Len. Um, thanks. And I hope I helped?”

“You did,” they assured him, standing as well. They were kind of glad that they’d decided, on a whim, to text him first.

“Cool.” They both paused, then went in for a hug at the same time. “I’ll see you at Gender Bender Club.”

Len laughed. “Yes. Can’t wait.”

They stayed out for a while longer after Griffin left, their headphones back in, clutching his gift to their chest. Again, they couldn’t quiet their mind. But instead of the afternoon replaying, now it was the look of utter confusion on Patrick’s face. The way he’d stared back at them for so long, like he’d been stuck in place.

(Had he blinked? Had they? A small shiver travelled up their spine.)

Len shook their head. They weren’t putting energy into worrying about him. As the song faded out, Len stood up and turned to go inside. It really had gotten cold tonight, which was good news for them. They were going to throw open all their windows to let the chilly air inside, and sleep in Griffin’s flannel.

#shiver #sp: griffin #sp: ben #sp: gabriele #sp: len #sp: patrick #griffin #ben #gabriele #len #patrick

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rosebudmendes · 6 years ago

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La Vie Est Belle (Shawn Mendes AU)

Description: She has to take care of her ill father. He has to provide for his younger sister. Just when they think their lives couldn’t get busier, fate intervenes.

Warnings: terminal illness, anxiety, alcohol

Word count: 2,852

A/N: I had a blast writing this first part! Hopefully will be continuing this as a series, since there are a few unanswered questions lol. Thanks to the lovely @stockholmshawn for being a babe & helping me edit this! Hope you enjoy, let me know your thoughts!

The smell of floor wax hit you hard in the face. There was an overload of sounds of conversation and clatter, along with insanely bright lights. A strong pain shot through your head and you began to massage your temples. You and your family had just arrived in an airport in Italy and you so desperately needed aspirin and coffee. You hated flying, you always have, but your reason for departure was causing a wretched feeling of discomfort.

“(y/n),” Your father muffled behind you. His airy voice snapped you out whatever trance you were in. You turned around and saw his frail body hunched over his walker, carry-on bags resting next to him. You didn’t need him to tell you he needed help.

“Sorry Pops, I got the bags.” You rushed over and picked up all three carry on suitcases. This trip was definitely going to be difficult. Your family spontaneously decided to go to Italy, recommended by your dad’s physical therapist.

Ever since you were 10, your father has been sick. In the beginning, things were progressing slowly, and you hardly noticed any change in his health. But, the disease has become more aggressive over time and your family was desperate for a cure.

“Guys, can you please walk faster! We are going to miss the short Starbucks line!” Your mother whined from ahead. You just rolled your eyes at her and continued helping your father. You were dreading this entire trip, not only because it was difficult seeing your father in such a fragile state but because you will be stuck in a resort with your mom and her favorite companion, scotch.

Once you guys made it to the Starbucks, you helped your father sit down and rest at the table nearby. “Do you want a coffee, Pops?” You always asked him if he wanted coffee, even though his doctors recommend staying away from it. His body didn’t react well to the caffeine anymore, but you know coffee is an indulgence so you offer it anyway.

“Your father doesn’t need any coffee. I will take a grande toffee latte with extra foam.” You didn’t even have to make eye contact with her and you could feel your blood pressure rise. It was clear as day that she was only on this trip for the bragging rights. She never tried to help you care for your father, rather she complained about how hard life was to her friends.

Another trip to Europe with my loving family.

As you turned around you were almost run over by some guy sprinting into the kiosk. Saved by a millisecond, the guy quickly apologized without even looking back. Another country filled with careless people, you thought.

Fifteen minutes later you returned to the table with three drinks in your hand. You set your mom’s obnoxious order in front of her, not saying a word. You put a straw in a cup of water and suggested your dad drink some. You three sat at the table, not saying a word to each other. These last few months the only conversations that took place were about your father's health and the finances of it all. It wasn’t that you guys were necessarily poor, but after your dad had to leave his job it has been more difficult to make ends meet. Thankfully, this trip was covered by donations and charity from your hometown. Although you would never admit it to anyone, you were glad you lived in such a small town. Everyone knew everyone and was always willing to help out. The night people found out about the severity of his illness, the town practically broke. Granted, your father was a well-known businessman with many connections. Still, it would have been near impossible to get the medical assistant needed if you lived in a big city.

After you three felt well caffeinated and were used to the environment, you headed out of the airport and into the streets of Italy. You held the door open for your father, and something caught your eye. A wallet. How could someone be careless enough to lose their wallet, in an airport? Nonetheless, you picked up the wallet and put it in your purse. You felt it was a better idea than leaving it up to the universe for the owner to find it.

When you finally arrived at your resort, you firstly helped your dad settle in. These days it was hard for him to partake in daily activities without being completely exhausted. Walking from the Uber to the room was enough to give him a splitting headache and knee pain. You left him in his room to rest, not worried about unloading his bags quite yet. You didn’t pay much attention when you heard your maternity leave to go get some groceries. It kind surprised you that she’d offer to help out, but then remembered you always forget her alcohol.

Now that you were basically alone you laid down on the bed, put your headphones in and put on a calming meditation guide you use to calm your nerves. You’ve been using this meditation guide for three months now, and have noticed a small change in your irrational outbursts of anger. You were insecure about your anger management issues, and not very many people stuck around long enough to really see how it affects you.

After you were relaxed and felt at peace you reached in your purse to find the abandoned wallet. The smart move would be to turn it into the police, but you were nosy and wanted to know who was clumsy enough to drop their wallet without noticing.

Inside was the typical components; driver’s license, debit card, cash. There was something unique about this particular wallet, though. Hidden behind the driver's license was a folded up piece of paper. When you untangled it and smoothed out the harsh creases, it read “Pick up Shelia, drop off package.” There was definitely a story behind this small to-do list, and you might not ever find out.

Picking up your laptop, you searched the address that was written on the driver's license. It showed the destination was a 15-minute walk downtown. How convenient. There was a good possibility the address was wrong but no harm done trying, you thought.

Seeming as the jet lag was finally catching up to you, and you had a feeling you weren’t going to sleep well you decided to take a quick walk to deliver the wallet.

When you walked outside, the sun was setting and the air seemed soft and light. There were couples and families slowly strolling nearby, and the sounds of tourists exclaiming excitement towards the sunset filled around you. The smell of baked goods and beer was a strong, pungent combination. You pulled up the address once more on your phone and followed the directions precisely, fearful of getting lost in a foreign city.

Around 20 minutes later you arrived at the house. It was a small light blue cottage with a porch swing and flower baskets hanging off the deck. It was almost dark now, and you expected the light to be on but there was a faint light coming from one window. This worried you.

You approached the door and suddenly remembered how little French you knew. This was going to be a disaster if the owner didn’t know English. You knocked a few times and after a few seconds, a young girl answered the door. She didn’t greet you, and you were left unaware of the language that was to be spoken.

“Hello, I found this wallet- uh, it belongs to a Shawn,” You began. The little girl nodded as though she understood and slammed the door in your face. Confused, you stepped back and waited for a few moments. Behind the door, you could hear muffled talking and distant TV.

“Hello?” The door opened again and a tall, broad man appeared. He looked about your age.

“Hi, uh I think this is your wallet.” You stuck your hand out with the wallet and hoped he would be relieved to have his belongings back.

“Oh, thanks. Anything else?” He grabbed his wallet and stuck it in his back pocket. You had just noticed his face in full detail as the street lights had just censored on. His eyes were swollen and almost bloodshot red. Almost as if he hadn’t had a proper nights sleep in weeks.

“No, that's it.” You wanted to know about the piece of paper but didn’t dare acknowledge the fact that you went snooping through a stranger's wallet.

“Well, thanks for returning it to me.” He shuffled his hands around and grabbed a spare bill in his front pocket. “For the fare back-“

“Oh, no I walked here. I’m just staying a few blocks back.”

“Are you from America?” He asked, putting the money back in his pants.

“Yeah…I’m here for a few months.” You responded. Great, now a complete stranger knows your whereabouts.

“Well, maybe I could take you out for dinner one night.” His cheeks flushed with red, and he kept looking down. “I don’t meet many kind Americans here.”

“Oh, yeah sure.” You were unsettled with accepting this offer with too much enthusiasm. You grew up very aware of the dangers that came with talking to strangers. Although you were 20 now the horror stories still replayed in your mind. He handed you his phone, and you typed in your number. This was stupid, you were being so irresponsible. You shouldn’t even have walked here in the first place. There was no denying how attractive he was, and it could be fun for you to get out of the caregiver mindset, and actually experience life as a 20-year-old.

“Actually, are you free right now?” His words felt as if they just fell out of his mouth. “I could take you to this Diner close by if you want.” He said with a slight feeling of uncertainty.

You have never been the spontaneous type, you actually find joy in the planning. There was a small part of you that wanted to say yes though. To forget about your anxious thoughts, forget about all the "what if’s.” You hadn’t been on a date since your dad’s health had taken a turn for the worse, and you knew he felt guilty for being responsible for that. Even though that was only partly true.

“I’m free! I’d love to go with you!” You added a little extra excitement this time. Fake it 'till ya make it right? Immediately following your response you felt guilt settling deep in your stomach. Twisting and turning your stomach, almost causing a pain. Breathe. In and out. You replayed your meditation guide through your mind as Shawn went inside to grab a jacket. It wasn’t necessarily cold outside but as the night grew so did a slight breeze.

“Ready?” He shut the door while simultaneously straightening his jean jacket. He looked effortlessly handsome while all the while radiating exhaustion and fatigue. His dark pants hugged his thighs in a snug manner, followed with dark converse high tops. His light washed jean jacket was nicely paired with a loose white t-shirt. His casual stance and outfit made you relax a tad bit more. You were in Italy after all, might as well make some memories while you can.

You both walked side by side to the diner that was just down the street and across a small bridge. This was the first moment you noticed how beautiful the city was. The houses were built with humble accents of classical designs and neutral toned pastels. The conversations that filled the atmosphere around you were nothing but soft white noise, seemingly they were in French. Shawn filled the silence with normal small talk about the sunset and weather, nothing too personal too quick. The walk over was quick enough that you hadn’t much time to think about the horrible outcomes if he wasn’t as trustworthy as you suspected.

You continued to follow behind Shawn’s lead, being careful not to walk too close to him. Oddly enough, you weren’t afraid of being close to his physical presence. He smelt of vanilla and a familiar cologne, maybe old spice like your father used. It reminded you of happy memories at home and it was drawing you towards him more and more each step.

“Ladies first,” His voice was deep and grounding. He motioned to the small booth that the kind worker had set. You slid in and tried to release any tension that was being held in your shoulders.

“I found this place by accident, came in to get change for the bus.” He looked around and noticed you follow. “The food’s not the greatest, but they serve the best coffee in a five-mile radius.” He let out a minimal chuckle, which sent shivers running up your spine. He really was handsome. “Plus, not much can beat this view.” Both of you looked out the window onto the streets. Across the street, there was a guy selling flowers out of a mobile cart, and a body of water was barely visible enough to see the reflection of the sky. The sun was mostly gone now, only a sliver of a dome still appeared.

The waitress came around, and you both ordered a cup of coffee with a slice of pizza. When the pizza came you internally groaned. Shawn was right. For an Italian Diner, their pizza looked surprisingly abysmal.

“I sure hope the coffee tastes better than this pizza looks.” You blurted out. He chuffed and took a large bite off of his slice. You took a sip of the coffee, hesitate to burn your lips. “So, Shawn,” The coffee stung a little when it touched your lips. He looked up from his pizza, mouth shiny from the massive amount of grease that settled into the cheese. “I can only assume you didn’t grow up in Italy, your English is impeccable.”

He coughed and took a napkin to his face. “Uh, yeah. I grew up in Chicago. Moved here when I was 12.” His statement was rushed and choppy. This left you to believe there was something to that story that he didn’t feel appropriate to share over the first cup of coffee. “What brings you to Italy?” He quickly changed the subject back onto you. “Here for some sightseeing and culture shock?” The tone of his voice sounded almost jock-like.

You didn’t focus on it too much and looked out the window. You focused on your reflection and felt tears prick at your eyes. “I’m actually here with my family.”

“Like a vacation?” He questioned.

“Not exactly,” Your throat choked up. Your gaze was still focused out the window. You didn’t dare make eye contact with him, that is a for sure way to make you cry.

You still struggled to talk about your dad illness with people. They just didn’t understand. People always try to make you feel better with the casual “praying for you” and “I’m here for you” responses. None of it mattered. None of it helped. It wasn’t a magical cure for his sickness. He was still ill. And you were still hurt. The thought of your father dying, leaving you alone with your mother was haunting to dwell on too much.

“Hey, it's alright I don’t need to know.” Shawn softly uttered. He reached across the table and grabbed your hands that were resting next to the coffee cup. He didn’t follow up with any more questions, and just silently went on with his coffee. “Besides, I work most days so you’ll probably never see me again.” He pulled his hand back to his side, and you immediately missed his touch. You made eye contact again and for the first time in a long time, you felt heard and accepted. He as a stranger, you met not even two hours ago and yet you ached for him to stay with you forever.

“How come you work so much?” You wanted to know more but didn’t want to pry.

“Short answer, I need the money for bills.” He was quick with his answer.

“Long answer?”

“Well, that sounds like a second date topic.” His cheeks flushed with bright pink. His soft voice was sensual, although you didn’t get the feeling he meant it.

You smiled and pushed your hair behind your ear. “Well, if you work so much how is a second date going to happen?”

“Guess that’s up to fate to decide.” He smirked.

The tension was intense, and you hated that. You could easily come back with a snarky comment to turn him off quickly, but instead, you said nothing. For once you didn’t want to know what the future held. You were perfectly comfortable leaving it up to fate. There was something immensely romantic about a mysterious love in a foreign city. If there was any right way to be spontaneous, this was it. This was right.

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