#and actually yeah… hob is allowed to be upset here | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

scifrey · 1 year

Text

Cling Fast: Chapter Nine

By Losyark The Sandman (Netflix with some sprinkling of comics canon, and Gaiman Cinematic-Literary Universe canon) Dreamling (Hob Gadling x Dream of the Endless | Morpheus) Unfinished (tentatively 10 chapters) PG-13 (for now) Unbeta’d

Hob throws the door of the flower shop open hard enough that it rattles in its frame.

“Sorry!” he shouts. “And sorry, I know you’re about to close, I was stuck at work for hours and I just–” He looks around the shop, realizing that he is utterly, utterly out of his depth. “I need help.”

From somewhere behind a jungle of ready-made bouquets, massive ferny house plants, shelves of cute succulents in pots, and buckets of individual cut flowers, an amused voice calls: “What'd you do?”

Hob puffs up like an affronted pigeon at the assumption that he’s only here because he’s done something wrong, until he remembers that, actually, he’s only here because he’s… well, he hasn’t done something wrong, it’s not his fault that he didn’t understand Morpheus’ overtures.

But he might have been a bit of a knobhead last night and that he does need to apologize for.

Hob knows the way he lashed out at Morpheus isn’t entirely fair. Even if, on some counts, it was probably true. He has no idea of Morpheus’ feelings have been growing as long as his own have. If his regard for Hob was planted at that first meeting, and if it’s been sprouting slowly, climbing towards the light and warmth of Hob’s own metaphorical fire, and has just now blossomed.

Maybe Morpheus didn’t understand yet why hearing of Eleanor upset him. Maybe just as much Hob hadn't understood yet why Morpheus walking away from him that night had hurt in return.

They… they have to talk. Everything that is British in Hob curdles at the idea of having to discuss his feelings, but he’s not a medieval peasant any more. He can be emotionally aware and available, when he tries.

But first, Hob needs to make sure that Morpheus understands that his message was received loud and clear. Received and reciprocated.

Hob winds his way through the overgrowth, and finds himself at a back counter. The emo hipster manning said counter–and the Asian guy is definitely a hipster, umber-coloured beanie firmly in place, dark fall of hair obscuring his face, and matching vest showing off two full sleeves and vibrantly coloured tattoos depicting everything from flowers to books, hourglasses to compasses–doesn’t even look up.

“I need a sort of like… bouquet.”

The hipster snorts, and keeps his eyes on the massive book in front of him, where he seems to be totting up a row of names. Every few lines, he strokes one out, seemingly at random. “You’ve found yourself where you need to be. What’s it for?”

“I yelled at… at a friend who was making, uh, overtures,” Hob confesses breathlessly, tugging at his ear and feeling a right tit. “But I didn’t know he was making the overtures, and I want to apologize for not knowing and make it clear that I feel the same way. He likes flowers. Well, he likes the symbolism of flowers, I mean.”

Hob fumbles his phone out of his back pocket, then opens the app he’d downloaded that afternoon. It’s a floriography catalog, which allows you to look up plants by their meaning, or snap a photo of a bloom and explore what that particular flower means.

When the hipster doesn’t stop what he’s doing to look at the phone, Hob barrels on: "I need something that says, I don't know, like, I'm sorry I'm so dense and I'm sorry it took so long, but now I realize that our love is fated and like, you're my… you're my…."

"Destiny?" the hipster intones, with a knowing smirk curling his lips, the only part of his face Hob can see.

"Yes! That!" Hob cries, slapping the counter excitedly, like the gif of the cat with the bongos. “And I was thinking, Shamrock, for light heartedness, and Arbor Vitae for undying friendship, and especially Sweet William for gallantry and lovelorn heroes, and masculine beauty because, whoo boy, yeah, and…” Hob stops shyly, realizing he’s rambling.

The hipster is smiling as he continues to tot up his rows of names, at least.

“And Ivy,” Hob finishes seriously. “The one above all else. Please. If we could do that.”

The hipster doesn’t move away from behind the counter. He does, however, stop tallying.

“Money is no object?” Hob adds, holding up his credit card.

Without looking up, the hipster plucks the card from his hand and says, “Come back in an hour.”

The bouquet that the hipster florist hands Hob an hour later is… well, it’s not beautiful.

It’s a sort of freakish amalgam of very meaningful flowers with very little thought put into their aesthetic arrangement. Tied with twine and wrapped in plain brown paper, there are actual sticks poking up out of the top in a spray that makes the whole bouquet not all too dissimilar to a hedgehog.

But the message, as far as Hob can tell through the app, is spot-on.

“The hell is that?” Patrick asks, as Hob cuts through the pub with his prize.

Hob ignores Patrick’s squawking and ducks into the kitchen and snag something for dinner, instead of having to make it himself. He’s too keyed up for that.

“That’s a no, by the way, if you’re thinking of changing the decor as well as the food in here, Bob,” Patrick pushes when Hob reemerges with a covered plate in his free hand. “That's hideous.”

“It’s not for the pub,” Hob chuckles. “Don’t get your knickers in a twist. Be a lamb and open my door for me?”

Patrick gives the bouquet a wide berth, and punches in Hob’s keycode and holds open the door to his private entrance. “How’s the shoot going?”

“Crazy,” Hob says. “I’m going to eat this and go right to bed. I feel like I’m far overdue for some time in slumberland.”

“Sweet dreams, then,” Patrick says.

Hob grins beatifically at him. “I’m planning on it.”

Hob devours his curry in about five minutes flat. He showers and changes into his fanciest silk PJs, gulps down two sleeping pills, and falls asleep clutching the monstrous floral creation to his chest like a funerary arrangement.

Soon after, he opens his eyes on the Darkling Beach. He's nestled into the Dream Sand with the Sea of Imagination kissing his bare feet. The bouquet is here, but instead of laying on his chest, it’s now all around him. A garden oasis has sprung up from the flowers. The twigs have become a privately enticing copse. The Ivy has curled and tangled in on itself to create an inviting little dome over the resulting bower. Hob stands and brushes the sand from his clothes, impressed with the Dreaming's inventiveness.

He looks around, but he is alone on the beach, as he expected he would be. He ducks under the vine arch, and dreams up a plush, luxurious sofa in ruby-red velvet, double wide and with angled arms perfect for leaning back against. Beside that, he wills into existence a small table with a sweet chilled Retsina wine, two thick-cut sapphire goblets, and a small pewter tray of gently steaming venison pasties.

Then he closes his eyes and, gently and deliberately, thinks as loudly as he can: I'm ready now.

The sound of the wind picking up and sand rustling across leaves reaches Hob's ears before he's even opened his eyes.

“You’re determined to fatten me up,” Morpheus says, appearing in a gentle swirl of sand and ink-in-water mist. He is standing just outside the archway on the beach, giving Hob the space he had demanded.

“They’re just really good,” Hob says, turning to offer up his friend a beaming grin. “You’d know if you tried them.”

Morpheus tilts his head like Matthew, and considers Hob from behind the invisible line in the sand that Hob has drawn.

"Please, come sit with me," Hob says, and perches on the sofa closest to the little table.

Morpheus tilts his head the other way, regarding his offerings.

Hob is no petitioner, no sycophant, no priest.

But he would lay a sacrifice for his god, if Morpheus would accept it. There is wine. There is food. And there is Hob himself, ready to lay bare on the altar of Morpheus' regard and do whatever it takes to regain the friendship he needs more than that wine, or food, or even air.

For a split-second Hob is afraid that Morpheus is going to spurn him. That the apology bouquet was a ruse. That Morpheus is actually furious at him for daring to shout at one such as he, and has lured Hob here to punish him. That Morpheus is about to tell him to go to hell and stomp off in another strop.

But then Morpheus glides into the bower, and sits beside Hob. He doesn't crowd him. He remains cautious arm length away, and Hob tries not to be disappointed.

Baby steps.

Hob has to remember that he hurt Morpheus' feelings, too.

Hob lets Morpheus settle and take in the greenery around him. He focuses instead of pouring the sweating wine, and picking a perfect-looking pie.

And then Morpheus gasps.

And there it is, Hob thinks smugly. He hands the pasty and goblet to Morpheus, who takes them unthinkingly, because he's too busy staring around the bower, eyes and mouth dropped open in wonder.

"Do you like it?" Hob asks, and they both know he's not talking about the delectibles. "I had it made for you."

"Hob," Morpheus' voice crackles, "It is… you have…"

"I even know what they all mean this time," Hob chuckles.

Morpheus turns to face Hob, clearly at a loss. He seems to remember all at once that he's holding something. His eyes drop slowly, reluctantly off of Hob's face, and to what he's holding. Hob reaches out to relieve him of his delicious burdens, but then all at once, and with no grace whatsoever, Morpheus jams the whole pasty into his mouth. He chews stubbornly, flakes of crust falling off his chin, gaze locked on Hob's like a challenge.

Hob bites his lips to keep from gawfawing at the spectacle of the chipmunk-cheeked being before him, trying so desperately to hold onto his dignity around his mouthful and utterly failing. That's fine, though. Hob doesn't need Morpheus' veneer of prideful dignity. He would much rather have the messy, uncertain, selfish, narcissistic, secretly self-loathing, solicitous man he's shared a year's worth of Tuesdays with.

"It is delicious—" Morpheus puffs, spraying crumbles, and then coughs.

Hob gently pushes his wine goblet up towards his mouth by the base, and Morpheus takes the hint and drinks to wash away the last of the pasty. Then he keeps going, and drains the goblet. If Hob didn't know any better, he'd say that Morpheus was nervous. Perhaps he actually is.

Morpheus wipes his face clean, and sets aside the goblet. Then he makes one of those frivolous human gestures that he bothers with so rarely, an aborted reach for Hob's shoulder that Hob wishes he'd let land. So he reaches out, and takes Morpheus’ hovering hand. He guides it to his shoulder, and settles it there.

"Hello," Hob says quietly.

"Hello Hob," Morpheus says. "I am glad you are here. And I am… very glad that you have chosen to accept my apology." Morpheus' hand slides upward, cupping the side of Hob's neck. He shudders at the firm, cool touch.

"I'm sorry I lost my shit at you," Hob replies, reaching up to cup Morpheus' the back hand with his own. "I was scared, and after some reflection, I realized that you would never have let anything happen to me. I would have preferred a little more communication, but I know you wouldn't have exposed me like that without first making sure it was safe. And… and I have to thank you for Harriet, too. She's… you were right, she's a good defender. And she's fast becoming a great friend. It wasn't fair of me to say those things I did. I don't really think you're that cruel."

Morpheus's eyes flutter shut. "I will be honest and tell you that some small part of my motivation for pushing you to do the show was as you say. Your heart was still full of your grief for them, and I foolishly, selfishly thought that as such, you would have no room for me."

"Ah, that's the thing with human hearts, my friend," Hob says, gently brushing his thumb over Morpheus' knuckles. "They can expand to hold as much love as they need."

Morpheus startles at the 'L' word, but he doesn't open his eyes.

"Once again, Hob Gadling, you teach me much about humanity."

"It's what I'm here for."

"Yes," Morpheus concedes. "But that is not all you are here for. And I am sorry that I have treated you as if it was your only worth to me, and in the world."

Hob chuckles, and scooches forward to rest his forehead against Morpheus'. He reaches out and cups his friend's marble-pale neck in turn, and Morpheus mirrors him by cradling his own hand as well. Morpheus' eyes remain closed, but Hob doesn't dare look away now. Starlight escapes from between his lowered lashes, and Hob wants to remember every microsecond of this moment.

"To be fair, every time we met I've been either a braggart insulting your sister, a literal flea-ridden lout, a crass boor, a starving, mannerless beast, a literal slaver, and a—"

"A man who has genuinely striven to better himself each and every meeting, to make of himself a kinder, gentler, more generous soul. And when you turned that kind generosity at me, I spurned you."

Hob laughed, and finally let his eyes slip closed, if only so he could focus on the sensation of his palms sliding up Morpheus' neck to cup his smooth jaw. "I can't blame you if you barely tolerated me for the sake of a bet, before. But then you put mistletoe in my bouquet. "

"I did."

Hob's fingers curl of their own volition, digging into Morpheus flesh, but he only tilts into the pressure, begging for more. "I didn't even know, I didn't know that this was something you could feel. That this is something you might want." Hob hitches one leg up onto the sofa, folding it under him so he can press closer.

Morpheus swallows hard. "It is."

"Then why did you push me away? Before? I tried to kiss you, at the dream of the feast."

"You were delirious. You could not consent."

"How chivalrous."

Morpheus is panting now, his hands over Hob's shoulders, hands drawing down his arms and back against, squeezing. His chest is thrust forward, hips restless on the sofa, trying so hard to be still, to wait.

“And for that misapprehension, I truly am sorry. I thought you knew how I… I thought I was welcome,” Morpheus chokes out. “In your bed, I mean.”

Hob presses his forehead against Morpheus' shoulder, breath heaving, drawing in the scent of ozone and flowers. He's losing the thread of the conversation, but he doesn't want to stop it. Not yet. Not while he still has his courage screwed to the sticking place.

"That made you think that?”

“I laid out my feelings for you, and you did not object.”

“A lack of a no is not the same as a yes,” Hob says in gentle rebuke, and he wants to bite, he wants to lick and nip, so he bites the inside of his own cheek instead.

"Lucienne has well scolded me for my presumptions," Morpheus admits contritely. His fingertips dig into the muscles at the base of Hob's spine, and Hob can't help but throw his head back, arch his spine, and whine at the way it tugs him closer. "And Matthew has taught me the phrase: 'You know what assuming does'."

"It makes an ass out of you and me," Hob finishes, panting up at the sky. "Yeah. That's fitting."

"Hob—"

"Okay, that's enough talking about our feelings. I think we're good now," Hob says, and surges down to mash his lips ineligantly against Morpheus'.

Morpheus inhales sharply through his nose. He drags Hob toward him so roughly that Hob ends up half-tumbled in his lap, his own fingers digging into Morpheus's cheeks to hold him still. Hob tilts his head, opens his mouth, and groans when Morpehus opens up under him immediately. Hob pushes his tongue against Morpheus' teeth.

It's a fucking terrible first kiss, but who cares? It's followed immediately by a second one that's much, much better, and then a third that's frankly incredible. Morpheus' mouth tastes of buttery pastry and port sauce, and he keeps making noises like a rumbling panther.

"Fuck, that's sexy," Hob wheezes, sucking on the salt air of the beach.

Morpheus pulls back to drink in the sight of Hob, flushed and half-wrecked already. Morpheus is losing coherence again, his irises glowing an eerie bioluminescent blue against the deep-space of his sclera.The inside of his mouth is the black of deepest space, shading outward on his kiss-bruised lips. Pink flags across his nose and cheeks, leaks like sakura petals into the under-water slow wave of his hair, which has grown to rise and feather around his head in a dark, eldritch halo.

"I want to consume you," Morpheus warns Hob. Black mist creeps up around them, wrapping them in a floral-smelling cocoon. What little of the sky Hob can see has overcast, diamond-bright bolts of lighting chasing one another playfully between the silver clouds. "If you let me, I will not stop. I am selfish, Hob Gadling. I am stubborn. I am demanding."

To prove his point, he lifts hob by the waist as if he weighs nothing, and presses him firmly in his lap. In this moment, Morpheus has a (more or less) male form, and under Hob's arse, the proof of this is hot, and hard, and definitely noticeable.

"I think I'm just as stubborn," Hob counters, running his hand through Morpheus' amazing hair, watching it bob back upright with each stroke. "And I think it's about time you had someone in your life you can't boss around."

"I am a king. I am bound always to my duty. I am Dream, and Dreams are me, and I cannot neglect, or abandon, or harm my dreamers."

"I would never ask you to, and a pox on anyone who would," Hob gasps, as Morpheus' hands—are they hands? They may be something else, some other limbs, or maybe it's many hands—roam his back, his thighs, his calves, massage his arse and squeeze his biceps. It's like Morpheus, now that he's been given permission to touch, has a desperate need to touch him everywhere, all at once. "Besides, I'm gonna have to throw you over for marking and lesson planning sometimes."

"I am not human."

"Yeah, I'm getting that," Hob chuckles breathlessly. "And darling, please let me assure you, I am very, very into it." He lifts one of the hands—yes, this one is a hand—and presses it against his throat, encouraging Morpheus to unbutton him.

Instead, the beautiful nightmare beneath him wraps his long fingers around Hob's throat and squeezes, just a little, just enough for it to be exciting. When you've lived forever, sometimes you need to skirt closer to extremes to really feel anything. And this, this is the most extreme and wonderful thing Hob's ever experienced in his life. Just as Hob considers gasping for air, Morpheus lets him go and starts plucking at the front of his shirt.

The pajamas are wrenched downward. Hob wriggles to help Morpheus get it off his arms, but then the shirt is being twisted. Morpheus knots it up at the small of Hob's bare back, trapping his wrists and hands, pulling his arms tight, forcing him to thrust his chest out, keeping him immobile.

Hob's own cock, which has been very, very interested in the proceedings so far, throbs. "Unf, Morpheus, love, yes but… please, touch me."

"Oh, with great pleasure, mine own," Morpheus says with dark sensuality, and in an instant, every stitch of clothing between them succumbs to dream-logic's evanescence.

One of the smoky limbs wraps around Hob's wrists to replace the disintegrated shirt, keeping him bound, as two more wrap around his thighs and lift him just enough for a human-shaped hand to slip around his hip and between his cheeks. Something cool and slick on Morpheus fingers makes Hob whine and writhe, and try to press back onto the digits.

"May I, inamoroto? Will you let me in?"

Morpheus scrapes his teeth, sharper now, almost prickling, along Hob's throat. He mouths at his clavicle, bites his shoulder hard enough to draw both blood and a moan from Hob.

"You're already in me, so much, so much more than you know," Hob chokes out, gasping and swallowing, hardly able to keep the plot. "Every choice I've made, every journey I've taken, they've all been with you in mind. I haven't done anything in six hundred years without wondering if you'd approve, or if it could make you smile. I—"

"Hob," Morpheus huffs a laugh against Hob's shoulder. "I'm asking very specifically in this particular situation if I can fuck you."

"Oh, well, yes. We can do that, too."

Hob looks down at Morpheus. Morpheus looks up at Hob.

Hob infuses as much tender affection and admiration into his gaze as he can. In turn he is rewarded with awe and love so deep and honest that Hob wonders how he could ever have thought that the Endless couldn't feel the way Morpheus clearly does.

And then the first finger is breaching Hob's body. It feels so good that he groans and flops backward in Morpheus' many-limbed hold, trusting his lover to support him and position him to his satisfaction.

Morpheus takes advantage of his bared and vulnerable belly to lip and suck at Hob's nipples. This soon has him squirming and grinding down on Morpheus' thighs, desperate for something, for anything—

"If you let me have this, I will want it always," Morpheus warns, even as his hand draws away and Hob's legs are splayed open for the nightmare King's pleasure.

"You can have it."

"I will keep you forever." He pulls Hob down, slowly, slowly, not giving him time to adjust to the stretch and weight of him. Doesn't matter. This is a dream. It just feels good, and good, and good, and goes on, and on, deeper and deeper.

"You can have me!" Hob whines, circling his hips, desperate for what little motion Morpheus' terrible grip allows. "Only please—I'm so close already—please—" he sobs.

"I am as hungry as a black hole and I will not stop until everything you are is subsumed by me, submissive to me, is mine to cherish and to protect and to please."

"Dearheart," Hob stutters as his peak crashes closer. "Don't—ah—don't you think I already know that? Though we're gonna talk about—christ, there!--we're gonna talk about what you mean by… by submissive because you know I like it both ways and I think—"

Hob doesn't get to tell Morpheus what he's thinking, because Morpheus suddenly draws him into a crushing hug, burying his face between Hob's nipples, and goes rigid. The sky splits open. Fireworks streak and scream through the darkness, popping the sweet clear pink of a greek wine, the deep red of a full-blown rose, and the deep sleepy amber of a cold beer in a sunny pub garden. The clouds burst into a shower of silver dust and rain down on the landscapes and denizens of the Dreaming. The sky clears and the stars burn bright and true.

Morpheus stills entirely, immovable as the marble statue he resembles. Which is not fair, it's not kind, because Hob is so close, so close—

"You bastard," he hisses. "You fucking tease, don't stop, don't…"

"Take your pleasure of me, then, Hob Gadling," Morpheus commands with a smirk, still shuddering down from his own release. He lays back against the arm of the sofa, and stretches like a cat, arms above his head, expression challenging, cock still hard and hot, and smokey limbs still trapping Hob where he is. "Or do you regret it already? Pledging yourself to me thus for the rest of your immortal life?"

"No!" Hob shouts, feeling his muscles seize, his balls draw tight, the lightning arc down his spine. "No, of course not, I… I have… oh, my going I'm going to… I have so much to live for!"

In the afterglow—and it's literally a glow, because Morpheus so pleased with himself that he is radiating silvery light like a fallen star—Hob runs his fingers through Morpheus's bird's nest hair, as Morpheus has his head pillowed on Hob's furry chest.

Above them, the sparkle from the fireworks have joined together in a dance, ribboning across the sky in lazy, satisfied arcs, forming an indolent aurora borealis.

"Wait, wait, you had to hold negotiation talks with your siblings over me?" Hob says, trying to get his sex-stupid brain to follow the thread of Morpheus' confession. He's wrung out. Even in his dreams, half a dozen orgasms is a lot for a man of his age. "Is that where you were the week you were away? When I saw the stained glass?"

"Those were the sigils of my siblings, yes," Morpheus allows. He sits up to sip from the goblet of wine, and then presses the rim of the glass to Hob's lower lip so he can drink, too. "I expressed my intention to court you, and my youngest siblings contested my right to claim you as a vassal of my realm."

"You told them before you even asked me?" Hob asks, miffed by the high-handedness of it. He'd be more miffed, of course, if all of Morpheus' grandeur and affrontery weren't just for show. Hob has learned in the last few hours that his beloved enjoyed being held down and swived just as much as he enjoyed doing the swiving.

"Be assured, I value your opinion, and your independence, erastis," Morpheus says, leaning across his chest to set the goblet down on the little table. Hob takes the opportunity to pet down Morpheus' flank, to give the beautiful pale globe of muscle a loving squeeze. "Yet you have spent as much time in Despair's domain as mine, for your grief is deep and darkly encompassing. So too Desire's, for you lust for life and the hedonistic pleasures it provides is glorious and brightly burning. And then as well Delirium, for she is still Delight in all the ways that matter, and your giddy, unrepentant joy in all the experiences that life has to offer you, sober or not, falls within her purview."

"What about the other one?" Hob asks gently, cuddling Morpheus close and pressing a kiss to the crown of his head. "I think I've spent a lot of my time with Destruction, too."

"The Prodigal did not attend the summons," Morpheus answers sadly, after a long silence. "Though I think he too would have claimed you as vassal, for you create as much as you destroy, and no creation can come without first sweeping away what was before it. Destruction is not always a bad thing."

Hob thinks of their meeting in 1789 and agrees.

"Only Death and Destiny did not wish to contest my claim. And so in the end it was decided you would be vassal to all, for of all of humanity, you are the most human. You have resided in each of our realms, and been both our antipode and antithesis."

"And what does that entail? Am I going to have to serve them? Am I going to have to serve you?"

"You need not be my vassal to be my beloved," Morpheus says, as if it's obvious. "And my sister Death has impressed upon me that I, erm, I need not be so possessive of you, agapitos. You may live your life as you always have. The difference is that my siblings may choose to appear to you. They may call on you, or ask boons of you, and provide boons of their own as well."

"Translation: be prepared to have the in-laws drop by unannounced."

Morpheus chuckles, and Hob preens to have made him laugh. "They… would like to be seen by you. As you see me."

"What does this mean for, uh, this though?" Hob waggles a finger between them, illustrating the connection they have. "What are we now?"

Morpheus looks up at him, mercury on his lower lash line, but a smile on his lips. "I am yours. And you are mine."

"Sounds good to me," Hob says, settling back into the sofa more comfortably and pulling Morpheus half on top of him. It has been difficult, and anxiety-inducing, and terrifying, and wretched, and amazing, and awe-inspiring, but Hob has been hollowed out these last few weeks. And now he is ready to fill his heart again. "I'm your nebbish professor-slash-television presenter and you're my King of Dreams and Nightmares."

"Mmm," Morpheus agrees.

"Wait," Hob says, snapping upright, tumbling Morpheus onto the carpet of shamrock and clover under the sofa. "Does that make me a consort? You made me a, ivy crown, does that mean I'm a—"

He jolts awake before he can finish his sentence. Hob falls back into his pillows, covers his face with his hands, and laughs, and laughs, and laughs.

PREVIOUS | NEXT

69 notes · View notes

artificialqueens · 3 years

Text

Gimme Love, 6/9 (Miz Cracker/Blair St Clair) - Grinder

AN: Welp, I'm back from travelling! For anyone interested to know how it went; it was great (if you love stress). Liverpool is a lovely place but I've destroyed my bank account :D

Anyway! We got 4 more chapters of this fic! This is where the conflict begins. I hope yall enjoy.

TW for this chapter: Homophobia, homophobic slurs

2020

The cake was in the fridge. We'd be seeing him later. For now, we settled for some spaghetti. It had become a sort of tradition for Jujubee and me for moments that needed celebrating. But we hadn't done it in so long, what with the stress of work.

"So, Juju, as you can see, I've labelled the pages you're allowed to read, so don't go looking at other shit, OK?" I asked, chopping up a red bell pepper.

"Why? If I do, am I gonna find some porn-y shit?" She quipped, running a hand along with the butterfly print book.

"Honestly, you know all of those details anyway." I gave her a smirk, taking a piece of pepper and throwing it over to her.

I almost expected it to fly past her head, but she caught it in her mouth. Skill.

"OK, but what's in the box, though?"

I almost forgot what she was even referring to. But following her gaze, I saw it, sitting on the kitchen counter beside the fridge. "Oh, that?" I scraped the peppers into the saucepan, "That is my memory box."

"Ooh, that's even more exciting." She beamed.

"No. We're not opening it." I moved on to an onion.

"Aw, why not?" Jujubee whined.

"Because I made my Mom promise me she wouldn't give it to me until I turned 50. But I was weak and begged her to give it back. So now, I've promised myself to not look inside until I turn 50." The air was no longer clean, poisoned with the acid from the onion. My eyes were beginning to sting.

"Aw, Brie, you don't need to get all emotional about it." She had to go and joke about the tear now trickling down my cheek.

"Girl, this is torture," I wipe my eye along my wrist, pretty sure my eyeshadow has been fucked up. "Did I fuck up the smokey eye?"

"Nope." I knew she was lying to me, but she couldn't take her eyes away, "You look absolutely gorgeous as usual."

"Not as hot as you, though." I sniffed. I needed her to focus on reading so I could finish chopping the onion as soon as possible. "Anyway, you wanna read something in there?"

Jujubee opened the book and immediately laughed, "Jesus Christ, Brie, bit dark."

She showed me the first page, childlike scribblings read 'Brianna's Diary. DO NOT TOUCH! Or this will happen to you!' An arrow led to a picture of a grave.

"I never even noticed that before," I chuckled.

"With a warning like that, I better find some crazy shit in here." she cleared her throat, "So starting in 1994, 'Diary Diary, Today, I had a fight with Jujubee. She really upset me, but I upset her too. I should say sorry. That's all. Bye.'" Jujubee lowered the diary, "you bitch, why did you upset me?"

"I have no idea, girl. I mean, didn't we do that a lot back then?" I shrugged.

"I bet you started it though," She lifted the book again, a coy smile on her face. "OK, moving on to 1995," she cleared her throat, "'Dear Diary, today Mommy and Juju's Mommy took us to see Pocahontas at the movies. It was very good. Goodnight.'" Jujubee paused to giggle, "God, I love how detailed this is. You could have added so much more."

"Girl, I was 8 years old. Writing more than 4 sentences was like writing the bible to me." I countered, finally scraping the onions into the pan with the peppers.

"Yeah, but we did so much more that day. We went to McDonald's after, we found that little frog pond in the woods." She pointed out.

I hadn't even remembered that. Now I kind of wished my younger self would have pushed herself to write more.

I was too busy rifling through my messy cabinet for oregano to notice Jujubee just flicking through page by page.

"But, you wrote 3 pages worth of poetry to Blair St Clair?"

Once I found the spice, I spun around to look at her, "Juju, I told you to only look at the pages that were labelled."

She held a hand up, "OK, I'm sorry." She closed the book.

I felt bad, thinking maybe my harsh tone brought the fun to a grinding halt. Squeezing my eyes shut, releasing a sigh, I said, "I'm sorry. That was uncalled for."

She took a sip of her water while I added the oregano to the saucepan.

"So, did you text her back?" She played with the glass in her hands.

I pursed my lips and shook my head. "Why? Do you think I should?" I asked quietly.

"Nah, not really."

"Well, why not?"

Jujubee shrugged her shoulders and went to look at her nails. "Don't know."

I clicked my heel, my tongue running along the top row of teeth behind my closed mouth. "Well, I've been thinking about it. I mean, maybe that's the problem. Maybe I could be a bit more responsive."

She made a humming sound. I was unsure what it was supposed to mean.

"OK, what's going on?" I put both hands on the counter.

"I don't know. I just think…" she paused, trying to find her words, "I don't see the point because the same shit will just happen again."

"The same shit?" I repeated, "what's that supposed to mean?"

"Well, her speaking all but 10 words to you and then completely ignoring your existence." She put a hand under her chin.

"Well, maybe that wouldn't happen if I actually spoke to her like I wasn't terrified for once," I suggested.

She squeezed her eyes together, "Oh no, Brie. I knew this was going to happen."

"What was going to happen?"

"The whole Blair thing. I thought you were over it. Well, until she messaged you recently, I had a creeping feeling that it was all gonna come back."

"Juju, listen to yourself. You're talking like this is an actual problem."

"I hate to say it, but it is. Do you remember the time she hung out with you in the library? You were so excited the next day. I hadn't seen you so happy in so long. You wouldn't stop talking about how she would probably be there again." She paused, "But she wasn't. And you were so disappointed."

"Yeah, but things could be different now."

"And how's that?"

"Well, I'm a different fucking person now, that's one thing. I'm successful, I'm smart, I'm hot as fuck, rich as fuck - -"

"And you think that's gonna be the game-changer for her? That she's gonna come running into your arms? Because if that's the case, that says a lot about her." Jujubee rolled her eyes.

"Well, I'm a big girl, now. If it happens again, I'll just get on with things. I'll move on.

"That's a lie."

I squinted my eyes. "Why are you being like this right now? You're so salty just because I fucked wrote a private letter to her as a child."

"This isn't about the letter, Brie. You know why I'm being like this. You shouldn't need to ask." But she continued, "You've never dealt with never having parents. You think that if Blair was to suddenly be truly interested in you, you'd get over the feeling of being unwanted. Yet you're surrounded by people who love and support you, who'd stick with you to the end. But right now, you don't give two fucks about them because you're too busy panicking about some girl from high school."

I lift my head again, putting one hand on the desk and the other on my hip, "Well, congratulations, Juju. Sounds like you got me all figured out. Hey, you wanna talk about my Grandpa next?"

She only reacted to that with a scowl. And she spoke again.

"You remember the prom? Do you remember what happened? Do you remember how she didn't do anything to stop Trevor?"

My eyes shifted away, just for a second. "She told him to stop."

"Which did nothing."

I wanted to argue how she was unfair. How it was so wrong to blame Blair for the prom incident. But I was distracted by a burning smell. Only now did I notice the onions and peppers blackening.

I quickly moved the saucepan off the heat, feeling it only radiating in my own face. I put a hand on the counter, the other on my hip. "OK, Juju, maybe you should leave."

It was safe to say Jujubee was taken aback. She remained still for a second before pushing her stool out. "So that's how it is? Kicking me out when you're faced with the truth?"

"Juju, just leave, please." I felt my hands clench around the edge of the counter, my nails digging into my hip.

"I am!" She grabbed her coat and stormed from the kitchen. I flinched upon hearing the door slam shut, and only then did it sink in - the dread, the feeling of regret.

I looked at the hob, the burnt vegetables unsavable. So they went in the trash. My stomach grumbled. But I couldn't bring myself to start over again.

Opening my fridge, my eyes were immediately on the cake. And I glanced over my shoulder, looking where she had sat, now feeling a sense of emptiness. Not in me, but the room. Like I was alone.

I was alone.

"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck." I repeated as my hand clenched on the door. The cool air from the fridge felt nice but not enough to stop my panic.

I looked at the cake again, feeling the urge to throw it out the window. Or maybe just send it back to her.

Bitchy, I know. But I couldn't help it. I wouldn't be feeling like this if she hadn't acted the way she did.

I slammed the door shut, kicking it for extra measure. And in my heels, I almost tripped.

Filled with more anger, I paced around for a few minutes, aggressively cussing to myself.

Don't get me wrong, one part of me said she was right about Blair.

No. She isn't. I was going to prove Jujubee wrong.

I picked up my phone from the counter, found the message and began to type with trembling fingers.

"Blair…" I panted, "So sorry...for getting back to you so late... I'm a busy woman, as you...probably already know...Look... I'm just gonna say it...I really like you...I always have...You make me feel so confused...yet so happy at the same time...I feel a connection between us...I always have...I don't know whether you ever felt it or not...but I do hope so...I would love to meet up with you sometime soon...and maybe have a coffee...I don't know...maybe even some wine, if you want. I look forward to hearing back. Brie x"

My thumb hovered over the send button. The only sound I could hear was the ticking of the clock. Not even my own breathing.

I pulled my thumb away, closed my eyes and breathed out. "Brie. You sound fucking crazy. You sound insane. You can't just send shit like that." I repeated words of the same nature to myself, trying to usher myself off the edge before I could do something idiotic.

"Jesus Christ." I opened my eyes again, which were now glossy with tears. I wouldn't blink. I wouldn't let them fall.

Big mistake.

I thought I tapped the chat bar, going to delete the message. But my blurred vision said, "haha, no."

I tapped the button next to the chat bar. The send button.

The little noise my phone made as it was sent may as well have been the same as a gun clicking.

"Oh, God." My eyes couldn't tear away from the small screen. My heart rate increased. "No, no, no, you fucking idiot!" I pressed my thumb down on the message.

There was a delete option.

I clicked it.

'Are you sure? The recipient may have already seen the message.'

I backspaced to check.

There it was, the tiny version of her profile picture falling to the bottom of the screen. She was reading it.

"Fuck!!" I blurted.

I put the phone down on the counter, began pacing for a moment, and looked back at the phone. This went on for a few minutes. I wanted to be as far from my phone as possible. But also needed to know if she had replied.

This was it.

Blair was going to know how I was weirdly obsessed with her.

She was going to know I was checking her out in the library that one time.

She was going to know that I had fingered myself so many times at the thought of her.

What were my options?

Suicide - Not gonna happen.

Running away - But the project.

Reply with 'Hey, sorry! My friend took my phone, haha' - did anyone ever believe that excuse?

Block her before she could reply - then she'd think I was even more crazy.

Call up her place of work and somehow get her phone confiscated - why, though? That would involve Facebook stalking her again, trying to think of an excuse. Even if I did so successfully, she still saw the message.

All of the options just lead to cons. It was hopeless.

With shaky fingers, I switched my phone off and practically threw it onto the counter.

My body sank to the ground, now holding my head in my hands.

What do I do? What do I fucking do?

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

2004

I was shaking. Only slightly.

There was something about the prom that made me feel so on edge.

Maybe it was all the people, all together in one room.

Perhaps it was the fact the chess boys asked to make out.

Or perhaps it was the fear of missed opportunities. Opportunities that involved a certain someone.

I watched from the side of the room as Blair took pictures with her friends on her pink digital camera. There was a feeling of regret causing my stomach to twist, my fists clenching onto my purple dress.

That could have been me.

I felt a hand moving a curled lock of hair from my shoulder.

"Just think, girl; we're almost there," Jujubee appeared in front of my vision, "College is just around the corner."

"I can't wait to be out of here," I spoke quietly.

Everyone turned their attention to the stage as Rosé appeared, announcing it was time to crown Prom King and Queen.

"Well, it's pretty obvious who our queen is." Jujubee crossed her arms.

I knew who she was thinking of. To be fair, it was pretty obvious. But I wasn't complaining.

Trevor was our Prom King, not my King anyway. I scoffed as he cheered, being pushed up to the stage by his team.

"Jesus Christ, who would have thought." Jujubee took a sip of her punch, spilling a drop on her lilac puffy-sleeved dress.

"And your Prom Queen is…" Rosé paused, pulling the result from the envelope.

3...2...1…

"Blair St Clair!"

I smiled for the first time since walking into the place. I applauded her victory as she walked up onto the stage.

Blair hugged Rosé and whispered something in her ear. I had no idea what it was, but I was too distracted as Trevor just stared.

"You wanna make a speech, girl?" Rosé joked into the mic.

Blair laughed, covering her face with embarrassment. She turned down the offer.

"OK. Everybody," Rosé held a hand to Blair and Trevor, "You're King and Queen of 2004."

Blair looked slightly uncomfortable as Trevor put an arm around her waist. Why couldn't he get the hint she was done with him?

The two got down from the stage, Trevor's gaze following her in confusion as she moved far away from him.

"Aren't they supposed to do a dance now?" Jujubee asked.

I shrugged. "I don't know, Juju. I've only seen proms in movies, and they're quite obviously exaggerated."

My eyes landed on Blair once more. Trevor was whispering something in her ear, and she shook her head, rolled her eyes and walked away. Yikes, he was desperate.

"Jesus, I'm fucking nervous." Rosé was approaching us now, well, the punch table we stood beside. "Getting up on stage gets my body shaking, you know?"

"Wish I could do that." Jujubee replied.

"Yeah, well, sometimes you just gotta do what you gotta do." Rosé replied.

I eyed her suspiciously. This was odd; she'd never really spoken to us before.

"But of course," she looked left, then right, before pulling a flask from her bra and pouring it into a cup, "this helps. You ladies want one?"

"Nah, I'm good," Jujubee made a stank face.

Me, on the other hand, having never drank alcohol in my life, piped up, "Actually, yeah. Could you just pour me a shot of whatever that is?"

"Yeah, of course," and she didn't lie. She poured me a shot of vodka. No spitting in the cup, no adding anything sneakily, no hostility.

She passed the cup to me, giving a mischievous wink.

Tossing it back, I was totally shocked by the burning sensation it caused to my throat. I began to cough and splutter.

"Girl, chill out, or you're gonna draw attention to yourself." Rosé looked around.

I placed the cup down on the table, the plastic practically crumbling in my hand.

"This is it. The beginning," Jujubee joked, dabbing the corner of my mouth with her pinky. I didn't even know there was a drop of liquid there.

And I didn't know there was a hair out of place either. Because she was stroking a soft hand down my temple to my cheek.

"Brie, do - -"

"Juju, I'm gonna ask her to dance with me," I said all too loud.

The hand dropped instantaneously, her smile falling in a matter of seconds. Of course, I expected this shocked reaction. Even Rosé had nearly choked on her drink.

"For real?" Jujubee asked after a silent moment.

"Yep," I answered proudly, putting my hands on my hips.

"I guess you've never touched a drop of alcohol in your life, loser." Rosé leaned close to me.

"Something like that." I felt slightly uncomfortable now that she was dangerously close to me.

She snorted a laugh, holding up her hands as she walked away, "I'm not responsible for this."

So this was what they called liquid courage. Yeah, it was one shot, but it was my very first. And I was already feeling it. The buzz.

I turned to make my way to the girl I loved when Jujubee grabbed my hand, "Brie, are you sure this is a good idea?"

"Yes," I replied too quickly, tugging to pull away.

"Are you sure?" Her brows knit, "You're not gonna be upset if she says no, right?"

One final strong tug was enough to release her grip on me, "No, Juju. I'll be fine, just...stop questioning me, OK?"

She was silent, her arms dropping by her side.

But I continued on in my mission, vision slightly blurred, insides warmed.

Everyone around us was gone like they had just stepped into another world, leaving Blair and me in this reality. Or maybe it was the two of us who disappeared, somehow falling into the wormhole and ending up in the other world.

Or maybe it was just liquid courage.

There were only a few metres between us now. "Blair?"

She had been taking a sip of her coke when she looked up and noticed me. Wiping the corners of her mouth, she put the can down.

"Brianna!" She beamed. Her eyes looked me up and down, causing a brief moment of panic, "wow, look at you. You look great."

"Yeah, right, compared to you." I stifled a laugh.

"Oh, shut up." She smirked.

"So, um…" I tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, looking away and to the ground, "I was just...wondering...if you'd wanna dance with me?"

I didn't lift my gaze. Only now did I understand what Jujubee meant. The girl hadn't even said no yet, and my heart was already sinking.

"It's just...this song is so good, and it's the end of the year, and we may not - -"

Before I could continue rambling, she cut me off.

"Sure. Yeah, I'll dance with you."

I lift my gaze to see her glittering smile. Like in the library, time didn't feel real anymore, and I needed to remind myself to breathe. "Really?"

"Yeah, of course." She briefly knit her brows like it shouldn't have been questioned. She took my hand in her perfect french manicured one, "Come on."

As we made our way to the dance floor, I was only now reminded that there were people here. So, we didn't slip through a wormhole. This was real. This was reality.

Blair found a spot on the floor, turned to me and wrapped her arms around the back of my neck.

For a moment, I was unsure of where to put my hands. I glanced over her shoulder, noting the couple also slow dancing. She has her arms around his neck. He had his arms around her waist.

I was hesitant at first but eventually gave in. Blair didn't mind. And I felt myself relax.

She just stared at me, the sweet smile still on her face. The music echoed around us. The lights were low. Pink tinted.

"So, how does it feel winning Prom Queen?" I asked. Of course, it felt amazing for her, but I needed to find an excuse to speak. Anything to avoid the somersaults my stomach was doing.

"I mean, it's nice, I guess. But, it's all bullshit anyway?" Her smile faltered, "Not something anyone in the future will give a fuck about, right?"

I disagreed. If I were to win prom queen, I would feel validated. And I would make sure I'd bring it up to everyone I ever met. Pathetic, I know.

"Well, I can't think of anybody better," I admitted. "Maybe they could have chosen a better King."

"Agreed." She nodded. "You know, literally just now, he tried to use this whole King and Queen thing to 'try again'. Not even that long before you came up to me. Brianna, I've already given him another chance. And he blew it."

"During the Summer?" I recalled.

"Yep." She pursed her lips.

"What did he do, if you don't mind me asking?"

"Oh, he just had some major anger problems," her eyes widened for a moment, "He never hurt me, though. He just...got so angry over the dumbest shit. It was just too much."

She puffed out a breath, the frown on her face appearing.

"You don't have to tell me any more," I said quickly.

"Sorry, I don't wanna get emotional." She looked back at me. "It's just... it's hard not to. You're a good listener."

How should I have felt knowing that was her analysis of me from very little time spent together? She really trusted me. "Blair... I'm sorry about that time in the library. When you mentioned my Grandpa. I feel terrible now."

"Please, don't. You were grieving."

'Was I really though?' I held back from saying.

"I never really had a Dad," I smiled, seeing his stupid smile in my head, "But he was the closest equivalent to that."

"I know what you mean." She began, "My Dad…" she trailed off for a moment, "He wasn't the best. You probably remember that one time I ran away as a kid. When you walked me to my Grandma's."

I wasn't even tense in the first place, but my body felt like it relaxed. "You remember that?"

"Of course I do. It really meant a lot, Brie." Her thumb stroked the back of my neck. I don't know if she did this intentionally or subconsciously. Was she even thinking about it? "That day, I never went back. Ever. My Grandparents took full custody of me, and they became my second parents. The ones I always deserved."

I felt my body relax even more like this was normal. "Blair, I wanna carry on something my Grandpa started."

"What's that?"

"It sounds crazy," I pause, "But he wants me to find a parallel universe."

I paused to take in her reaction. She did look taken aback for a moment. Could you blame her? "Is it even possible?"

"I mean, at first I thought he was a bit out there asking me something like that, on his deathbed and all. But I've been studying really hard, and I think it's achievable."

"That's interesting." She nodded. "So, what are you gonna do at college?"

"Drugs." I giggled before the smile dropped, "OK, not funny. Bad joke."

"I'm laughing, though." She was.

"Um, no. I'm gonna do Astronomy and Space science."

"I didn't know that was a major you could do," Blair replied.

"Me neither. What about you, though? Something in theatre?"

Blair lowered her gaze for a brief moment, "I dunno, Brie. I honestly don't see college as a me-thing. I'm constantly torn between theatre, fashion merchandising, cosmetology, politics..."

"Politics?" I laughed and instantly hoped she didn't take offence to that.

"What?" She smirked. "What's funny?"

"I just…" I paused, feeling my heart skip a beat as a particular memory came back. "This is crazy. I can't believe I remember this. All I can think about right now is the day we met. Remember the first day of elementary? On the bus? I told you I wanted to be a politician when I was older, just 'cause they liked to shout a lot. And you couldn't say the word right."

"Oh fuck, now that you mention it, I do remember." Blair laughed, "That was such a long time ago. We were so little." She looked away as if her mind had transported her to that moment. Did she remember it like I did? Did she remember how she held my hand and told me she was my friend?

And then never sat with me ever again?

My eyes had drifted away, looking over her shoulder at nothing in particular. The bad thoughts were taking over. I didn't want them to. I wanted to enjoy this moment forever. Just swaying back and forth with Blair in the middle of the dance floor.

She stroked her thumb on the back of my neck again, causing a spark to course through me.

Blair's looking at me again. "Brianna, how come we never talked more?"

I don't know if it was just me fantasising again, but her face was moving closer to mine, ever so slowly.

I had the answer to her question. But it couldn't ruin this moment. "I don't know," I whispered.

She was closer now, head tilted to the left.

And I found myself doing the same.

This was another fantasy. This isn't real.

I felt her breath on the corner of my mouth.

It felt real.

It was.

There was a frustrated roar.

A tight fist clenched around my arm.

I was pulled back forcefully.

My feet gave way.

I was on the ground.

"Are you kidding me??" Trevor stood in front of Blair, his face red with anger, "You won't fucking dance with me, but you'll dance with her??"

Everyone around us was just standing there, too shocked to do something.

"Trevor, what the fuck??" Blair went to move around him, trying to get to me. He only pushed her back.

"Of all the people, why her??" He grilled Blair with more questions. She looked afraid now.

Why the fuck wasn't anyone doing anything??

I felt a hand on my shoulder, but looking around, I saw it was actually Rosé. "Trevor, what the fuck??"

He turned to look as if offended that anyone else got involved. How could they not? Seeing her helping me stand must hit a nerve. Because he's snatched a cup of punch from a bystander, "Why are you defending the dyke??" And he threw the cup forward, the liquid drenching my hair and splattering my dress.

That was the final straw. I could feel my chest heaving.

I ran to the nearest exit. Running from the school. As soon as I felt the cool air on my skin, I wrapped my arms around my stomach. I was bent over, throwing up all the panic. Sparks of the bile dotted the bottom of my dress and shoes. I didn't care. My dress was already ruined.

I heard the door open behind me and immediately began to move again.

I tried to run, but the heels made it hard.

The person was in front of me now, hands on my face, tears streaking her face.

I expected it to be Blair.

But it was Jujubee.

"Brie, it's alright. I punched him for you." She whimpered, her hands on either side of my face, holding me tenderly.

My breathing was rugged, trying so hard to listen to her reassuring whispers. But in my head was the sound of the crowd gasping and Trevor shouting.

No one was going to forget about this. I'd be reminded by the stares in the corridors, how they'd whisper to each other.

"Let's go to my house. You can stay over if you want." Jujubee's sweet voice brought me out of my thoughts.

Words still failing to surface, I nodded.

As soon as we got in, she ran me a hot bath. Whilst I cleaned myself of the sticky punch that covered my hair and face, she made chocolate mug cakes with ice cream.

Sitting there in her room, dressed in her fluffy pyjamas, eating her food, I should have felt better. I should have been happy. But I just stared at the mug in my hand, still thinking of Trevor's anger and Blair's distressed face.

Jujubee took the mug from me, set it aside along with her own, and enveloped me in a hug. "Don't cry, Bri. Please, don't cry."

"I'm sorry, I didn't know I was crying." I wept.

"Don't apologise." She shushed me, "It's OK. You're OK."

-_-_-_-_-_-_-

2020

And even now, I didn't realise I was crying again. And as it was too late to stop myself, I remembered sobbing into Jujubee's shoulder, holding her tightly, like she was the only one who could get me through it. She was the only one who could get me through it.

The events of the prom left me scared, always so on edge when walking those school corridors. Just terrified that Trevor would round the corner and do something worse.

But Jujubee was there for me every time. She'd hold my hand, not giving a fuck about who looked at us weird.

I know I should have grown a backbone and defended myself, and what had actually happened shouldn't have been as damaging as it was. But, hey, I was only human.

Jujubee got in a lot of trouble for punching Trevor in the face. But she didn't mind. "Just as long as he got what was coming to him," she had said.

Hearing her retell the event, I wish I had been there. She had jumped on him, tackling him to the ground and punched him over and over again.

But as exciting as that all was, I didn't speak to Blair again. I didn't think about her. I didn't talk about her. I didn't even look at her. Blair wasn't the one to come after me that night. She never even approached me to talk about it. She didn't give a fuck.

So I kept my distance.

And just as life went on without her, she just had to go and message me. After years of silence, she couldn't have left well enough alone.

I finally lifted my head. I reached up and grabbed my phone. Turning it back on, I immediately deleted Messenger, hoping to never see Blair's response.

This would be the beginning of my journey toward happiness.

Yeah. That was it. That's what I would do.

#rpdr fanfiction #s10 #as5 #miz cracker #jujubee #blair st clair #blair x cracker #coming of age #hurt/comfort #lesbian au #high school au #angst #gimme love #grinder #tw homophobic slurs #tw homophobia

4 notes · View notes