pretty like your favorite book: the inheritance games, heroes of olympus, six of crows, the maze runner, miss peregrine's home for peculiar children, kotlc, harry potter (the marauders era)

always watching! coraline, star wars, gravity falls, adventure time, over the garden wall, the owl house, amphibia, gilmore girls, sfawtde... (yes i'm a minecraft nerd lmao)

like the end of the song: laufey, yaelokre, florence road, mitski, hozier, olivia dean, epic: the musical, gigi perez, lorde, adrianne lenker, cavetown, phoebe bridgers, faye webster, peggy, clairo, declan mckenna, the neighborhood... now playing: SAILOR SONG, forwards beckon rebound, ribs, hanging out to dry, sweater weather, first love/late spring, i know you, we fell in love in october...

Because, of course, he had been the one to chug milk right from the carton, one hand braced against the fridge door even as you swatted at him and tried to cajole him into dropping the exasperating habit. Disgusting, you insisted, normally with your arms crossed over your hastily thrown on bathrobe, hair a mess, scowling half-heartedly after finding him drinking from the box for the umpteenth time at what usually happened to be one am. Practical, he would toss back with a languid smile.

It sat there, a sad, almost pitiful reminder every time the fridge swung open. The sensible decision would’ve been to toss it away briskly and not get caught up and teary at the sight of a souring milk carton. But at the moment, for weeks now, if you were to be honest with yourself- you were anything but prudent.

Now the pale, sodden box wasn’t of much use. You only took it out when you reached numbly for the sugary, bland, previously crunchy cereal- key word previously- before remembering that it had been something like three and a half weeks that the milk had been sitting lonely in your refrigerator and was likely a safety hazard by now. He’d never liked that cereal, though you had said pertly that you would give it the benefit of doubt. He would probably have said that the cereal was the safety concern here, not the milk. Joke that drinking the milk would build character.

Maybe it was nonsensical, quite futile, holding on to a godforsaken milk carton like it would bring him back- no, more like anchor him here, with you. Because you’d never really let him go, had you? Deep down, maybe some part of you knew you never would.

You always felt him in the slips of moments. The rush of everyday life left only a dull, throbbing ache inside you, but the beats between seconds, the slow breaths, when you were left only with the puddle of your own silhouette darkening the floor before you- he was there. His presence was tangible, the tilt of his head, the glint of eyes you knew you wouldn’t see when you turned.

Nights, admittedly, were the most painful. You would sit at the kitchen counter, the flickering fluorescent lights of your apartment above you and the otherworldly, detached dark of midnight all around. Your legs swinging reflexively from your stool, cheek resting against your palm as you picked at the sticky noodles in front of you. Cold instant ramen from the grocery store- a lifesaver, truly. You hadn’t wanted to touch the stove for ages. The solution? Spicy noodles that numbed your tongue and frigid broth swimming in a plastic cup. You hardly ate the stuff anymore, but your cupboard was stacked. And, to be uncomfortably sincere, there was something therapeutic about making them. Heating the water. Swirling the noodles in with the sauce and watching them begin to tint. Wrapping them around your slender chopsticks and watching them slowly, slowly slide off back into the bowl, over and over, until they had cooled.

You used to make two cups, every time, knowing that your late night ventures would soon drag him out of bed after you. He’d find you practically inhaling noodles, bouncing energetically like it wasn’t the middle of the night- an excess of caffeine, most likely. You would immediately begin to talk conversationally, like he’d been there all along. He would leave off resting against the doorway to come and press a kiss to your forehead, laughing slightly when you squeaked and bolted to close the fridge when you noticed the white light pooling over the tiles from the open door. Lay a hand over the sharp corner of the counter when you ducked down to retrieve something so you wouldn’t bump against it on your way up.

The two of you had, to put it simply, a lot of nightly moments. It was so comforting, so domestic; him padding behind you in adorable green dinosaur socks- yes, you had teased him plenty about it- your little excursions to the kitchen for a much needed snack, his still incredibly annoying habit of drinking the milk from the carton becoming so frequent that you’d begun to hide the milk entirely. Sitting together, thighs bumping under the marble of the counter as you poked at him with your chopsticks, and he poked you back.

Now you just twisted them in your hands, painfully aware of the empty space beside you.

You didn’t cry. You hadn’t let yourself, since that first night you sobbed to see if the tears would be able to fill up that empty space that had hollowed inside of you.

But there was still the pain that threatened to crash over you like a towering wave of icy water. A hurt that laid fingers on your throat almost tenderly, painfully, fluttering above your pulse where his warm touch had once rested reverently. You couldn’t let yourself dwell on one memory too long, otherwise your breathing would begin to turn to sharp spikes that ripped through your chest in a way that felt kinder, in a way, than the hot tears that stung your cheeks the first night without him.

Yet you somehow found yourself curled up on the couch nearly every evening as the city lights glimmered below, clutching your phone to your chest. Same position, every single time, like your body held the memory better than your mind did. Your cheek pressed against the cushions with your eyes squeezed shut. Knees tucked in, resting sideways. Fingers that held an unforgiving grip on the phone in your hands. Tears that spilled out because of his voice, his beautiful voice, the one you thought you’d never hear again and sent you into a flood of scalding tears and choked sobs when you realized that you could.

Another thread to hang onto- the voicemails he’d left you. Most were casual, neutral; a reminder to buy eggs at the store, in another the gentle worry in his voice so palpable through the simple voice message that you could clearly envision his furrowed brow and the downward tug of his lips as he told you to get home safe. In others, his voice was lower, clear, wheedling- like the way it got when you had just had an argument-but-not-an-argument, the little scuffles where your bickering turned to banter and finally ended up into you latching onto him like a some sort of possessive koala. Woe be to anyone or anything that got in the way of you and your man when you were determined- even if that something was an apparently important thing that you demanded to know exactly why it was so significant and if it really demanded his attention more than you. To which, he always gave you a smile that somehow always managed to destroy you and claimed that nothing ever could.

Still, the ones that truly undid you were where the affection was evident in his tone. That special, reserved spark that was all for you, only you. The soft side that was buried in what seemed like iron.

When, for the first time in what felt like an eternity, you could hear him say I love you once again- said hastily like he didn’t have much time but still rang warm and true- you felt the awfully familiar sting in your eyes. Every time. The same voicemail. And each time, you whispered I love you too back to him, voice cracking from the strain of trying not to cry. I love you. I love you. I love you.

You missed his warm form beside you, your head resting on his shoulder with your eyes locked on the tv screen- some show you’d forced him to watch and asked whether he liked it every five minutes. His answer was always the same- yes. Yes, in a way that meant of course, because you do.

You’d never finished it, having fallen asleep at- what, episode five? To be fair, they were long episodes. A bag of cheetos and a half-drunk glass of milk lay long forgotten on the coffee table. Colourful light softened into blurry pastels on the screen. You yawned, eyes fluttering shut. Through your sleepy haze, you vaguely remembered being pulled into a pair of strong arms and carried from the couch before you drifted off entirely.

You missed the way he’d rest his elbows on the counter during sunny afternoons in the kitchen, amber-gold light flooding in from the windows, his eyes studying you like the sight of you was nectar and he was drinking it all in. You would’ve been incredibly flustered had you not been so busy with what you were doing. Flour dusted your cheeks and hands- a fair bit of it in your hair, too- tongue sticking out from between your teeth slightly in concentration as you whisked vigorously, sending up pale plumes. The air smelt of butter and sugar and maybe a little bit of something burnt, which you had denied profusely and said that the last batch was not to be spoken of. The cookies you pulled out of the oven were certainly enough to wipe the memory of those out of the kitchen.

He’d stuffed at least three in his mouth before you’d fully turned away, the crumbs on his hands the evidence of his crimes. You’d scolded him, but he’d just grinned, leaning over the counter and taking your face in his hands- and though you had protested half-heartedly at his sticky fingers, you gave in soon enough. The kiss was gentle, soft, right- his breath, laced with sweet cinnamon, mingling with yours. You could almost taste him through the memory.

You missed so many things.

Was that what kept you up? The memories, the moments, so excruciatingly close at every corner- or simply his absence?

It was both. It was neither. It was… something else, something that wouldn’t relinquish you from its grip any more than you would let him go.

Another late night- a restless mixture of insomnia and memories keeping your eyes from falling closed for too long. But this time, you didn’t get up, head tilted back against the pillow, your comforter scrunched up around you with your knees pulled to your chest. For a moment, you let yourself imagine, let yourself feel- as though you could sense his presence beside you once again, one arm draped around your waist, pulling you closer.

But the pillow- the only thing beside you now- didn’t have his warmth. Couldn’t replicate the steady rhythm of his breathing. It didn’t tug at the blankets- and obviously didn’t irritate you like he did, just enough to soothe it with a quick morning kiss and a cheeky smile. It was lifeless.

You curled your hands into the cool sheets, for a moment, letting your mind conjure what your body could not feel. So, so tantalizingly near- and ever so far away. The ghost of a touch that refused to be exorcised, the trace of fingers against your wrist, your jaw, buried in your hair.

And still, everything felt cold.

Breathe. For a second, you had to remind yourself to breathe, and you took a long, deep lungful of air. In. Out. Cold air rushing into your lungs. The slightest instant, there and gone.

When you forced your eyes shut, the flitting moments that danced around you- when you could feel his steady heartbeat or hear his low voice surround you once more- disappeared. Maybe disappeared was the wrong word- they still cradled you in a muffled chorus, but one remained clear.

His footsteps. You could still hear them, an echo of something so ordinarily present that it had been engraved into your brain. The slight drag of his heel when he was tired, stride loud like his laughter when you chased each other, the light tread he adopted when attempting to sneak up on you- which he’d accomplished successfully more times than you liked to admit.

You could almost convince yourself that he was really there, that soon the door would creak open softly and he’d walk in- always a little bit later than you, still a bit earlier to wake up, one thing you used to be able to count on every time swept out from beneath you. But the tap wouldn’t run after you’d climbed into bed- no more muffled conversations through the half-closed door, the warm weight that had once sunk by your side now gone.

Gone. That word hurt far more than it should’ve- or maybe it hurt just enough to capture the pang in your heart. Dead. Gone. Somewhere.

This time, you couldn’t help the hot tears that slipped down your cheeks, dripping onto your pillow. You cursed yourself silently, but there wasn’t any heat in it. You just felt… sorrowful. Quiet. Empty.

So for once, you let yourself cry. You didn’t think of the lonely milk carton in the fridge or microwaved cup noodles or of sharing things you weren’t sure you ever could anymore. You didn’t think of late night shows and sweet kisses. You didn’t think of voicemails you stayed up past midnight to listen to, over and over. You didn’t- couldn’t let yourself- dwell on each I love you you could remember, or the ones that ached because you couldn’t.

This time, you cried for yourself. Those tears were melancholy- but the ones you cried for him, because of him? Those were angry.

Not furious at him, exactly. Aggravated? Possibly. Frustrated, yes. Yearning? Unequivocal.

You couldn’t let go. It would’ve taken an absolute fool to tell you to, an impressive force to make you even consider it.

But, as you finally let yourself feel- not the anguish, not the bittersweet sadness that forced itself upon you at every turn- something broken inside of you began to smooth out at the jagged edges. Maybe, just maybe, you didn’t need to let go. You couldn’t just yet. Maybe not ever.

Still… perhaps you didn’t have to.

Breathe. There it was again- that reminder. You found that you didn’t need to compel your breath to even out as forcefully as before. Inhale, exhale. Clearer than before.

It still hurt, but the sharpness was dulled. Like your grief was a blade- but not one that would have to be wielded against you.

You couldn’t ignore the reality of the fact that he wasn’t there, that maybe he never would be again. Had he just… left? You didn’t think so- he never would. But you didn’t know. Was he dead? You didn’t know. And that, by far, was what hurt you most.

Nevertheless, you thought of what he would say if he were next to you right then, the slant of his smile, the warmth of his hand on the small of your back. He would tell you, yet again, to breathe. Like the simplest of things didn’t have an ache without him.

You still had the urge to reach out and the acute fear that your fingers would only brush air, yet the phantom warmth of his hand on your back didn't fade.

He wasn't here to remind you to breathe anymore, to hold you while you cried- so you would have to remember for yourself. You had never minded being on your own before, anyway, right? Nights alone had never been lonely, before. This couldn’t be any different.

That was a lie, and you knew it.

This was like losing a part of yourself. Losing your heart. You could walk and talk and pretend you were just fine, be just as capable as before, but the hollow would still reside between your ribs.

So you let it sit there. Closing your eyes- you hadn’t realized they’d opened once again- against the dark of the room and the thin strands of moonlight that dared to bleed through the blinds. You didn't move. You didn't try to fill it or force it away like you’d been trying to do for weeks. You just stayed there in the quiet of the witching hour, still trying to talk yourself into learning how to breathe around the emptiness.

And you did. Through the heartache, through the storm of emotions that raged within you.

For once in a long while, since the evening you had bounded into your apartment with a smile on your face that soon faded when you realized you were alone, since the first discomfited night you spent alone wondering where the hell he was, since the sinking dismay of the days after- you breathed, fully, past the surface of the pain. You let yourself breathe.

It didn’t fix anything, didn’t lessen the desolation. But somehow, the pressure on your chest eased, like it could cool your tears.

Maybe that was all you were going to get- the slightest sliver of relief. But it was enough, for now. No comfort, no kindness, the well of your pain not losing any depth.

Just… enough.

If you couldn’t have him- that slice, at least, was something you could hold onto. One more shard of your broken heart. One more moment to grasp.

Still, it was one that would suffice.

Not much could distract Jason when he focused on something- a book, a quest, his studies. But you proved to be the first.

When the bells above the coffee shop door chimed, he hadn't paid much heed, eyes glued to the pages of his notebook. What did catch his attention, however, was your beaming face as you walked in. You might as well have screamed to announce your presence; five different bags that looked like they'd pull you under from their weight, a book clutched close to you that probably would've been better off if it had been tucked into one of your many bags- though he guessed that you would rather have chucked everything out the window than let it out of your sight- and your bright, sunny expression.

He averted his gaze when he realized that he'd been tracking your path up to the counter with his eyes. Maybe it was the way your smile- warmer and more sweet than anything they could conjure up with sugar and cream- made his heart tick a little faster, but he felt oddly drawn to you. Not that Jason would act on it. He squashed any thought of trying to talk to you as he picked up his pen once more- it wasn't that he couldn't make an attempt, but with his luck he'd end up embarrassing himself.

Up near the front, a few feet away from where Jason was sitting- though you hadn't quite noticed him yet- you chatted with the barista, the cheerful smile on your face a contrast to her tired expression, though she seemed to be trying her best to keep up with your energy.

You picked your coffee cup, somehow miraculously balancing it among the rest of your things, letting your eyes rove over the seats of the café. Your buoyant demeanor dimmed slightly when you took note of the filled booths, a little bit of the sparkle in your grin dipping before you regained your disposition. Of course, some were free- most customers merely dashed in for a quick takeaway, after all, and even during the city's rush hour it was nearly certain that there'd be a place to sit. But today, your usual seat was quite unfortunately taken by a girl sipping an iced matcha while typing furiously on her laptop, a tense look on her face- most likely cramming for studies.

Your nose scrunched up as you sighed and turned to browsing other places to sit with your copious amounts of who-knows-what. Disappointing, sure, but you'd be damned if you couldn't cozy up somewhere else.

Then your eyes locked with Jason's.

You couldn't have known the way his breath stuttered in his chest when the two of you looked at each other, but you sure as hell felt your own heart skip a beat. His eyes were clear, the colour of the sky when a thunderstorm crackled and ripped it apart, revealing only the raw, cloudless blue underneath. A pair of glasses slipped down his nose, and he pushed them up quickly. His tousled blond hair looked like he'd ran his hands through it countless times, and little furrow had appeared between his brows from staring at his scribbled-covered notebook before he'd caught your eye.

That was the whole problem.

No one had a right to look that good while sitting stressed in the corner of a random coffee shop without even trying. Your frozen thoughts snapped and began screaming inside your brain and you ducked your head, breaking your gaze as you felt a flush of warmth flood through you. You had planned to nip in for a cup of coffee and curl up in some discreet corner with your books- that was what occupied most of your bags, due to the bookstore a couple streets down- not get caught up in the way someone looked at you through a sea of benches and coffee cups and the muffled conversations people spoke under their breath.

Tucking your things a little closer to you, you focused determinedly on the polished wooden floor as you spun and began to walk towards, well, somewhere. You'd bump into a seat along the way.

"...you could sit here if you want."

You froze, casting a slow glance over your shoulder, back to the boy that'd held your gaze. His eyes were downcast, like he was avoiding looking at you again, but you were pretty sure that he was the one who spoken. Biting your lip, you looked around for a moment- like you weren't sure whether he was talking to you. You tried not to think about how his voice sounded- low, amiable, the voice of someone who was used to confidence but still slightly unsure of the moment. Or how cute the rising flush in his cheeks looked when he ducked his head to hide it.

God, you should stop before your mind went any farther.

You coughed, scrambling for an answer as you realized that you hadn't answered. "Um, okay," you breathed, like you were afraid that if you spoke too loud the invitation would snap and blow away. What was wrong with you today?

Carefully, you turned back to slide into the leather loveseat across from him, an awkward smile playing at the corners of your lips. You hoped he didn't notice the way your eyes flicked between the table top and his own blue irises.

To be fair, you tried to concede to yourself, this was a good spot. Maybe the view of the bustling streets and cloud-strewn sky was a bit different from where you usually sat, but it was mostly the same. You hadn't sat here just because you saw a cute blond in glasses, right? Probably.

You sighed internally. There was no way you were fooling yourself.

You looked up at him again, subconsciously hugging your book a little closer to you. That was a habit of yours that usually came out when you were feeling a little nervous.

"Hey," he said softly. "I'm Jason." His breath quickened slightly as he rubbed the back of his neck awkwardly, before he cleared his throat. "Sorry, I, uh- I just noticed you were looking for a seat. The ones by the windows are always the best spots." He shrugged, his tone matter-of-fact, but with an undercurrent of something else that you couldn't quite tell.

You brightened, bouncing back to your regular glowing demeanor for a second. "Aren't they? I always come by here whenever I have a new book- I love sitting by the windows and reading. The afternoon light is so pretty."

Pretty. If only you'd known how quickly Jason's heart leapt when you smiled, your eyes lighting up. Pretty, pretty eyes. He felt like a fool, his thoughts stalling on the way your smile made your eyes look brighter than the sun. Jason couldn't be sure of why he blurted out the invitation, only that he had an inkling that it had something to do with that beaming smile and he sure was glad you'd accepted.

He was broken from his reverie when you let out a small laugh, lacing your fingers together and letting your gaze drift up to the ceiling. "Oh, I forgot..."

You told him your name, your voice soft. Somehow it was gentle and sunny and sweet, like you. He liked it.

And you liked the way he said it when he repeated after you, a slow smile curving on his face in a way that made your stomach drop and heat warm your cheeks.

A silence rose between you, twisting the line of awkward and oddly comfortable, before Jason broke it. His blue eyes sparked when they landed on the book in your arms, his smile gaining the edge of restrained excitement of when you see something you like somewhere other than with you.

"Is that..."

You grinned, straightening and leaning forward. Nothing piqued your interest like when someone mentioned your favourite book. "Yes, it is! I stopped by the bookstore earlier-" You patted your bags, "-and I couldn't help but grab, well, another copy. I love-"

With each word your eyes grew wider, rambling eagerly on about the characters and the setting and the writing and suddenly Jason wasn't entirely interested in the book itself anymore, his lips ticking up on the ends as you continued on your rant. Your avid, enthusiastic commentary and the way your words grew breathless tangled his attention more than the commentary of the book ever could.

As your conversation continued, you started to relax, though half of your focus was directed to the back of your brain where your thoughts were drifting dreamily, "cute and smart..." - which, in your defense, was true.

You could've stayed there forever, with the clatter of espresso machines fading in the background while the sweet scent of cinnamon rolls floated past, wrapped in your warm words as you came dangerously close- closer and closer- to falling all the way for someone you'd just met.

Really, at this point, you weren't sure if you felt entirely uncomfortable with that.

But eventually, the gold-tinted sunlight dripping past the window demanded something from the time that didn't quite work in your favour. The sky had begun to colour quickly, lavender paving over the soggy blue, and soon you were forced to take note of the passing minutes.

Reluctantly, you folded your hands in your lap, twisting your fingers bashfully. "I probably shouldn't keep you," you mumbled quietly, biting the inside of your cheek. "I've been talking for a long time... I'm probably annoying you."

You said it with a half-smile, like it was meant to be a joke, but the undercurrent of tightness in your voice spoke otherwise.

Jason tilted his head, observing the way you fidgeted like the words came from a place a little too close to home. The faded curve of your lips, your smile more nervous than your usual bright.

"You could never annoy me, sunny." He teased, but his eyes were soft, sincere.

"Sunny?" You arched an eyebrow, parting your clasped hands to cross your arms instead.

His grin was nonchalant, but winsome enough to make you feel his gaze like an electric current down your spine. You fought heat threatening to bloom in your face.

"Yeah, sunny." Jason offered a small shrug. "You walked in looking like you'd harnessed the sun," he admitted. "Beaming like nothing made you happier than to march into a coffee shop with a million shopping bags and a smile on your face. It seemed pretty fitting.

You turned you face away to hide the shy smile unfurling on your face, much more genuine than the one you'd offered before.

"I mean, I'm not that... bright." You muttered, curling your fingers around your now-lukewarm cup of coffee, swishing it around and staring into the creamy brown dregs like they could hold whatever answer you'd been searching for.

Jason considered continuing for the briefest moment before the embarrassment of what he'd just acknowledged caught up to him. He coughed, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. "Uh, what I meant was- nevermind."

Why did his thoughts always manage to scramble at the worst moments?

"No, I..." You looked back at him again, your smile growing warmer, shy. "I like it. Sunny's cute." You let out a quiet laugh when you saw his face scrunch up in self-consciousness, like he was second-guessing himself. But honestly, it was adorable- though whether the nickname or the look on Jason's face, you'd leave ambiguous.

Tucking a lock of hair behind your ear, you mulled over a thought. You sighed slightly when the waves of colour flooding across the sky reminded you that evening had begun to approach faster than it did at the height of summer.

"Well, it's been lovely talking to you, but... I have to go." You confessed, a rueful expression on your face. The idea of stalling had admittedly crossed your mind, but you'd figured that it was best to be honest. "It's going to take me a while to get home."

"I have to leave too," Jason said, running a hand through his blond hair and smiling sheepishly.

You stood, picking up your things before the awkward silence that'd been lingering at your heels had a chance to settle again.

"...thanks for putting up with me," you joked playfully, offering a small grin as you turned to leave.

You had made it about ten steps before the sound of your name being spoken stopped you in your tracks.

"Wait," he murmured, sending your heart fluttering wildly in your chest. "I... Um, you come here on Thursdays, don't you?"

You could only nod, a bit too vigorously but you really couldn't care less about that in the moment.

His lopsided grin looked a bit hesitant as he said tentatively- "Well, it seems like we didn't quite end our conversation, so... we could finish it here next Thursday afternoon, if you want?"

"I'd like that," you breathed, your smile so brilliant it made Jason feel like his head was turning to mush.

Still smiling, you lifted your hand in a small wave before whirling around and stepping outside.

The sun had just started to dip, golden light cascading over your form as your feet stepped onto the sidewalk. Wind whipped at your cheeks, a hairsbreadth from truly cold, threading through your hair and pulling at your coat. Your giddy expression refused to fade as you walked, head bent low as you replayed the last conversation in your head over and over. Your matching idiotic smiles. The way Jason said your name. Sparks when your palm brushed his.

From the elated bounce in your step, you had a feeling that the next week would prove to be very eventful.

a/n: i hope this wasn't too bad lmao- anyways, masterlist and req. info should be up soon! ✨