My Life A Strange Stream @cloveroctobers - Tumblr Blog

LET ME KNOW — Tyriq Withers [Summer Writings]

A/N: This is honestly only getting written because this song has been stuck in my head lol. Also I haven’t written just a Tyriq piece on its own in a minute! Nothing too crazy. The Ledger piece is up next I PROMISE—hopefully it’ll be done around his birthday.

WARNINGS: Angst ofc, this was supposed to be a drabble, language, oc since reader has a name + mentioned family & friends, fictional New England town, & summer themed.

<- read my previous summer anthology piece here.

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆ 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆ 𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎.

Feels like a stone has been sitting in Tyriq’s intercostal space.

Seemed like it only settled there as soon as he touched down in Glaucous—not glucose or Glaucoma—his girlfriend’s hometown.

They both agreed to meet up, he made it in mid-morning on a Sunday and had to drive a good half-hour to the ferry that would take him over to this little island town.

She had to do a few last minute things at the office so she couldn’t meet him there…although Tyriq preferred to see her face first, he wouldn’t ask her to put her work to the side.

Never would.

Not when he stepped into the limelight himself and she’s been so supportive even if the distance was difficult.

Although part of Tyriq feels like she’s been handling it a lot better than he has in the last few months…that’s something he keeps pushed to the back of his mind.

He’s checking his wrist again, mentally keeping track of time, polite smiles on his face when the waitress checks in on him for a second time.

By the third, he goes ahead and orders.

The booth seats are sticky, whether from the too low AC or previous spilled drinks, Tyriq finds himself sitting up straight by the time she strolls in.

He purposely chose the seat where he can see her making her way through the maze of the quaint establishment.

The hostess leads her over and before Tyriq can get to his feet to greet her, she’s plopping down into the seat across from him, huffing, and tossing her cream tote bag to the right of her, she brushes her feathered bangs out of her sight before latching onto the drink in front of her that she nearly drinks half of.

Then she sighs, flicking her eyes to meet Tyriq’s royal blues.

“Hey.” She breathes.

Tyriq offers a smile, leaning forward, hand out wanting to grip her’s. He presses a kiss to the back of her hand before running a thumb over the skin, “Hi baby, tough day?”

“Nothing I can’t deal with.” She mumbles then lightly shakes her head, “Sorry, I realized my texts about running late didn’t go through.”

Tyriq lightly shrugs his shoulders, “Don’t worry about it. My favorite mermaid kept ya boy company.”

He nudges his head towards the big glossy sculpture tucked up on the ceiling some ways back from where they sit.

Visibly he sees her shoulders hunch, his brows lift, questioning, “What? We not vibing with this spot anymore? I thought it was one of your favorites?”

Her head shakes, “No, no. It is. I just haven’t sat in here for a while, it’s usually always take-out. I think I’m starting to have megalophobia or something. I don’t know. It’s weird as shit. I’m fine.”

“We can go if you want? No sense in sitting here if you’re uncomfortable.”

“Nope.”

“Sistine.”

“Tyriq.” She says his name back with the same tone before exhaling and fanning her hand, “Tell me about Paris, you look good.”

Bronzy. Ears pierced. Some facial hair growing in…until he gets annoyed with the maintenance. Relaxed posture. Excitement in his eyes.

Tyriq recently gained a new opportunity to model for Saint Laurent’s summer 2027 collection. Apparently they were dropping some sneak peaks for next year by the end of summer. He also attended a few shows to see what the luxurious modeling world looked like.

Tyriq even left with a thing or two to keep.

Tyriq grins, “I’m alright. I’m trying to see what’s up with you though.”

The woman across from him scoffs out a laugh at his attempts of flirting, their hands separating as the waitress heads over with a tray full of their meals.

“Anything else I can get you two?” The waitress smiles at the pair although her eyes seem to glint more in Tyriq’s direction, Sistine pretends not to notice.

Tyriq’s eyes are only set on the woman in front of him, her gaze locked on the food that sits on the table. “No, I think we’re good. Thank you.”

And once she’s gone again, Tyriq asks, “You still love lobster rolls right? Hot, never the cold kind.”

“You got it,” Sistine replies, dipping her truffle fry into the aioli before popping it into her mouth, “What’d you get?”

“The fried oysters.”

“…they look delicious. Let me get a bite.”

Tyriq’s face scrunches up, “You’re allergic.”

“So? I always keep Ms. EPI on me.”

“Oh, hell nah. Back up.”

She laughs as he pulls his plate out of her reach. It sounded real enough. Maybe Tyriq imagined the stiffness in her actions at first, despite the tiredness underneath her eyes.

Sistine was still here.

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆

Concern number two?

After dinner…Sistine suggested walking around Glaucous for a little bit.

They placed their to-go desserts in the car service Tyriq had ordered for the both of them, to bring them back to Sistine’s parents’ house, who were a little sad they were missing out on Tyriq’s visit but they were celebrating thirty years of marriage in the Caribbean.

Over a month ago, Sistine had to move back in with her parents due to costs rising and not gaining the promotion she thought she would have had by now.

It stung and was embarrassing.

Tyriq had to hear it from Sistine’s father first, “You ain’t hear this from me but…”

And he knew Sistine’s father had good intentions but he also knew how Sistine is.

She hated when things didn’t go to plan.

She had lived with her parents for a good portion of her life—felt sheltered at times—and the moment she had the ability to get into her first new apartment? She couldn’t be happier, already deciding how she was going to decorate the two family home. Adoring the space on the top floor from the 3D tour she did online before contacting and setting up a date to view in person with her parents. The Hillard’s lived on the second floor. They were a sweet elderly couple originally from South Carolina, they always felt like inherited grandparents Sistine never had the chance to experience from her own blood.

This home felt like her finally being able to do, “big girl,” things that only turned out to be short-lived.

Tyriq knew she felt like a failure and didn’t feel like dumping her crap on him.

Yet he was gonna find out someway, whether it was him popping back in to town or even when he causally brought it up when she visited him out in California.

Shit.

Sometimes his own sister knew things about Sistine BEFORE he did.

However Tyriq’s gut feels like it be knowing things.

Especially when it came to his girl.

He was attentive like that.

Even from a flight away.

So they walked through the slight humid air of the coastal town.

A few faces said hello in passing.

The sky dimmed pale pinks and powder blues.

The boats by the wooden docks gently knocked in the distance.

There’s kids that sit on a bench—maybe old friends—swaying their feet and letting the town’s famous blueberry ice cream drip down the sides of their hands, napkins long forgotten in the wind.

It’s an easy breeze of a town that Sistine learned to enjoy more as she got older.

Tyriq’s knuckles brush against her’s as they fade into the town together.

She can tell he wants to hold her hand.

Sistine’s surprised he hasn’t tried yet.

It’s when they head over to the pier that there’s a pinch in Tyriq’s chest, while the lower half in between his ribs starts to descend.

Sistine’s leaning against the banister that often gave her too many splinters to count as a kid.

She’s not facing the view behind her but the one on the opposite side.

Tyriq blocks it, his shades on but she can feel his hues burning into her more than the hazy sun gliding away from the day.

His hands find her waist.

His smell is so intoxicating…warm and fresh.

She’s holding her breath and turns her head to look down the pier instead of at him.

“…what’s wrong?”

“Huh?”

Then he’s gripping her chin to turn her gaze back to his, holding her there. His other fingers go up to push his shades up into the hair he’s letting grow out from the buzz cut months ago.

“What was that?”

Sistine frowns, choosing to stare at his chest then to look further up at him.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“You won’t look at me long and it’s like…you don’t want me to show any affection? So I’ll ask again, what’s going on?”

Sistine breathes out a laugh, “You’re doing too much right now. Being a little dramatic don’t you think?”

Tyriq’s jaw clenches and the words fly out of his mouth fast, “And maybe you’re doing too little.”

Sistine pauses.

That’s that Aries moon right there.

Then she swallows.

Her hands grip at his wrists, peeling them off, and shoving them away from her waist back to Tyriq’s sides.

He watches her walk away.

The oversized emerald green jersey floats behind her as she walks off with the purpose of getting away from him.

Her name is lodged in his throat.

He doesn’t pry his lips apart to call out to her.

The further she gets away, the more his stomach flips.

Eventually he follows.

𖤓 ｡𖦹°‧ ⋆☀︎. ˖°𓇼⋆

They’re on the move but inside the tinted vehicle…things feel stuck.

He doesn’t understand this shift.

Back in April things felt right, normal.

The couple enjoyed a few rainy days in Miami but that didn’t matter because they both had each other.

Tyriq’s on one end of the car with Sistine on the other.

He can feel his leg beginning to bounce as he looks out the window, trying to piece it all together.

Sistine finally pushes the switch to her phone, to put it on silent. The clacking of her typing on her screen now muted.

Good, cause Tyriq wishes he had his apple headphones right now, so he could have pulled them over his ears to drown out this tension.

Tyriq leans over, hand reaching out to touch the skin underneath her denim shorts, the same skin he knows to be warm and smells of yuzu and coconut. His breathing hitches when Sistine moves at the exact moment he reaches out, with the intent to rest his hand on her knee.

Her body is turned away from him instead of facing the front like it’s been for the past five minutes.

Then she sighs, making her phone go dark before tossing it into the tote she had resting on her right. She pulls out a compact mirror, reapplying her matte combo.

It’s truly a gift to act like someone isn’t watching you.

“…you got somewhere to be?” Tyriq quizzes, waiting long enough for her to say something—anything.

Sistine molds her lips together, cleaning the extra product that smudged underneath the lipliner.

She takes her time answering.

Popping the cap back onto the lipstick, she tosses it back into her tote, then wraps the cosmetic wedge into a tissue before throwing it into her essentials pouch.

“Yeah…” she slowly answers, “Celia invited me over to her cookout. Her dad’s visiting from Cuba. Said he’s been hoping for me to try one of his signature dishes. I won’t let the man down.”

Celia’s been one of Sistine’s college friends.

While the girl came from a culinary background, she went into social media marketing instead. Funny enough, the two girls only worked a few streets over from one another. Working in slightly different fields. The three had dinner together a few times, the other time ended up being with one of Celia’s flings of the month. She wasn’t interested in committed relationships but seemed to give her stamp of approval for Sistine and Tyriq.

Tyriq hums.

“You’re gonna go there now?”

“I think so yeah,” Sistine blinks, finally turning to look at him, “Did you leave your things at my parents’ or the Airbnb?”

There was only one hotel in Glaucous and that was in the other direction, closer to where the ferry was located.

“I booked a Airbnb.”

“Oh. Okay.”

“Okay?” Tyriq presses with a dip of his head, peering over at her from underneath his lashes, “I don’t know if anything is right now to be honest with you. Did you…miss me at all?”

“What?”

“I’m asking you…did you miss me? Us. At all?”

“Of course I do.”

“You sure? Cause it’s starting to feel like I’m something you just penciled in.”

She sharply inhales.

The radio kicks on from hosts talking to Dangerously In Love blasting through the speakers making Sistine clench her eyes closed.

The driver immediately apologizes saying his daughter’s Bluetooth must have accidentally connected—whether that was a lie or not wasn’t dwelled on in this moment.

This was one of their songs.

A song they duetted together at a karaoke bar out in City island.

Where they first met.

Where Sistine’s too drunk and rowdy group of friends pushed her introverted self up there to sing her heart out to.

It wasn’t a duet song at all and definitely wasn’t Beautiful Liar type of energy but Tyriq made it his task to get close enough to her.

Respectfully!

He had his eyes on her as soon as he stepped into the place.

Had to be next to Sistine, not to steal the show but to build up her confidence right by her side.

And hopefully be some inspiration ;)

The sharing of the microphone between them.

His large hand covering her’s as they fed off each other’s bad belting of the lyrics—some of it they hilariously made up, earning comments from a few beehive members that made themselves known in the crowd and wanted to take over themselves.

To hoarse tones and official introductions later…

Sistine and Tyriq’s lore was memorable.

Tyriq puffs out a humorless laugh from his nostrils, rubbing at his jaw in thought.

“Wow.”

The driver, Mr. Fitzroy, finally gets the car back to some radio station…which equals more talking.

Like Tyriq was trying to with Sistine right now.

“You can say that again.” Sistine mumbles, folding her arms now.

Tyriq licks his lips, “Well I guess we’re going our separate ways tonight.” Then he flicks his eyes back to her mouth, “Lipsticks been perfect since dinner by the way.”

Sistine sighs.

A large boom is heard from behind them before the sparks fly.

Tyriq flinches at the sound.

Leftover fireworks days after the fourth and yet there was nothing to celebrate.

Soon they pull up to a white and gray cape cod styled home.

Celia’s.

Sistine’s fingers pause at the door handle, despite Mr. Fitzroy hoping out to do the honors of letting her out.

“You let me know when you’re ready to have a real conversation about whatever this is.” Tyriq tells, stare focused on her profile.

The slope of her nose.

The fullness of her lips.

The stiffness returning—or rather never leaving—her frame as she sat on the edge of the seat.

Sistine doesn’t grant him with any truth this evening.