ian-brightâ:
-â open starter //Â @mysticstarterâ
Someone was sitting on his chestâor that was what it felt like, as he sat there nestled at the end of that long counter. How he had gotten there, Ian couldnât truly remember, the fog that lingered within his head had yet to lift. That weight leaving only a sense of confusion, he had grown accustomed too in a way. As much as a person could, in the span of a morning. Wetting his lips he sat there with his head rested against his arm, mouth dryâeyes would shut against the spin. That feeling of nausea. It was not a good day, or so his mother would have told him. He could just imagine the worry that would have been seen plainly within her eyes. That same look would have haunted them since theyâd left that doctorâs office. Since theyâd gotten the news.
Which is perhaps why he hadnât called herâyet.Â
It wasnât unexpected, just sooner than they had thought. And in truth, Ian wasnât surprised. No all he could manage to be was exhausted. Too tired to truly think, of anything beyond that cup of tea sat snuggly within his hand and the bustling place that stood up around him. Distractions he would seek from the weight of his chest and the spinning of his stomach. He listened to Rosieâs and its bustling. Those comings and goings, in time with themselves. Almost as if to a measurable sequence, one that the boy found himself attempting to count.
One, two, three. One, two, threeâor so he tried. Until something would coming and intervene. The sound of another beat. Something different. Just barely, his eyes opened to see a pair of shoes against the floor next to him. A long pauseâthat customary silence, finally broken as he would shift. Straighten. Had they said something, he wondered, but said nothing. Simply sitting there with his brow creased.
Layla was having an intense craving for some blueberry pancakes this morning, but when she realizes she was due for a grocery shopping trip and didnât have the ingredients to make her own, she went for the next best thing and headed over to Rosieâs. She was going to help herself to a seat by the counter, until she noticed what looked like Ian slouched over the counter. She slowly approached him. âHey Ian... you okay?â she asked, concerned. Maybe he was hungover? She hoped she wasnât intruding. âSorry if Iâm bothering, you seemed... off.â












