inspired by happier. (I like the vibe, but I can’t quote replicate it itno writing like others but eh, gave it a go.)

realising it’s hard to writ about falling out of love when you’re not in it- especially now with a few things going on lol. 

thank you to the anon who requested, and if you have any suggestions drop me an ask or message!

collection of writing

The last time I saw her smile, I can’t remember it anymore. And that is where the issue lies. 

She wasn’t herself anymore, and neither was I. Those people who lie together in this bed that was once too small for two adults to lie in began to fill the room so contact was impossible. 

It began with small details, she would silently get up rather than kissing my cheek before she went. I began to disassociate myself from her when I was out with friends. She was shutting herself up, and I no longer had the key unlocking her heart to pour open what she is bottling up inside. 

I suggested it. It was when she was away with her friends for a few days and I lie awake in the middle of the nighalone with my thoughts. 

At first I thought it was just my mind playing tricks on me, trying to make me turn on those closest to me. But then, the longer I thought about it, the more sense it made. 

That was the beginning of those sleepeless nights for me. 

Each night a new prospect came into my brain, slowly nawing away until it left me with a decision. 

I could see her with other people, her hand intertwined with someone elses. She would laugh, she would learn to live again and not remain silent in a place she should be comfortable. She willl get to learn about their life, their family and have new experiences all over again. 

Just not with me anymore. 

*

She would be expecting me to be in the flat, just like any other Sunday when I wasn’t needed in the studio. But instead the only thing that would be there is a note. 

By the time she would be back there, settled into the sofa and reading the note I’d be gone. I would be sat on the tube with my bag packed, trying to block out everything and not focus on her face. 

But every time the doors opened I hoped to see her, that she would willingly take me back, tell me she needed me like I needed her. 

Except we werent meant for each other. The keys dont fit the locks. We can’t force it to work anymore and break anymore keys. 

I know she won’t appear. She won’t call in anger, or cry down the line in the middle of the night. Because I know her too well. Instead she’ll do what I really want her to be doing- moving on. 

Deep down I know I have accepted she can be happier without me, but will I without her? 

*

Waking up in my new place still doesn’t yet deserve the title of my new home. Everything remains in boxes, cans of paint my Mum brought over remain lined againt the wall with test patches painted across the dull off white walls. 

Every morning I better knowing she’s better off with me not being in her life like I was. 

I get the odd update from our friends, and as I lie in bed scrolling through social media I scroll back up. 

And there she is. 

The girl I fell in love with. The brightest smile on her face as she sits on someone else’s lap, he’s laughing in the photo. I can almost hear her. That sweet laugh I heard from across a bar that night all those years ago. How confidently she wobbled towards me, introduced herself and said ‘you need to be my boyfriend for tonight, okay?’ 

And then the night turned into two, and then into months and years. 

She seems different. Maybe, just mabe this is what genuine happiness looks like on her. 

I climb out from my bed, leaving my phone foace down on the duvet and walk towards the cans of paint. 

Picking up the pale blue I grab a brush and begin to make progess. 

(I’m currently on holiday, so sorry for the delay in uploading requested pieces! This is a combination of one and another I believe, someone wanted something super fluffy and I hope this is it? Also, because it is dans birthday I had to do something sweet for it. Hap bday you old man.)

- dans pov -

She was smiling brightly, sat in the passenger seat singing her heart out as I drove down. Half way we swapped, she drove as I slept soundly. When we stopped for some fresh air she showed me the photo of me sleeping, all squished in the corner of the car. My face was dented into the window, my nose bent downwards and mouth ajar. She joked I was drooling, and could see the mark on the window.

As we got nearer she nudged me, speaking with nothing but excitement in her voice as mine was laced with apprehension. I saw her smile grow, the light in her eyes shine like the rising sun before us as it lined the sea that we neared.

“I cant remember the last time I was by the ocean, by some kind of beach even.” She sighs, I can see her shoulders relax. That longing look I noticed when we first met, a sense of feeling at peace. “When was the last time you were in Cornwall?”

I leaned back into the seat, the worn leather not being as padded as it once was. My eyes remained locked with the view that wizzed past, the blur of earthy tones that seemed unknown to us. I’d been so used to the city life, the bright lights that never fade, the noise and all the energy that swarms wherever you go.

But here, here it was quiet. I could hear her breathing. Usually all I could hear is the rush of the city, cars going by, beeping in irritation or those yelling for the fun of it.

“Probably for some festival.” I shrug my shoulders, barely able to keep count.

She shakes her head, “Not like that.” I chuckle as she checks the map on her phone, seeing we’re only a few minutes away. “When was the last time you were here for you? Not the band.”

This takes more consideration, and I can’t help but sigh. “I honestly can’t remember. Most places we go are for the band, never really for just me or any of the other guys.”

“Well, that is about to change.” Her smile becomes wider as we pull in to a small little beach house.

It is quaint, sat right on the beach. She eagerly gets out, barely parking straight or taking the scenery in.

I watch as she squeals, running with her sunglasses on her head as they barely staying on her head. Her legs fly in the air as she jumps down onto the sand, heading straight to the surprisingly bright sea.

My heart flutters watching her, and my smile grows at the sight of her being so happy. She stops just before she reaches the sea. With her back to me I get out of the car, walking the short distance towards her.

“I can’t think of the last time I’ve been to a place this quiet, this serene.” I wrap my arms around her waist, and she leans back into me. I can smell the sweetness of her perfume, the fresh scent of her shampoo and the warmth that radiates from her.

All I can think about is how much I care for her, but I’m scared it’s too soon.

If I tell her now, here will she run off? Is it all too soon to say that I think I’ve finally realised she is what I’ve been searching for?

The only image that runs through my mind is her face if I tell her, the fear of how she’ll respond. Not knowing where to go since we drove here together, hundreds of miles from London.

Instead, I remain silent. We take in the scenery before going inside our little home for the next two days.

*

Outside the sky has turned dark. The breeze has died down and the waves aren’t crashing as vigorously.

“You almost ready?” I call out as I sit in the small living room, overlooking the beach covered in darkness.

Behind me I hear the door close, and I slip off my glasses placing them down on the coffee table. “Happy birthday.”

Turning around she stands holding a cupcake with a single candle. She smiles softly, smaller than usual as I read the need for reliance in her eyes. “How’d you know?” My mind begins to race, thinking back to our first date when we discussed life, all the things we wanted to do, ambitions, conspiracies and family. But I don’t remember birthdays coming up so soon.

She chuckles softly, “Your parents told me. They suggested we come down here after I told them about this little spot on the beach my grandparents always took us to when I was 4.”

I watch as she moves closer and sits down next to me. She’s barely lit by the candle and the eco friendly lamps that are insufficient sources of light. But regardless she looks beautiful, her bright smile and the flicker of excitement from the candle glows in her eyes.

With her free hand she tucks back the loose strands of hair behind her ear and moves the cupcake closer to me. “Well?”

Leaning closer to her I close my eyes, and blow out the candle.

A small smoke trail flies up, and she leans against the arm rest of the sofa. “Aren’t you going to ask me what I wished for?” I spoke up, mentally deciding it is time to ask. No backing down.

She tilts her head, raising an eyebrow to me. “Why would I? It won’t come true you dummy.” Her laugh is quiet, but I can barely focus on it. My eyes zone in onto the cupcake, the blown out candle.

I’ve made my wish, I can’t take it back. The candle is blown out. I have to tell her.

“I think I might be in love with you.” I state as I stare into the cupcake, her feet resting on the coffee table next to it. But as soon as the words leave my mouth, her feet drop.

I watch as she brings them closer to her, resting them underneath the other and shuffling on the spot. “You think you might be?” She questions with an unreadable expression on her face.

My palms begin to go clammy, my brain abandons ship and my heart starts to put up the self defence mode. “Maybe not my best phrasing.” I try to joke, but my mouth is too dry to speak.

She remains silent, unsure what to say or do. I know what I want to do, but I just can’t get the words to coherently form from my mind to my mouth. In my mind I can see it playing out smoothly. I’ll say what I want to say, and she’ll be happy.

But, I’m not that smooth talking guy. She didn’t meet that guy, she met me.

“Sometimes my words don’t always work out as I want them to.” I pace myself this time, knowing it is what she’d want. “I, I know how I feel. But I’m terrified of your response.”

My eyes flicker up to hers, and they’ve softened. She reaches her hand and rests it against my thigh.

“I know how I feel. And I do love you. God, I can’t begin to explain how much I love you.” I laugh to myself, unable to stop the words pouring out of my mouth now. “Part of me pondered, whether this is real or just my mind playing tricks. But seeing you here, planning my birthday to be lowkey, just us has made me realise it’s true.” She shuffles closer, moving the decorative cushions between us as she throws them to the ground.

Her hand moves from my thigh, and rests around the back of my neck. “I love you. And, and I should’ve told you sooner. I just-“

She chuckles softly. “You don’t need to be worried, Dan.” I ease into her arm behind my head, watching her lips move but not really taking in the words that are being formed. “I’ve been wanting to tell you how I feel for weeks, but no time felt like the right time.” She plays with her hair, distracting her shaking hands.

“You, you feel the same?” I ask, and she just stares blankly at me.

“Am I going to have to spell it out for you?” She laughs, and pulls her arm from behind my neck.

No more is said between us. She moves closer, sitting on my lap and curls up into me. I can feel her breathing softly, comfortably.

was requested: a piece based on campus. gave it a go, hope you enjoy. 

collection of writing / part two

Lifting the folders further up in my arms I struggle for breath. My lungs are being compressed by the weight of the work I completed at 5am this morning and all I want to do is drop it, burn it or let it float off. None of it feels like it’s worth being praised and instead, I look around as I wait in front of the metal doors and think about everyone I see each passing day. 

There are those who seem too relaxed at 9am. They wear an uneasy state of bliss in their eyes as they chew their lips or clutch their jaws shut. I see those who have too much work piled in front of them in the library and all they do is stare at it, hoping it would vanish in front of them or do the work itself.

Similarly, there are those like me. The type who are just trying to survive, keep on top and prove their worth to study and can make something of themselves. The door bings and the metal slide either side,  leaving me to face my own reflection, well my forehead that is. I step in and hear the springs cry in pain at the additional weight of my folders as I reach to press eight. The doors close and the whirring is a comfort, but that peace is short-lived. 

“Third floor.” The automatic voice that is far from the softness a human offered chimed in as the doors opened and I could barely see who it was, only their shoes. 

As I heard them sigh my lungs collapsed into themselves knowing what was to come as we rose, trapped in each others company for a mere two minutes. “So, all that work?” I tried to ignore the slight arrogance that was always in his tone, I mentally threw my work in his face and left him there as the doors shut and a single piece of paper flew out with me and resigned at my feet. 

But that didn’t happen, instead I remained hidden. That was until a weight lifted from my eyes, and instead of a black folder, I was greeted with his blue eyes that were often too misleading, too nice for someone such as him. “I’m not in the mood today, Dan.” I remark as the floor numbers roll too slowly, we’re only on the fifth floor. 

“Why’s that? Left everything too late? Stressed?” He kept throwing words I’d used or heard too often in the past two weeks. My parents, my friends, my flatmates and other students all talking about their deadlines and exams that were coming too quickly for them to keep on top of it all. I didn’t need to respond, the growing purple marks beneath my eyes and the sleep that hung heavy above my eyes spoke on my behalf. 

Sixth floor. “Do you always have to be so,” My brain was shuffling through endless sheets of blank paper for a response, but nothing would compute. 

“Philosophical?” He raised an eyebrow at me, waiting for me to snap back. Yet I stayed quiet. “You are just another brain here, another walking cash machine to them.” Leaning against the railing he watched the numbers rise, avoiding my gaze. “I’m just more aware of it, I know I’m another man on the field to them. I don’t matter, all that matters is the cycle that endlessly repeats itself. Students come and go. End of story.” All his words sounded too impressive as if he’s too aware of his own intelligence. Or, more his ability to understand the system like the rest of us, but in his eyes, that means he’s better for knowing he’s nothing but another person. He’s not unique, and that’s what makes him special. 

I stay quiet, my brain not picking a response as it has shut down. I’m in total darkness mentally and as the door pings, I walk out without saying another word. “See you later, number-” The doors closed just in time. Heavily I drag my feet through the doors to my front door and pull out my key. 

As I enter my room the door creaks behind me, and I collapse into bed and discard my papers and folders to the floor next to me. I close my eyes and all I see is him, the gaze of integrity and arrogance that leaves my stomach unsettled. “What does he know anyway? Say a few statements whilst looking off into the unknown of a lift and think everyone will fall to his feet?” Scoffing lightly down the phone my friend yawns loudly, she is in a similar boat to my own. “I’m sorry, he just.” My free hand balls into a fist, partially unsure how to express my feelings towards him. “He’s infuriating.”

She laughs to herself, chuckling away at my prolonged silence. “For someone who seemingly infuriates you, you sure talk about him an awful lot babes.” I sit upright, the sleep that was thick in my mind has vanished. 

“No.” I shake my head as if she could see me, “No I don’t. He mocks me constantly, how is that attractive? He is so far up his own arse to notice anyone else or have feelings.” I’d cross my arms if I could and have a tantrum like a child, but no one is here to witness it. 

A sigh follows down the line. “Listen,” Her tone has quickly changed, shes more assertive now. “did you manage to get it all done though? Work wise.” Changing the topic calmed my heart rate down. 

“Yes. Yeah, everything's been done. I finished it a few hours ago.” A draining yawn escaped my lips. “Everyone is the same. Literally, every person I’ve passed has had piles of paper in their arms or bags that are fitting for a camping trip-” Stopping myself I think back to less than ten minutes ago. 

Unlike every other person, he was perfectly calm and collected. No papers piled high before his eyes. I doubt he would’ve had it done so far in advance? My name is repeated until I zone back into the conversation. “I’ll call you back later,” I hang up and let my phone sit in front of my lap for a moment as I contemplate it. 

Whenever I see him in the library he focuses more so on judging everyone rather than working. I’ve never seen him take a book out, nor study for that matter anywhere. I see him on social media watching films or writing in his free time, not working or studying like the rest of us. “What’re you up to Dan?” I mutter to myself as I run my fingers through my knotted hair. 

*

Placing my card on the scanner I turn to walk through the gate, into the open space and head to the computer area. Sitting down I take out my earphones and search the area, and if by luck hovering by the printers he stands facing everyone. 

Even with glasses on I’m not fooled of his intelligence. I walk over to him, leaning against the printer until he turns to face me. “How’re you doing Dan? Stress settling in at all yet?” I ask as everyone around us remains silent, each focusing on the screens and occasionally wandering around for various books. 

He keeps a straight face and shakes his head in response. “Nope. I feel perfectly calm about it all. Why sink to the level they expect me to?” I couldn’t stop my eyes rolling into the back of my head. 

“Must be easy to keep calm though, considering all of those people who are writing or ‘helping’ your dissertation, right?” I struck a nerve as he stood upright, no longer relaxing against the printers. He crossed his arms, and unlike before avoiding my gaze.

He didn’t say anything as his jaw remained clenched, I watched as his blue eyes darted around the space we were in. “You have no idea.” Muttering under his breath he quickly walked off, pulling his glasses off of his eyes and shoved them forcefully into his pocket. 

After he disappeared out of sight I went back to my computer and began to write the next thousand words. 

*

Unaware of the sun setting and night emerging I continue to type, fighting the tiredness that wracks my body. My fingertips hitting the keys becomes more urgent as I have less than one hundred words left until I’ve finished the next section, and consequently three less books to take back with me. 

Sighing I read through my last paragraph, hitting save as I read and change. A few people walk by, clearly happy with where they are for the night whereas I along with a few other devoted third years continue, even if it is almost morning again. 

Unable to stop my eyes closing and I go to hit save the screen goes blank. My mind snaps into action as I hit any and all keys to get my work from today back up, the part that required the most research. Yet nothing works. I’ve lost it. 

My eyes become too watery and I stand up, heaving the bag of books and drafts with me and head out of the library. As I walk I spot those still working, all eyes locked on screens refusing to acknowledge anyone going by. I scan out of the library and pause, allowing myself to cry silently. “Hey, you alright?” A voice interrupts and I straighten up, wiping my face as I turn to see Dan. 

I go back to how I was, wiping my face and not caring as it’s only him. “Oh, me? I’m doing swell.” Sarcasm drowns my voice, I laugh lightly as he keeps a safe distance as if crying is contagious. 

“Come on.” He walks up to me and takes my bag of books, carrying them in his arms. I stand still, unsure of a kind action. Usually, he’d have some comment to retaliate with or make a statement about how society and the pressures of education have caused this. Or perhaps how if I were a man I’d have to keep my tears inside, as it is not yet acceptable. Something, anything like that, but not this. 

We walk in silence to the block of flats that are ridden with students. A few months ago it would’ve been so different here, music would play and drown out each and every floor like it were a competition of sound and vibrations. No one would be silent until at least 5 in the morning as everyone was living, being free. But now, now it is silent too often. Everyone keeps to themselves as we are all in the same boat, living through the Titanic and scrounging for lifeboats. 

Stepping into the lift it creaks and whines as always. The metal doors close, trapping us and I sigh loudly, prompting him to speak up. “You know,” I glanced up at him, seeing him in such unflattering lighting eased the pain slightly. “at 4 they turn the computers off, restart them. Just part of their routine.” 

I can’t help but sniff loudly, “Guessing your writers told you that?” I remark, not wanting to admit what he already knows. He doesn’t respond as the doors open to the eighth floor and he follows me as I let myself in. 

The corridor remains silent as I go through to the kitchen, ignoring his presence and putting the kettle on before collapsing into a chair and resting my head on the table. Light movement surrounds me and the scrapping of a chair and a hand in between my shoulder blades is unnerving. 

“I only talk like that because I’m terrified of failure.” His hand remains still as I sit upright, black settling under my eyes only adding to the purple that has been marked since we started three years ago. “I’m working from the moment I wake up until I fall asleep. Everyone who is rumoured to write for me is simply checking if it’s average or above if I’m lucky enough.” 

Looking at him now with his glasses off I can see his exhaustion. The rim of them hiding the matching darkness that has embedded itself on his face, how in his blue eyes they don’t shine with passion or for justice against being just another brain here. Instead, they’re defeated. 

“Then why make everyone else feel like they’re less worthy? Or that you’re better than the rest of us?” His hand begins to slip from its spot on my back and settles on his own knee. 

“In the first year I was myself, and no one liked that. They thought me, being myself was weird. That my love of music but being too nervous to perform wasn’t right for me, not my niche. So I went down a different, more douchy posh lad route and it stuck. Sometimes I play my keyboard in my room and wonder what it’d be like if it were all different.” I fully sit upright, facing him. 

A new found sense of fascination entices me with him now. “But, why are you telling me all of this?” Curiosity laces my words, and he simply smiles. 

“Tonight you are at your lowest. I can see how tired you are, and stressed out about your lost work.” His hand reaches over and pats my knee lightly before walking over to the kettle and making a cup of tea. “I’ve lived in that state for a long time when everything just falls apart and no one offers to pick up the pieces you leave as a trail.” 

I watch as he opens various cupboards, “Top left.” I pipe in, and he nods. 

“What I’m saying is, oh sugar?” I shake my head and he squeezes the tea bags, dumping them in the bin and presents a warm mug of nearly black tea before me. “I’m saying I can help in some ways. And that I want to. I went through it alone, no one helped me but I want to help you through it.” He smiles wholeheartedly, fiddling with his glasses in his hands. 

“Thank you, Dan.” A smile forms on my face, though defeated for now I want to get better. “For helping me as it falls apart.” 

The two of us sit, chatting about the stress for a while as the sun rises outside. Warmth slowly catches our ankles and illuminates the dust that floats to the floor. The dark tea stains the mugs and turns bitterly cold as we talk, neither pausing until the warmth reaches our eyes, blinding us. 

“I better go. When did it get light?” He asks, chuckling for a second before going quiet, unsure what to say. 

I shake my head, partly not wanting him to go. “What’re you doing later?” The first thing that comes to mind. “I mean, if you’re busy I-”

“Nothing.” He quickly states. An eager expression lining his eyes. “Are you, you doing anything?” When I shake my head his smile only grows and he slips his glasses back on. “Well, I could come by this evening, offer a better cup of tea?” He jokes half-heartedly. 

this is rooted from my own feelings this year about my birthday. being at uni it is extremely different, and though it is later this week I’m not up for celebrating. except this is a lot sweeter, but that is just a bit of context.  

collection of writing / part two

My phone lit up as the numbers changed, the four numbers were replaced by zeroes and the messages began to flood my lock screen. I turned my phone to face down, the light peaked through the sides and I simply rolled over onto my other side. 

Shutting my eyes I wished he was here to curl into, but instead I’m presented with a dull wall and a cool breeze from my noisy fan. With my eyes shut I try to think about what to do with my day, how to occupy myself from the pressing thought that lines family and friends minds for the day. 

Glancing around, I can’t help but feel a heaviness in my chest- maybe it’s just the effects of ageing. Sitting up I take my phone with me, not acknowledging the stream of messages, notifications and photos posted. All I try to find is a message, a tweet or something from him, a sign he might be around today. Yet, there’s nothing. I sigh loudly into the silence of my home as I fill the kettle up and contemplate what could be done today. 

Outside, rain lines the windows. They angrily decorate the glass, and I see people clutch onto their umbrellas with all their might outside. I mentally cross out going outside from things I could do. Part of me wanted to go to the harbour, have a hot drink to warm me up and just relax in the fresh air, but with the weather as it is, that is far from pleasant. 

I walk around from room to room, thinking of how the rooms could’ve been full of life today. But instead, it is just me in one of his tops wandering from a prolonged silence to coldness. Ghosts of company haunt my memory as I brush my fingers along the blue sofas, I think of 365 days ago and how much it differs now. 

If only they could’ve afforded to see me, or I visit them. What if my friends didn’t have such full on hectic lives, some parents and others throwing themselves into their degrees like myself. Once so closely knit all spread across the country, some in other countries, building better lives. 

Then there’s him. He’s here, there and everywhere. I didn’t expect him to be able to be here for today, I warned him that this year is nothing special and I’d rather leave it be. No one is here to celebrate with me, no one can witness me blowing out the candles unless through a screen where they can't smell the smoke, taste the sweet sponge and sickly icing. Instead, the calls will end and the temporary company will fade away and all I’ll be left with is that ghostly presence behind me. The vacant hands that’ll circle around my waist and the lips that should’ve kissed mine as they mutter the usual sweet words. Hearing the kettle rumble I pick myself up, keeping distracted from the pinging of my phone that’ll fade within the next few hours. 

*

Sitting on the window seat I sip my tea, taking steady breaths as the radio plays faintly behind me. It feels as relaxing as it could possibly be. The room feels bare without any banners, I decorated the shelves with various cards that brighten the white walls up, but his voice is missing. He would announce himself in each room, sing around the house thinking I couldn’t hear him as he put his all into it. The mornings when he’d sing anything that came to mind whilst I made breakfast were the perfect mornings. 

My phone lights up at my feet, and I pick it up. A smile forms on my face as I place my tea down, unlocking my phone to reply. One quick reply results in the screen to change, his name and a daft photo fills my screen. He took that photo when we were decorating, his face was covered in sunflower yellow paint and he took my phone and took a photo zoomed too far in. Even when he isn’t here, he never fails to make me laugh. 

“Hey.” I speak up, not wanting to ask where he is as with each place my heart drops further. 

Before he speaks I can hear traffic around him, the sound of raindrops hitting an umbrella. “Well, what day is it today?” I roll my eyes, knowing he’s smiling to himself waiting for the response. 

“It’s Tuesday.” I state, not wanting to give in to his games. 

He sighs down the line, “And what does that mean?” I can’t ignore the happiness in his voice, if only I felt in such a manner about today. 

“Dan, I-” Before I have the chance to explain the doorbell rings, and part of me hopes that on the other side of the door it’ll be him. That he’ll be holding balloons and have a flattened fringe from the rain and a big smile on his face. “Someone’s at the door, hold on.” He goes quiet, but I can hear him moving. 

Taking a deep breath I grip the door handle and take my phone away from my ear. As I open it I wear a bright smile, but once I see a stranger, holding a clipboard I feel my hope shatter. “Hey, sign here.” I do as he asks, and he passes me a large box before walking away back to the red van. 

I pick up the box with some difficulty, forgetting I left him on the line. Placing him on speaker phone I drag the box to the kitchen and with a grunt lift it onto the counter. “Who was that?” He asks with curiosity. 

“My secret lover.” I joke and he chuckles down the line. “It was the postman, but I didn't remember ordering anything this big anyway.” Putting my phone on the counter I search the draws for a knife to cut into the box. Moving back to the box Dan remains oddly quiet, “You still there?” I enquire. 

A small noise is head, but not a verbal response. “What was in the box?” 

“Haven’t opened it yet. Maybe it’s from my family.” I try to shake the box and whatever is inside sounds sturdy. “Okay, well I found a knife.” Moving around the counter I have my back to everything, I kneel on a chair to get some height on the box and stab into it, slicing lengthways across the duct tape. 

As I force it open nothing jumps out, which calms me down. “Got it open?” He asks and I remain quiet as I reach into it. 

“Just trying to get whatever is inside.” Grabbing onto something soft I pull out a plush teddy bear with a little bowtie on, looking rather dapper. On his foot stitched into it is my name and today's date. “It’s a bear. Just like the one I had when I was a child.” I explain, unable to stop the small smile forming as my mind wanders to the old bear I had that my Grandparents gifted me for my second birthday. ”That bear went everywhere with me, every holiday, every cry, heartbreak, death, happy moment and film.” 

“What happened to the bear?” He asks softly and I can’t help but sniff loudly, shaking my head to myself, wishing he was here to hug me. 

“Erm, I’m not sure. He just sort of disappeared. By the time I realised I outgrew teddies.” Holding the teddy close to my chest I refuse to let this one go, “I’m just going to see if there’s a note or something.” Standing on the chair I look into the box to see another box inside. 

Lifting it up it is neatly wrapped in tissue paper, it russles as I tear it off. “Found some kind of note? I bet it was your Mum.” 

“Probably, seems like something she’d do.” With the tissue paper disgarded I’m left with a hardback copy of my favourite book, one I have loved for years. “It’s my favourite book.” Opening it, a small note falls face down. I pick it up and quickly scan to find the name, and when I do I allow myself to tentatively read over it. 

Though everyone is away, and it feels as if you’re alone, know you aren’t. I love you with all my heart, everyone does. We all care about you even if it’s a text or a quick call. You told me about that beloved bear, you read that book whilst we sat on planes, in airports, before bed and back in uni. There should be one more thing in the box if it’s arrived properly. Happy birthday, love. Dan x 

“Dan, I, I” Words struggle to fathom in my mind as I rub my lips together, tightly holding the bear in my arms. 

He sweetly chuckles. “You deserve something meaningful on your birthday, even if you’re on your own.” I laugh as I wipe my eyes. “Find that other thing yet?”

Reaching down I pick up an envelope and inside is a USB. “A USB? I mean I know I should really use one, but any reason why?” I ask and he sighs.

“Just get your laptop and play it. When you’ve seen it all, call me back yeah?” He asks and I take my phone off of speaker and place it next to my ear. 

Walking up the stairs I grab my laptop, opening it up and the screen turns on. I fiddle with the USB nervously, wondering what it contains. “Okay, thank you, Dan. I love you.” 

“I love you too, enjoy.” 

With that, he hangs up, and I put the USB in and open up the file. It’s a video. 

semi inspired by true events. 

collection of writing

if you have a request feel free to send it in, just keep it relatively clean. not about that full on stuff as it makes me cringe to write. 

enjoy!

“I’m leaving.” I sighed to myself and changed my stance. Moving my left leg to cross over my right, I still looked uncomfortable. Pushing my hair back I tried to say it with a smile, but my reflection still looked less than pleased. “I’m leaving?” Changing the tone of my voice I shook my head at the mirror, knowing it’s no use how I try to phrase it, it doesn’t mean it’ll hurt less. 

Zoning out from myself in the mirror my eyes wander to the bags and boxes packed behind me. The room once filled with life and was often considered cosy, inviting and homely, now empty. Seeing the bare walls seems like move in day, everyone anxious as I tried to make use of the space. 

The room is a shell of the place I’ve called home for almost a year, but I am a shell of the person I once was. Dark indented circles lie heavily under my eyes, my skin has become more pigmented around my nose and mouth from all the nights of sobbing, unsure what was happening. I lost myself here, in this room, in this city, but not with him. 

Out of everyone, he’ll be the most difficult to phrase it to and attempt to explain what has happened. More importantly, why I didn’t tell him sooner. He’ll try and convince me to stay, to try and give it another go. I can see him now, pondering over if it was his fault, that he didn’t see it sooner. But that’s the thing, no one did. It didn’t matter how close I was with anyone, my mind refused to let me say anything to anyone. 

Leading me to this moment, to the last time I will see him and I will leave heartbroken. The last thing that seems to be together will be torn apart, all because of my broken mind. 

I grab a hold of my bag and jacket before shutting my door, knowing it’ll be one of the last times I’ll hear the creaking that sounds like a dying dog. Standing in front of the metal doors they chime open, the smell of cigarette smoke surrounds me, along with last nights memories echoing in the small box as I descend to the ground floor alone. 

My phone pings from my pocket and my heart is in my throat at the thought of the message. I fight the bitter chill that clings to my exposed skin and check. He’ll be running late, as usual. For once I’m glad, I can silently rehearse what I’ll say, how I’ll phrase it with some level of sensitivity and less brash. 

Taking a seat in the back of the coffee shop I rest against the plush fabric wall that sticks out into the right places against my spine. A barista presents a large grey mug with the sides sticking out in an hourglass shape. I can’t help but smile at the unique quality of the mug, but they always seem homely. They never fail to remind me of my home, of the cupboard crammed with mugs, none matching from all over the place. Each has a story, and now this one will be stained with mine along with the rim of brown from the tea. 

Next to the mug is a small saucer, this unlike the mug is white and is spotted with pale blue and swirls of yellow. Sitting politely on top is a slice of lemon cake, iced lightly, just like it always is. Sipping my tea I  can’t help but nibble at the cake, knowing he’ll always want some even if he refuses at first. 

Lifting the mug to my lip I watch the steam rise from it, my vision is blurred as my eyes fall on the perfect shade of brown of the tea as it contrasts against the pale grey interior of the clay. “Hey?” Spluttering the tea back into the mug I cough lightly, clearing my throat. 

The mug slams onto the table as I reach for the napkin that he slides towards me. Coughs continue to follow as he sits down, my eyes avoiding his as I feel them watering already. “Sorry,” Motioning to my eyes. “went down the wrong way.” 

He brushed it off as if it were nothing. Because to him, it is nothing. To me, this is everything. “So, how’s the essay coming? Saw your post the other week about the stress of it all.” A soft laugh escapes his lips as he lifts the mug he brought with him to the table. 

His is an ordinary shape a small cappuccino mug. It’s plain white, no decoration which contrasts the person who sits opposite me. He’s a man who can barely contain his own creative thoughts, on our first date I said three words and he wrote them down. By the next date, he used them to compose a song.

“It’s erm, not really going anywhere.” Words were becoming my enemy, revolting against me in my moment of need. I can feel my legs tremble underneath the table, sweat building under my jacket as he focuses on me, eyes full of content. 

He pauses, mid-sip. “How so? Do you need some help on it? I mean, I know I’m not supposed to, but-” Closing my eyes I can’t stop the words pouring out of my mouth. 

“I’m leaving.” My eyes remain shut as my mind tries to force itself back together, trying to convince my heart it will be alright. Slowly, they open and he’s further away, fully leaning back in his chair avoiding me. 

I watch him intently. He lifts his arm up and covers his face, wiping it downwards and then pushes it up towards his flattened mop. On the table rest his glasses, the ones that first caught my attention as they’re not typical, they aren’t trying too hard to make a statement. Instead, they fit him, the him I’ve gotten to know in the past year. 

Inhaling deeply he turns to face me, his hands' inches from mine now across the table. The only thing between them is the slice of cake, the one he usually can’t resist. But other matters are more important than that for once. “What changed?” Emotion drools from every word, emotion his eyes are hiding by focusing on the mugs whilst I focus on the window and those who pass by. 

“I, I’m not healthy.” I’ve never explained it before, not to him. Few people know the words, words that could nudge me in the right direction of describing it. But I’m on my own, no one to help explain why I can’t explain this. 

His left-hand reaches for my right, holding onto my fingertips. Both of our focuses shift to each other's eyes. His filled with fear chipping at the icy blue as if they’ll crack at any second. “Is it, is it fatal?” 

I shake my head in response. “It’s not like that.” Sighing deeply I try to stick the plasters back to my mind, hoping the sticky side is somewhat constructive. “My mental health, it’s been shot to bits.” 

“Have you been to-” I nod before he can finish. “What about-” Another nod. “Did you ever try those-” Reaching into my pocket I show him the tablets, half empty now. He goes quiet, unsure what else to say. 

Clearing my throat I put the tablets away, not wanting them to be noticed. “I know you’re surprised.”

“One word for it.” He huffs. 

“Just know that no one knows. Besides the head of the department. They had to know I’m withdrawing.” I explain, but he seems unphased. 

“So, why wasn’t I told?” He asks, and I sigh. 

Shy of a year begins to feel like it’s falling apart. Everything we’ve worked for tried to make happen is breaking before us in a matter of minutes. All of the classes we’ve been in, planned assessments and meetings. Neither of us intended something like this to happen, but sometimes life surprises you.

“I told her that I wanted to let all of my lecturers know. You deserve to hear it from me, not her or through some vague meaningless email.”  My hand tightened in his. “You deserve better.” I mutter, my head dropping as I feel the tears rise in my eyes. 

A single squeeze, just one. “No.” Lifting my head tears begin to fall, but he continues as if they weren’t there. “Don’t say that. Don’t pretend or try to say you aren’t good enough in a way that makes me feel guilty. Don’t push yourself away.” He reaches over, his hand cupping my cheek and wiping tears away with his thumb. I rest my head into his hand, closing my eyes at the warmth. 

“I should’ve told you sooner.” The words barely come out, a mere whisper at most. 

He shakes his head in response. “You were meant to tell me when you were ready. Even if it’s once you’ve left.” Silence falls between us, conversations around grow, but a laugh from him breaks it. 

“What’s funny?” Confusion laces my voice as his frown becomes a large toothy grin. 

“Guess it’s okay for us to date and tell people now?” I smile at the thought. A year of trying to keep it less detectable. 

It doesn’t matter about being an adult, two consenting adults. He’s my lecturer, it would be an abuse of trust and could cause an effect on my grades. Keeping the facade of student and lecturer was humorous on many occasions, I could always see him scan the lecture theatre despite there being shy of two hundred of us. It wasn’t childish, it blossomed out of nowhere.

“But, I’ll be over a hundred miles away.” Stating the obvious I can think back to all those long distance relationships that crumble within a month. The strain never lasting on the heartstrings. “I don’t want us to become a shadow of what it has been.” 

“It won’t. Plus, I’ve always wanted to see the countryside.” He smiles. A smile that tries to ease the looming thoughts that swirl like an oncoming thunderstorm. “If I can manage not looking at you for two hours whilst talking about Shakespeare then I can manage not seeing you for a week.” Pausing he shakes his head. “I mean, possibly.” 

Smiling at him I sigh happily. “I’m just glad you know. And, and you didn’t take it as something else. You mean too much to me for you to be another person who disappears.” 

“Technically you’re the one disappearing.” He jokes and takes a bite out of the lemon cake. “So, when are you leaving?” 

I go quiet as he chews on the piece of cake. My free hand swirls around the circumference of the mug. He calls for me, his hand waving in front of my face. “Three days.” I clear my throat. “I leave in three days.” 

Focusing on him he nods. His eyes clouding over as he lifts his glasses, placing them back on. “Well, three days to do everything you deserve to do and see before you leave.” He ponders the idea, “Shouldn’t be too hard I suppose.” With a small smile, he lifts the mug to his lips. 

“What are you planning, Dan?” I ask, but he takes the mug from his lips. That smile still on his face. 

quite proud of this one, I hope you like it. if you have any request then do sent it in! 

collection of writing

Watching the water fill the sink I fill it with bubbles until it is close to overflowing. I ignore the dull conversation that lines my radio as I switch the kettle on and check the cookies, hoping they’ll soon silence the grumbling of my stomach. Placing various dishes in the sink I lean against the counter and my ears perked up at the song being played on the radio. I was hesitant to what I was hearing, whether or not this was it or merely my mind playing tricks on me for that sense of longing of what once was. 

I couldn’t help myself. Leaning over I turned the volume up louder than a faint whisper and it struck my ears, the sound waves travelling into my mind and struck the right chords to remind me of what once. I could picture it all clearly, every memory of our upbringing, the time when everything was meant to make sense yet we didn’t grasp it. We were young adults with child like minds where curiosity soared. 

An involuntary smile began to form on my face as I heard the words I only knew from his bedroom, never leaving those four walls as the music bounced back and forth. Those were the forgotten months, the times we spent nearly every day together yet they were almost wiped from my memory until now. Until the moment his powerful voice that has become more powerful with time hummed through my beaten radio. 

The two of us were so naive to life, to what was out there in front of us whilst we sat in his room. When I’d ask to hear him play something without fail I had to sit with my back facing him, yet he never thought about the mirror I was in front of. It was small, a circular mirror that hung on his wall above his bed. Why he placed it there of all places wasn’t something I ever asked, but I could see him perform without him knowing. He was able to perform in a bubble, in the silence where the judgement was closed off from him as his fingers glided across the keys. 

In those moments I could observe the life he threw into every note, into each lyric that only built up as he would reach a chorus. When he’d finish I had to try and hide the smile that refused to sink as I knew he was too nervous to listen to me pour my heart out about how I loved his music. Instead, I’d suggest we go somewhere. On the way to the little river by the farm, I would be humming the tune of a song, one of his and he could always tell. He’d wear a small smile as he glanced my way, and my cheeks would burn. 

Touching my left cheek I feel a familiar burn, but this time it’s of absence. I haven’t felt that way in years. The way my cheeks would burn not out of embarrassment, but something indescribable. It was just the way he made me feel, that silent sweetness that loomed between the two us, unspoke of. 

His words fade into the music, and before it finishes the radio presenter interrupts and I zone back in to now. “And that was Bastille, good guys with Oblivion.” A little scoff escapes my lips as the presenter swiftly moves on, their glory moment is over as he plays another track from someone else, less relevant to me. 

I pick up the tea towel as I dry my hands off, unsure what to do as I stare into my garden. The swing set my parents insisted I take, one that is often used. But now it just creaks, it needs oiling much like the one I always used during that time. 

Oblivion. My mind wanders as I watch the empty swing move back and forth. The times when we’d act rebellious as twenty-year-olds and run to the park when it got dark out and all the children had abandoned the place that echoed with ghostly laughter hours prior. We would charge towards the swing set that creaked with every gentle push. He would laugh as I pleaded to go higher and wanted to reach the top. We always had false dreams and aspirations, that naivety to achieving dreams being a potential. Well, for one of us that is. 

We would agree to jump on three, soar through the air. It never happened that way though, I always leapt first whilst he remained hesitant. I would stand in front of him, holding my hand out for him to grab so he’d know he had a safe landing. I watch the swing stop, he is leaping towards me, his hand grasps mine and drags me onto the plastic tarmac. 

The two of us groan at the rough and unexpected landing. His arm is around mine, keeping me down next to him. Our laughter fades as we realise how close we are, but he then sits up whilst I stay down, shutting my eyes. 

Walking away from the sink I run up the stairs, heading straight to my bedroom knowing it’s still here somewhere. If anything survived this move, it’ll be those few things. It may have been six, possibly seven years ago but I knew I had to keep it secure. 

Scrounging through my wardrobes I allow the mess to build up behind me, adding to everything else that I need to organise. “Come on, I know you’re in here,” I complain to myself as I find clothes I never knew I owned. “huh, cute.” Holding up a hoodie I try to think back to where I got it. 

Stains cover the fabric, ones from the past that I don’t remember being responsible for. My mind races to think back, dig deeper into my memory to figure it out. It clicks and I throw it behind me, out of sight, out of mind. I dig further into my wardrobe, searching with more urgency as his lyrics drill into my mind. Not the version that played on the radio, the one I was sung when I turned 21. 

He told me he had gotten me a present unlike any other. I didn’t expect much from him, a broke student making it by performing when he can and doing odd jobs. I was sat on his bed, facing him rather than having my back turned and relying on a small mirror to see the passion that is forced into each verse. 

I watched as he pulled out a torn and creased piece of paper that was covered in scribbles and words front and back. He fidgeted in front of his keyboard, the same one he’d always used. “This is Oblivion.” I watched him close his eyes, take a deep breath before playing for me, only me. 

Reaching behind the draws my fingertips grasp a piece of paper, with caution I bring it out and refuse to let go. I collapse into a sitting position as I analyse the paper, checking it isn’t some forgotten assignment I dragged around with me for pride purposes. But it’s not, this is it. 

Oblivion. Or what was Oblivion. 

Sitting still I read the words, thinking about all that once was as it floods back. The summer of curiosity, of a possibility of us that never happened. His guard that remained too high and only sunk when he was ready for it too, but I wasn’t. I was due to leave, travel the world for a year or potentially longer. 

I glance behind me, under the bed where I threw the hoodie. Reaching over I grunt as my limbs refuse to stretch that far, but I manage to grab it amongst the mess that lies beneath my mattress. The stains that have formed are a combination of his and mine. He gave it to me as a leaving present, something to wear in the cold depths of night where ever I am in the world so I don’t forget him. 

But I did, I forgot him. I forgot all about my friend who I loved deeply. He wrote me a song, I guided him through adventures. We talked about what we dreamed to achieve, and now he has. Maybe I was the forgotten, the one who got away and that encouraged him to focus on his own dream. 

“Come on slow poke!” Outside I hear laughter erupt. I stand up and near my window, placing my hands on a vacant part of the windowsill. Smiling down I see her long hair shine in the light, her smile radiant as her brother follows after her. The two of them squeal as I watch a much older man run up, picking her up as she laughs. 

I wipe my face, unaware of the fact I was crying. Moving away from the window I prepare my smile, the one that makes everything better, everything but my stitched heart. “Mummy?” Yelling sounds through the house and I shut the bedroom door, a large smile on my face as I rush down the stairs as two pairs of small arms grab onto me. 

“Oh, hello!” Enthusiasm takes over my uneasy tone. I laugh light-heartedly, hoping to disguise the pain I feel internally. “How was school today? I have something baking right now so why don’t you go change and tell me about your days, yeah?” They both nod eagerly and race each other up the stairs.

“Hey, slowly kids! We don’t want an accident.” His laughter sounds more genuine than mine as he walks towards me, arms wrapping around my waist as he kisses me softly. “Hello.” A smile forms on his face as I see happiness line those bright green eyes. 

“Hello, good day?” I ask as I turn away from him, heading back into the kitchen and turn the radio down and return to the dishes. 

collection of writing / just a short one, requested by anon. x 

Wandering through the crowds of the crew I headed towards the food table, picking up a bottle of water. Sighing to myself I wipe my forehead with the heat, summer actually being summer for once, even if it were just today. Yet as I check to see who’s here, my eyes find her immediately. 

A smile forms on my face, as it always does when I see her at yet another event. She holds a checklist in her hands, gripping onto it as her life depended on it. From afar I watched her talk to various people, holding up logos and just talking about the band's image. There was something about her that was different, she was still so fresh in the industry that the joy, the excitement hasn’t been sucked out of her entirely.  

Others passed with the weight of worry heavy on their backs, you could see the pleading looks crossing their faces. Whereas she smiles brightly, she speaks with passion and her hands flail around like her eyes do, roaming the area. But then her eyes pass mine and I squeeze the bottle of water tightly in my hand, forgetting the lid wasn’t screwed on. 

Swearing loudly water drips down my back and rests amongst my hair. Her eyes dart back to mine, along with most of the crew and other bands management team. Her smile only grew, and laughter escaped her lips which she covered with her clipboard, but I could still see the humour glimpse in her eyes. 

I place the near-empty bottle down, patting the table as few give me funny looks before walking out of the area, back to our bus. “Hey, Dan?” My feet move faster, the blur of my laces distracting me from a voice I’ve heard on too many occasions yet never have had the guts to talk to. 

The bus remains in sight, but a gentle tap on my shoulder cuts me short. I turn around to face her, trying to contain the smile that hides beneath my lips. “Hey, it’s you.” I half joke, wondering if she's aware of how often we keep meeting like this. Well, meeting like this would involve actually speaking to her on a regular basis. This marks the second time, officially in person that is. 

“Yeah, last time I saw you I think it was-” She paused, thinking it through, but I knew it was Reading. We’d just performed, I was exhausted but she stood with her team, clapping and cheering us on even once we finished. “Reading?” I nod, trying not to seem too eager, but it’s hard not to around her. “So how have you been? New album going well then?”

We talk about our new album, how it is very much in the works, but we’re loving our new sound. “And yeah, I can’t wait to start playing it and finally getting a response from everyone. How’s Annie doing? I mean, she didn’t perform at Reading.” 

She tucks a loose piece of hair behind her ear, nodding. “She doesn’t need me all the time, but I always went to Reading when I was younger to see all my favourite bands.” She pauses, smiling to herself. “Yours is one of them.” Nudging me lightly a small laugh escapes my lips before we return to a weird silence.

“So, how long you here for?” I enquire, hoping she’ll say a few days at the least, yet like every time I try to speak to her, engage in more than small talk she’s called away. 

Her eyes flicker, the light faltering as she backs away with an apologetic smile on her face. “I’m sorry Dan, but I’ll see you around.” Half waving she turns around, picking up the pace towards a group of people. 

I stand still, watching her turn round the corner behind the series of trailers and buses, disappearing to attend to more important matters. Turning away in defeat I head to the bus, my top clinging to me like my heart is to her. Except she’ll never know, not with my luck. Maybe at the next event, I’ll pluck up more courage, skip all of the small talk and get straight to the point. 

been wanting to write this for so so long! and I am going to make it into a mini series as I want to spend my time on this one. just had a sudden wave of inspiration so I decided to use it, despite it being 12am... part two will be coming soon, probably tomorrow. hope those who celebrate christmas had a wonderful time, and enjoy :)

collection of writing / part two 

Weaving my way through the heavy sea of bodies I nod my head to the beat as neon signs comfort me, knowing the exit is near. I pass by the final few people, towards the booth where I left my favourite item; my denim jacket. 

Out of everything I own, that denim jacket has been through the most with me, it’s been to the countries I explored, where I experienced love, betrayal and heartache. It’s kept me warm in the mild winters and blissful spring afternoons. And now, it compliments any outfit I attempt, sticking a denim jacket that is decorated with an assortment of pins helps. 

“Hey, the denim jacket?” Practically shouting to the woman who tries to look as if she is enjoying herself as she sits in the booth, surrounded by items of others having a better night than she is. The fragrances that combine behind her make me cough, yet she chews her gum and blankly stares at me. “It has a lining?” I motion to my collar and hope she makes some sense of what I mean, yet all she does is silently get up and move to a rail out of sight then proceeds to throw me a jacket before resting after her hard work. 

I mutter a thank you as I walk out, away from the music where it is nothing but a dull beat. Reaching into my pockets I rest my hands as I sigh and watch my breath float into the air. Yet as I rummage my hands in my pockets I stop in front of the crossing, my scuffed boots turn towards each other as I hold onto something in the pocket, unsure what it is. 

Slowly I lift my closed fist from my pocket, nervous to see what is enclosed. Beneath the dull street lamp, I reveal what is in my hand, holding it far from my face in case it jumps to life. “What?” Staring at it I scoff. I reach into my jeans pocket and dial my friend. “I’ve got a condom in my pocket.” Stating the fact to her I twist the packing, thankfully unused in my fingertips. 

“I thought you were still getting over Harry?” She comments in confusion and I roll my eyes, Harry being the last person I want on my mind. 

From behind me, I can hear conversations move closer, so I close my fist and move away from the crossing and towards the brick wall. “Wait, so you didn’t put it there?” I mutter to her, yet she simply laughs down the line. 

“Course I didn’t, you must’ve left it in there from the last time, when was that exactly?” Sarcasm burns my left ear as I fake laugh in response. “You know I love you really.” She jokes and all I do is watch those who pass by, clearly unable to stand in confidence. 

Others simply stumble, gripping onto lamp posts and twirling around them, parading themselves as friends laugh. I see one girl, a bracelet around her wrist making me worry about my own.  “Hold on, I just want to check if I’ve got it still.” Mumbling to her I reach into my right pocket, hoping to find it still in there. “Fuck.” Muttering under my breath I can hear her ask if I’m alright, “My bracelet is gone.” I hold the phone against my ear and shoulder as I take the jacket off, shaking it to see if anything falls out. 

“Found it yet?” She queries down the line, and I shake my head. “You know I am not with you physically, you gotta respond.” Sighing I fold the jacket up, only to see all of my pins are gone from the breast pocket. 

“My pins,” Sadness etches my voice as any delirious happiness from a variety of drinks fades away, only to be struck by the brutal sobriety I’ve lived in for months now. “they’re not here.” Unsure what to do I glance around, but no one is there. 

Collapsing against the wall I rest the jacket around my legs, trying not to shiver. “Are you sure you’ve got the right jacket? What else is in the pockets?” Her voice speaks reason and I do as she asks. 

As my hands wander through the various pockets I place all the items on my lap, trying to get a sense as to what this person is like. “Well, there’s a phone number written on a beer mat, saying call me, baby. Ugh.” Shivering, I place it to one side, not wanting to call baby. 

“What else? Any money so you can buy yourself a new bracelet and pins and shit?” Rolling my eyes I don’t respond. All of those things have sentimental value, deeper than anything else I own. 

Picking up the condom I chuckle, “Okay it’s clearly a guy.” Looking at the packaging I can’t hold back a laugh, “He’s gotten an XXL, least he’s gone for Durex.” Her laughter erupts down the line, making light of this situation. 

“Wow, he must think something of himself, who’s he trying to impress? Oh wait, forgot about ‘baby.’“ It felt weird laughing at this, trying to piece together a strangers identity based on the things held in their jacket. “What else have you found? Anything as entertaining?” 

Keeping quiet I examine the piece of a wrapper, “Think he likes chocolate? There’s a bit of a wrapper.” Bringing it closer to my face I pull my phone away from my ear, illuminating the corner of the wrapper before bringing it back to my ear. “Yeah, it’s a chocolate wrapper. Can’t blame him, we all indulge.”

“Yeah, like you did for a month.” She remarks and I hush her as I see something shine next to me, something I missed. Calling my name I don’t respond as my eyes lock with the item, “What is it?”

Afraid to touch it I gently hold it with my fingertips, bringing it closer to my face. “Holy shit.” I mutter, unable to believe what I was looking at. 

“Don’t leave me in the dark, what is it?” I can sense her moving as if she is hanging on the edge of her seat. Bringing my knees closer to my chest the change clatters in my lap, the scrap paper with the scrawled notes and random words that mean nothing to me at all. 

I quickly pick up the few bits of rubbish and shove them back into the pockets and stand back up. Glancing around at the deserted streets I move with a quick pace to the crossing. “Sorry, I just had to get moving.” Shrugging the jacket back on my shoulders I let my right hand hang as I tap my fingertips against my jeans, watching a single car pass preventing me from crossing. 

“Well? It must’ve been something.” She states and I huff in response. 

Crossing the road my legs pump adrenaline as if I’m a thief, which technically I am at this rate. Heading down the road I sigh down the line, “It’s an engagement ring.” Holding it back up in front of me I shake my head in disbelief. “An actual ring, with a diamond mate.” 

She scoffs down the line, “Wonder how much you’ll get for it?” I sigh to her, of course, that is her first question. 

“I want to know who it belongs to.” Pondering the thought I wonder who this person is, maybe I got the wrong idea about them after all? “I’m going back to the club, return the jacket and hope I can get mine back.” She tells me it’s a bad idea, that I should just take the ring and go. “I’m a good person, one with morals!” Whisper yelling at her I cross the road, a crowd passing by, except one bumps into me. 

“Watch where you’re going.” He mutters, alcohol heavy on his breath. I turn to face him, catching a glimpse of light bounce on his denim jacket. 

I hear my friend repeat my name down the line, each time a sense of urgency follows the last. “I’ll, I’ll call you back.” Before she has a chance to protest I hang up, following the stranger in the denim jacket. “Excuse me?” I call to him as he gets to the other side of the pavement, separating from the group who cheer down the street without him. 

He turns to face me, and rather than looking at me he focuses on what I’m wearing. I watch as his eyes go wide, the bright blue turning a deeper shade than the denim we wear. “You.” He states, pointing to my jacket. 

Looking at his I see all of my pins, still in their precise places. “You.” I raise an eyebrow. “You stole my jacket.” Crossing my arms I try to act defensive, yet I know I am far from intimidating. 

He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, copying my actions and folding his arms. “I think you’ll find you took mine first. Care to explain?”