#portchesterstart

Sebastian was the embodiment of trouble, he carried the smell of bad boy with him wherever he went — old leather, motor grease, the sour undertones of impending regret. Yet, today he carried another smell that had almost been adequately masked by all the others if it had not been for the fact that his shoulder had abruptly bounced clumsily off of the side of the cafe’s closed glass doors. Intoxication wafted off of him like how the sweet smell of sugar would waft off of a cake.

The holidays were always Michael’s favorite time of the year like it was for most people. Although his house was fully decorated and he wore the Christmas spirit proudly it was just not the same without his wife around. What should’ve been sheer joy felt like complete loneliness and there was nothing the man could possibly fill that void with. Nevertheless, it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try. 

Cooper had a list of things he had to accomplish, after returning to Portchester. At the top of said list was hug his mother. Years and years of not doing so had built up, culminating in heart-wrenching letters, and grainy but obviously misty-eyed FaceTime calls. She’d greeted him at the airport with a squeeze the pushed the air right out of him, and he’d determined right then and there that he’d give her a hug a day for all of the days he’d missed.

It wasn’t rare for Naia to be sitting in a bar in the middle of the night. In fact, at this point, it would’ve been odd if that wasn’t the case. After a while, just drinking usually became boring and the girl went back home to sleep off the tipsiness, but tonight she didn’t want to leave early — it was her first night off in weeks and she needed some fun.

                                Standing on the overgrown lawn of an old house, white picket fence not so white anymore, and not so intact either, Archer looked at the decaying home with lightly narrowed eyes. The windows were boarded up, and even from the distance, he could see the rot in the wooden porch, abandonment lingering in every little detail. At the sound of footsteps behind him, he turned around to see a person heading in his direction, eyeing an opportunity for potential information. “Hey,” he started, catching their full attention. “—you know who used to live here?”

Rebecca brushes her hair from her face after placing her car in park. She closes her eyes, allowing herself a single deep breath. She unbuckles her seat belt, stepping out of the side-door, and mentally running a list of her morning to-do’s. Kids in pre-school-- check. Dinner in the crock-pot-- check. Laundry in-- check. She relaxes slightly, pulling open the door to the coffee shop. The line is short, but feels as if takes ages, Becca needing something to jolt her awake after just a handful of hours of sleep. The person before her in line struggles to find change in their pocket. In a rare moment of frustration, Rebecca slaps a five down on the counter, “On me,” she says, smiling, though there’s a bit of intensity in her eyes. She glances at the barista, “I’ll have a latte.”