All Things Considered [🗸]

9. talk me down

pride month is here !! 🌈🌈🌈 psa: i'm gay <3

also ?? i saw unconventional in philline's wlw list ?? when i tell u i had a HEART ATTACK

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LAYERS.

Everything has to be well-layered or the entire outfit goes to shit. 

The approach has to be artistic and calculated. My eyes meet the brown ones in the mirror. Hair close-cut, rolled-up dark jeans, black t-shirt, white sweater-vest. I inhale myself.

Paxton Irving once told me that I looked like one of those nerds from mid-80's TV shows. It was in the ninth grade. He told me suspenders would go well with the outfit. I flipped him off in return and got detention. 

Everything aside, I consider everything I'm wearing to be the epitome of class. 80's fashion wishes it has what I have. Hopefully.

Another bonfire night. Bonfire nights are scattered throughout the entire year. No one knows the exact plan behind how the bonfires are scheduled— but they usually occur somewhat constantly throughout the year. 

The first one is right off the bat of senior year, the next is usually around homecoming time. There's usually a New Year's one. Then a Valentine's one. Occasionally one occurs around spring. The end of summer is usually the last one: the grand finale of the year. My lips twitch upward. Douglass High students like their bonfires.

Hand briefly grazing over my curls, I eye myself one last time before making my way downstairs, my moms' voices carrying to the air as my hand travels down the handrails. As soon as my feet touch the ground and my eyes flick to the kitchen, both my moms glance over at me.

Mama's by the counter, perched onto a stool, her legs crossed as she raises a drink to her lips. Her brown skin welcomes the lighting, and soon, Mom's glancing over at me too. She's at the other side of the counter, washing a mug, setting it to dry as soon as she catches sight of me.

They glance at each other.

They absolutely think that they're extreme sleuths, but I know that look. I've known it my entire life.

Mama clears her throat not at all casually, setting her glass aside and pulling her long, dark curls into a ponytail. 

This should be interesting. 

My eyebrows fly upward as I wade further into the kitchen. "What?"

Mama's voice is airy, ever so light. She props her sharp chin on her hand. "Cayden hasn't been here in a while."

His name tugs at my chest. And not in a lovesick way. Simply just a sick, slightly soft way. It's been over a week since we've talked. All I can think about is the guy that Cayden's been spending his time with instead, and Paxton's words at Fraise. I shake my head, making an attempt to wave the thoughts away.