𝐆𝐞𝐭 𝐘𝐨𝐮𝐫 𝐇𝐞𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐁𝐞𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐧𝐠 ➺ 𝐵𝓇𝒾𝒶𝓃 𝑀𝒶𝓎/𝒬𝓊𝑒𝑒𝓃

𝟓 𝐆𝐚𝐦𝐞-𝐜𝐡𝐚𝐧𝐠𝐢𝐧𝐠

A/N

Is anyone still here? 

Oh, hi, lovie! Glad to see you've stuck around ;)

Sorry for the 10 month break - life has been royally kicking my arse. But I'm getting back into the swing of writing, so hopefully (big hopefully) you shall be getting more updates over this summer!

I hope you're all doing well! 

Carys <3

The first proper day at the farm was already a beast in and of itself. I struggled to not feel awkward, but it just didn't happen.

I spent ages in my room that morning hyping myself up, motivating myself and talking myself out of the anxiety that was bubbling up inside me. I couldn't do it in the mirror though; I found it best to avoid that part of my room as much as I could. It would only lead to more trouble for me and my mind. I'd woken up at five, which wasn't uncommon for me. I'll admit my sleeping pattern wasn't particularly up to scratch around this time – that's if there was even any sleep to accompany it. Thankfully, travelling all day made me uncharacteristically sleepy (not tired), so I did manage to sleep for a good six hours.

I kept a pack of cheap cigarettes in a small pocket on the inside of my suitcase's lid. I didn't usually smoke, but the week running up to this trip encouraged me to buy a pack for myself. My usual choice of things to smoke wasn't tobacco by any means. I'm sure you can figure it out. I ended up taking a death stick out of the packet, along with my lighter, and headed downstairs to make myself some coffee.

From the silence, it was safe to assume that nobody else had emerged from their room yet. I sped passed the door opposite mine as quickly as I could to avoid any unpleasant chance of me bumping into Brian. Our interaction from the day before was bad enough.

I took my black and unsweetened coffee outside with me whilst I enjoyed the early morning air and the sound of silence. I sat on a wall; the same wall Freddie had positioned himself on during our talk the day before. My lips closed around the filter end of my cigarette, and I took long drags, revelling in the combined taste of the smoky tobacco and my strong coffee. The tobacco tasted how it was: cheap. But it did the trick.

Half my coffee gone, and my bottom lip chapped and sore from constantly biting, I headed back inside. Forty-five minutes had passed, and I could hear voices from the direction of the kitchen. That familiar pit feeling made my head light with trepidation, but my feet just kept hauling me forwards.

Both Johns were situated in the kitchen: Reid sat at the counter and Deacon by the coffee machine.

I guess I don't have very light footsteps; Reid bid me a very blunt 'good morning' as he flipped through the papers that he had sat on the counter in front of him beside his steaming mug of tea.

"Morning," I answered, croaking through the raw morning voice. I cleared my throat and awkwardly looked around to break the tension that brewed within myself. Placing my empty coffee mug on the counter, I headed towards the freezer located in the corner of the kitchen. "Do we have ice?" I asked Deacy, who was sipping on his own coffee.

"Should do. 'S a pretty big ice tray at the bottom of that thing," he nodded, watching me with curiosity as I dug around in the frigid appliance for the aforementioned tray. "What do you want ice for? Smoothies?"

"No." I answered as bluntly as possible. I saw Reid peer up at me from his papers at my tone, and I was quick to remember the unsaid promise I had made him: to be positive, and nice to everybody. "I-I mean, not exactly. I don't like smoothies," I spoke a bit softer to Deacy, avoiding unnecessary eye contact. "They're too sweet." I popped out three ice cubes into my empty coffee mug and closed the freezer. Just from the silence and lack of response, I could tell that Deacy was confused at my elusive attempt to explain.