"A hundred days..."
"And you can't take it back".
♤
When Y/N decides it's time for a change of scenery, she/he/they head/s to the luminescent London to chase her/his/their dreams.
However, without a plan, how can anything go to one?
And while Y/N...
"Y/N", your mother called from the lower level of the house, probably leaning on the banister at the bottom of the stairs, you thought groggily as you swept a tangle of glistening y/h/c hair from your bleary, sleep-crusted vision. Sleepily, you frowned at your hair. It needed a wash.
"Y/N/N, get up, lovely, I wouldn't want you to miss your taxi and your flight/train", your mother's voice came again.
"Mmmph", you groaned, rolling over, throwing off your covers, and finally touching your feet to the hardwood/tile/carpet of the floor.
"Y/N?"
"Coming!" you yelled as loudly as you could in your morning state, before stumbling out your bedroom door and down the stairs.
• • •
An hour and a half later, you stood groomed and packed. Oh, and bundled up from head to toe in a scarf and gloves and at least three jumpers and two pairs of socks stuffed into boots/Doc Martens, and a jacket over your ten thousand cardigans (at least), and leggings beneath your wool-lined trousers and— itchy. There was an itchy sweater or undershirt somewhere amongst the ballooning layers. Because that was what you felt like. A fucking fluffy balloon.
Normally, your mum wasn't one to fuss, as such, but today she had gone just a little over the top with her... suggestions. Two or three too many layers.
"Or four or five", you grumbled beneath your breath; scrolling through Twitter with gloves was proving a tricky endeavour.
"Now", your mother came back to where you stood by the door, "I hope you shan't be cold on the flight/train".
"Mum/mom, I wouldn't notice a if a snowstorm was swirling around me in this", you gestured to the assortment you were wearing.
Your mother rolled her eyes and sighed deeply, but it was in good nature; You and your mother had always been the sarcasm monarchs of the family.
Your father came bounding down the stairs, unusually awake, with your sibling/s (if you have any— I don't :)) trailing sleepily behind him and his camera bag slung over his shoulder. Downstairs, your father placed down the bag and unzipped it, lifting out the camera. "One last picture", he said with a soft smile.
"It's not as if I'm leaving forever", you said.
"For a while", your dad adjusted his camera. "All right, go stand with your mother and give us a smile, eh?"
You stepped over to your mother and she put an arm around you as the two of you smiled for the camera.
"All good!" your father gave a you thumbs up after he had taken a few pictures, then packed away his camera.
You heard the sound of a car door slamming and the heads of the people in the hall turned to the window facing the front of your house.
"That's my cue, I suppose", you shrugged, suddenly eager to leave the hall, the house, the street, your old neighbourhood, that all-too-clingy environment of your past. This place your family had moved to last year— whatever it was, it wasn't home. It seemed only fitting for you to leave it and move on to something else. For you to move on to something that actually pleased you and made you happy, instead of pretending that the black and white you'd lived in for far too long was enough. Because it wasn't. For far too long, you'd tried to please your family with the pretence that 'simple' was what you wanted. But it wasn't. You wanted technicolour. And so that was why at age twenty-four, you'd leapt at the chance to pursue a further education and your dream job in the same luminescent city where sunlight was precious, evanescent, and where the rain after left behind a nostalgic petrichor that warmed you from the inside and out.
You were going to London.
• • •
Three to four hours had passed, you were sat on your flight/train to the capital of England. You were slightly nervous (and a little uncomfortable due to the stench of nicotine hanging in the air, likely wafting from the presence of the man seated not far from you) but most of all, you were excited. So unbearably excited! Your pulse was quicker and adrenaline thrummed steadily through your veins, intermingling with your blood like that was where it belonged. Like adventure was simply part of your chemical structure.
Unable to keep the smile off of your face, your eyes shone with delight as the aircraft sped away from the ground/the train began to rattle along the tracks. Your phone vibrated. You glanced down.
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Your favourite YouTuber had just replied to you on Twitter. Your smile grew brighter.
• • • • • •
A/N:
I hope my suckish editing skills were acceptable up there...
Just a quick message— the chapters will become longer over time, unless of course you all prefer them short. Let me know!
