"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...
Lovely coincidence that this is chapter no. 24 (my favourite number) as this may just be the chapter I'm most proud of (though ⛔️MILD SPOILERSSSSSSSS BELOW⛔️
it may be slightly dramatic, oops...)
♥️END OF NOT REALLY SPOILERS♥️
~Tina x
P.S idk why i inserted that picture of dan (below) but it's so fucking cuteee
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You would be making your way back home, tomorrow, first through northern Italy, then amongst the Alps in Austria, and last, for that day, part of Germany where you would stop for the night.
It suddenly hit you: the holiday was almost over.
But it'd been good.
It'd been fantastic.
You'd been to the markets and bought clothing with Louise for a single Euro, shoes for three, paced through tiny towns with Dodie just to see how a sunset would look in them rather than over Pistoia, and written post cards to your family and friends.
You'd spent days by the pool alongside the cheerful Liam, and beside Phil there had been days gazing across sloping hills, carved mountains, and glittering cities sculpted purely of little lights and joy. You'd made pizza and pasta and bruchetta and risotto with the talented Stefano and his son Michele, and tasted gelato, wine, and authentic olive oil with sweet balsamico on fresh bread with the ever-ravenous Evan.
You'd traipsed through narrow streets and learned words of another, more beautiful language with Eileen, helped water flowers in terracotta pots with Beatrice, and read books whilst you leaned against Dan— whom you frequently caught staring at you for some peculiar reason that he would not speak aloud.
Now, the dreamy life you'd lived for but a week was coming to an end. And no matter how much you wished, even if it was at every single minute— even if it was upon the shooting stars you lay spotting with Dan at nighttime— tomorrow, the sights and sounds and tastes of Tuscany would be alive only in memory.
And you wanted to remember every single second— the way the cedar trees swayed whimsically as if to an unheard rhythm, the idyllic hills rolling with brilliants greens and yellows for as far as the eye could see, and the whimsical colours of the sky as sunlight faded into starlight.
