Unlocked Heart || A Garrence/Mystreet Fanfiction

Chapter Four

a/n: Hello guys! Sorry I haven't posted the past few days. Classes have started back up for me so I'm having to deal with the wave of homework, plus I needed time to figure out how I was going to rework the plot, as things weren't going exactly to plan. I think I have almost everything sorted now, though, so I should be uploading more regularly.

Thank you for reading my fanfic, I really appreciate each and every one of you.

I want to ask, since this is my first fanfiction I've ever shared on the internet, how you think I'm doing? Are places that I could improve or add things? Why is it that you've stuck around and kept reading? Is there a good way I can increase my audience?

Additionally, I'm thinking of adding some background ships here and there in my story (maybe Zanvis/Zane~Chan?). Which one do you think I should go for? (Or a completely different one?)

Thanks for putting up with my drivel. Please do let me know your opinions!

Ok, back to the story...

***

As I slide open the door I hear the sound of post being pushed away. I step inside and bend down behind the door to pick it up.

Just as I'm doing so, Zane comes barging in. He pushes at the door whilst doing so, and it thums into my bent head with a thwack. "Ouch!" I groan.

Zane mutters, "Sorry," but he seems too intent on going up to his room to care.

"Are you alright?" Laurence asks as he comes inside.

"Yeah," I say, "I'm mostly immune to doors."

"Is that why you always break them down?" he asks jokingly, "To prevent others from being infected?"

I laugh, "Something like that."

"What were you doing down there, anyway?"

"Getting this," I look at the package in my hands. "It's addressed to you."

Laurence takes it when I hold it out to him. We walk into the kitchen.

"What are we having for dinner?" I ask.

"I don't know, I'm not in the mood for cooking something big and fancy," he says as he boils the kettle, "I'll probably just make pasta or something."

"Sounds good." I sit down at the kitchen table. Laurence comes over and sits down, too. He looks at the carefully wrapped package, "I wonder what it is?" He carefully slides his finger underneath the closed flap, neatly slipping it open. He pulls out what looks to be a scruffy, stapled, book-like object, roughly the size of some A5 paper.

I look at him in mild confusion as his face lights up into an array of excitement.

"Oh my Irene," Laurence murmurs. He runs his fingers over the cover, grubby paper with fingerprints and smudges all over it. There's some barely legible writing, that I recognise to be high school Laurence's handwriting. It reads My Photo Album in blue biro. "I thought this was lost years ago," Laurence's voice comes out in barely a whisper. "I... I thought it was gone." He looks like he's going to cry.