Kaylen Lutyens.
19 years old.
A stoic, reserved, architecture student with a shattered family. He thinks love is but a waste of emotions.
Emerald Blake.
25 years old.
A soft-hearted, loving, single, college professor with a six-year-old so...
HOLD UP. If you've JUST read Bed Buddies, only proceed further if your heart can take a twist.
(Anyway, Enjoy)
~~~
~Emerald~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
nubbin /●n. a small lump or residual part
I went about my life, acting like everything was fine and like I was satisfied. But that was far from the truth.
The nubbins of my pasthad clogged up and created a lump in my memory. I thought about her more than I should have — about the betrayal and the loss of friendship, about how she left me lonely and pathetic, about how desperate I was to call somebody mine.
I should've just focused on the responsibilities at hand.
~Kaylen~
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
I sighed in relief as the house came in sight.
It had been a long day and I was so relieved to come back home. After parking the car quickly in the garage, I ran inside like a kindergarten kid coming back from his first day of school.
Soft snivels rushed into my ear as soon as I entered and I frowned, following the sounds and ending up at the kitchen doorstep. I peeped inside and found my twin brother leaning against the counter with his face burried in his hands.
I was immediately on guard, ready to slaughter whoever caused those tears.
"Jay," I called, walking over to him and he looked up at me with defeated eyes before dropping his head on my shoulder and resuming the cries.
"What happened?" I whispered, rubbing circles on his back as he clutched on to me tighter.
Jayden was the sensitive one of us two but his sensitivity was his strength. He was usually very confident about whatever he felt but right now, he just seemed too fragile.
