You sigh as you walk into your empty house. You glance at the not on the fridge, and remember your parents aren’t home. You shake your head and trudge to your room, dropping your backpack on your bed. You pull off your uniform shirt, and turn to your closet, and freeze. What? Your closet has a completely different wardrobe set than what was there this morning. You quickly dismiss it, deciding one of your parents did it, and slide on a (f/c) tank top, and put a (f/c) loose cashmere sweater on over it. You slide off your (l/f/c) slacks, and put on a (f/c) pleated skirt, before grabbing a black fingerless lace glove off your dresser and slipping it on.
You sigh in your comfortable outfit, and walk to your kitchen. You grab your IPod and some headphones. You slide them over your ears, and are immeatately met by “Bad Apple” by Christina Vee. You smile and slide over to the fridge, pulling out some of the raw steak awaiting you, and you delicately slice it, before tossing it into the prepared pan behind you. You season it, and eventually it’s finished, medium well, just the way you liked it. You turn your IPod off, and eat, smiling as you taste the cooking that you missed so much. You posh your blue-rimmed glasses up, and clean your mess.
After finishing, you flop on your couch, watching (Fav. T.V show). You look down at the outfit that had mysteriously appeared in your closet, and you notice a brand mark. Hoping it would give you a clue, you inspect it further. It’s marked in an embroidered ‘TM’ in gold thread. It was no designer that you knew of. You shake your head, dismissing the possibility that pops into your head. You pull your (h/c) hair over your shoulder, covering the bare area.
You pull your tablet from the couch cushions and turn it on. You freeze. The design pattern to your outfit is sketched into your art app. You look at the ‘recently saved’ drawings, and find the sketch designs to every new piece of clothing on your closet, all signed with the same ‘TM’. You shake your head, and turn it off. You shove the tablet back into the cushions and dash to your room. The ‘TM’…it seems familiar, but you don’t remember why. You slam the door open, and what you see, you’re almost in tears. You remember now.
~Flashback!~
you wake up in his arms. He had played with you all day, and you were so tired, you must have fallen asleep. Your head was resting on his shoulder, with your hands curled against you’re his chest. You look up at his nonexistent face and he looks down at you. Smiling, you pull the green plaid scarf out of your pocket and tie it around his neck. You smile and push his black-rimmed glasses up and lean back against his tannish sweatervest. A whit tendril pokes your nose, and proceeds to straighten your hair. He nears the edge of the woods, and sets you down, pointing you in the direction of your house. “There you go, little (y/n). it’s not much farther, and your parents will be worried if you don’t go home soon.” You smile and nod, skipping to the path and walking down it happily. “Bye, Trendy!” you call, waving. He waves back, and even though he has no face, you know him well enough to tell he’s smiling.
You beam at the figure standing before you. He looks different, but he’s Trendorman. Of course he looks different after ten years. He’s wearing red converse, and black skinny jeans, with a dark gray hoodie and black tee shirt. His leather briefcase is on the floor next to him, and his face lights up when you slam the door open. In one of his pale white tendrils, is a lime green plaid scarf.
A tear trails down your cheek as you tackle the figure in a hug. The only friend you really had as a child. His pale arms wrap back around you, and your sobbing into his stomach.(yeah he’s that tall) You pull back, looking up into his nonexistent face.“Ive missed you, (y/n).” you smile, “I’ve missed you too Trendy.” You breathe, really having nothing else to say.
