guilty of devotion - [dnp au]

14.:. secret notes and curfews // flannel graph*

TW: homophobic slurs

january 1st - [sorry // nothing but thieves]

sophistication, your gloom

yet not that hard when i'm with you.

hesitation, my obligation

for my mind's poisons to make the right choices

Something about the muddy puddles and dim clouds soothes.

I'm home. I'm where I've thrived, where I've wasted the first seventeen years of my life. Where I happened to grow up speedily as Winnersh, Berkshire is my father's hometown and he so desired to return to his forsaken neighbourhood after marrying mum.

No snow. Apart from Ireland, land here is coated in nothing but filthy, large plashes. Typical Great Britain weather I so didn't miss. Not as homely.

However, I've stepped outside my lonesome bedroom on this unpleasant January morning for an excellent reason. Say, because of meeting Chris after these six months of longing for a simple few second hug from the guy.

Meeting my best friend whom I miss rather too much.

New years resolutions, you ask? No. Well, not quite. The cliché list of those I would die for anyone else to see.

Chris :') [9:45AM]: won't make it on time, mum 2 occupied me with some house work

Chris :') [9:45AM]: besides i'm stopping at tesco to get some snacks as all i want now is to stress eat haha

Mum 1 and 2, how we called Chris' parents for the time being after saying just 'mum' got confusing. Quickly, I type a response and press send.

Me [9:45AM]: don't worry, i can wait. see you later x

Funnily, I advise him not to worry about our reunion, whereas I myself am struggling with one of the most extreme anxiety attacks of my life thus far. Now that I have to wait it may increase.

I am meeting him, really. Unless he's changed in appearance, I'm seeing those dirty blond waves that I tend to play with because they're so soft, his serious frowns that appear when he's doubting something I announce, as well as the opposite - how his face gets all wreathed in smiles when he makes fun of me in a joking way. I'm also hearing his voice. Pretending it doesn't linger around me as I try to kick these old habits of paying too much attention. Sometimes.

~ november 14th, 2015 ~

- You can sing. How come I, after four years of being friends with you, never knew you could? - words depart from my mouth as soon as the boy sat on the ground with his legs crossed and dressed in a yellow raincoat finishes the last line of 'Not Today' by Twenty One Pilots.

Blushing, he clicks his tongue and leans back to look up at me in slight surprise. Or he pretends to be because the following words say the opposite.

- There's a lot about me you're still clueless of. - he utters emotionlessly, in his mind somewhere else. - Besides, I wouldn't say I can sing. I'm rather mediocre, just used to my mum desperate desire for Blake and I to be decent at everything. We took singing classes as kids. Was a nightmare, really. - Chris squints his eyes irritatedly, coughing roughly. He's rather ill yet still insisted on visiting the deserted railroad tracks right outside Winnersh as we had planned during the lunch break the other day.