Shit. That's how Derrick's life was going after the accident. Hazy memories and scars he didn't need were splintering what was left of what he did remember. Derrick's tattoo shop seemed to get along just fine without him, his magic abilities were sh...
Writer's Note- Dated January 2nd 4:57am est 2019 (don't ask why I'm awake). *Just skip the note to head down to the story if you want. *
Rankings: Something crazy happened yesterday and my rankings in a few areas shot up.
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This is very crazy to me because these first few categories have thousands and thousands of stories in them. Lgbt has over 30k stories, gay has over 46k, boyxboy has over 49.8k and so on and so forth. And I go to check out the rankings and I see that goshdarn red rose right up there amongst stories that have way more votes and reads so that's crazy.
In less than 24 hours I've gotten over 500 new reads and quite a few additions to reading lists. This is a lot for me and I wanted to thank you guys (you original dedicated readers) for the continued reads and votes and comments and for support! (But please keep reading, and voting and commenting, tho. Like, don't stop...)
6052+ reads?!
I'm screaming. Somehow we really got here huh? I think I'll hold off on the demographic update because stats are still changing but I will say we've gone global again, with people from every continent!
Also, please remember to vote, and leave a comment bc not only does that help with ranking but I get a kick out of comments/votes.
Also. Yes. Another Yuna song. I used Crush before in an earlier chapter but here we are.
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The first few seconds after I picked up the phone there was silence. Just background noise of talking, laughter, and movement. I'm sure my end of the line was noisy too with the way I was breathing into the phone. Sol lapped at her water bowl, before quirking her head at me and settling herself on my feet, her belly warm on my toes.
"Hi." And suddenly I couldn't breathe, hearing Mike's voice that was a little funny over the phone, a little too far away.
I didn't say anything, hoping he would talk again. Hearing his voice wasn't like wearing his sweater, wasn't like any of the things I'd been using to keep him close to me any way I could.
"I miss you, Derrick." I heard Mike sigh. "And you don't- You don't have to say anything." His voice lowered slightly, "I miss the way you laugh, like it's some kind of secret you don't want people to know. I love what it does to your face, the way it makes you look happy. I miss cooking for you. It isn't the same when there's no one to try what I make. I miss when you accidentally ruined my designer shirts with paint because you forget to wash your hands. I miss seeing your art. I miss running my fingers through your hair, and the way you close your eyes because you pretend not to like it." His voice got rough, almost husky. "And fuck, I miss the way you feel against me. I miss your lips against mine, waking up next to you. Sometimes, I wish you'd tattooed me. At least then I'd always have a reminder of you. That at one point I'd been yours."
