𝓈𝓊𝓃𝒻𝓁𝑜𝓌𝑒𝓇 | p.p. x reader | book one.

𝓉𝓌𝑜 ✓

The entire walk back to the subway station, I became hyper aware of every step I took. Attempting to avoid another potential accident by not walking into oncoming traffic, I made sure to search for every pedestrian light, successfully making it to the subway without another incident. The ride back gave me time to get used to the New York subway environment, the motion sickness fading away after a few minutes.

There weren't as many people on the street in the afternoon, so it was much easier to find my way back to my apartment building. Sliding past a couple carrying a couch up the stairs, I approached my apartment door and slid the key in the lock, opening the door with a quick twist of the knob. I kicked it shut with my foot before heading into my bedroom and setting my backpack down by the door.

There wasn't much empty space in my room, what with all of the unpacked cardboard boxes. The only things I'd taken out in the few months since we'd moved in were necessary school supplies, a few small decorations, and a few outfits, not even caring enough to unpack my bedsheets and simply settling for a sleeping bag atop a bare mattress. I let out a sigh and decided to finally make a dent in the boxes, knowing it wouldn't do me any good to keep wearing the same two pairs of pants on rotation every week.

Starting with my clothes, I'd finally freed up a corner of my room to move things around, rearranging my remaining stacks of boxes to give myself some walking room. With my closet now full, I moved on to the linens, rolling up the sleeping bag and replacing it with clean navy sheets and a gray duvet. Next came the decorations, the final box empty after about an hour of putting everything together. I folded all the boxes up and slid them down the garbage chute, opening up my bedroom door and taking a look at the room.

The dark blue curtains hanging over the window on the back wall cast a bluish glow across most of the room, white walls now a faint sky blue. My bed sat atop a platform just under the window, with a small shelf attached to the wall next to it serving as a bedside table. My alarm clock and a family photo sat on top, the only empty corner taken up by a small cactus plant I'd picked up at a store a few months ago. My desk sat in a little alcove between the bed and my closet, the surface covered in loose mechanical parts, décor, and office supplies. A half built electric guitar filled the remaining corner, and the only available wall in the room was covered with band posters, family photos, and a string of fairy lights with half the bulbs dead. My eyes caught on a downturned frame that had fallen under the desk, sliding the black desk chair out of the way to grab it.

The picture in the center of the frame showcased two figures; a younger man around 20 and myself about age 13. His dark hair fell slightly into his eyes, shaggy cut falling in an unkempt mop atop his head. His smile was wider than my own, and the bright whites and pinks of my outfit laid in stark contrast to the black and dark denim of his. The trophy I held in my hands was engraved with the words 'Young Engineers Competition, 1st Place', and the people in the background of the picture paid no mind to the two of us in the foreground.

This was the last picture I'd been able to take with my brother before he'd died. Just over a year ago, my older brother Adam had gotten a job opportunity in New York, granting him the opportunity to work under some of the best journalists in the country. Growing up, I was closer with my brother than anyone else in my family, so I wasn't exactly prepared when he informed me of his sudden departure. The Young Engineers Competition was the last event he'd been able to attend before moving away, and only a year after moving to Queens, my mother received a call that he'd been found dead.

It'd been a year since we got the news, but it still felt like an open wound. I distanced myself from any friends I had before his death, and lost interest in pretty much everything I used to spend hours working on. Anything that reminded me of Adam I locked away in a box and hid inside of my closet, trying to forget about the whole ordeal rather than face it head on and learn how to deal. The picture was the only thing I'd removed from that box in an attempt to get used to knowing him in memory, but the picture still hurt too much to look at. I set it on top of the desk face down.