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@hudsonheaths
↳INSTAGRAM: @d.sterling uploaded a photo:
a girl whose name rhymes with tribeca watched me load this photo up and immediately unfollowed me. huh! weird! @heathhudson
@heathhudson: And you posted it to deliberately piss her off anyway, huh? Nice job with the inflammatory comment as well, Daff 👍
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☀️😎✨💛
@heathhudson: No photographer credit?
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@heathhudson: Very cosy!
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yay sports!
@heathhudson: No Canada shirt? I expected better from you, Moreau.
Elodie had always considered herself a real girl’s girl. She was somebody that other girls could rely on, the type of person who had your back and would stand tall with you in the face of a douchey ex. Elodie Moreau would wipe the tears of a stranger in a grotty bathroom and then lend them her mascara and lipstick without hesitation. She’d send your situationship a scathing DM on instagram before blocking him just so you knew she was on your side. As she stood in the middle of Heath’s living room, his t-shirt warm and snug around her waist, tears threatening to spill over, she wondered what had even happened to that girl? Did she still exist, or had she been real at all?
After her accident, she’d been diagnosed with retrograde amnesia. Ultimately, it meant she remembered none of the actual incident itself, and had very limited memory of the period of time before it. Much like the mystery man that lived in the photobooth strip on her vanity, there was a huge mental block on the rest of her life around that time. Could it be that she’d never been the girl’s girl she so desperately claimed to be, and had just been knocking boots with someone else’s boyfriend behind their back? It seemed like a feasible explanation for why he hadn’t shown his face by now, and why she’d been so secretive that not even Théo had any answers for her.
“I don’t want to sleep in your bed,” was just about all she managed to whisper before enacting World War 3 on her knee.
She’d betrayed her own imaginary moral compass enough as it was tonight without then spending the night curled up in Rebekah’s sheets. What kind of worthless, pathetic loser was she that she kept enforcing herself on Heath like this? She couldn’t explain the bizarre connection she felt to him – it was more than attraction, though admittedly the desire to bury every thought and feeling with sex and flirting had been compelling to say the least – but she just knew that being around him had always felt safe. Something about having Heath near made her feel like the girl she’d been before.
Now she just felt like an idiot.
By the time Heath stepped into her space, his arms pulling her in, a weak sob left Elodie. She sniffed, hardly noticing the tears that had spilled down her cheeks, no doubt ruining his shirt now with her mottled black mascara and her snotty nose. A memory flashed in the back of her mind of another man, arms engulfing her similarly as the faceless stranger from her dreams rested his chin atop her head just as Heath had done now. It was a simple gesture that somehow felt so familiar to her, though she couldn’t wrap her head around why. Not with Heath letting her down gently now, his we can’t ringing through her ears.
“What if there is nobody? What if I’m too much of a fuck up?” she scoffed.
Elodie wondered for a moment if she’d gotten it all wrong this whole time. Maybe her mystery man was just relieved she didn’t remember him, a tired man happy to be free from her clutches. She supposed she couldn’t blame him for that.
Pushing up onto her toes, Elodie melted into Heath’s touch, her face pressing into his neck. She nudged gently at his skin, lips chaste as they brushed against his Adam’s Apple, and sighed. Heath had made it very clear that he wanted Rebekah, not her, but maybe he could help her. Would he be able to make her understand what it was about the other woman that made him love her so? Perhaps enough so that she could reshape herself into somebody that others would want.
“What made you fall for her?” She whispered, her tone soft, resigned almost. “Tell me what you love about her, please.”
If Elodie didn’t want to sleep in Heath’s bed, he couldn’t force her. But that didn’t mean he was comfortable with letting her take the sofa or, worse, letting her go back out into the street again. He knew how insanely stubborn she could be though, her fierce independence clouding her judgment and making her think she was invincible. It had been the source of a lot of their arguments in the past and, given where they were both standing right now, Heath figured he’d actually won that fight. Not that he could say any of that to her.
“You’re not a fuck-up,” Heath chided her as he pulled her in for a hug. His arms tightened around her in what he hoped was reassurance.
That was another stubborn thing about Elodie: her emotions. If she settled on one then, come hell or high water, nobody could change her mind. He couldn’t draw her out of her sadness, just as, on the better days, it was nigh impossible for anything to put her in a bad mood when she’d chosen to smile instead. It didn’t stop Heath from trying to make her feel better.
“You’re not a fuck-up,” he told her again, lifting his head to speak so his chin wouldn’t move uncomfortably against the crown of her head. “Your dad’s just a dick.”
It felt like an understatement. And also an overstep, given that Heath technically wasn’t meant to know anything about Elodie’s dad, bar what she’d told him tonight. Given the circumstances though, he figured that was enough to pass a sound judgment on him.
When Elodie spoke up again, Heath couldn’t help but wince. He was glad that she couldn’t see him right now and delayed answering by rubbing soothing circles on her back through the material of his shirt instead.
“Well… why does anyone love anyone?” he replied. He heard how robotic his answer sounded. And he knew it wouldn’t satisfy her.
Heath sighed audibly and lifted one of his hands from between Elodie’s shoulderblades to roughly pinch the bridge of his nose. It wasn’t an action that inspired anyone looking at him to imagine he was thinking of his girlfriend with any sort of fondness. But then again, he doubted Rebekah would react any differently if someone asked her why she loved Heath.
He didn’t love her, but saying that out loud would do nothing to deter Elodie. Instead, he thought about the only time he had been in love and his shoulders dropped a little, body relaxing.
“I guess… I love… I love her–” He wasn’t required to specify who he was talking about, right? “Because she’s funny. Stupidly brave even when she shouldn’t be. ‘Cause when she’s making me worry myself sick about her it’s still better than not feeling anything. And I guess I’m so used to feeling nothing that when you find someone who starts a fire in you, you want to keep them. In whatever way you can. Even if it doesn’t look the same for both of you.”
It was totally pathetic, but Elodie thought she might actually cry.
It wasn’t Heath’s fault, obviously. He wasn’t to blame for her complete fucking lack of grasp on sanity these days. Maybe it was the head injury to blame, or maybe it was the fact that her life and sense of self-worth had been spiraling slowly out of control since the moment they’d touched down in New York. Maybe it was all of the above, who could say.
She remained stood in front of Heath’s sofa, practically offering herself up on a silver platter, her heart beating overtime in her chest. She could see the pained look in his eyes and even found herself stupidly wanting to trace the lines of his face with her fingers, the dips and creases as he grimaced in the face of her question.
The way he shook his head was more than enough for her, Elodie’s lower lip wobbling uselessly as fresh tears prickled behind her eyes. It was as though all she’d endured these past months was rejection after rejection. Once a fun-loving girl with a high sex drive and an affinity for picking up strangers in bars and having her wicked way with them, Elodie had found herself stumbling through her life in New York, seemingly unappealing to just about anybody with eyes. Even Théo seemed to battling with the affections of a handful of people where Elodie couldn’t even catch the eye of one. First Charlie had rejected her, waving her off as just a friend, and now Heath was doing the same. He had a girlfriend, she knew that, but it didn’t make it smart any less.
Elodie had known her entire life that she would amount to very little. She didn’t have Théo’s eye for fashion and art, nor did she have the same skill required for the incredible carvings he was always pulling together in his workshop. She wasn’t smart or educated enough to do anything worthwhile, but she’d always had her beauty. That was what her father had told her and countless teachers and men over the years since. She’d learned from a young age that her body could get her anything that she wanted, and that her skills in the bedroom were her best defining feature. If she didn’t have that, then what did she have?
“I should go,” Elodie muttered, suddenly feeling stupid.
She turned on the spot, searching her close surroundings for her shoes. Had she even been wearing shoes when she’d shown up on Heath’s doorstep? She couldn’t remember. Her mind was spinning, the soft brush of his t-shirt sliding along her bottom as she twisted and turned, this way and that, desperate for any sort of distraction. She stumbled, her knee knocking against the coffee table, jolting the glasses of coke and causing one to spill over, just a fraction. Pain seared down from her knee and through to her calf and she hissed, embarrassment engulfing her from head to toe.
“I don’t know what’s wrong with me. Is it really so awful to wish that someone might want me?” Elodie sighed, wrapping her arms around her torso, hugging herself as tight as could be. If nobody else would hold her, she’d simply have to do it herself. “Is it so awful to want to stop feeling so lonely?”
Heath knew that he’d done the wrong thing if the look on Elodie’s face was anything to go by. She looked devastated by his quiet rejection, but he had to shut down whatever was happening right now. Upsetting her was wrong, he knew that, but encouraging this would only be ten times worse. At least this way, he could still retain a semblance of a grasp on his moral standing, although he wasn’t sure if the way Elodie was looking at him right now made that worth it.
“You don’t have to go,” he said a little helplessly.
He didn’t want her to leave, not knowing where she would end up in the city at this time of night, barefoot and shivering. He hadn’t meant to chase her off.
“You can stay. Take my bed, I’ll sleep here,” he offered, gesturing to the sofa, but she wasn’t even looking at him, too busy frantically darting around the living room.
He winced as soon as she knocked into his coffee table, one of the Cokes falling over and spilling off the side.
“Shit,” he hissed, making a half-aborted move to go clean it up. Did it really matter though? It was already dripping onto his wooden floor, something that could be easily cleaned later when it had gone from a wet mess to a sticky wet mess.
Instead, Heath lifted his head to watch Elodie carefully, his heart twisting painfully when he caught the look of devastation on her face. Certain that he’d just made her night worse, he raked a hand through his hair, at a loss for what to do.
“Elodie…” he said softly, taking a cautious step towards her.
When she didn’t immediately flinch away, he sighed and closed the distance between them, resting a hand on her shoulder to gently pull her in so he could wrap his arms around her.
“I’m sorry,” he apologised, his chin resting on the top of her head. He couldn’t give her what she wanted, and only hoped this could be the next best thing. “We just- we can’t. You know we can’t. That doesn’t mean nobody is ever going to want you.”
He tilted his head, nosing gently at her hairline.
“Someone will want you,” he reassured her. “And the loneliness will go away.”
It felt like a rich thing to say from a man who had been lonely for his whole life.
↳INSTAGRAM: @d.sterling uploaded a photo:
🏞️☀️📸
@heathhudson: Oh! Oh, okay!
↳INSTAGRAM: @magnifiquemoreau posted to their story:
@heathhudson liked your story.
↳INSTAGRAM: @d.sterling uploaded a photo:
whatcha looking at?
@heathhudson: I actually preferred the one of you scowling at me when you realised I was taking photos.
Elodie laughed, though her heart wasn’t in it. There was no use in Heath reassuring her that Rebekah liked her. They both knew that wasn’t true, and she had every reason to hate the petite blonde. She’d waltzed into their life, flirting up a storm with Rebekah’s boyfriend and was showing no signs of stopping. Elodie barely even knew why she did it. Was she addicted to the chaos? There was no use in her pretending she didn’t notice the way Heath’s eyes trailed after her, the lust that formed in the dark pools of his gaze. He was obviously attracted to her, and rarely seemed to dissuade her boisterous approach. Aside from a few sighs and well-placed grumbles of Elodie, he tended to laugh away her obvious come-ons. Surely a man who was desperately in love with his girlfriend would put his foot down and draw a line in the sand. He’d never outright rejected her, and so Elodie hadn’t seen reason to stop.
She wasn’t a homewrecker – she never had been, nor would she want to be. If she ever fucked anybody who happened to be a relationship, it was always entirely without her knowledge. With Heath, things just felt different, and she couldn’t put her finger on why. Maybe it was the fresh knowledge of knowing he’d been the one to find her, the day of her attitude. Perhaps her mangled brain had conjured up an image of him, letting him take the form of her hero, as though she were the heroine in a fairy tale as opposed to the villainous, monstrous witch that she probably resembled more closely. Whatever it was, she felt a strange closeness to him that she’d felt from the moment they’d crossed paths in A Novel Idea.
She watched, with thinly veiled disappointment, as he pulled away from her, turning from where she kneeled. Elodie blinked, swallowing down her dissatisfaction, and instead nodded, plastering on a bright smile as they bought sought out a distraction from the obvious tension building.
“Sure. Yeah, whatever you’ve got,” she shrugged, waving him off with a hand.
She pushed to her feet, climbing off of the sofa and glanced around, gaze landing on the shirt she’d discarded on its cushions. She reached up and tugged her pathetic mouse ears from her head and tossed them on the couch, cursing her stupid outfit for where it had landed her tonight. Heath probably thought she looked ridiculous, just as her father did, made abundantly clear by the handprint on her cheek. Not usually one to fret over her appearance, she sighed and tugged at the straps of her skimpy dress, before pulling it swiftly over her head. She glanced across the room, to where Heath had wandered towards the fridge, and wondered if it would even impact him, seeing her standing there in nothing but her underwear. What would he do, if she crossed that threshold and wrapped her near-naked form around him. Would he have her, or would he send her packing?
She stood there for a moment too long, yearning for him to say something, to beg her to let him have her. Elodie would take anything to quiet the noise in her head right now, to silence the sound of her father’s voice, rattling around in her brain, to soothe the ache of her steadily bruising cheek. Eventually, she tugged the shirt over her head, letting it slip down her slim frame, rucked up at the curve of her waist before she carefully shimmied it around her hips. It was both too large, and not big enough. It sat just below her bottom, her pale thighs on show, dotted with glitter from when she’d been foolish enough to think she might be getting fucked tonight by a total stranger. The fit of it felt so snug and secure against her frame, as though wearing Heath’s t-shirts was the most natural thing in the world to her.
Despite the war waging in her mind, Elodie let her voice ring across the room, eager for his attention, for any sense of validation. It was the only balm she needed after such a hateful night.
“Do I look pretty, Heath? Does it suit me?” Her eyes shone, a hint of desperation mingled with tears that had been building all night long. Why was this so difficult? With all her friends and the vast expanse of the city at her disposal, would Elodie always feel this lonely?
He tried to ignore the disappointed look on Elodie’s face and the subsequent pang of guilt he felt when he pulled away. He couldn’t do anything else though, not when he was with Rebekah and Elodie needed a safe space for the night. Anything else would be inappropriate, which felt laughable to say, as if anything about the way he’d been acting around Elodie for the last few months had been anything close to appropriate.
Heath crossed his apartment, open-plan and cluttered with all the bric-a-brac he was way too sentimental to throw out, and reached the fridge to grab two cans of Coke.
“Ice?” he called, popping the tab on both of them and pouring half into the glasses he pulled from his cupboards. As they foamed at the top, he waited for them to fizz down so he could pour in the rest, this brief reprieve granting him a minute to look at the stainless steel of his toaster and the reflection of Elodie in the living room.
His stomach bottomed out at the sight of her pale skin and nothing more bar the brief flash of white of her underwear. It was nothing he hadn’t seen before, but not for years. And she’d always been aware of him looking at the time, ready to put on a show for him.
Swallowing uneasily, he tore his gaze away from the mirrored picture and grabbed the Coke cans, emptying the rest of them into the glasses. Carrying them through to the living room, he stopped short when he heard her question, the open desperation in her voice, and his grip on the cups tightened.
Instead of answering right away, he set the drinks down on the coffee table. Rebekah preferred it when he used coasters, but as far as he was concerned the table was already ruined from chipped paint and ring upon ring of coffee stains. Slowly, he straightened up and stared at Elodie, torn. The t-shirt hugged her perfectly, because it always had, and he might have said so if alarm bells weren’t screaming in his head right now.
They couldn’t do this. It wasn’t right.
“Elodie,” he warned her quietly with a gentle shake of his head. “Come on…”
She’d been through enough tonight and as much as Heath wanted to take her mind off things, he knew that this couldn’t be the way he went about it.
↳INSTAGRAM: @billymchale uploaded a photo:
Being in love is kind of awesome.
@heathhudson: Take care of him etc, etc. (Kit is making us shovel talk whenever we try and tell you guys you look cute.)
Until Monday.
For all intents and purposes, Elodie was not known for being subtle. She never had been, and she highly doubted that would change. She was loud and unapologetic, and she had a horrible tendency for barreling into situations – much like tonight – with an air of confidence that she hadn’t quite earned. Her potty mouth had gotten her into trouble more times than she could count, and she rarely showcased any sign of a filter. To catch her off guard or take her by surprise was a rare and difficult thing, and yet Heath had just managed it. Because if Bex was away, she could maybe understand his lenience. He wouldn’t mind her crashing for the night, away from the prying eyes of his loathsome, jealous girlfriend. But the offer for her to stay until she returned was an initiation she wasn’t willing to refuse, and one that filled her with a nasty, dirty smugness that she wasn’t overly proud of.
“Thanks, baby. You’re a real gentleman, you know that?” she cooed, tipping her head against the back of the sofa as she stared up at him. He still looked troubled, but she couldn’t quite place why. “I promise I won’t be in your way.”
Heath seemed genuinely surprised by Elodie’s line of questioning, which she supposed was a good sign. He couldn’t be angry at her if he didn’t know what she was referring to, right? But she didn’t think she’d imagined it, either. The way he’d stopped and stared at her, forehead crinkled as she worried her fingers over the fabric of the t-shirt. It was hard not to assume he resented her for showing up, for ruining the time he might have to himself while Rebekah was away. After all, it was all she seemed to be good for. She had a habit of showing up unwanted and ruining things for others.
“I dunno...” she trailed off, suddenly feeling embarrassed. Maybe the night and her father’s slap was getting to her, but insecurity seeped its way into her tone, rare and unpleasant. “I guess I’m just worried I showed up invited. Like, maybe you’re only putting up with me because I... I mean, I know I’m pushy and needy and a total attention whore. That’s why Rebekah hates me, right?”
She rolled her eyes, feeling ridiculous. Her cheek still stung and her body felt sore from being manhandled, the fresh bruises that bloomed along her skin emitting a dull ache. Twisting on the sofa, the t-shirt slipped from her fingers and onto the cushion beside her as she rose into a kneel and faced him where he stood. Carefully, stupidly, selfishly she traced a finger along the back of his hand, brushing against the hard curves of his knuckles before gliding along the expanse of his arm. She smiled, sweetly as her gaze noted the way his skin seemed to react to her touch, goosebumps rising along his flesh.
“You’re always looking out for me, aren’t you? You’re always right here when I need you, my knight in shining armour,” Elodie whispered, long lashes tickling her skin as she stared up at him through heavy, lidded eyes.
Heath couldn’t help but wince when Elodie called him a gentleman. It was a label he knew he didn’t deserve. He was far from a gentleman these days. In fact, he wasn’t sure he had ever been one to begin with. His relationship with Rebekah was built on what his dad wanted, dollar signs in his eyes when he’d first realised the Van Hansens’ daughter had taken an interest in his son. He’d pushed Heath to pursue her and all the while Heath had been busy pining after a girl he’d lost, but never really had in the first place either.
Now, he had both of them, but not in the way he wanted. His relationship with Rebekah was precarious at best and whatever he had going on with Elodie right now was… Fuck, her being here was like pouring gasoline on an open flame.
But it wasn’t like he was going to tell her to leave.
His eyebrows pulled together in a frown as she spoke. Gently, he shook his head.
“Don’t,” he said, softly. “That’s not true.”
He’d known Elodie for longer than she was aware of and he’d never thought of her as anything close to needy. If anything, he’d always thought she was too independent, cocksure of herself in a way that was admirable when it wasn’t scaring the living daylights out of him. In between the frost-bitten make outs and the sex in his chalet, there had been no small amount of arguments between them, with Heath cautioning Elodie to be careful with her jumps and Elodie snapping back that could do it herself. No, Elodie Moreau was hardly needy.
“Rebekah doesn’t hate you…” He trailed off then caught Elodie’s eye. Suddenly, he couldn’t help but laugh at how obvious his lie was. “I think we both know her problem is with me.”
His teeth sank into his bottom lip when she knelt in front of him and began tracing the line of his arms with a finger. His body was reacting in a way his mind was screaming at it to not. He was already treading a dangerous path just by letting Elodie stay here, the last thing he should be doing was encouraging this.
“Hardly,” he scoffed lightly. There was no reality where Heath was anything close to Elodie’s knight in shining armour, not when he’d been the reason she got hurt. Not that she knew that. Because of the lies he’d told, Elodie believed that he’d been the person to help her after her accident. It was a shitty thing to make someone believe and so he gently pulled his hand back, shaking his head.
“Do you want anything to eat? Drink?” he asked gruffly. He couldn’t play at being her knight in shining armour, but he could play host at the very least.
If Théo had ever dared shoulder the blame for their father’s temper, Elodie would have been first in line to correct him. She’d never stand back and let her brother blame himself for another person’s violent whims, and yet it had always seemed like the easiest option for her. Not because she actually believed her own lies, but because she had long since learned that most people didn’t care about what went on behind closed doors. Nobody gave a toss that her brother would hit her and Théo, just so long as they covered the bruises and didn’t make things awkward. Elodie had always aimed to please.
“Dunno. Dared to exist, didn’t I?” she offered weakly, eyes lifting to meet Heath’s.
Her heart appeared to be beating out of time, the weight of it suddenly feeling clumsy beneath her ribcage. As she stared at Heath, it felt too large in her chest, as though it was made to carry so much more than she was capable of. It made her feel insane to be touched with such tender care. She wished he would stop, just as much as she wished he’d kiss her and touch her and fuck her and never let go again. Nothing made sense.
The second he released his hold on her chin, Elodie felt empty. She could still feel the ghost of his fingers against her skin and her body ached for more. His back was to her now, his laughter faint and distant as he wandered towards the freezer, and Elodie found herself awkwardly perched on the sofa, awaiting his return. She hugged her knees to her chest, short skirt be damned, and wondered if Heath saw right through her. Being promiscuous came naturally to Elodie, but now she wondered if it just reeked of desperation. There had been times where she’d firmly believed that Heath was interested in her, but now she wondered if she’d imagined it all.
She accepted the bag of peas in silence, not wanting to cause him further problems. Obediently, Elodie lifted them to the bruise on her face, only to hiss the moment they made contact. Between the biting cold and the searing pain, she cringed. Being from Quebéc, she’d always been perfectly at home in the cold and the snow, but it felt wrong in this context. She suddenly found herself wanting to burrow into the warmth of Heath’s skin, to hide herself away from the cold, harshness of how her night had unfolded.
Sighing, she held the peas in place, blinking in surprise when he dropped a shirt into her lap. The look she gave it was fleeting, her curiosity piquing at his words.
“Won’t Rebekah mind?” Elodie mused, arching a brow. She winced, finding that even her usual expressiveness was a source of discomfort now. Her question had been genuine, though. Just this once, she wasn’t trying to be snide. She wasn’t sure she wanted Rebekah to come home and find the slutty blonde she so openly detested on her sofa. Elodie’s evening had been bad enough.
Awaiting his response, she eyed the shirt in her lap again, fingers running absently over the logo. It looked familiar, but she couldn’t put her finger on why. Another memory lost to her accident, no doubt. She wondered if her father’s slap had disjointed her too, leaving her mind fuzzy for the night. Lifting her head, she watched Heath, noting the way he was looking at her. He looked stressed, unmoored even. She’d thrown a huge wrench into his plans, clearly.
“Are you upset with me?” Elodie asked him, surprising herself with how nervous she was to hear his response.
“It’s not Rebekah’s shirt,” Heath replied, brows furrowed. He didn’t think his girlfriend had ever been to the same Canadian ski resort where he’d met Elodie. Surely that would be a conflict of interests, what with her family pretty much owning the competition. He’d been happy to keep the two separated from each other - but he realised that wasn’t what Elodie was asking about.
His expression cleared and his eyes twitched nervously. He could lie and say that Rebekah wouldn't mind at all, that his girlfriend was a charitable enough person to recognise someone seeking refuge from their shitty home life and would be more than willing to open up the door to Elodie. But he wasn’t so sure that rang true.
Ever since he’d reunited with the tiny blonde, Heath hadn’t been able to tell Rebekah the truth about how he really knew Elodie. So from his girlfriend’s perspective, he’d gone out and chatted up a woman on New Year’s Eve and now seemingly spent every waking moment with her. If Rebekah came home now and discovered Elodie sitting on her sofa, either scantily clad in her little white dress or with Heath’s sleep shirt drowning her frame, there was no way he’d be able to pass it off as completely innocent, even if nothing had happened. And he knew that Elodie knew that too, otherwise she wouldn’t have asked the question.
“Bex isn’t here,” he said eventually. It wasn’t a reassurance, so much as an excuse. “She’s on a trip with her family and won’t be home until Monday night. You can stay until then.”
Bracing his hands on the back of his sofa as he watched Elodie stroke a thumb across the embroidered crest of his shirt, he waited, almost hoping that something about the logo would jog her memory. Instead, she looked up at him and surprised him for the -nth time that night.
“What? Why would I be upset with you?” he asked, retracting their steps since Elodie had arrived. As far as Heath could tell, nothing the blonde had done had possibly warranted Heath being upset with her.
Does it annoy you how desperate Elodie is?
That's not even in the top 100 words I'd use to describe Elodie. Where'd you go and get a dumb idea like that from anyway?
↳INSTAGRAM: @theomoreau uploaded a photo:
i made this shirt :)
@heathhudson: Love it, man!
↳INSTAGRAM: @magnifiquemoreau uploaded photos:
the weather was cute 2day :))
@heathhudson: Hey, the weather has a great personality too!
↳INSTAGRAM: @maconthego uploaded a photo:
Look what Xavi brought home from the rink today. It’s so fucking cute, I’m gonna cry.
@heathhudson: Daff got me the ski goggles one for my bday. I get it. Like, why am I a father?
