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Feb 18

𝓑𝓮𝓽𝓽𝓮𝓻 𝓞𝓷 𝓟𝓪𝓹𝓮𝓻 - 𝐏𝐓 𝟏𝟗

~ɪɴ ᴀᴄᴀᴅᴇᴍɪᴀ, ʟᴏᴠᴇ ɪs ᴛʜᴇ ɢʀᴇᴀᴛᴇsᴛ ʀɪᴠᴀʟ.~

WC: 10.1k

Tags: fluff, lore, angst, ocs, original characters, rayna quinn, rowen graves, william lewis, bop

TW: Mentions of bereavement

Credits: Brief mentions of Enzo and Francis belong to @twoandahalfdimes and @trinketcollectingcrow - dividers belong to @/wispyxfae

Tagging: @apazwtsn @twoandahalfdimes @light-of-the-room @trinketcollectingcrow @sharlotscarletfox @amethystandemma - let me know if you would like to be added or removed!

Author's note: backstreet's back baby B) it hit me not too long ago how far we've come - ch19, wow. sorry I haven't posted one of these in like one billion trillion years, I lost motivation because I don't think anybody reads these anymore, so I write for my mum 'cause she likes them :) love you mumma. but yeah, enjoy, and as always, notify me of any mistakes ! :))

-Take my hand,-

“Just tell him!”

“Why?!”

“He’s a literal prodigy—he can handle a couple words!”

“That’s the problem—he can’t!”

It wasn’t uncommon for Rayna to clash with Rowen—it wasn’t uncommon for her to think differently to him, either; they quarrelled often. But what was unusual, was for them to fight over something like this.

Rowen chuckled slightly, the sound so obviously forced, almost sarcastic, “‘Course he can. You’re just too much of a wuss to say anything.”

“Shut up. You don’t know what this is like.” She muttered, not taking his words to heart.

He rolled his eyes, “Yeah—thankfully.” He mumbled, flopping down onto the bed beside her, “Just tell me what’s holding you back.”“I dunno—” She shrugged, staring at her feet, “I guess I don’t want him to say he feels the same.”

“You… don’t want him to reciprocate?” He questioned incredulously, turning his body to face her fully.

“I do, I just… I don’t want to fuck the chance up.” She confessed, “I don’t want to make a promise that I can’t keep. What if I hurt him?”

“And what if you don’t?” He countered, shuffling closer towards her, “You’re not like that, Ray. You don’t hurt people on purpose, regardless of whose DNA you inherit. Genetic material affects your appearance—not your soul.”

Life had never been particularly easy. Her existence was a constant game of trying to separate herself from her father’s own rotten image. Identity had never been simple either—how do you separate yourself from someone you inherit your everything from? The very fabric of her soul, stained with his choices, his mistakes. Like his unsolicited influence, weaved into her morality and forever shepherding her decisions into an enclosure that accommodated sin. As for her, sheaccommodated guilt—the culpability of a misfortune that was never hers to bear; what she inherited.

The truth was that evil is born with us, not made by us—it comes with free will, the ability to do either right or wrong. Evil sneaks onto earth, using human flesh as a disguise. But perhaps just because wickedness houses itself in us, unwilling participants, perhaps that doesn’t mean that we, involuntary benefactors, are evil ourselves. After all, spite resides in us,not us in it. Perhaps we have a choice—a chance to recognise and remove ourselves from our sin.

But man ever coming close to being so aware of their flaws is a goal we have yet to reach.

And so she shook her head, “Can’t do it,” she murmured, as if already defeated in a battle that had not yet been waged, “I know I can’t.”

“Oh come on, you called the guy handsome. It’s pretty obvious you like him.” He stated bluntly, “Did you hear what he said yesterday? ‘I value you’? That’s arguably more intimate than ‘I love you’. It doesn’t take a genius to realise that’s William’s awkward, nerdy way of expressing his feelings for you.” He uttered, rolling his eyes at the absurdity of it all, “You’re both scared, so someone has to make the move.”

“You think I’m gonna do it? What if you’re wrong?”

“No, the the lint on your uniform is gonna do it—yeah, no shit, you.” He quipped, letting out an exasperated sigh as he crossed his arms, “And I’m never wrong.”

“For the love of Vishanti—”

“Can you stop being a nerd for one minute? Stop referencing to Doctor Strange—Eldritch magic isn’t going to get you the boy.”

She grumbled, “For the love of everything holy,” She reiterated, choosing her words differently this time, “will you drop this?”

“Will you just talk to him about this? He literally said you enthral him.”

The two sat in silence, each with their own arguments brewing inside of them. They both knew that the other had a valid point, however their pride warred with reason, and they refused to back down so easily.

“You like him.” Rowen spoke up quietly.

Rayna squeezed her eyes shut as if the words pained her—as if they would’ve scolded her tongue. So she remained silent and said nothing, instead crossing her arms as if it would convince him otherwise.

“Tell him.” He repeated, clearly set on the notion.

“Why would I risk making him pent up his gentleness?”

“You’re the reason for his gentleness.”

“It’s scary, okay? I barely managed to befriend him and now you want me to—” She cut herself off short, as if she couldn’t even bring herself to say what was obvious, “I’m fine with just being his friend. Sometimes that’s just the safest bet, y’know?”

If you have warm palms, wrap your digits around the hands of an individual’s which are cold. If you have experience, enlighten the oblivious with a torrent of gentle guidance; endow the ignorant with knowledge. If you have love to give, pour it into the beating receptacles of the forsaken. If you endue it, you are likely to be endued with it; this is how we fall in love.

These are all precepts that are unspoken of—when a concept is shunned, we begin to fear it. That apprehension is then manipulated by those who demand deference, and we are suffocated by their dogmatism. We fear affection, typically because it has been labelled as our species’ hamartia.

“Alright, you know what? Let’s go shopping.”

Rayna blinked at the sudden switch in conversation, staring at him with furrowed brows. She paused a moment before responding in a slow, almost unsure tone, though she was grateful for the change in topic, “…Shopping?”

Rowen nodded, his tone devoid of any joviality, “Shopping.” He repeated.

“You want to go… shopping,” She dinned, “Shopping on a Tuesday afternoon? We have school tomorrow.” She reminded him firmly, confusion in her gaze as she stared at him.

“Yup. I know.”

“Why now of all times? What are you thinking?”

The boy furrowed his brows as if to act innocent, “What d’you mean? I’m thinking we should go to the shops.”

She would’ve believed his words if she were unaware of his mischievous, often puckish nature. He took great enjoyment in teasing her, and he was an excellent liar. The boy was born an actor, it was his natural talent. Whether it was when he used to act as cupid back in year seven when she so much as spoke to another boy, or if it was trying his best to be the peacemaker whenever there was an argument, he was always acting as something—always playing some role. But no matter what part he decided to play, he was always going to be her little brother, whether he was prankish or not.

“What are you not telling me? You don’t just decide to go to the shops randomly,” she pried in an accusatory tone, narrowing her eyes slightly in suspicion, “We were literally in the middle of a conversation—what are you thinking?”

“We go shopping—you, me and Will. Walk around, maybe grab some food; it’ll be fun, just some trio time together.” He explained, still looking at her with eyes that whispered his true thoughts into her ear, far too quiet for her to hear, far too foreign for her to understand.

“Trio time?” she snorted, “You think Will’s gonna wanna come shopping with us? Fat chance.” she muttered, rolling her eyes, “You can try, but I doubt you’ll be successful.”

Rowen sighed, throwing himself off of the bed with a melodramatic flourish that was uniquely his, “There’s no harm in trying,” he argued softly, his phone emerging from his pocket as he began typing.

Rayna rested her elbows on her knees as she waited impatiently for him to send the older boy a message, “I don’t even remember how Will got my number…” she mumbled, trying to fill in the silence.

“Oh, I gave it to him.” He answered simply, not sparing her a glance as he continued to tap away at his phone, his hazel eyes being lit up by the dim white light emitted by the screen.

She chuckled in disbelief at that, as if she didn’t quite believe him, “What do you mean you gave it to him?” She questioned. Although she hadn’t expected an answer to her rhetorical question, she now found herself extremely curious.

“He asked for it,” he responded, glancing up at her for a moment, “So I gave it to him.”

Her head shot up at that, “What? When? Why? Did he say why he wanted it?” she asked, staring at him with wide, expectant eyes.

“Uh, your phone number, science trip, ‘cause why not, and no.” He answered the desperate inquiries with an air of nonchalance as if to purposefully irk her, a small smirk gracing his features as he stared down at his phone, as if proud of what he thought was his audacity.

“Wow, he could’ve just asked me for it,” she muttered, frowning slightly at the lack of detailed answers.

“He probably didn’t, because that—” he paused, seemingly sending the message to William, “—happened when you were ‘enemies’,” he finished, finally paying her his full attention.

She ignored his statement, instead lunging forwards and snatching his phone out of his hands, before falling back onto the bed, lying down with the phone held up in front of her eyes as she waited with thinly veiled eagerness for the older boy’s response.

Rowen merely rolled his eyes, crossing his arms with his brows raised as he regarded her with amusement. He didn’t say anything, he just stared at her, finding it incredibly funny that she was suddenly so fixated on the screen.

“Why does he take so long?” She complained, shaking the phone gently as if it would elicit a response from the boy.

“Relax, give the guy a second; I’ve only just sent the message. He’s probably wondering what he’s gonna have for dinner—I don’t think he’s bothered about what we’re doing, to be honest.”

She grumbled in response, her initial scepticism having dissipated by now, “He’s gotta care.” She protested quietly, her eyes fixed on the screen.

“Does he ever care?” He joked.

“Pfft, yeah,” She retorted.

He smiled slightly. Now he was only teasing her, but it was too endearing to stop now, “Like… when?”

“Like when he helped babysit Somner, when he went to the bar with us, when he helped me get home, when he took Ace just to try and find me…” She trailed off, “And a lot of other examples, mind you.”

“Wait that’s why he took my dog?” He paused, “Oh, so that’s why he wasn’t at school… Wow, you caught keeper, didn’t you?”

“I haven’t caught anyone.” She mumbled, brushing off his comment.

“No, you definitely have. If anybody else asked him to help babysit, he’d tell them to piss off.”

As if to prove his statement, her eyes lit up as the phone vibrated gently in her hands. She shot up, sliding onto the floor and hunching over the phone with a bright smile. It was clear that they had received a response.

“What’d he say?” The younger boy asked, craning his neck to try and catch a glimpse.

Rayna let out a soft snort as she read over the message, her grin never fading as she drew her knees up to her chest. The message Rowen had sent was simple:

‘Hey, Will. Me and Ray are gonna go shopping. Maybe we’ll get some food or something—we could get some clothes and stuff, it’ll be fun. You wanna come? :D’

And, in response:

‘Have you taken up idiocy as a full time job, or has the first of April approached quicker than I had anticipated it would?’

“Harsh,” Rowen commented, glaring at the screen with faux-offence. He was clearly unaffected by the words, “Why don’t you try texting him?”

“As if it’ll make a difference,” Rayna replied, seemingly indifferent. However she took out her phone anyway, and handed Rowen his.

He shrugged, shoving the device back into his pocket, “You never know, maybe knowing that you want him there too might give him a push in the right direction.” He suggested, “Hopefully in the direction of the shops, mind you.”

She huffed at that, typing out a message on her phone:

‘Hey, Will!! I’m with Wen, and I think we’re gonna head out to the shopping centre near my house just for a bit of fun, you wanna come?’

“You think he’s gonna respond?” she asked, glancing up at her friend.

“He responded to me, didn’t he? Albeit harshly,” he reminded her, “Not sure why he wouldn’t reply to you. Hopefully he tones down the snark a bit, though.”

Funnily enough, the response came far quicker than it had for Rowen:

‘I know, Ryan; Rowen has just asked me, and I believe my opinion on the idea was implicit in my aversion.’

She rolled her eyes at the nickname, tapping at the screen:

‘Explicit, actually.’

She sent the message with a small smirk before pausing, feeling that there was more that needed to be said. Her smile faded slightly, her fingers hovering over the keyboard as she slowly typed out a second message.

‘And if it were me asking, too?’

She hesitated for a moment, her finger floating over the send button. She glanced up at Rowen, who merely raised an eyebrow, cocking his head. It was clear that he was unsure of what she was playing at, but he seemed curious nevertheless. She pursed her lips before gathering the courage to just click send.

The reply took a few seconds, which was enough time for a wave of anticipation to build in Rayna’s chest. She read over her message in her head, the words sounding cheesier the more she looked at them. She groaned internally, already anticipating a sarcastic, calculated response like the younger boy had received. But just as these doubts began to cloud her mind, her phone pinged once more.

‘Alright, but only because both of you are asking.’

“Got him.” The younger boy uttered triumphantly, “It’s almost too easy.”

She sighed, her shoulders slumping in relief, “It is, isn’t it?” She muttered, narrowing her eyes as she stared at the screen, her gaze almost accusatory, as if she didn’t quite believe the words he’d typed.

“Well come on then, let’s not keep Will waiting.” Rowen ushered her jokingly, “Our majesty is known for his impatience.”

Rayna scoffed, shaking her head slightly, although a small smile graced her face, “Let’s not keep him waiting.” She repeated, the amusement obvious in her tone. She knew he was right, though—he did have a tendency to be impatient.

─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

The shopping centre wasn’t far from her house, and so the walk was short. Both were equally eager, yet Rayna walked slightly slower, as if being physically held back by something of her own making.

Walking becomes significantly harder when there are things trying to stop you. Sometimes our fears pull us away, and into the comfort of familiarity. Sometimes ‘what if?’s push us back, standing in the way of us and things that are new. But our minds don’t hate us, they are only trying to drag us to what it perceives as safety. Our thoughts are not against us, they only spiral into their own notions. The eyes often disregard what they see, only because we are taught to see through the complex, but never to recognise the simple. Everything becomes difficult when you expect it to come that way.

Something small can become very big just as long as we let it. Something simple will become impossible as long as we think about it enough. If you take a piece of string and play around with it, it will inevitably become tangled. It is still a piece of string, and it is still one simple line of textile. Only you have messed and tampered with it for so long, that it has become a problematical jumble that overwhelms you to merely look at.

Your thoughts will become convoluted if you keep entertaining them with assumptions of their complication. Begin by taking everything at face value before you even consider it being anything more than that. If there are no clear indicators of anything more, don’t automatically begin to look for some. Naturally, you will create ones that aren’t there.

The mind was not made to harm itself with its own instincts, but with the power and freedom it has, it may certainly do so if not conditioned. We have a sort of symbiotic relationship with the brain; it will help us so long as we help it.

Rayna glanced towards the boy, “You think he meant what he said?” She questioned, “The fact that he said yes to this.”

Rowen raised a brow, glancing over his shoulder to look at her, “That’s… what he said, isn’t it? He said yes.”

“Yeah, but what if he only said it because he didn’t want to be rude?” she thought aloud, itching her arm absent-mindedly.

“It’s William. He doesn’t care if he seems rude or not,” he countered, shooting her a reassuring smile, “Besides, why does it matter? It’s his problem if he says yes or no. Not our issue if he says one thing but thinks another, we’re only offering him. It’s his choice, not ours.”

“But it wouldn’t be the greatest thing in the world if he turned up and didn’t even want to.”

“He typically says what he’s feeling,” he responded, slowing down to fall into step beside her, “Now stop worrying about things that don’t matter and walk a bit faster,” He teased, the finality in his tone mixed with a tinge of amusement, “Trudging like you’re on death row.”

She rolled her eyes at his joke, picking up the speed slightly, “I may as well be,” she muttered, “That’s how it feels.”

“You’re gonna be fine, you know,” he promised, taking her hand in his as he dragged her down the street, almost too zealous about the mundaneness of shopping, “It’s just shopping—you like shopping!”

“Do I?”

“What d’you mean ‘do I?’—we go out all the time,” Rowen raised a brow at her, “The only difference now is the fact that Will’s tagging along.”

She shrugged, quickening her pace to match his stride, “It’s just nerve-wracking, I dunno,” she confessed, “It’s just a bit… scary to see him, I guess. I mean I don’t even know what me and him are really even doing, to be honest.”

“Yeah, no kidding. I’m not sure anyone knows what you guys are doing,” he snorted, “I think Francis and Enzo placed bets ages ago,” as he revealed this, he looked over at her, “I didn’t, mind you. I didn’t feel like waiting a century just for my money.”

“Bets? On what?” Rayna sputtered, narrowing her eyes at him. She knew exactly what he meant, but she just wanted to hear him say it.

Rowen shot her a weary glance, seeing straight through her attempt at obliviousness, “Enzo’s betting on you, Francis is betting on Will,” he explained, ignoring her question, “So if you prefer En over Franny, then you’ve got the power to land him a solid ten squid.”

“Ten pounds?” Her eyes widened at that, her grip on his hand tightening, “They bey ten pounds?” She asked incredulously.

“Yeah," he mumbled, rolling his eyes at the thought, “They’re stupid to even bet on it, though. I don’t actually believe that either of you are gonna confess any time soon.”

She scrunched up her nose at that, “Yeah, probably because it’s difficult.”

“Probably because you’re a wimp.”

“And you’re annoying.”

The boy let out a small laugh, but the two fell silent after that. He pulled her close to his side as they crossed the road, a subconscious habit he had formed after what had occurred many nights before, at the pub. He continuously looked left and right, almost agitated, until they reached the pavement.

As the shopping centre’s looming form became visible up ahead, Rayna slowed down just slightly. As she fell behind, Rowen turned his head with a sigh, tugging on her hand.

“Come on, please.” He uttered, his tone bordering pleading.

“What if something goes wrong?” She retorted.

“Listen, you’re getting all worried over nothing, I promise. You’re gonna get there, and it’s gonna feel natural, alright? You always get a bit nervous, but then you automatically relax. You’ve got to trust me.”

“I do trust you, I just don’t trust myself.”

“No, Ray. You trust yourself, but you don’t trust yourself around him,” he shot back, turning around to face her fully, hand still intertwined with hers, “D’you remember the last time you liked someone?”

“What, two years ago?” She huffed, irked at the fact that he was bringing up her first ‘crush’, “Yeah, yeah I do remember. That was just a passing fancy, though. It lasted like… three months, so what?”

“Maybe so, but that boy liked you just as much as you did him—I kept telling you to act on it, but you did nothing. And then you know what you did? You whined and complained because you both became distant. You left it too long,” he stated, “I don’t believe in fate, but if it really does exist, then it led you here. And I don’t know why, but you and William feel right to me,” he let go of her hand abruptly, taking a step back, “But if you don’t want to act on it, that’s fine by me. Just don’t let one boy run your whole life, because I’m tired of having the same conversation. If you want him so bad, then get up and get him. Because clearly, he’s just as nervous as you.”

Rayna watched with a blank expression as he turned around and continued walking. She knew he was right; she really did need to learn from the past.

If you want something, the way to obtain it is by trying. Nothing is ever going to come through wishes—praying should be an extra precaution, not a first move. You will begin to realise after a while that the fear of the unknown is the fear of living. And if you live with this knowledge and do not act upon it, then what is the point in having it?

Man will fear chance because he does not like the idea of his future being in the hands of another. Man will fear choice because he does not like the effort it takes to shape his life. Man isn’t lazy or lacking fervour, he only sees the danger of loss in every option, and so he does nothing. But even in the choice to stay idle comes the loss of time. Time that would have been lost either way, only now, time has passed, and yet nothing has changed. Is this not a waste of a gift? Does time not come with the responsibility of spending it, no matter how? If we are not using it, do the days belong to us, or do we belong to them?

Watching someone walk away from you as if they have lost all faith in you is painful. You may feel as if you have let them down or wasted their time, exceeded their patience or made them lose their mind. But it is in that moment that we often realise the moments we have jeopardised. We often do what should be done—we do what will help us in the long run, for both ours and their relief. For we realise that when it comes to losing time, we are the thief.

Rayna quickly came back to her senses, immediately following after him, “Okay, okay!” she exclaimed, jogging in attempts to catch up with him, “No need to get so dramatic, I’m coming!” She yelled after him, with an almost desperate attempt at humour.

He didn’t turn around, although a small smirk crossed his features, “So you’ll do it?” he called over his shoulder triumphantly, “You’ll actually try for him, and stop moping?”

She fell into step beside him once more, giving a slightly overdramatic wave to William, who was stood near the entrance of the shopping centre with a passive expression, glancing around. When he caught sight of her, however, his expression brightened slightly, and he gave a small, awkward wave back.

“I’ll give it my best shot,” she muttered in response.

William gave them a brief smile as they approached, tucking his hands into the pockets of his jacket. He nodded his head towards Rowen, before shooting Rayna a smile, “Hey.”

“Hey yourself,” she repeated, smiling back at him.

“Yeah, hey to both of you, now can we get inside? It’s freezing.” The younger boy complained, clearly eager to get out of the cold.

Before either of them could respond, the boy had walked past them and straight into the centre, clearly not intending on waiting for them. William smirked at this, whilst Rayna only rolled her eyes.

“He’s always cold,” she muttered.

He shook his head, chuckling lightly as he glanced at her, a gentle breeze passing through, “That does seem to be the case.” he agreed, “Are you not cold?” he questioned, nodding towards her hands which were clasped together in front of her, knuckles reddened slightly.

“Me? Nah, I’m alright,” she assured him, her hands tightening their hold on each other.

His brows raised at that, “Why don’t you put them in your pockets?” he asked.

She laughed slightly, “Haven’t got any pockets,” she revealed, “This… jacket doesn’t seem to come with them.”

His gaze flicked down—she was wearing the jacket he’d given her all those nights ago. But rather than bringing that fact up, he merely glanced back at her, “Give me your hands.” He said, leaving no room for argument as his own hands emerged from his pockets, outstretched towards her patiently.

She exhaled, her breath visible due to the temperature. Hesitating slightly, she unclasped her hands, slowly placing them in his, “What for?” She questioned quietly.

He ignored the question, taking her palms and inspecting them. He turned them over, his eyes narrowing as he took in the sight, “They’re dry,” he stated, “Dry and cold.”

“Gee, thanks.” She mumbled, letting out a huff of amusement at his brazen statement.

She would have commented further, but the words were taken from her mouth as she suddenly felt an unexpected warmth hit the skin of her hands, the feeling oddly comforting. She stared at him in disbelief, watching as he bowed his head to blow warm air onto each individual digit. There was a tenderness in which he did so that made a smile bloom on her face.

“Feeling any warmer?”

It took her a moment to respond as she watched him pause, glancing up at her through those thick locks, “Uh, yeah,” She replied quietly, “Warmer, yeah.”

He hummed at that, looking back down at her hands. Before he could even stop and think, he found himself leaning down further, his lips grazing her skin as he peppered gentle kisses across her knuckles and palm.

She felt her heart swell, her breath hitching at the feeling of the tender skin of his lips against her slightly callous knuckles. She forced herself to inhale, her body going rigid as he continued his ministrations. A part of her was desperate to make some sort of remark, but she decided against it as he inched just a bit closer, clearly focused on the task he had given himself.

He was close enough that she could smell the faint hint of cologne that clung to him. It was barely noticeable, but it held a whisper of warmth and musk, barely even there. It wasn’t obnoxiously strong or intense, but it followed his stature like a ghost in his steps—the scent suited him.

It was then that he pulled away, however he kept his grip on her hand firm and gently pulled it into his pocket, intertwining their fingers, “Just for a bit,” he muttered, his voice barely audible, “Just let me keep you warm.”

She couldn’t protest, not against such a soft and silent plea. She chose not to comment on it, instead clearing her throat and glancing towards the door, “Let’s go inside,” she muttered, trying to distract both herself and him from the flush that crept up her neck.

He grunted softly, nodding as he followed her gaze, “I hope Rowen hasn’t strayed too far from the entrance.”

As they stepped towards the door, she shuffled closer to him, as if to shield their hands from the view of anyone else. As he opened the door, they were immediately enveloped by the sound of muffled conversation, snippets of them able to be made out. He let go of the door, allowing it to creak shut—the air was significantly warmer, and Rayna’s shoulders relaxed slightly now that she wasn’t fighting off the biting chill of December.

It didn’t take long to spot Rowen. He was standing outside of a shop nearby, looking in through the window at the display with a contemplative look on his face; it was clear that he was wondering about making a purchase.

She sighed at the sight, and William raised a brow, “He’s like a puppy.” he uttered, “A very curious, fluffy puppy.” he added, referring to the amount of hair the boy had.

“I keep telling him to get a hair cut,” she smirked, tugging him in the direction of the younger boy, “But he refuses, for some reason.”

“It doesn’t look bad,” he said, “It’s just… well, it’s quite long, isn’t it?”

She snorted at that, approaching the boy from his left and tapping him on the shoulder with her free hand, “Don’t you have enough clothes?”

“I don’t have a lumberjack shirt though…” He whined, a pout in his voice as he responded, not taking his eyes off of the jacket in the window.

“Well don’t just stand there—if you want it, get it.” The older boy advised him.

The younger boy huffed, finally turning to look at them. Immediately, he caught sight of their interlocked hands which were concealed by William’s coat pocket—Rowen raised his brows in surprise at the sight.

Instinctively, the girl’s grip on his hand tightened slightly, anticipating a teasing comment. However, the boy simply shook his head, forcing his gaze upwards. He shot her an inquisitive glance, to which she merely rolled her eyes; he knew when to shut up when it came to her, and he wisely decided that now felt like a pretty good time to do so.

“Uh, you know what? Grand idea, Will, let’s go,” he agreed, forcing a small smile as he tried to ignore the sight before him, “Come on.”

The two watched him disappear into the shop, exchanging a glance before following behind him. He looked over his shoulder at them, glancing between the duo, “Let’s meet up at the changing rooms in about ten minutes, yeah? Grab whatever you think looks nice; knock yourselves out, kids.”

Rayna nodded, “Yeah, alright.”

William let out a hum of agreement, watching as the boy observed at them for a few more moments, before turning his head and navigating around the hanging racks, out of their sight.

“Did you want to look for anything in specific, Ryan?” he questioned, cocking his head to the side.

“Not really, no. We can have a look in the women’s section though?” she suggested, rocking back and forth on her feet slightly as she adjusted the hand that was in his pocket.

“Of course.” he concurred, nodding in the direction of the women’s area, “Come on.”

The section wasn’t too far from the entrance, and they were there within a few steps. As they went, they stayed close to each other, still feeling slightly embarrassed about their interlaced hands.

When they approached, Rayna hesitated for a moment, before slowly pulling her hand out of William’s pocket. She clenched and unclenched her fist, attempting to adapt to the lack of intimacy before she began looking through the clothing rack.

William bit the inside of his cheek at the loss of contact, before beginning to look through the rack opposite. As they went, a comfortable silence filled the air between them, broken only by the sounds of metal scraping.

“Not the best clothes…” she mumbled to herself, pulling out a purple, floral shirt before placing it back on the rack.

“Indeed. Although we have only just begun looking,” he muttered, “Though I have a vague idea of your taste in clothes, I can’t seem to find anything that might match that taste palette of yours.”

She paused, glancing over at him, “And what is my palette, according to you?”

He smirked at that, continuing his search as he spoke, “Picky,” he teased, glancing over his shoulder.

She gave him a forced smile, “Real funny, great joke,” she breathed out a chuckle, that forced smile becoming genuine very quickly.

He smiled, going back to sieving through the hangers, “I wouldn’t say you’ve got an unusual palette,” he told her, “But I don’t see it often,” he added, pulling out a hanger and scanning over the garment hung on it, “A bit of a hippie, maybe even a bohemian.” he murmured, looking over the piece of clothing for a few more moments before placing it back.

She pursed her lips at that, “Pretty accurate, actually.”

“That’s not to say you would look particularly bad in anything,” he added, “It’s just about what you would prefer to wear.”

“Smooth,” she mumbled, “But thanks. I think you’re style leans towards dark academia. I like it, it suits you.”

“Do you think so?” he inquired, almost bashful, “Well, that’s good—at least I’m doing something right.”

The comment made them both laugh slightly, and William smiled at the sound of her soft chuckles. Rayna shook her head in amusement, grabbing a hanger and pulling it out to reveal a dark blue t-shirt with a laced neckline and short sleeves, the hem of which were also laced.

She grimaced at the sight, “Oh, look at this gem,” she muttered, scoffing at the garment in her hands.

“See? Picky,” he joked, reaching over and running a hand over the fabric, “It’s not that bad, Ryan. What’s wrong with it?”

“It’s a bit lacy, isn’t it?” she pointed out, holding the t-shirt closer to him for his inspection, “Or that might just be me, I’m not sure.”

“A fair point,” he conceded, “Though with enough styling, I’m sure it could look better.”

“Like you have an knack for styling,” she joked, pulling the shirt away from his touch, “You wear jackets, scarves and button-ups.”

“Because it’s winter—and you said those articles of clothing suit me, anyway,” he protested, “And I’ll have you know that I make an excellent stylist.”

“Ever styled before?” she asked genuinely as she placed the shirt back on the rack, her mocking tone being replaced by one more curious.

“Some time around my childhood, yes.” he answered, crossing his arms and glancing up for a few moments, as if recalling a memory.

“…Can I know who?” She pried gently.

He let out an airy chuckle, pausing. The silence was reverential, “Judith used to let me style her clothes and choose her outfits from time to time,” he revealed, smiling at the memory.

“So… you get your style from her, then?” She pressed onward.

His smile widened, “No, no. I get my style from nights of studying where I threw on whatever was closest to me—it became a habit. She...“ he sighed, shoving his thumbs into his pockets, “She was a bit like you, actually; she had your sort of style. Only… she was a bit of a wallflower, if you can call her that,” he hummed quietly, “Never really had a lot of friends, but she cared deeply for the people who knew her. She was a worrier.”

She smiled at that, keeping her silence, hoping it would prompt him to continue.

“She would’ve liked you; you and Rowen,” he shook his head, clearly fond of the girl he spoke of, “She would’ve told me to keep you two,” his smile softened into something warmer, his gaze returning to Rayna, “—She would have told me …behalte das Mädchen und schätze sie.”

“I think we would’ve gotten on,” she added gently.

“You would’ve yes,” he nodded, “She had a closet like yours. There were some beautiful clothes in there that I… used to pick out for her. I kept a few, actually,” he confessed, taking a deep breath, steeling himself for what he was about to ask, “I could… would you—would you like them, Rayna? I… think they would look gorgeous on you.”

When a family member passes, their ghost will remain in everything that once belonged to them. Whether that be their pillows, or their clothes, even the chair in the living room that they always sat in. Their scent will haunt you just as much as it soothes you, until one day, after weeks of their absence, that odour that was uniquely theirs begins to fade. You never truly come to terms with the fact that you will never smell their scent again, and it feels as if every one of their belongings loses something that makes it important. That distinct smell becomes a memory, too. The only thing you’ll have left is the object, devoid of one more recollection.

Their bed will become cold, and it will never feel the warmth of them again. The day you clean out that room is the day that you will stare at those pillows and wonder what could have been done. Every piece of cloth you pull out of their drawers will take you hours to let go of, because you don’t want to feel as if you’re leaving them behind. All the memories you ever made will never make up for the anguish you have—the guilt that will accompany you on your death bed, making your final breath a sigh of relief as your ghost uses that last, defeated exhale as a way to finally escape from the thoughts that have ailed it. You will regret that you didn’t spent the last day differently, and you will learn to wake up each day with a different dream about a way that you would’ve rather it ended, but the same wish of how you would’ve rather it not even have ended at all.

You will hold onto their clothes for a good long while, and if you ever gather the courage, you may give them away. Whether it may be to a charity or to a loved one, it is not only an act that shows an attempt at acceptance, but also an action that shows trust, and in some cases, love.

Rayna stared at him for a few long, agonising moments as the conversation took a sudden turn, “You…” She swallowed thickly, “You want—you want me to have your sisters clothes?” She asked in disbelief, “William I can’t do that, I didn’t know her.”

“That may be true, but I know you,” he paused, “And I knew her. She wouldn’t want them to sit in her wardrobe collecting dust, she would’ve wanted someone to wear them. And I haven’t got anyone else to give them to—no one that I trust as much as you,” he protested, “Please. It pains me to keep them hidden away like I do. Come to my house tomorrow after school, at least try them on, meine Süße,” he pleaded, “Please?”

She couldn’t fight against that plea, “Alright, fine. I’ll think about it, okay?” she uttered, turning her back towards him and continuing to look through the racks, “We’ll... talk about this later,” she muttered. She couldn’t help but feel a strong sense of guilt at the prospect of wearing the clothes of the deceased, but he seemed so adamant on the idea, so surely it was alright?

“Thank you,” he breathed quietly, although he did feel a hint of regret at how pushy he sounded, "Sorry—I don't mean to pester you," he whispered, idly placing a hand back onto the rack and absent-mindedly picking a hanger as if to distract himself.

She huffed quietly, not particularly irritated at him, more so at herself and her notions. She shook her head, trying to rid herself of the multitude of thoughts clouding her mind. She pretended to look through the clothes, though her mind was elsewhere.

William, however, attempted to focus on the clothes. The hanger he had picked was in the very middle of the selection—it didn’t look special, it looked like all the rest, and he was sure that he was just picking out another boring t-shirt or jumper.

But as he lifted the hanger into view, his eyes widened in surprise, the tense conversation momentarily forgotten.

“Er, Ray, how about this?” he asked, holding up a dress.

“How about what?” She snapped, although she was quickly silenced by the sight of the garment.

Rayna had never been a big fan of dresses. They were either always too skimpy or too tight, and she wasn’t even eighteen. As much as she thought a dress might suit her, there were none that ever really fit her sort of style. When she thought of dresses, she, for some reason, always thought of a specific red skintight one, and that thought always put her off. In her head, that’s all dresses really were—ways to show off your body. Of course, this wasn’t true at all, but she had been brought up this way.But regardless, Rayna didn’t want to show her body off like it was an object to ogle that, she wanted to value herself more than that. However, looking at the dress William held up, it became clear that he knew of a different style of dresses entirely.

It was a midi dress, off-white and almost ethereal. The bodice was a corset with faint patterns dancing across it that allowed full-coverage, with a cream ribbon tying it together at the top. Its sleeves were long, easily reaching the wrists of the wearer, but they were breathable too. The way they hung off of the arms of the hanger almost replicated the wings of a dove. Around the waistline, an intricate chain resembled a belt, held together by a metal clasp. From one of those links hung another chain, this one holding three small metal disks. The hemline was made of delicate lace, and the silhouette was gently bunched and ruffled, yet seemed to flow effortlessly.

“Jesus,” she muttered, “How the hell did you find that?”

“I just… picked up a hanger,” he murmured, holding the dress out towards her, “Thankfully, it happened to be this one.”

She carefully took it off of him, a small smile gracing her features, “Well come on,” she ushered him, “Let me try it on.”

He nodded, jerking his chin in the direction of the changing rooms, “Follow me.”

In an instant, they were navigating through small groups of people, both equally eager to see the dress modelled. She barely missed a man and his pushchair in her haste, mumbling apologies. Despite his words, she had already managed to get ahead.

“Slow down!” William called.

“Speed up!” Rayna teased.

He shook his head at the sound of her mocking tone, glancing up and slowing down as they approached the changing rooms.

There, they spotted Rowen, who was trying on the jacket that he had been eyeing through the window. At the sound of footsteps, he turned his head away from the full length mirror, “There you are!” he exclaimed, an exasperated sigh leaving him, “I’ve been waiting for like ten minutes—” he paused as he caught sight of the dress in her hands, “Jesus, how the hell did you find that?”

She shrugged, glancing down at the garment, “Will found it,” she explained, to which the older boy smiled briefly.

“Well go try it on, then,” The younger boy told her, gesturing to one of the free changing rooms.

She glanced between the two and nodded, making her way towards the area and closing the curtain behind her, the sound of quiet rustling filling the air.

For a few moments, the boys stood in silence, glancing around and occasionally locking eyes. They attempted to focus on the sound of whispering fabric coming from the changing room that Rayna was in, but found themselves unable to ignore each other.

After a few moments, William decided to speak up and fill the almost awkward silence, “The jacket looks nice on you,” he commented, glancing over the lumberjack shirt.

“You think?” he queried, looking for confirmation, “I wasn’t too sure.”

“Brown and blue looks nice on you,” the older assured him.

“Thanks,” the younger smiled brightly, glancing towards the mirror once more and smoothing down the jacket, “I might buy it.”

“I think you should,” he urged him, “If you like it, buy it. It would be a good purchase to make.”

“Did you buy yourself anything?” he questioned.

“No, I didn’t,” the blue eyed boy admitted, “I don’t need anything, I have plenty of clothes.”

“Sure? You can go and look for something if you want to, we have plenty of time.”

“No, it’s fine, truly. Thank you, though.”

He nodded, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jacket and swaying on his feet, “So,” he began, “How d’you think this dress is gonna look on her?” he asked, lowering his voice as if not to be heard by the girl.

William, however, kept his voice at the same volume, “Lovely,” he uttered, “It will look beautiful.”

“Ditto,” Rowen’s smile widened slightly, “Did you pick it for her?”

“Well, I found it and showed it to her, yes,” he explained, “I thought it fitted her style, and so I assumed she might like it.”

“You’re pretty good at finding clothes, aren’t you?” the younger boy complimented, “Maybe I should bring you along with me next time, you seem good at this sort of thing.”

“Your style is very different to anything I’ve ever seen,” the older boy said, “it’s… not easy for me to label.”

“Er, let’s see…” Rowen mumbled, trying to think of an appropriate way to describe his style, “Maybe… Grunge 2000’s… retro, maybe?”

The boy chuckled slightly, “Sounds about right—it suits you. It’s nice, I like it.”

“You do? Well, that’s a compliment from you if I’ve ever heard one.”

Before they could converse further, the sound of rustling paused, and a quiet curse left Rayna’s lips, “There’s buttons?”

The younger boy snorted, whilst the older of the two smirked slightly, “Do you need help?” the blue eyed boy inquired.

“Er… you wouldn’t mind, would you?”

“Not at all.”

The brown eyed boy merely chuckled, stepping back and gesturing to the curtain as he lowered himself down onto one of the seats that were set out. William rolled his eyes, letting out a sigh at the boy’s smug attitude. Not sparing him a second glance, he stepped towards the curtain, opening it just enough for him to slip inside, and immediately letting it fall back into place.

After checking that they were concealed by the curtain, he turned around, his eyes widening slightly, “Wow, er, that does look…” He trailed off.

“Too much?”

“Not—no, what? Not at all, no. It’s… well, you look gorgeous. Heavenly, even.”

He had to stand there for a few moments before he could move to help her with the buttons of the corset. The sleeves hung from her arms in a way that was ethereal. It wasn’t an extravagant dress, but it held a silent beauty to it. He shook his head, forcing himself to closer to her as his hands moved to her back. It took him great effort not to just admire her.

“Thanks,” She murmured, his words causing a smile to bloom on her face, “Rowen is rubbish at doing buttons,” she told him, “He says they’re too fiddly.”

He huffed out a silent laugh, his fingers moving up to brush her hair away from the corset, tucking it over her shoulder gently. Then, his hands began to work their way up the bodice, deftly closing up the buttons.

She could feel the warmth of his hands on her back, the sensation as comforting as it was terrifying. His breath fanned over her skin as he went, the air filled with the sounds of their gentle breaths. She glanced up in the mirror, a small smile tugging at her lips at the sight of William’s concentrated expression, with furrowed brows and narrowed eyes.

“There,” he announced softly, “Done.”

“Thank you,” she turned from left to right, examining her appearance, “It looks nice—really nice.”

The two fell into a comfortable silence, both just taking the time to admire her appearance—he was right, she truly did look beautiful. For the first time in a while, Rayna liked the dress that she was wearing. She did a quick twirl, watching as the fabric danced with her elegantly.

“You do look gorgeous,” he complimented sincerely, “Extravagant,” he murmured.

She rubbed the back of her neck, smiling slightly, “Ah—er, thank you.”

He smiled, letting out a soft, almost reverential sigh as he stared at her. Although he seemed fairly composed, inwardly, a string of curses circled through his mind. To him, she was an absolute vision.

“Show Rowen,” he suggested quietly, his gaze not leaving her reflection.

She nodded, turning away from the mirror and stepping towards the curtain. William stepped to the side, allowing her to open it.

Rowen was sat, still in the jacket, scrolling through his phone with his legs crossed on the seat, knees resting on the armrests. His head was hung low as he looked down at his phone, thick locks of hair falling over his eyes. At the sound of the curtain opening, his head snapped up, and he quickly lifted a hand to hold his hair out of his eyes, pressing it down onto his head in order for him to see clearly.

His brows shot up in surprise as he stuffed his phone into his pocket, running his hands through his hair as he tried to get it to stay out of his eyes, “That looks beautiful on you, Ray.”

“Thanks,” her smile widened, “That jacket looks great on you, too,” she complimented.

“No seriously, it does. You look really pretty,” he grinned, “But thanks—we should probably go check out.”

William hummed in agreement, glancing between the two of them, “Would you… like me to pay?”

“No,” Rowen deadpanned, “Definitely not.”

“It’s fine, seriously,” Rayna added, “We can pay for them.”

“Are you sure?” He questioned, raising a brow.

“Yes.” They both assured him simultaneously, sharing a weary, yet grateful glance.

“Alright,” He exhaled, nodding towards the changing room he and Rayna had just exited, “Come, I’ll help you unbutton the corset.”

─ ·ʚɞ· ─ · ·

As they left the shop, Rayna swung the bag from her arm, a small smile on her face as she watched Rowen slip his newly purchased jacket on.

“Happy?” William asked, his tone only partially teasing.

The boy smoothed the fabric down with a nod, “Ten squid well spent.”

At his words, the older boy raised a brow, sending a confused glance towards Rayna, who merely chuckled, “Ten pounds,” she said, “He means ten pounds.”

“I’m… not going to ask any further questions,” he stated, eliciting smirks from his friends.

The three fell into silence as they walked alongside each other. Shops around them slowly began to close for the night, and people began to make their way towards the exit. The trio, however, had only just begun to make their way into the centre. The entire area felt a lot quieter than it usually did at around midday, the only sounds being their shoes clacking against the floor, and shopkeepers closing down for the night.

It was then that Rowen’s phone buzzed. He reached into his pocket and pulled the device out, the harsh light illuminating his features as they walked. Scanning the screen, he let out a sigh, “Dad says I’ve got to go home,” he muttered, his shoulders dropping.

Rayna frowned, “Seriously?”

“Sucks, I know,” he shrugged, “You guys gonna be alright?” He asked, looking between the two.

“We should be fine,” William reassured him, “Be safe.”

“You two as well,” he nodded, casting a glance towards Rayna, “See you guys tomorrow, yeah?”

The three waved goodbye, and the duo watched as Rowen retreated towards the exit, past the shop they had just come out of. He looked over his shoulder a final time, shooting them a smile, before opening the door and disappearing into the evening.

Rayna glanced up as one of the main lights were turned off, the remaining few casting a dim glow onto the both of them. The boy exhaled quietly, sharing a glance with her and walking further into the shopping centre.

As they walked beside each other, their hands brushed together. Almost instinctively, William wrapped his digits around her hand the moment they made contact, gently intertwining their fingers once more.

She smiled to herself at the contact, hanging the shopping bag off of her arm, “Are you—” she cleared her throat, “Er, are you… really sure you want me to wear your sister’s clothes?”

“Yes, I am,” he affirmed, “They truly are just clothes. All of the memories I have with her are down here,” he told her, bringing a finger to his chest, “And up here,” he said, that same finger moving to tap at his forehead.

She huffed, shaking her head slightly, “Yeah?”

“What? It’s true.” He smiled back at her, “Is it so hard to believe?”

“Just a bit, yeah.”

“How so?”

She shrugged, her head lowering slightly as she spoke, “I… miss my dad, sometimes,” she revealed, “Even though he left by choice, and even though I know it was probably for the best, I just…” she trailed off, “Miss having a father figure, I guess. And it sort of hurts,” she huffed, “So I guess I find it hard to believe that you’re content with just having memories. Content with… giving away a part of her.”

He didn’t respond immediately, allowing her to continue as he listened attentively.

“I mean right now, all I have is memories, too,” she continued, “And if I’m being honest, I’d rather just have him back. Having a dad is better than not having one at all,” she muttered, as if trying to convince herself more than him, “Even if he’s not the greatest.”

William raised a brow, “You want to have someone back who hurt you?” he questioned softly.

She chuckled, shrugging, “You want to give away the belongings of someone who loved you?”

He sighed, “Rayna, please.”

“I’m sorry, it just doesn’t feel right to pass them around like that,” she stated, glancing at him, “You don’t want to keep them as a keepsake?”

He pressed his lips into a thin line, “Sometimes it’s not really something you want to remember.”

She fell silent at that, a hint of understanding passing through her eyes as she glanced at the floor, her empathy mingling with a tinge of guilt, “Right,” she murmured, “Sorry.”

He shook his head, “No, no, it’s okay. I understand your hesitation.”

Another moment of silence washed over them as they walked alongside each other, thoughts brewing in their minds. Both were feeling a multitude of emotions that they didn’t know how to handle, in that moment. Both were wanting to voice their thoughts without the means to do so, equally unsure of how to go about the conversation.

“Rayna,” he began, “I don’t want you to take the clothes because they mean nothing to me,” he squeezed her hand lightly, “I want you to take them because they mean something. I want you to know that I…” he paused, looking at the floor for a few moments, “That I trust you. And that you mean a lot to me.” He glanced back towards her, “Take it as a sign of my acceptance and desire to move on from Judith’s death, but also my attempt to move onto new things, and people…. like you.”

She stared at him for a few seconds, wanting to say a plethora of things in that moment, “I… trust you too, and I cherish you, but if you’ve got a physical reminder of her…” she locked eyes with him, “Why would you give it away, no matter how painful it might be to look at?”

“Because the gesture means more, Ryan,” he protested gently, trying to add a hint of humour to the situation by using the nickname.

“More than her?” she retorted quietly, guilt still consuming her.

“Those garments aren’t her,” he assured her, “They’re just clothes she used to wear.”

“Exactly, so they have her spirit attached to them. I can’t bring myself to wear the skin of someone’s ghost, William.”

He paused, “You… truly do believe that, don’t you?” he asked, his tone not at all mocking, “That a part of her… is in those clothes.” He smiled slightly.

“Stupid, I know,” she muttered, “I just can’t shake the feeling.”

“Not stupid, no,” he assured her, “It’s fascinating.”

Falling in love does not mean merely finding someone pleasing to look at—that is called attraction. Objectively, love is a word that means deep affection. Subjectively, the word doesn’t really have a set definition, because it is a personal emotional response.

It could perfectly describe what you feel when you look at your reflection, or it could be what you feel when you look at your parter, sibling, or even your friend. You might feel it when you watch your favourite movie, or when you look up at the stars. When you sketch something in your notepad, or when you turn on your favourite song.

Loving another person, however, is arguably one of the most complex things to adore. It’s less about loving every single one of their flaws, and more about loving them regardless of those faults and preferences—loving them for those flaws. Sitting with them when they’re anxious, helping them manage their temper, or getting them to bed at an earlier time.

You may find yourself becoming deeply entranced with the way they think, and their thought process could become something that enraptures you. Whether poetic, theoretic, logical, irrational, idealistic or realistic, the sound of them voicing their thoughts may become what is suddenly life’s most curious aspect.

The eye is not necessarily the window to the soul, but more so the window for the soul. It knows what it has found when it sees it, even if it can only see skin. Although it may not be able to see another’s spirit, it can certainly hear those ghosts whispering—it can certainly sense them through gentle caresses and lingering touches.

And so if the soul hasn’t the ability to see energy akin to itself, do looks truly matter when it comes to love? Are the bones just armour to hide and house the spirit, and is skin only there to cover the muscle? If we are truly just structures made to keep our ghosts safe, is love what we call it when they still find a way to reach each other?

“Her scent has faded,” he said, “It’s not her ghost, it’s just her past. You haven’t got to take them if you don’t want to, I didn’t… I don’t mean to be so incessant about it, I just…” He shrugged, “It means a lot to me.”

It was then that she was reminded of how much she truly was willing to do for this boy, “No, no, it’s fine—I said yes the first time you asked, didn’t I? I’ll come over tomorrow, I promise.”

“Are you sure?”

She nodded, “I’m just being paranoid,” she said, pausing their wander around the centre and holding out her pinky finger with a smirk, their other hands still interlaced, “Pinky promise.”

“You don’t have to if you don’t want to,” he frowned, glancing down at her outstretched finger—he truly hadn’t meant to force her.

“Oh, please. I do want to,” she reassured him, still waiting for his finger to wrap around hers.

His smile widened, and he immediately locked their pinky fingers together in a silent promise. He brought their interlocked palms up to his lips, placing a kiss onto the back of her hand, “Thank you.” he murmured, “Thank you so much, Ray,” he whispered, “And I promise the clothes are in good condition. If you decide that you don’t want to come, you don’t have to,” he murmured, “Although… I’d enjoy having you over whether you choose to wear the clothes or not.”

She hummed at that, a smile of her own gracing her features, “Thank you,” her smile widened, “I’ll at least try them on, though,” she said, leaning over and reciprocating the gesture, giving his own knuckles a soft kiss, “And you’re welcome, Will.”

-Take my whole life, too.-

#finallyyy #bop #better on paper #ocs #original fiction #original characters #rayna quinn #william lewis #rowen graves #oc lore #oc stuff #my ocs #writing #writeblr #fiction #original #oc canon #:d <3 #:33333 #writer #write #fluffy #fluff #poet #poetry #og #writers writing #original trio #trio #comfort

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