[ don’t leave ]
THE BARN, MEMAHAM // LATE SEPT. ‘22 Astrid and DOMINIC BANG have a serious conversation …
Astrid had always wanted a life that made her unspeakably happy, and as she wanders along the road towards the farm where Dom works, she realises she’s coming close to being that happy already. There are things she doesn’t have, of course—important things—but she hopes they aren’t out of her reach, and her good mood makes them seem so much less unattainable. She smooths out her work uniform, the sun reflecting off the white apron and making her squint a little. As she reaches the gate into the farm she pauses, pulling a little mirror from her bag, and checks her reflection, tucking some loose strands of hair behind her ears. That pesky fluttering in her belly starts up, though she’d become so used to it by now, having had about ten years to get used to the feeling.
She’d missed Dom, despite having seen him only a few days prior. A few days... It’s too long for her liking. He’s her best friend, and has been since she was a preteen—the comfort she feels around him is unrivalled by anyone else. Dom feels like home. It’s so easy to relax around him, to just say what’s on her mind, and enjoy even just doing nothing with him. A smile finds its way to her lips as she wanders through the gates onto the farm and heads towards the barn, where they usually meet. Dom’s someone Astrid can rely on; someone who will never let her down (at least not in most ways—the matters of her heart aren’t his concern).
Excitement bubbles in her stomach, tickling those pesky butterflies. Frankly, she’s rather exasperated at her bodies immature reaction to a mere man. Of course, it was expected to feel these things when you’re a teenager, but she’d outgrown crushes. Logically, she knew though, that this wasn’t just a crush. It had been a long time since it had been just a crush. She can’t say the word though, can’t admit to how she truly feels about the man waiting in the barn for her.
“Dom!” Her voice carries over the field around her, but she’s used to it by now—the feeling that someone is surely going to hear her voice carrying on the wind, over the open fields. Somehow, it’s always felt so intimate, yet exposed in an exhilarating way. “Pooh Bear!” She calls out in a sing-song voice, pushing open the barn door and slipping inside.
