xxx Coy’s POV xxx

Today doesn’t go any better. Lauren and I walked to school and I told her a little bit about what I was thinking, because she wouldn’t shut up and stop asking. I didn’t tell her about the dream though, I didn’t want her to think that I wanted him to wear dressed and shave his legs. Do I? Shut up, brain.

I only saw him briefly between classes and he had a ninety pound blonde weight on his left arm. She was chattering about … something (I was out of earshot) and I wonder if he knows that she’s almost taller than him. He is puny though, but I think he’d look odd if he was taller, tiny suits him. I know he sees me when we pass, I’ve always been a little hard to miss. I can normally see what he’s thinking; it’s not hard. But now … there’s so many things swirling in his features and eyes that I can’t tell. Before I can sort it out, he’s gone.

I’m walking home alone, once more. There’s a thin layer of frost covering the lawns, but no snow. It’s never once snowed here, and I doubt it ever will. It gets close, but no flakes ever fall. I get home and throw my scarf and coat on the closet floor before trudging into the kitchen and straight to the fridge.

“Hey sweetie."

I jump, hitting my head on the top of the fridge. I’m way too skittish … my mom’s standing at the counter and I didn’t even notice.

“Hey mom," I reply, rubbing my head and going back to searching the fridge. I soon give up on finding anything good, just settling for a juice box and a black diamond cheese string.

“Something wrong, Hun?” My mom asks. I rub the sore spot on my head.

“No, why?”

“I can tell when you’re upset Coy, you hunch," she pauses, giving me a judgemental look. “Is there a girl?”

I choke on my apple juice. “Say what?!”

“Well, I’m just assuming! Young boys always have their heads in the clouds with thoughts of love."

I run a hand though my hair. “I guess …”

"Is there a girl that likes you?"

"... Not really ..."
“Well who is this girl who doesn’t like my son?! I have half a mind to call her mother!” she harrumphs. I wave my hands warningly.

“Don’t you DARE."

She gives another displeased murmur. “Fine … But what’s wrong? You’re kind, giving, handsome ... What could be the problem?"

I’m still a guy, I grumble in my head.

“Well … they … are just … with someone already. Sort of."

“Oh? Well then honey, who ever that stupid boy is, you’re better! You just have to show her that you’re better! Then she'll come running to you,” she tells me.

I fight the urge to flinch at the over use of the word ‘her’. She really has no idea.

“Thanks mom," I say and slouch upstairs, shutting the door to my room after I’m in. I flop face down on my bed and groan. I hate this. I hate the stress, the pressure. The way my chest heaves whenever she clings to him, which is killing me after only a day. People are talking about it. I've had a few come up to me and ask what my boyfriend was doing with a girl. Most people took the fact that Keith and I were dating for granted. Or, they thought we were dating. I hate the possessiveness in me. It’s horrible in a really good way … I close my eyes and try not to think about him.

After a few minutes, I sit up in bed. The curtains are drawn, but I can see dim light streaming in from a hole in the right one (Made by an ill-thrown dart a few years prior.) I rub my eye with my fist and my vision is still a little blurry … I pause and snap up when I feel something brush by me. HE is sitting next to my bed, shirtless and snoozing. I gently ruffle his hair; it’s brushed out. He looks up with a sleepy noise and blinks his wide green eyes at me. He grins lazily and stands up after a moment.

I blush bright red when I realize he’s in his boxers. He shows no signs of embarrassment as he looks down at me, his arms crossed over his chest. I blush even deeper when I realize his boxers are short short. I can see the two dark blue bands around his left thigh, a little over half an inch wide and apart. I have the exact same thing on my right thigh. We got them last year thanks to Keith’s older brother, who has a friend that works at a tattoo place, and let us get them underage. Keith got another one too, he has angel wings on his shoulder blades. I was going to get something else, but I can't handle pain too well.

I’m snapped out of thoughts when he climbs onto my bed, the springs creaking under our combined weight.

“Wha-” I try to talk as he gets closer. “What are you doing?”

He crawls over me and straddles my hips, pressing his thighs firmly on either side of mine. I shiver even though I'm trying not to. He leans so close towards me, forearms positioned on either side of my head. His breath smells like spearmint and his eyes are shining with more exuberance than I’ve seen in a long time. “What are you doing?” I try again.

“Shhshhshh my love." he whispers and kisses me. It’s rough and wet, unlike anything I've ever experianced. He pries my lips open with his tongue but I do absolutely nothing to stop him, and I think more than anything that I’m encouraging him. And by ‘I think’ I mean definitely. I move my arms out from under his and wrap them around his neck, tugging him closer to me, pressing my thumb into his pulse point. He jumps a little and his heartbeat simply thunders. I hear something of a happy murmur escape his lips, but the sound’s blocked by my own. I run my hands up and down his bare back and feel him tense underneath my fingertips.

He shifts his hips against mine and a nice hot tingle spreads though my entire body. I gasp into his mouth and begin to pull back but his lips follow, causing my head to crack against the powder blue wall at the head of my bed. He presses down on me and the same flush runs though me. I’m not even beginning to question why he’s here, it’s not exactly first place in my mind right now. He grinds against me and I feel something warm and hard press into my thigh. I groan into his mouth again and I feel him smile in return. His lips pull slowly away from mine and I instantly miss his minty taste and I go after him.

Even in the dim light I can see his eyes sparkle as he puts a hand gently on my chest to stop me. I’m sure he can see the raw desperation in my eyes and I know he can feel the certain part of me that’s begging him to stay. He grins that cheshire grin I’m so used to and leans back down, not to my lips, but to my neck. He licks a path up my jaw to my ear, toying his tongue around each of my earrings. I hear him whisper softly, in a deep-ish voice so unlike his usual high pitched speech: “You’re fucking heaven …”

I shiver as he sucks my earlobe, then back down my jaw. He bites me just below my ear and I try to hold back my quiet moan and I fail. He seems to like it because he smiles once more and grinds his dick against mine, more feverish than before.

“Fuck!” I hear myself gasp and I push my hips up to his, grinding back. He laughs quietly and bites somewhere between my shoulder and neck and I buck against him. He moves harder and my hands drop to his hips, digging my nails into his sides, silently telling him to go faster. “Nnh … fuck, yes …”

After only a minute or so of his mind blowing torture, I feel a searing, tightening feeling in the pit of my stomach and I scream …


xxxxxxxxxx

I’m sitting in my bed now, upright, bathed in sweat. I’m alone.

I feel mild euphoria coursing though me and my thighs feel warm and wet when I try to get up. My sheets are soaked and then I know I just came.

Over KEITH.

I quickly lean over the side of my bed, barely having time to grab my garbage can before I throw up violently. Any good feelings I had before are replaced by belated disgust and nausea. I throw up again, holding the garbage with white knuckles and I’m left with a hollow empty feeling and a sour taste in my mouth. I haven’t vomited in at least three years. I’d forgotten how horrible it is. To tell the truth, I’ve had problems with dreams for a while now, but not the normal type of dream ‘problems’ normal pubescent boys have, despite what just happened. I went to a psychiatrist at a sleep lab when I was seven because I’d keep waking up screaming after seeing murders and not realizing it was a dream. So for years I’d wake up and not be able to distinguish the fine line between my subconscious and reality. I stopped having horrific ones when I was fourteen, but now it’s just a gigantic shock or embarrassment when I realize I’d fallen asleep and everything didn’t happen.

That’s what’s going through me now, along with disbelief and disgust. I know I may like him a little, but it's it USED to be in a sort of cuddly companionship way. Do I really want to do … THAT … with him? I walk on shaky legs to the bathroom down the hall, detesting the awful sticky feeling between my thighs. I’m walking a little quickly, praying to whatever higher life is up there that my younger sister doesn’t see me shuffling down the hallway like this. I don’t believe in god, but I know there’s something up there that keeps giving me bad luck.

For once, the worst case scenario doesn’t happen, and I make it to the bathroom without being seen. Despite this small moment of sunlight, I still feel disgusting, between the remnants of bile in my mouth and the lingering feeling of … utter horribleness. This is Keith we’re talking about. I just had a wet dream about KEITH. LINDE. MICHAEL. CARNOVALE. He’s been my best friend since I was six. I’ve seen him cry when a dog stole his sandwich. I’ve seen him scream and cling to his older brother when he didn’t want to go off the high dive at the pool. I’ve seen him bitch in third grade when Thomas Sullivan got better grades than him. And now, I’ve seen him in my lap with his tongue in my ear.

I feel absolutely gross; I’m going to take a shower.

Arrghh … it’s still in my mind … I can still fucking feel him against me. I absentmindedly rub my hand on my neck, wiping non-existent Keith cooties off me. I can’t get it out of my head, I still feel like he’s here, I can still feel his …

I scream really loudly, fisting my hands over my ears. I DON’T WANT THIS! I wish I had normal dreams that don’t make sense where I’m getting chased by things with teeth, not grinding against stupid boys. I wish I was fucking normal! I wish I liked cute blonde girls with freckles, I wish I wanted to take them to movies and dances, and normal stuff like that. But no, no, no, NOO, I have to like midgety boys with stupid girl hair and gorgeous green eyes. NO, NO, FUCK THEY AREN’T GORGEOUS! DAMMIT!

“You’re fucking heaven …”

I bang my head against the wall of the shower, hands fisted in anger and self-pity. I shut the shower off, angrily yanking my towel off the rack and wrapping it around my waist. I don’t bother drying my hair, I just storm out, trying to wipe all recollection of HIM from my mind.


xxx Keith’s POV xxx

“Hi Sasha! Is Coy home?” I ask in my most pleasant voice, and I laugh as she practically swoons.

“I don’t know, he was … asleep." she hesitates.

My heart churns a little when I think of his sleeping thing. “Is he alright?” she moves out of the way to let me in.

“I think so."

“So can I get him?”

“Of course!” she smiles and I walk past the closet and go up the stairs. I hear footsteps as I get near the landing and when I can see the hallway, I freeze. He’s not asleep, he’s looking right at me. He’s standing outside the bathroom door wearing only a towel slung incredibly low on his hips, I can see the sharp curve of his hipbones. It begins to fall, but he reaches out to snag it and it stays up. His hair’s soaking wet, curling in almost full spirals around his shoulders. He’s staring so intently at me, I begin to feel a little self conscious, but shouldn’t he be the self-conscious one right now? I can’t stop looking at him … the water from his hair’s running down every inch of him, I don’t think I’ve seen him this naked for at least seven months … god, do I actually miss this?

I take a step closer, he doesn’t move, but I think the hand on his towel tightens. I take another step, and I’m beginning to wonder how I’ve gone from asking about homework to wanting him this much. I step closer, at arms length now. I very slowly, very carefully, reach out and twist my fingers in one of his deep red tendrils. His mouth is open a bit and his eyes look clouded. The water from his hair runs down my hand and wrist, catching in the sleeve of my hoodie, and I notice that he didn’t take his eyeliner off before his shower, and it‘s smudged at the corners and below his eye. I smile a bit and my knuckles brush his cheek.

“I’ve never seen your hair like this …” I say absentmindedly. I’m sure I have though, but I don’t remember. It really looks … gorgeous this wavy. I stand on tiptoe and look into his eyes, they’re still glazed a little and staring at me. Before I can move, he leans forward. I’m about seven inches shorter than him, so when he does, I can smell him … yummy, like strawberry shower gel. He kisses my forehead very gently with a slight ‘mwah’ noise, my nose nudges against the unbearably soft skin on his chest. God, that feels good. Having him this close feels so good. I want to touch him and I raise a hand up to his face to hold him, to bring him closer because I fucking need it more than I've ever needed anything ever but FUCK I'm not gay and I have no idea why, but I take a gigantic step backwards and my raised hand punches him instead. I know I started all this, but this is too much he's too close, why is he doing this to me?! I punch him right in the jaw.

He stares at me, one hand over his jaw, the other holding the towel in an iron grip. The glazed look is gone from his eyes, and I’m suddenly scared for my life. I’ve never ever punched him before, not with actual angry intent. He looks so … scary. His ringlets no loner look cute, and the fact that his towel is pink doesn’t make him look vulnerable. I don’t move. His eyes narrow.

“Get. The. Fuck. Out." he says blatantly. I quickly back up until I hit the banister.

“I’m sorry, you just --” I try to explain, but he cuts me off.

“OUT," he repeats with a tone of finality. He moves his hand, and I see that his cheek is red. My own hand wanders a little; I hold it out.

“Don’t, I didn’t, I just got all--”

“GET AWAY!" he walks into his room, slamming the door behind him, and I can feel the floor rattle. I ball my hands into fists and pad quietly down the stairs to see Sasha waiting obediently at the bottom.

“What happened?” she pries. I twist a hand nervously in a few stands of my bangs.

“Nothing …” I mumble. “I just, I mean, he was all …” I take a deep breath. “… wet." I finish stupidly, still feeling horrible.

She eyes me suspiciously. “Are you alright?”

“Yup. Well anyways, if you can, tell him to go on MSN," I say quickly.

“Sure." she nods.

I let myself out, having been here about a million times. I walk home, not thinking about getting attacked or raped, and my mind is stuck in a loop.

I didn’t care, I don’t care, I didn’t touch him, I won’t touch him, I’m not fucking gay, he was ugly, he is ugly, I don’t like boys, I don’t like HIM.


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

I hate him, I really fucking do.

Why the FUCK did he do that? He was acting like he wanted me, then I do something relatively innocent because for a goddamn moment it seemed like maybe he was into it, and he fucking PUNCHES me. It wasn’t that bad! I wasn’t thinking right, and I just kissed his forehead, it’s not like I sucked him off! (I blush at even thinking that.)

I hate him, he’s playing mind games and being complicated like a fucking girl. I hate him.


xxx Keith’s POV xxx

Oops.

Well, that certainly wasn’t one of the best moments in my life. I get to my front door and carefully unlock it, waiting for a second before going in. God, I hate the smell of my house. It’s like cigarettes and mold, that’s why I’m not here very often. I put my keys on the table and throw my hoodie into the coat closet near the door.

“Brandon!” I shout, looking around. “You here?!”

He sticks his head out of his door at the end of the hall. “Shut the fuck up, retard. Mom’s asleep."

I smile and walk over to his room. I spend most of my time in here because my room’s dinky and the rest of our tiny house sucks, so I slump down against his bed and just sit there for several minutes, going over things in my head while he’s on the computer.

My older brother Brandon isn’t really college material, but he’s a good person. He’s 23 and still lives at home because he works at Save on Foods and can’t afford to get his own place. He always stands up for me when mom goes nuts, and I know he loves me even if he doesn’t show it sometimes. Just like my mom, he’s not home a lot, but he never tells me where he goes, so I assume he’s with a girlfriend or something. Well, it’s that, or drugs. So I hope it's a girlfriend. I've heard him end a few phone conversations with 'I love you' before, but no names are mentioned and I don't know who he's talking to.

“How’d you get the gauze stuff on your face?” he asks, not looking. Instead of lying like I did to everyone else who asked, I tell him the truth.

“I got attacked, I guess. Look." I peel the gauze on the right side off, showing the word ‘fag’ in uncouth lettering. Only after a few seconds does he turn to look.

“Jesus fucking Christ!” he actually gets up and crouches next to me, running a finger over it. “That hit the bone, didn’t it?”

I nod.

“Who was it?” he asks.

I look up at him. His eyes are a lot like mine, the same green, but his are more aqua than anything. His hair’s close to my natural color; it’s a dark sandy blonde and it flops everywhere, complete with the Carnovale-cowlick at the back. People always said that we looked a lot alike before I dyed my hair. We still look a bit alike, same cheekbones and nose, but people don’t think we’re brothers at first glance.

“Dylan and Tharen."

“Again?” he gets up and goes back to the computer, caring brother moment over. “What the fuck is wrong with them?”

“They believe everything they hear," I sigh.

“Does your boyfriend care about what they’re doing to you?” he asks, not looking at me but typing something to someone on MSN.

“My WHAT?!!” I screech, tensing. He waves a hand aimlessly, searching for the right word.

“That tall guy you’re always with, with the red hair and eyeliner. He’s not your boyfriend?”

“Why the fuck would you say that!?!”

“He’s not your boyfriend? Oh. Well everyone says he is, you spend a lot of time at his house, and …” he hesitates, possibly contemplating. “… you guys look good together. Don't worry, I don't mind, and I sure as hell won't tell mom. Don't you go thinking you should either."

My heart warms for a moment, Brandon never says anything even remotely that nice. I'm so taken aback by that that it actually takes a few seconds for me to realize what he’s said.

“WHAT?!” I take instant offence.

This time he turns to look at me, features set in a duh/bored tone. “Are you deaf or just stupid?”

“What the fucking hell, Brandon! We do NOT look good together!! There IS no together! So just shut the ---”

He grins slyly, I take notice of his slightly crooked teeth as I always do. “… or maybe you're in denial?”

I pick up an empty box of Chinese food that’s sitting next to his bed and I hurl it at him. Ever since I could walk I’ve been throwing things at him, so all he does is push off with his feet and his office chair skitters. The box hits the computer screen with a glassy clunk and rolls to his feet.

“If you wanna hit me with stuff, you should know that you’ve gotta be quicker than that, little bro.”

My eye twitches. I hate being called ‘little bro’ and he knows it. I've always hated it, but I'll never know why.

“Never. Ever. Call. Me. That.”

He tilts his chair back and it creaks. “Call you what? Little bro? Or gay?”

I yell and lunge at him, getting him this time. Even though he’s seven years older than me and a lot bigger, I can put up a fight. I fist a hand in his hair and yank, but he just stands up and throws me off, my head hits the baseboard of his bed with a dull thump. I sit up and rub my scalp, knowing there’s no way I can beat him.

“So you DO like him!” he cackles hoarsley and grins at me. I sit up cross-legged and run a hand through my hair, watching my socks.

“NO I DO NOT!” I yell like an idiot, because it’s too late to take that back.

“You just said you did.” he sighs.

“NO I DIDN’T!! THAT’S SICK!” I stand up and practically scream at him.

He cocks an eyebrow at me and smiles. “Is it?”


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

“Hey, Fucktard!” Sasha yells from the landing of the stairs. I grumble and take off my headphones, walk to the door and stick my head out. She calls me vulgar names like that all the time, it doesn’t phase me anymore.

“What to you want? Don’t you have puppies to be running over?” I say to her, because if she’s going to be childish, I might as well do it back.

“Keith was over here? What happened? He left all quiet and stuttery.” she tilts her head and rests her arms on the banister.

I turn my head and show her the slowly fading bruise on my cheek. “For a midget, his rings hurt like hell.”

Surprise flashes across her face. “He hit you? Why? You guys are still friends, right?” she asks, and I’m guessing her logic is because if we’re not friends, Keith doesn’t come over here anymore and she won’t see him.

“Well apparently, I’m not allowed walk around in a towel in my own home anymore.” I huff and lean against the doorjamb, fingering the hem of my shirt.

“He saw you naked?” she giggles and bounces happily on the steps, nearly slipping off in socked feet.

“Not naked, I was wearing the pink towel.”

She begins to laugh, but covers her mouth with a dainty hand as most girls do as a reflex. “The tiny pink one? You probably just got him horny!”

I blush bright, bright red at the words ‘Keith’ and ‘horny’ in the same sentence. It’s like a giraffe wearing a hat … odd. I need better comparisons. “W-what?”

She giggles again. “He saw you naked, got horny, got uncomfortable and punched you!”

“What the fuck do you know about this?! YOU’RE THIRTEEN!” I yell, getting frustrated and agitated at her train of thought that might very well be true. She puts her hands on her hips and furrows her eyebrows.

“I know both of you really well though, don’t I?”

“You might know Keith, everyone knows him, you know nothing about me!” I say, because it’s the truth. She’s never really around much anymore now that she’s an official teenager.

Her eyes narrow dangerously. “I know you had a wet dream today.”

My heart skips a beat, then stops altogether. “What ...?”

“Who do you think threw your quilt in the washer when you were showering? The tooth fairy?”

My blush deepens, and with the added addition of my hair color, I think I look like a human firecracker. She leans over the banister towards me and smirks.

“Was it about him?”

I spin on my heel and slam the door so hard it almost bounces back open.


xxxxxxxxxx

I don’t think I got any sleep last night. Well, people always say ‘Dude, I didn’t sleep a wink’ but everyone sleeps. So I won’t lie, I slept a little. It was awful … how can Sasha know I like Keith? I don’t even know if I like him! Am I really that obvious? I know a ton of people at school think I like him because of the rumour, but I haven’t done anything gay at home.

Argh. I know that sounds fucking stupid, but just … ARGH. I want things to be normal, I don’t want him to punch me, I don’t want to touch his hair. I want to be friends again … maybe I’ll ask. Being weird never got anyone anywhere.


xxx Keith’s POV xxx

Gym. Again.

God I hate it, it’s stupid dancing with stupid gym shorts and stupid teacher, stupid girls, and today, stupid Coy. Due to a feild trip next class, today his class and my class have combined classes for convenience. Lux isn’t in either of our gym classes so I’m safe there, but all the girls in this class make me sick, so I’m stuck with Coy.

Everything goes relatively normal. For over half the class, we just twirl around the gym, switching partners, if we want, every song. Our gym teacher starts the awfully twangy Shania Twain music and Coy stands in front of me, staring blankly for a moment before very carefully putting a hand on my waist, holding one in the air for me to take, which I do mindlessly. I raise my other hand to his shoulder, making sure it’s no where near his neck. Just shoulder.

There are several minutes of tense silence in which we waltz around the gym, moving our feet in time. His various rings clink against a few of mine and his hands are impossibly soft; you can tell that he’s never done a day of work in his life. His nails look black at first glance, but I know they’re actually a deep red, I was there when he painted them. He’s so close I can smell him, but this time instead of freaking out, I force myself to calm down and though I will never admit this again, I breathe him in. His hands get a little clammy from sweat. Is he nervous?

I hear him sigh softly. It ruffles my hair. I look up at him and watch him hide behind his fringe, staring at his feet. Despite his efforts, I can tell he’s quite obviously blushing. “M’sorry,” he mumbles quietly and I don’t quite hear him.

“Say what?” I ask him to clarify. He still doesn’t look at me.

“I’m sorry … for whatever … I did. Can things go back to normal?” he mutters.

I’m a little taken aback. I go on the offense. “You started it! You asked me to kiss you!” I protest.

“You touched my hair, then punched me!”

“Only because you kissed me again!”

“That was an accident!” he’s looking at me now.

“Oh, so what, you just happened to fall onto me?!”

“Well you’re so goddamn short you’re easy to trip over!”

I pause in a comeback and grin. “See? I miss this.”

“Me too,” he admits, smiling but still blushing.

“So is everything back to normal?”

“Sure,” he replies.

“So none of this stupid kissing, and no other stuff and this is just going to go away. No hair touching.”

“Hey, you touched mine too!” he retorts childishly, and I smile, squeezing his hand hard so his rings dig into him. He winces and shakes me off.

Everything is normal now, the topic of bickering (who came onto who) albeit is a little different, but at least we’re back to normal. I think.

Except we're not.


xxx Coy’s POV xxx

No matter how many pacts we make, no matter how many times we argue, no matter how many times we pass it off as a joke, its not going to go away. You can't tell feelings to go away. He goes back to normal, but I don't. I can't. I still feel a whoosh of heat whenever he stands too close to me and occasionally I find myself inching closer to him when we’re together. I still shiver if he brushes against me and my heart skips a beat when he smiles.

It’s been a few weeks since the gym class when we made our pseudo-pact and in NO WAY has it worked. If anything, the stupid feelings have gotten stronger. I’m getting closer to not being pissed about it though, I suppose. I’m not angry now, just confused as to when this all started. It’s just a little hard to believe that I have a thing for him. I mean, he’s been my best friend forever, why’d I realize it now and not when we were ten? It’s frustrating, yes. But it’s also pretty … awesome.

I don’t know, it’s just like … I’ve never really had an ambition before. So it’s nice to have something to shoot for. I’m not sure that I have a chance, he’s still going out with Lux, which annoys me to no end. He refuses to talk about her or how they’re doing, which makes me suspicious. If he really liked her, he’d gush about her all the time, wouldn’t he? That’s my ray of hope. I see them kiss during school sometimes, little pecks on the lips before they part ways to go to class. He smiles at her in the way I wish he'd smile at me and nghghghghhh that frustrates me.

Unfortunately, the dreams haven’t gone away. They’ve gotten worse, and I hate it. Sometimes I quiet honestly don’t know if a dream was reality or not until I wake up and realize I’m completely alone. They’ve gotten more … instense, I'll say, which causes me to blush and ramble around him the next day. Well, more than I usually do anyways. Still, from time to time, I still get this feeling really creepy feeling that rises up through my body like a virus, and I want him so much. I want him to be mine and no one elses. I want every single inch of him and no one else.

Then of course, it fades and I go back to the blushing and rambling.





next ~ <3

previous ~ <3

back to archive ~ <3