CHAPTER 6: NO ANGELS

"Give me one good reason why I should never make a change. Baby if you hold me,

then all of this will go away." –George Ezra, Budapest.

adrian on top!!

this one's for the people I'd like to stay up on a roof talking to until early hours of morning. (Not including certain singers/actors/actresses, because let's be honest, that list would never end. but mainly, Jennifer Lawrence. And Harry Styles. And—okay you can go read now.)

Nicolas Bear Forrest

            4:30 a.m.

 SHE was crying. Soft, heartbroken sniffles drowned in her pillow. I was awake since they begun, a lifetime ago. I couldn't be too sure if she was asleep or awake, but I was having a debate on whether to go see if she was okay or not. They came and went, like rain on a Sunday afternoon. I flinched every time she emitted a sound, because she was hurt.

She was in pain.

And it was his entire fault. It could never be clear to me, why James would hurt her. Someone with a soul like hers, they weren't supposed to be crying because an arsehole chose a girl over her. Regret would come upon him later, and I would make sure to speak to him in the morning.

Seeing the picture of him—it made a silent monster inside of me claw at the cages I put around it. It surpasses my comprehension, how he could do this to her. He was the lucky bastard who could call her his, how could he dare toy with her? He loves her, I kept reminding myself. He loves her better than I ever could.

But why put her in pain? I knew alcohol—I knew what it did to people. It transformed them into a different version of themselves, without sense of reality, but with impulse that brought them in situations like this. Alcohol painted a rosy image of an ugly painting, and dripped a can full of paint on us in the after effect.

Zoey crept out of her bedroom and turned the small hallways' light on. She whimpered and dropped onto the bean bag chair by my side. Pillow in her arms, she stuffed her head into it. Her hair, from what I could see, was almost as fucked up as I was.

"Hunter?" I called out in a whisper.

She looked up and blinked, mouth dropping slightly. "Forrest? Oh no. Oh no. Get me out. I don't want to dream about him anymore," she clutched the pillow tightly and shook her head. "Please. I just want to wake up."

Her toes curled into the chair. I sat up and said a little louder, "Hunter."

"No. No. It's not you. Go away. Leave me alone. I don't want you. You don't want me. You don't love me. Get out of my damn dreams. Please," she whined, not bothering to look at me.

She had nightmares about me.

Guilt and dread shocking my fingers, I forced myself to get out off the couch and in front of her. Knees scratching the floor, I took her tear stained face in my hands and lifted it enough for her to look at me.

"Look at me," I told her. "I'm here. You're okay. You're okay. You are not dreaming. You're okay."

Her face was considerably warm. Eyelashes fluttering, she could not stop shaking. It was as if every time she took a breath, her body couldn't exhale or inhale properly. Ghostly tears touched my hands, but I did not let go of her.

"I c-can't breathe," she struggled to speak. I wondered if she even noticed my presence, "I can't."

Zoey put down my hands and chewed on the inside of her cheek. Her breaths were ephemeral and rugged. "You're here. Right. You stayed over, because you helped. James. He cheated. And you're here. And he's not," her voice was faltering. Her gaze, it was drifting somewhere else.

Panic attack.

All I had to focus on was staying by her side.

"Zoey. Open your eyes," I spoke to her firmly, "look at me."

When she did, the rainbows that once existed in her eyes were dissolved in a burnt caramel. There was a faraway spark of recognition, but she couldn't focus on me.

"Breathe in," I demonstrated, waiting for her to follow. "Breathe out. C'mon, love. It's going to be okay."

She didn't talk. For the next moments, that was what I did. Trying breathing exercises to steady her frantic lungs, trying to be with her and there for her. Even if the fear of seeing her in this state gnawed on me, I pushed anything that had to do with me far away from my mind. I had to concentrate on her.

It was always about her.

We sat in silence, once she felt better. I looked for the box of tissues she kept by her side earlier that night. Giving her the tissues, she sniffled and wiped her cheeks.

"Sorry about that," she said. "It happens. Sorry you had to see that."

"Since when do you have panic attacks?" I asked her.

She rubbed her forehead and loosened her grip on the skin of the pillow in her hands. "A few years ago," she got up.

I followed her with my eyes, "why?"

"Nothing important," Zoey's gaze refused to meet mine. "Go back to sleep, sorry for waking you up."

She headed to the door, but I said: "Where are you going at this time of night?"

"The roof."

"You mind if I come along?"

"Forrest," she breathed out, "when have you ever cared for permission to come along in my life?"

In flip flops, day old clothes and thick shawls her mother knitted her months back, we went up the fire escape stairs. Reaching the roof, Zoey pushed a door open and walked on the space as if it was hers. One chair was close to the brick fence separating the roof from the risk of falling.

 She searched behind a pile of wood and took out a school bag. She sat in the chair and took out a sketchpad and a pencil.

I leaned against the fence. "You come up here to draw?"

"I do," she said. "I can't go back to sleep, I get too scar—Never mind."

Eyes flickering between the smothering cloudy sky and the paper, the pencil in her hands flew swiftly, tracing outlines.

"Hunter, where do the nightmares come from?" I pressed.

The sound of sketching stopped for a second. "I don't want to talk about it, Forrest. Please don't push it too far."

"Are you feeling better?" I glanced at her and back at the landscape.

This time of night, the streets roamed with lost drunks. I felt bad for them. People drink to forget, no matter how much they try to deny it. They drink to escape a world where everything presses against their throat and they can't breathe.

"I'm fine."

"Don't lie to me."

"Don't tell me what to do."

"Is it that horrible that I care about you?"

"No, not at all. You know what is horrible, though? The fact that I'm here."

I frowned, "me being here is horrible?"

"A little," she admitted. "But mainly, because my boyfriend cheated on me and my what-could-have-been person is here with me. What's horrible is the fact that I don't think James and I will survive the distance. What's horrible is the idea of breaking up with him, and the worst? The fact that there's a part of me that knows it'll happen."

"Hunter—"

"No," she interrupted. "I'm ranting, Forrest. Shut up and listen."

"But—"

"Would you just," a loud sigh came out. "Please, Forrest. You're the only one I know here."

"What about Jessie?"

"Jessie is Jessie. We're friends. I can't trust her like I trust Diana, or like I trusted James. But you, I knew you when I was sixteen and you were my maybe. That counts."

I tapped my finger on the brick holes, "why do you get nightmares?"

"You don't want to know," she scoffed. "It's none of your business."

"It is," I insisted. "You're you. You're always going to be my business."

She mumbled something under her breath. "Gee, thanks. You sure know what to say to people. No wonder you're such a people person."

"Sarcasm doesn't suit you."

"Your face doesn't suit you," she attempted feebly, the end of the insult fading as she blushed.

I looked at her and couldn't help but smile, "Gee, Hunter. You sure are a pro at comebacks."

"For fuck's sake, I feel like I'm sixteen again," she rolled her eyes.

Noticing she was no longer drawing, I nodded towards the air. "Come stand up here with me. You can rant all you want, I'll be here."

"I'm good here, thanks."

"Hunter," I took her instruments away from her hands and put them on the ground. "Come on, please. You need to talk and I'm a good listener, sometimes."

She corked an eyebrow, "sometimes?"

"Better than nothing, right?"

And Zoey was by my side, leaning against a brick wall that could've fallen at any moment. We would've been falling from a five-story building, maybe crash on the cars beneath. We could've been killed instantly, or just gotten too many broken bones. I'd die, and she'd fight through it. And if she didn't, I'd fight to help her be strong.

What scared me wasn't the idea of falling; it was the fact that right there, at the moment, if I had died, I would've died knowing that she was by my side. It terrified me to the bottom of my bones, being aware that death, with her, didn't seem like a bad idea. If I died this second, I'd die happy.

She makes me crazy.

Was that love? If this was real, I'd be crazy. Because the second she was having a panic attack, I was more scared than I'd ever been. She mitigated the idea of anything even remotely tragic or sad, because her presence—it could never bring melancholy to me.

"I get nightmares about this guy. Let's call him Patrick," Zoey said gently. Fear coated her words. "So Patrick, he was an ass. Like a total and complete dickwad. I'm serious. Don't laugh at me for saying dickwad, Forrest!"

"I wasn't laughing," I lied, "I find your insults cute, that's all."

"Shut up. Okay so, where was I?"

"Patrick the Dickwad."

I was Patrick the Dickwad, wasn't I?

"Sometimes, I get bad nightmares. Ones so bad that I end up crying and it's horrible. They've stopped for a bit, but then  Patrick had to pop back into my life and I'm sorry—is this that obvious that they're about you?"

 "A little," I murmured. "I don't know what to say."

"It's okay. I've learnt to deal with them. I just—you know what pisses me off?"

Expecting her to give an immediate answer, I waited.

"Forrest?"

"Yes?"

"You were supposed to say what?"

"Oh...sorry."

Nothing about her was still, it was fascinating. She stroke her foot on the floor, a sign of impatience or anxiety, I couldn't be too sure. "You suck at this. Let's try this again. You know what pisses me off?"

"What?"

"It's just that, you're here. And when you're here, you just have to be completely there and mess up my dreams and give me nightmares because you're you. You broke my heart when I was sixteen and it's healed now but I can't bring myself to completely forgive you. I don't think I ever will. But YOU are here.  And James isn't. If I was in Silvercrest or even in the same country, none of this would've happened. If I was at least in the US, maybe this wouldn't have happened. But I had to travel three thousand miles away, didn't I?"

"Why did you, then? Why are you here?"

She shrugged. "Everyone seems to have their life planned out. James is going into a business thing. Diana is an intern in a big shot magazine. Joel's in medical school. Skye has a beautiful New York boyfriend and is in college, majoring in psychology. And I just didn't know what to do. I went to Art school for a bit, and dropped out because it was all very bullshit-y. I literally didn't know what to do. My mom got engaged to a gorgeous man and she's still a great lawyer. I just felt like I was a failure. Everything I did never matched up to what others did. I wanted to try something new."

"So you ran away?"

"I didn't run away!" She defended herself, "I'm trying something new. Far away from everyone I know. I didn't run away. I wanted to escape from everything I knew."

I coughed, "you ran away, Hunter."

"I didn't run away," she repeated. "I didn't. I'm not that kind of person. I'm not...you."

In the dim light of the lanterns around us, she shone more than anything. But there was a part of her that didn't emit any light, probably because no one could ever be really whole. If it were me, I think I'd only have the fourth of my body in lights. There was too much I couldn't deal with properly, too much baggage I carried along.

Turning to her, I said: "When did I ever run away?"

"Forrest. Please. We're not having this conversation. I sure hope you're not that big of an idiot."

Right.

"I didn't run away. Being with you, it was running away, though."

"That's a whole bunch of crap."

"My mum had passed away less than a year before. I was having trouble in school," I counted on my hands, "I was risking failing. I smoked more than I should have. My dad and I couldn't keep up one solid conversation without me snapping at him."

She huffed and slapped my hand lightly, "I didn't know about the school and smoking and stuff."

"There's also the Beth thing," I added. "I was just getting over her. Being with you, Hunter, it was my way of running away. I had to get back to my reality. It wasn't a fairytale, you know."

"Heck yeah, I know. I just—" she blinked. Her eyes almost seemed dark in the situation. I thought they were glossy. "I guess we both can't stay away from messy lives, can we?"

"One last thing," I said. "The panic attacks."

"The damn nightmares," she replied. "Natural side effect to them. I wake up, and suddenly, I feel like I can't breathe," she shuddered at the memory. "It's like someone's choking me and I think I'm going to die. They happen with the nightmares, or when I'm stressed out. Or scared. But I'm tough."

I smiled at her, "you're tough. I definitely know that. You've always been tough, Hunter. You always will be. You have the muscle of a five year old girl, but you're strong as hell. You're Superwoman."

"The real question is, are you Batman, my rival, or the damsel in distress?"

"A little bit of both," I said. And she laughed.

I imagined her in a superwoman costume. She'd trip over her cape endlessly, avoid high buildings and heavy clouds with trouble, but eventually get to the victim and save lives. She'd be the clumsiest, coolest and cutest superhero of all time; triple C.

She scratched the back of her head, causing her hair to bob along. "Nico?"

"Zoey."

"Why the hell did you leave? Why'd you go back? I mean, if you had stayed, maybe things would be different. But why," she cleared her throat and held her head high, "did you do it?"

And I didn't know what to say, not anymore. Deep down, I knew the answer. It was the only thing that kept me sane about her for years, thinking that I'd made the right decision.

"Because I'm Patrick the Dickwad," I said instead. "I do stupid things and regret them later."

She groaned lightly, pursed her lips.  "We were having a nice conversation, weren't we? I told you things that Diana doesn't know. But this always happens. I go too far, and you don't bother at all."

"You can't say I don't bother at all. For God's sake, Hunter. I'm here. I should be locked up in my room studying for midterms, but I'm here."

Her hand twitched. "Why are you here, then?"

"I don't know."

"Nico," she said, as if saying my first name with authority would make me give her a definite answer. "Why are you here?"

"Even Superwoman needs a friend," I said. 

An infinity later, the sun was coming up. I breathed in and out, counted to three and spoke up again: "Zoey?" It came out in a whisper.

"Hm?" By now, she was sitting on the chair again, legs up on the brick fence. Her train of thought was far from being with me, but I tried to get her attention. Arms wrapped around her, she appeared to be lost.

"You deserve the world," I said. "I'm sorry that I couldn't give it to you."

"Hm. I do. I really do. But it seems as if all this world thinks I deserve is shit, eh?" 

-

9:30 a.m.

Monday mornings were, usually, shit. Crankiness ran in the air, with a hint of desperation and tears. I would wake up hours before Adrian did, go out for a run and debate on whether I went back to sleep or actually went to uni. (99.9% of the time, I went to class.)

Today was different. Everything about it was. From the uncomfortable couch that gave me backaches, to the sight of a sleeping Zoey In the beanbags chair. (Because there was a red sock on her bedroom door when we went back inside the flat and according to Zoey, that wasn't code for Jessie having sex. It meant that there was a boy in there, and Jessie wanted to literally just sleep with him without having her roommate there.)

Mumbling something about too much sun (when the sky was as grey as could be), Zoey rolled around in her chair and before I could do anything about it, was on the ground, groaning and moaning.

I had barely woken up, still groggy. She was cursing more than I ever had, complaining about the floor not being made of cotton candy. Her voice pierced through my skull with ease. Head watching the ceiling, I rubbed my forehead.

"What in the bloody hell are you bitching about at 9 a.m.?"

She muttered, "I'm bitching about everything. Everything's a bitch. Why isn't the fucking beanbag chair bigger? Why, huh? Why!"

She used to be a morning person, didn't she?

 She pointed a finger in my face. I held her hand and ushered it away to ensure my eye's safety.  She sat on my torso and looked straight ahead. Lighter than she was before, I thought that she might have been sleepwalking.

But then, she fell face first on me and wrapped her arms tightly around me. A koala, hugging a tree, but both creatures was human. She snored happily, her body sprawled against mine. Legs grazing my thighs, her hair was against my neck.

So much for no sexual tension in the morning.

"Hunter?" I croaked. "Hunter."

She hummed.

"Hunter. Wake up, wake up."  If I moved, she'd end up falling.

I grabbed her waist and pulled her off me, with a struggle. Her short nails scratched my skin a little, but the movement was enough to get her awake. Her eyes snapped open; she glanced down to my hands on her waist and shrieked.

Not screamed, shrieked. Mouse-like.

"Oh!" she jumped off, or rather toppled off, once again to the carpet floor of her apartment.

"Holy hell," I heard. "That hurts."

At the same time, Jessie walked out of her room. She was loudly singing a popular song, dressed in only an over-sized sailor shirt barely covering her knees. She winked at me from afar, "g'morning, my lovely Nico! Where's the other one? She's short, fake red and adorable. Has a Canadian accent too. You seen her?"

"I'm right here!" said Zoey, raising her arm and herself up. She wiggled her eyebrows at Jessie from afar, "how was your night, Jess?" 

Her answer was given when Adrian walked out of the room, with a small dreamy smile on his face. I thought he was drugged, but that rarely happened in the mornings. Clad in nothing but boxers, he eyed Jessie.

"No eye-sex! No, no, no eye-sex, alrighty?" shouted Zoey. She stumbled over to Adrian and pushed him back in Jessie's and her room. "You, go put on some clothes and get out of the place. I need Jessie."

She turned to Jessie, "you. I know you cuddled all night with him and made out and you're lusting over him, but go shower. Too many boys in the same place at the same time at 9 a.m."

Both, taller than her, looked at her with playful smiles. She stomped her foot on the ground and gave them a deadly stare, "Go! Go! Scat, horny no-pants!"

I sunk lower in the couch, not wanting her to make me leave as well. I had to get to work in two hours; I could sleep for one more. I closed my eyes and opened my mouth slightly, reminded of the times when, as a kid, I did so to avoid my mum checking up on me at night.

 "Oh, hell no," groaned Zoey. "Boy, if you don't get off the couch in the next thirty seconds, I will not hesitate on killing you."

Violent snores came out. And she pounced. Holding down my arms and legs, her nostrils flared. "Please," she said in an overly sweet voice, "get off the couch, Forrest. I spent the night talking to you. We're friends. Kind of. Not really. You owe me this. Get off the couch."

"Get off me first," I argued. "Jumping on me doesn't help the situation, you know."

She cleared her throat and almost tripped on my leg while getting off, but recovered quickly. "You live close by, right?"

"I do," I sat up properly.

"Then you wouldn't suffer if I asked you to leave with your cousin in the next five minutes?"

"If I get your phone number, I'll leave in four. And drag Adrian with me," I offered my hand to shake.

She rolled her eyes. "Three minutes."

"Three and a half."

"Deal," she firmly shook my hand and held it for a few seconds, as she wrote the number with a pen that ran out of ink centuries ago. It took her more time than necessary, but I waited. (She was holding my hand, come on.)

I nodded at her and grinned. She said: "Only call me for emergencies."

"So if I don't know where to hang up your painting, can I call you?"

"Forrest," she glanced at the clock behind me. "Two and a half minutes. Hurry up."

Adrian came out with a shirt almost as lopsided as his smile, unbuckled jeans and a cape over his shoulder. I grabbed his shirt and mumbled, "Her number in exchange of us getting out."

He speed walk to the door, gave a salute to Zoey and slammed the door behind us. Eyes wide, he laughed. He gave me props and reminded me of a high giraffe.

In the elevator, we both stared at the metal doors closing. The shaft was going from the seventh floor to the lobby.

"Bro, I'm in deep," he said. (a/n: mailboy reference!!)

"Was, no?"

6th floor.

"No. We came home too tired. I slept with her, literally," he announced, confused. "I just held her all night. She's bloody legendary."

5th floor.

I thought back to the night I spent, trying to take care of her and talking to her. "They both are, aren't they?"

4th floor.

"You made a move?"

3rd floor.

"Not really. James cheated on her," I told him. "We were on the roof, talking."

"You have her number. That's a good sign."

2nd floor.

"I give her nightmares."

"Ouch."

1st floor.

"Yeah. But I don't know what to do."

Lobby.

Adrian shrugged, "you do what you have to do, mate. You take care of her. You love her. Deep, deep, deep, deep, deep, deep down, she loves you."

"That's too many deeps."

-

10:30 p.m.

Listening to a tiny woman talk for two hours about art in Vienna got you tired. I took one class in the morning, Leavitt's. It was an extra option course; learning from him was the biggest honor any aspiring architect could earn.

Other than that, my courses were in the evening. I worked all day in the Moon Café for six days a week, three of which were before the classes.

I sat in the Birkbeck library, laptop open, struggling to write. I had to do an essay about how modern art in Vienna, in the 1900's, influenced the route of the entire architecture in Europe.  

Vienna. What a beautiful place. Who cares?

I do. I want to go sleep and be an architect. I'm tired. I don't care about what I'm writing. fuckysetyfdsgdfgdfgahjljkwas

I stared at what I typed in, at the half-drunk cup of coffee and almost smashed the laptop out the window. I was tired. I wanted to go home and listen to Adrian talk about his weird radio callers. That was how bad it was.

Around me, the small study group crouched in the same way. Tanya and Moustafa's heads were drooping on the keyboards and textbooks. Matt and Sierra's eyes blew up with caffeine. They were typing like crazy, but I doubted that they knew what they were writing. This always happened.

Sierra saw me and grinned. She waved from afar, overly enthusiastic. She ripped out one of her earphones, got up and sat on a chair next to me.

"You doing well?" she burbled. Waves of sea swirling in her eyes, she added: "Because, you know, I'm doing great."

 "Too much coffee?"

"Just a little bit!" The ponytail she wore was so high on her head that if I pushed it, all of it would fall on her face. "But I'm gooooood. I'm very good."

I smiled with pity, "Good for you."

And we sat there for a long time. She stared at me, and I prayed that some miracle would appear and save me. Normal Sierra wouldn't have done any of this, but for the Sierra who had three cups of coffee in the past hour, it was normal.

My phone screen lit up, with the name James written on top. I stood up hastily, grabbed the phone and said: "I'll be right back." Sierra nodded energetically and gave me a thumb up.

Luckily for me, the exit was just beside the tables. I rushed out and answered James, prepared to try to give him advice but fail, because I thought I was in love with his girlfriend, whom he cheated on.

"Uh, hello?"

Was I even supposed to know?

"Nico. I need to talk to you. I did something terrible."

And he gave me the same version of the story that he gave Zoey. His voice was shaky, ragged breaths—it wasn't the end of the story. He knew it and I knew it. He was still hiding something, but I waited for him to spill it.

"You fucked up," was what I first told him, when he finished.

He sighed deeply, "I know. I know."

"You're an idiot. What were you thinking?" I paced around the small hallway in front of the library, feet freezing from the cold weather.

"I wasn't thinking. I was drunk and stupid; I didn't even know what I was doing."

"You made out with another girl, and what, two weeks before your anniversary? Dude."

I wanted to say: You hurt Zoey Hunter and chose to make out with someone other than her? Dude.

"I need to tell you something else. I need to tell you this because you're the only one who won't kill me and I think Joel might beat me up if he found out. You're thousands of damned miles away. You won't tell anyone."

Oh, no.

Please don't tell me what I think you're going to tell me.

"Promise me. You won't tell anyone. And by anyone, I mean that if a single soul finds out, I'll get on a plane and beat you up."

James got violent when nervous or anxious.

"Just get out with it, will ya?"

I held in my breath, as he said, mostly to himself: "I thought that was all I did. I thought I didn't—Fucking hell. I—"

Oh, no.

"I thought I didn't sleep with her. I really did. But I—for fuck's sake."

The hand that didn't hold the phone clenched. Heartburns were scorching my body everywhere, bitter and angry ones. "You slept with her? You slept with someone who isn't your girlfriend?"

"I—"

He was Beth. He was the person who cheated. And I imagined how Zoey would react if she found out. She'd get angry and shout, eventually cry but refuse to do it in front of anyone. She'd feel betrayed, like the person she trusted most in the world broke the biggest promise she asked to keep. Her heart would get broken, again.

I remembered her panic attack and something snapped in half. My voice rose; "You arse! Man, you couldn't control yourself? You couldn't just love her like she deserves to be loved? No, you stuffed your dick into some girl who you don't give two fucks about and risked Zoey? You put Zoey Hunter at stake for some other girl you just met?"

 "I didn't mean to! I was drunk, I was stupid, I made a mistake. You're my friend, you're supposed to be on my side and help me out, not be an asshole! Help me out," he screamed into the phone, "I don't know what to do. I messed up up."

I defended him. I took his side when she told me. But this—too far. There was a difference between kissing and going too far, the line was crossed before; but now James passed the finish line of a race he never should've taken.

"Are you going to tell her?" I asked, trying to control myself from completely breaking out on him.

There was a pause. "I can't tell her. She'll hate me."

You deserve it. She deserves better.

"She needs to know. You owe it to her."

"I can't," his voice lost its sound, "I can't. She was; she is everything. I love her, I can't. I can't have her look at me and hate me. I can't."

I did. She hated me for years and I knew it. I saw the love in her eyes transform into odium; and even now, she couldn't look at me in the eye without a spark of blame being directed towards me. I lied in her face and she believed me. She held me responsible for her first heart break, she always will.

"You messed up. You can't lie to her. You can't let her forgive you."

"I can't lose her either, Nico."

"You'll lose her either way. But maybe by telling her, you won't have fucked up completely."

But he did.

How was I supposed to be her friend, when her boyfriend fully cheated on her and trusted me with his secret? 

The answer was there, I didn't want to see it.

I couldn't face her after knowing this. She couldn't know that I knew. I'd break and tell her, thus ruining my friendship with James. I needed him to tell her before I could look at her.  If I told her, I'd be the person who delivered news that'd break her heart, again.

I couldn't see her; not for now. And that was the worst thing in the world.

-

 GUYYYYYYS!!! ZICO ROOF SCENE!!!

okay so let me address a few things:

a. LAST UPDATE FOR A WHILE. UNTIL THE 20TH OF JUNE, because end of the year exams are very near and I need to work my booty off for school.

2. again: ZICO SCENE!!!

c. 90k followers!! what even? if only you guys knew how clumsy and weird i am irl LOL

4. do YOU know a Patrick the Dickwad?

e. LOOK IN THE MIRROR. SMILE IN THE MIRROR. YOU LOOK BEAUTIFUL. No, you really do. You have a gorgeous smile. (I have a theory that everyone looks a thousand times more beautiful when they smile.) If you don't want to smile, think of the idea of Zico babies. Coolio? Coolio.

6. YES I KNOW I WAS ALTERNATING NUMBERS AND LETTERS, i'm not THAT person. (I am tbh.)

love, yas