October.

"I just - I just can't believe you're back," My mother cried after my father had set me down, pulling me into her arms once more and stroked my hair. "My October...it's all so sudden. Dear," she let go of me and hung onto the arm of my dad, then laughed, "I feel like this is all some dream."

"I can't believe it either," I breathed, feeling like I was going to pass out when Michael stepped next to me, putting his arm around my shoulder and pulling me towards him in reassurance. "I've got - uh, a lot of explaining to do."

"And who's this?" My father nodded towards Michael glaring at him, and Michael only beamed back.

"I'm Michael, sir, Michael Clifford. I'm Tobe's best friend. After a formal invitation to the lovely state-"

"City." I corrected him, trying my best not to burst out into laughter.

"- I had done my research on the city of Vancouver, and realized that there are no igloos and people do not have 'oot' as a language, so I just had to scrutinize the scenery." He let go of me and extended his arm out towards my father, who shook it firmly, eyeing Michael with an arched eyebrow, then took his position back to my right, leaning down to whisper in my ear. "I searched that word up in the cab. Impressive, isn't it? Anyways-" I inhaled deeply as I realized he still wasn't done with his cute little introduction, pinching my lips together.

"And, just to put it out there, since I know you're all wondering," I resisted the urge to slap the back of Michael's head, knowing that my parents weren't big friends of strong attitude. They were all for etiquette. "No, I am not her boyfriend. She-ah," he turned to me and grinned smugly, "She has one, back in New York, though-"

"Okay, that's enough." I grimaced, and quickly regained my composure, smiling uncomfortably.

It was now my mother's turn to glare at me, and I squirmed in my position. Damn you, Clifford.

"You're right, you do have a lot of explaining to do," she stated, and I groaned inwardly, hiding behind Michael and motioning him towards the kitchen, pushing and poking his sides in the process. "Asshole," I muttered into his ear, and he didn't even try to hide his loud, annoying laugh of his.

~~~

It was like in those movies, where the boy would come over to the girl's place to have dinner with her parents, and the long, awkward silence surrounded the atmosphere, filled with fake smiles and looks of solemn, grim glares as no one dared to take the first bite of their food.

So I, being the master of awkwardness in the room, decided to break the ice. "How's the weather?"

Like I said, the master of awkwardness.

My mother laughed, taking a spoonful of cinnamon apple pie from her plate and gently placing it in her mouth. "October, we haven't seen you in three years. After your little...disclosure on you future plans back then, your father and I want to know how you are doing."

If I were being honest (and maybe a little selfish), I felt like they should've been more ecstatic at my arrival. I guess I expected too much. I wasn't anyone important. Not to an Oxford graduate and an architect.

Not to my parents.

I did feel selfish.

"Well," I cleared my throat, swallowing down the sweet dessert. "After I moved to New York, I met Michael during my stay - that was two years ago. So now, I work at Starbucks, and I have my own apartment, too. And uh-" I turned to Michael, gulping nervously, before returning my gaze to my parents. "I did meet someone."

"And his name?" my father asked rather quickly.

"Luke. Luke Hemmings." Saying his name in that manner brought a smile to my lips, having it be the same way he introduced himself when we first met on the bench across the coffee shop. It felt like ages ago, but really it was only months. Had time really passed by the quickly?

"I can tell he's very special to you, huh?" My mother smiled softly, and I was shocked to see how well she was taking it, even if it wasn't big news.

"Am I ever going to meet him, then?" My father inquired, the stern look on his face still prominent.

"Well-"

"Of course she is, Joseph." My mother chimed, her eyes widening with excitement - the one look that I was very familiar with. It was the same look she gave me three years ago - the same look that had me out the door in the time span of twenty minutes.

"She'll be here, with us, so obviously Luke will come over here, as well. I mean, if he weren't the one, then she wouldn't be with him, obviously. October, you have all of your things with you, right?"

I opened my mouth to respond, but she quickly cut me off, clapping her hands together.

"Oh, it's going to be like old times, again. Then we can set you up and continue your education - we decided NYU? I mean, it's much closer and you are working at a Starbucks, which won't be as far as Boston. Where are your things?"

"In the hotel we're staying at." I mumbled quietly.

"Hotel? Well, your room upstairs is still in good condition; I've been taking care of it all these years. You can sign out any time you'd like, then we can move all of your stuff into that old closet of yours. And Michael, dear, where do you plan on staying? Do you have a relative of some sort?"

I turn to look at Michael, whose mouth fell slightly agape in astonishment and slight fear as he listened to my mother, then he glanced at me with a look, as if he was saying, 'Wow. So this is Mrs. Winters. The woman you explained to be bat-shit crazy.'

I gave him a nod, directing my head towards the door and he quickly responded, wiping his mouth with a tablecloth. This was it. The moment of truth.

"Excuse me, I need to go fetch myself a drink." he remarked, getting out of his seat and heading towards the kitchen, bending down next to me on his way. "Take it home," he mumbled, before striding quickly into the kitchen and shutting the sliding door.

"Does he not like iced-tea?" my mother questioned, directing her hand towards the pitcher on the center of the table. "I could've made lemonade-"

"Mom, dad, I need to talk to you. As in, actually talk to you." I took a few breaths as they leaned in closer in their seats, brows slightly furrowed in concern.

"I'm just going to go out and say it-"

My mother gasped loudly, "Honey, are you bisexual? Because if you are, your father and I are okay with it! Right Joseph?" She turned to my father, who cleared his throat and nodded.

"It's just- you have a boyfriend, so-"

"Mom!" I belted, startling her. "I'm not a lesbian."

"Then what is it, October? You can tell us." My father reassured me, adding on to the pressure on my shoulders.

"I'm not staying. Like, I'm- I'm not moving back here."

The room had gone eerily quiet, and my stomach wouldn't stop twisting and turning, but I bravely continued. God.

"I like my life in New York, mom. I'm not going anywhere. I just- I wanted to explain the whole reason why I...ran away in the first place."

The exchanged a look before nodding in agreement, and I sighed.

"I felt suffocated by you guys. You would always put this- this bolder on my back, made of your aspirations and dreams and I know that I'm an only child and those dreams were something you couldn't accomplish, so you lay them on me. But I don't want that. I wanted to draw-"

"But you aren't drawing, sweetie," my father retorted, "And, maybe NYU is best for you. I mean, you want to draw, but you're working in a café with that Michael kid-"

"Don't say that," I laughed emptily, covering my ears. "Don't say you know what's "best" for me. I know what's best for me, okay? And that 'Michael kid' is who helped me all those years I felt lost in New York. And I know that I'm not even going to damn college for Christ's sake, but at least I'm not doing something I am not capable of doing in Harvard."

"October, language."

"I'm twenty-one mom. Just turned on the twenty-first," I snorted, my stance coming off as distasteful and coarse. But I didn't care. "Or did you not remember?"

They stayed quiet at that. That was my cue to continue.

"Maybe I won't graduate with a perfect GPA from Oxford, or I won't learn to build up corporations like you, dad, but I'll be happy. And isn't that all that matters? Maybe I won't be an artist like what I intended to be, but at least I'll be okay."

I lean back on my chair, taking an inhale through my nostrils and out my mouth. "That's all that matters. I'm not staying. I came here because I missed you guys. I love you - you are my parents, right?"

My mother chuckled quietly. "Right."

"I'm sorry I left just like that, three years ago. But what I just said, right now, that's what I meant to say a long time ago. I'm sorry for being such a coward."
I watched them as they shared a conversation with their eyes and said nothing more, so I got out of my seat, trotting tensely out of the dining room and opening the door to the kitchen and shutting it behind me, finding Michael who was sat on one of the stools anxiously.

Once I had caught his attention he quickly jumped from his seat, walking to me and pulling me by my arm, enveloping me in his hold. I close my eyes in relief and comfort, burying my nose into his shoulder as he placed his chin on the top of my head.

"You did it. I'm so proud of you," he whispered, rocking us from side to side. I clung onto him tightly, feeling a tear escape my eye as I nuzzle my face into his chest more.

"That was pure hell," I groaned, making him chuckle.

"Want to leave? I called a cab a few minutes ago, just in case." he asked, letting go of me and leaning his head down, trying to look into my eyes as my head hung low.

I nodded meekly, taking his hand and walking quickly to the door, already missing the warmth of my old abode.

"We're leaving now, if you don't mind. I'm getting tired," I called from the front door to the open living room, putting my shoes on.

"It was lovely meeting you, Mr. and Mrs. Winters," Michael greeted politely, taking both my parents' silence as an approval as he reached for the door handle.

"Wait," my om called out, quickly getting out of her seat and making her way towards us, sniffling. She had been crying a little, as well.

"October, Michael, wait. You can go grab your things from the hotel, yeah? I think it'd be best if you didn't stay there, anymore. October, stay here, until you leave back to New York. It'll cost less. Our treat. Please?" She pulled her lip to one side, looking at me expectantly and I played with my fingers. I sighed, stuffing my hands into the pockets of my coat.

"Alright."

Luke

"Now that I think about it, Ash, her walls are annoying." I placed my hand on my hips examining October's apartment room (that we had broken into, using the spare key she gave me). "They're so...white. And plain."

"She's an artist, with all of that hipster belief, and shit. It's normal." He shrugged, two small buckets of paint in both hands. "Let's get to it, then!"

"We don't even know which wall."

"That one."

"I don't want to get paint all over her bed, Ashton. Everything's just so cramped." I got frustrated, extending my arms towards the whole room.

"Love knows no space," Ashton quoted poetically, taking a lamp in is hand, gripping it in his hold.

"But it does know what black paint looks on white bed sheets."

He scoffed. "Please. The only thing love knows on bed sheets, is-"

"Ashton!" I felt my face go red, as I placed the bucket I was holding on the newspaper covered floor, popping it open with a flat, metal paint scraper I found in one of the cabinets.

"This is so cool," I beamed in admiration, dipping my paintbrush in Violette Pensée and watching the dark tone swirl around in the tin. "The only problem is, I have no idea how to paint."

"What the fuck? How does somebody not know how to paint? It's easy. Just like, spell out words like, I love you, or something."

"That's so simple."

"Then draw something, you pretentious fuck, damn it. I don't know, do whatever you want. 'M gonna head out, gotta get to work." He bid goodbye with a nod of his head and with that, walked out of the bedroom and out the apartment door.

I sighed, scratching the top of my head and looking at the buckets of paint surrounding me. Now what?

"Think like October. Be creative." I told myself, closing my eyes and furrowing my eyebrows.

My eyes shoot open as the idea popped into my head, "I got it," I grab the paint brush from inside the tin, letting it drip for a while before bringing it towards the empty wall next to her bedroom door.

This is fun, I thought to myself as I ran the paintbrush along her crisp walls. A sudden pang of excitement hit my stomach, and I giggled to myself loudly, not being able to await her arrival in the next few days.

And while I sat crisscross applesauce on the wooden floor, attempting to draw a cigarette lighter, I felt the corners of my room lift up into a small grin as I took in her coconut-scented room, which was going to be filled with what was once white and boring, to midnight coloured memories and emotions that I had been waiting to tell her for so long.

---

whelp that was shit