Asher Mendez

"It looks like Katelyn took the Formula One out of you," I observe, the car slowing down as we approach a red light. 

Sawyer's post gym soundtrack hasn't improved since meeting Katelyn, but he's a safer driver. He tends to exceed the speed limit by a lot. The fact that he passed his drivers' test with flying colors is a miracle. But today, there's no need to hold onto something for dear life in case he crashes the car or something like that; he only went above the speed limit by two miles.

"I feel like a new person," he quips while drumming his fingers on the steering wheel. "But seriously, it's great. It only took three months to be able to call her my girlfriend and it was worth every second." The heartless Casanova he used to be went on vacation, liked the destination too much, and decided to stay in paradise indefinitely. I'm sure I'm not the only one who prefers this kinder, less reckless version of the dirty blonde.

"New person, huh?" I raise an eyebrow at him and we make eye contact in the rearview mirror.

The light changes before he can do something he regrets later, so he settles for another nasty look. "Just say you don't believe in me, Mendez. I really care about Katelyn." 

"I'm happy for y'all, seriously," I offer, totally dancing around his last statement. 

Dull moments don't exist between Sawyer and I. Baseball tournaments entailed us eating mediocre hot dogs from the concession stand and seeing who could eat the most without throwing up. Even when our parents became fed up with our gluttony, we found other ways to keep ourselves busy. His beach house, my hot tub, the gym, the baseball field, even Mr. Tompkins' boring math class, never a dull moment. Even though we get on each other's nerves, as best friends of over a decade are capable of, he deserves every bit of happiness. 

I'm relieved when Sawyer turns his garbage down, but his expression is stony. "What if I fuck it up and lose the best thing that's happened to me, Mendez?"

"Then don't do anything stupid," I say, echoing my dad's advice when I visited him in California.

"I'm serious, man. As we know, I don't have the best track record," Sawyer huffs, his frustration reflecting in his herky-jerky driving. One time he caught a frog and put it in a baggie, fully expecting it to live longer than a week in those suffocating conditions. When his pet inevitably kicked the bucket less than four days later, grief got the best of him that weekend at our tournament and it was as if he forgot how to do everything. His coping hasn't improved much.

I nod, resting my head against the seat. "Everyone does things they're not proud of, trust me. The fact that you're so stressed out means you care about being better." 

There's a moment of silence, the country music softly playing in the background, and I let the conversation hang in the air. As much as Sawyer's a wild card most of the time, when it comes to Katelyn, he's serious. It's refreshing seeing him like this.

"Good point." His expression softens and so does his death grip on the steering wheel. "When did you get so wise?" 

I roll my eyes. "If I'm wise, you didn't totally embarrass yourself a few weeks ago in front of that cop." The officer in question stopped us on the way to a party since Sawyer thought he was a NASCAR driver. Thanks to his crocodile tears, he got off with a slap on the wrist and we enjoyed the party like nothing happened. 

"At least Mama Long didn't find out," he justifies, a flash of pink embarrassment appearing on his face when I bring it up. "'Sawyer, what on Earth were you thinking?'" I giggle at his impression of his mom, a favorite among St. Gabriel's patients for her happy-go-lucky attitude. She'd never raise her voice at one of the innocent kids, but that's not exactly the case when it comes to his mildly stupid son. 

"Seriously though, that's a valid worry. You'll be a great boyfriend, I know it." We make eye contact in the mirror and I flash him a sincere grin.

Sawyer sniffles, his glassy autumn leaf colored eyes meeting mine. "What would I do without you?"

"Drive the damn car, Sawyer." Despite my aggressive demand, there's a chuckle laced between every word. He's only cried twice in the time frame I've known him. Our street is relatively calm, but he needs to get a grip before he runs someone over.

A few minutes later, Sawyer parks his hellcat in front of my house and we find my moms in the kitchen. They're so involved in an animated conversation in Spanish it takes a moment for them to notice us. Carmen is the first to acknowledge our presence, her freshly blown out hair that looks right out of a commercial tied in a ponytail and clad in a set of satin pajamas.

"Hey, boys. How was the gym?"

"I don't know about Sawyer, but I think I'll need a nap after that," I admit, earning laughs from my moms because they can relate. 

Times when they're both available are so rare they always jump at the chance to nap together. Their cuddling under a blanket is like those cute baby animal pictures. Mom was married to my dad for over a decade and I don't think I've seen them hug, let alone curl up next to each other the way she does with her wife of six years. Other than when they had to make me, I frankly don't recall them voluntarily touching each other like kids in middle school around the opposite sex. Awkwardness is understandable for the first few months, but after fourteen years of marriage we should be past that.

Sawyer nods, using his shirt to wipe the droplets of sweat on his forehead. "That might not be so bad."

Mom tightens her fingers around her coffee mug, shooting a tired smile at Carmen. "I love my job, but these damn kids stress me out. I might have to take one later." She's out of her scrubs for the first time in a while, the sterile uniform replaced by a sweatshirt and leggings. 

Carmen massages Mom's shoulders with her Barbie doll sized hands. "Mind if I join you?"

I roll my eyes, but I can't suppress a giggle. "Not in front of Sawyer, y'all." 

Carmen sends me a warning look. "Tread lightly, Asherito. Quieres que les diga a todos lo que hiciste ayer?" A smirk laces her voice, but getting my business aired out is more embarrassing than funny. 

Mom raises an eyebrow at me. "Asher, what is she talking about?" She doesn't know her son hung out with the sister of one of her patients and this definitely isn't the way she was supposed to find out. I haven't talked to her about girls since Cecelia. Let's just say that after they met, she called Cecelia a nutcase.

"Yeah, Asher." Sawyer holds back his laughter as he fights to stay composed. It dawns on me I neglected to tell my friends about yesterday. 

I swallow, wishing I could be invisible and find a way out of this. "Let's not discuss this, y'all." The unbothered version of me is long gone in this moment, rivaling the time Alex Romano pantsed me in fourth grade.

"Come on," Carmen teases, resting her chin on her hands. "Tell your mom and your friend about our special guest."

"Carmen, no le hagas compartir si no quiere," Mom advises, putting her curiosity aside. She may be significantly taller than Carmen, but she isn't nearly as blunt and loquacious. They're like fire and air: oxygen feeds and encourages a fire, but sometimes the wind has to step in before a wildfire starts. 

I appreciate Mom's stepping in, but it's too late. "Alright, fine. I hung out with Valentina yesterday." To be honest, I don't know why I was so worried when my moms are the most supportive parents and my friends insist I get a girlfriend before the end of high school. 

Sawyer shakes my shoulder like an NFL coach after an impressive play. "About time you made a move on her." 

"I like her, Cath," Carmen states. "She's so pretty and sweet. I think your son picked a good one." As embarrassing as she was in front of Valentina yesterday, I'm relieved they got on. I'd hate for my moms to dislike the girl that's making me crazy.

It only took a few weeks to admit I'm falling hard for Valentina. She's genuine, kind, and stronger than she wants to admit. I admire how concerned she is about Ronan's well being. If the roles were reversed and Francesca got sick, I don't know if I'd be able to handle it as well as she does. Unlike Cecelia and her friends, she doesn't try to overcompensate or be something she's not and it's refreshing. Valentina has a huge heart and is beautiful inside and out. 

Glancing at me, she adds, "Debes estar agradecida de que tu hijo sea tan guapo. Nuestros nietos van a ser hermosos." She's excited about Valentina, but talking about giving her and Mom grandchildren is a little premature. That doesn't mean I'm against having kids with her stormy eyes and my dimples in the future. 

"Carmen, he's sixteen," Mom points out. "And I'm only forty-five. I'm too young to be a grandma, no?" She hasn't spoken up at all since my confession, taking in all of the information with an unreadable look on her face. I'm starting to freak out at her lack of a response, but now isn't the time to ask for her opinion.

That exchange replays in my head even after Sawyer goes home. I'm not usually the type of person to overthink, but I dissect Mom's reaction to my news. She isn't as expressive as Carmen which sucks when I want to know what she's thinking. Is she upset and thinking I'm pressuring Valentina into things she doesn't want? Even while I scroll on my phone, the random videos do nothing to distract from my intrusive thoughts. 

I get my answer in the form of knocks on the door. "Adelante," I say to my visitor. Hopefully it's Mom wanting to clear the air. The door opens and reveals the exact person I was worried about, the same ominous look on her face from earlier. "Hey, Mom." My voice shakes so much it doesn't even sound like me. 

"Hi, son," she smiles, an indication that she isn't pissed off at me. That still doesn't tell me what's on her mind. She's made a lot of sacrifices to make me the person I am and disappointing her is the last thing I want.

As she joins me on my bed, tense silence fills the room, making my thoughts jump around in my head. It's scary because Asher Mendez doesn't ruminate, or at least I didn't until a beautiful girl walked into my life. Tired of waiting, I take matters into my own hands. "Are you mad at me?" I blurt out. 

"Absolutely not," she says, finally letting me exhale. "I'm really sorry for making you feel that way. You're a phenomenal person and I'm grateful to be your mom. Even when you refuse to get out of bed." I have to laugh at that last part, but she's dancing around what I want to know.

"So you're not mad about me liking Valentina?" I ask, still unconvinced. 

"You like Valentina?" she quips without ever breaking character. I open my mouth, but she beats me to it. "Me too. Her family is wonderful. Your stepmother is right, she's a good one."

I let out a breath I didn't realize I was holding. "It's just...I know things with Cecelia got out of hand, and I don't want you to think I'm rushing into anything like that again."

She gives me a warm smile. "I trust you, Asher. You've learned a lot since then." The volume of her voice drops even though we're alone. "Between us, I did a happy dance when you told me you broke up with her." The image of Mom dancing is enough to provoke a smile from me. 

Mom gives me a genuine smile. "Well, keep being there for her. I know she appreciates it. All I ask is that you don't jump the gun too fast." 

"Thanks, Mom," I murmur. 

Mom puts an arm around me, planting a quick kiss on my cheek. "Of course, mijo. I love you so much." 

"Love you too, Ma." I reply, tiredness apparent in my voice. There is no doubt that the workout Sawyer and I did will translate to the baseball field, but it has caught up with me. Soon enough, everything goes black and I don't see anything until the next day.

~

I don't think either of us brought up homecoming, to my dismay. Valentina's kind of hard to read and hasn't given me an indication she wants to take that step. Her best friend wasted no time telling me that as much as she lies to herself about it, Valentina yearns for deserves this break.

I friended Katelyn on Snapchat and asked for some guidance. Katelyn proved to be helpful, telling me everything her best friend likes so her proposal is perfect. I learned that she loves flowers, brightly colored ones to be exact. She also let me know that the posters some guys make are optional when it comes to Valentina; she doesn't give a damn. She promised to keep our plans a secret from Valentina without me having to ask.

After school, I drive to the store and find a perfect bouquet: a mix of bold colors like sunny yellows and hot pinks and a few more subdued flowers. Katelyn wasn't too specific about the type of flower, so why not get a mixture of roses, lilies, peonies, and chrysanthemums? I also purchase a blank piece of white posterboard so Francesca can tell me what to put on it. Francesca and I come up with "flowers are the second prettiest thing, can I take the first one to homecoming?" for the poster. 

My stepsister and I FaceTimed for what felt like hours and the only reason I ended the call was to complete the tall stack of work in front of me. Francesca understood, letting me know of her plans to hang out with Vince later and tackle her own homework. She rattled off the obligatory "just be yourself", "rip the band-aid off", and "if she says no, that's her loss" speeches before she hung up. 

I've never been the type of person to enjoy doing my homework, but I'm unusually out of it today. Math and physics formulas sound like gibberish instead of something I need to know; that's how much my nerves dilute my thoughts. The young, brainwashed by Cecelia McGraw version of me would be flabbergasted if he saw someone other than that rich princess occupying every square inch of my brain.

I attempt to refocus on my homework, but the formulas are still a blur. Instead, my thoughts drift back to Valentina's laugh, how genuine it sounds compared to the forced politeness I used to get with Cecelia. I close my notebook, giving up on the idea of actually being productive.

My anticipation makes it impossible to get through the next day in one piece. Katelyn confirmed that Valentina will be at the hospital this afternoon, so I should ask her today. The purpose of this visit is twofold: I'm asking the girl I like to homecoming and seeing Ronan for the first time in what feels like forever. I'm obviously very fond of Valentina, but her brother is pretty cool. Ronan reminds me a lot of myself at that age.

I glance at the clock every five minutes, my nerves building with every passing tick. Every class is intentionally dragging, stretching each minute into an hour just to piss me off. Everything feels like a chore: I'm on the verge of snapping at anyone I cross paths with, my classwork looks like it's in a foreign language, and my usually legible handwriting looks like a toddler with a crayon did my work for me.

I don't think I've run out of school as quickly as I did. My heart pounds in my chest as if I left the gym after a tough workout. It's just Valentina, the girl my stepmom approves of and hung out with over the weekend. 

When I arrive at the hospital, I grab the bouquet and poster. Knowing what I need to do, I head straight to room 211. The nurses, however, are feeling talkative today and stop me on my way a few times. I oblige, but keep conversation short so I can do what I need to. I knock on the door to Ronan's room and wait for a response.

"Yes?" He calls out. Judging from his lethargic voice alone, Ronan is a shell of the boisterous person he was during my last visit. I turn the doorknob and nothing prepares me for what awaits in room 211.

Ronan smiles in my direction, but there's no denying chemo's draining the life and personality out of him. It's like seeing a once vibrant painting in a museum depreciate until it's essentially in black and white. The fire in his eyes is extinguished, leaving behind ashes in the form of dark circles and he's dropped even more weight than last time. He had a thick forest of dark hair, but large patches of pale skin cover his head since the lumberjack called chemo came and did its job. 

"Those for me?" Ronan nods at the slightly wilted flowers and the poster I made. Seeing him like this was so jarring I forgot why I came.

"Sure," I chuckle even though seeing the life sucked out of him admittedly dampened my mood. "Good to see you, Ronan."

We have a lot of catching up to do. Ronan tells me when chemo isn't tiring him out, he likes the frequent movie nights, hanging out in the arcade, and talking to his favorite nurses and other patients. It's refreshing to see his personality hasn't completely slipped away, but I can't shake the guilt I feel.

I just met Ronan, never mind Valentina. When I get in my head about how fucking beautiful Ronan's sister is, I forget to put myself in her shoes. I can't make her choose between her family and one night away from her responsibilities. Of course I want to be there for her, but I don't want to overstep and cause more problems than this family needs. 

Throughout our talk, Ronan's patchy scalp and our conversation compete for my attention. A lump forms in my throat as I try to stay engaged in our conversations. Mom's job means I see many kids' full heads of hair come out in noticeable patches until they're completely bald. I don't know how long my eyes have glazed over for until I hear the doorknob turn.

"Hey, Ronan." A nurse pokes her head in, arms full of medical supplies. She smiles my way before checking his vitals and going to tend to other patients. 

Before she leaves, she turns to Ronan with a solemn expression. "I think it's time," she states, referring to shaving what's left of his hair. I've witnessed the hopeless look of realization in his eyes from a lot of my mom's former patients, something I wouldn't wish on anyone. 

Ronan wipes the tears spilling from his eyes, but they keep pouring the way blood comes out of an awful cut and refuses to clot. I pull him into a hug, letting him wet my white button up with his tears. There's less than a third of dark hair left, his pillow covered in thin strands of it.

After a while, Ronan's heavy sobs fade into soft sniffles. He pulls away, his face blotchy and wet, and looks at me with an expression that's half gratitude and half defeat. "I guess it's time, huh?" His voice cracks on the last word, and it feels like my heart cracks right along with it.

"I guess so," I say gently. "When is Valentina coming? We should do this before she gets here."

He gasps, a teasing look in his eyes, evidence there's a spark still within him. "You only came for my sister? Wow."

I join in with his laughter, soaking up our break from the gravity of what we're about to do. "Why would I do that, man?" A different nurse pops her head in to make sure we're not dying. Back to reality.

His smile also slips when he sees the nurse. "Seriously, you have my blessing," he says after a beat of silence, nodding at the poster that is now on the bed. The colorful letters look out of place with the sterile white sheet and hushed environment. "Valentina likes you a lot."

"Alright," I chuckle. "Let's do it."

~

Valentina Karas

Mr. Richards must be recovering from a personality transplant, or he has a happy-go-lucky twin brother that is teaching in his place today. Our typically sullen and authoritarian teacher beams as he announces everyone's impressive performance on our most recent test. Remember the one I was studying for right before Asher texted me? I feel great about it.

Speaking of Mr. Mendez, he hasn't been as verbose since we hung out on Saturday. We've been snapping back and forth, but that's the extent of our communication since the hot tub. Did he change his mind? Is he indeed leading me on? Does this mean his spontaneous visits to the hospital are over?

I also happened to notice he turned his location off out of the blue. Suspicious, but nothing worth losing sleep over. As a chronic worrier, I'll overthink any and everything, yet somehow Asher's inconsistency doesn't stress me out.

"What did you get?" Katelyn asks. Mr. Richards decided to make me one of the first to know my score and completely skipped over my best friend.

I flash Katelyn the red 93% on my paper, to which she pats my thigh. "Hell yeah, V," she whisper-shouts, keeping quiet to avoid souring our teacher's mood. Mr. Richards gets around to her soon enough and she seemed happy with her 90. Look at us.

We go over the test and Mr. Richards goes on an excited rant about how well we did. He reveals no one made lower than a C+, which is unheard of because AP Gov is pretty rough. I wonder how long his bliss will last before he's back to a scrooge who hates everyone and everything.

The rest of the class is uneventful. Save for Katelyn, who spent our note taking time on her phone and somehow didn't get caught (pretty privilege much?), everyone was focused on Mr. Richards' lesson about important Supreme Court cases. Katelyn tried to show me something, but I was too focused on class for it to register.

When the bell rings, Katelyn and I pack our bags and head out. The hallways are filled with people hurrying to their cars since school is over. It's almost always crowded and impossible not to get jostled around. The fact that I'm about as tall as a thumb adds insult to injury, leading to multiple incidents involving me losing my balance.

"Mr. Richards was in a good mood," Katelyn notes, the volume of her voice higher than normal. Conversations, the sounds of lockers shutting, and the lovely melodies of Slaton High School require talking louder than you'd think is necessary.

I nod in agreement. "Yeah, but I wouldn't get used to it."

Katelyn frowns. "I rebuke that. Hopefully he keeps the good grades coming." She whips out her phone and starts texting someone as if she wasn't attached to it the entirety of our last class. What on earth does Sawyer want?

"Hey V, you're still seeing Ronan later, right?" she asks completely out of the blue.

"Um, yeah?" I confirm, a bit confused. "Why?"

Katelyn squeezes my shoulder. "Don't you worry, girlfriend."

"Katelyn, what the fuck aren't you telling me?" I demand, folding my arms. My frustration builds more and more as my cheeky best friend continues her ominous comments. Come on, you can only put up with bullshit for too long.

"Just trust me, alright?" On the other hand, Katelyn is amused by my rising annoyance. If there weren't so many people around, I'd put her in the hospital with my brother if she doesn't explain.

"If you say so," I relent, rolling my eyes. "Just give me a hint at least."

Katelyn shrugs, a smirk playing on her lips. "Let's just say we're gonna have a fun weekend."

"A fun weekend?" I raise an eyebrow, trying to figure out what she's talking about. It's clear something is happening I know nothing about, like discovering you were the only one excluded from a party. The suspense is killing me, and God knows my parents don't need two dead kids.

"Yeah," she sings, putting her phone away and speeding up. She's borderline running like she's in one of her basketball games rather than the hallway.

"Tell Ronan hi for me," she shouts over her shoulder, leaving me alone and dumbfounded by whatever that was.

It's hard to stay annoyed with her when she's walking on sunshine like this, but I can't help feeling like there's more to her question about Ronan than mere curiosity. I've got a nagging suspicion that whatever's going on has something to do with Asher, but I push the thought aside. I put on some Frank Ocean during my drive to the hospital in a futile attempt to drown out my racing thoughts about that weird exchange, the conversation replaying in my head louder than "White Ferrari".

I walk into St. Gabriel's and am greeted by the usual sights and sounds. Nurses and doctors going about their business and tending to patients, handmade art that adds much needed color, and a few parents and kids waiting on appointments with anxious expressions written on their faces. St. Gabriel's has always felt like a home away from home from the beginning, something I hadn't appreciated until recently. I definitely didn't anticipate our year unfolding this way.

"Hey, Valentina," says a nurse with braided hair and a comforting smile.

"Hey," I smile. I've seen her around the hospital and she sometimes takes Ronan's vitals while I'm visiting. We've only said maybe two or three words to each other, but I've never met a stranger here.

The nurse lets me know Ronan is excited for my arrival and tells me to go ahead. I thank her and she nods before joining a colleague of hers in conversation. I go the opposite way and take the elevator to Ronan's room. This time, the walk doesn't require help from a staff member and I actually remember where it is.

Right before I walk in, my brother's voice emerges from the room. No big deal, Ronan might be winning over one of his nurses or something. But the second voice, sultry and all too familiar, stops me before I can make my presence known. Holy shit. It takes a few moments to realize I'm not hearing things and more importantly, Asher Mendez is inside with my brother.

Not that there's anything wrong with him being here. Where do I even begin? Asher has been an angel to my brother and I. The considerable age gap between the two boys hasn't hampered their budding friendship. I'm sure Ronan appreciates having an ally and a big brother figure. I'm glad I'm not alone in enjoying Asher's company.

Don't ask how, but he's slowly becoming one of my favorite people. Our conversations are the highlight of my day, making it worth getting up for again. Cancer's unremitting storm still continues on with or without Asher, but he's the umbrella that makes the storm easier. He's completely unbothered by the wind picking up and keeps supporting us in his unique way.

The thick walls muffle their conversation, so I can't exactly make out their conversation. I stand a bit closer to the entrance of 211 to hear more clearly. The clarity difference between further away and right in front of the door is night and day. From where I'm standing, I hear the faint humming of medical equipment drowned out by the sounds of their voices.

I hear an exhale, followed by Asher muttering, "Any minute now, Valentina." He takes another deep breath before saying, "Ronan, I'm scared," with a quiver in his voice.

"Well, don't pee your pants on me," Ronan orders, the conviction in his tone making me flinch though he isn't talking to me.

Before I can second-guess myself, I take a deep breath and push open the wooden door. Usually a simple push gets the job done, but today the doorknob is heavier than usual and pushing the door open is like shoving a two ton box. The sight inside stops me in my tracks.

My little brother sits in his bed, wrapped in his favorite blanket. Burrowing into the blanket every time he feels cold in the often polar hospital gives him a sense of comfort and reminds him of home. I'm not surprised he's getting cozy in his bed, but his shaved head makes me do a double take. Anyone could see Ronan's luscious hair was getting thinner by the day, courtesy of chemo. Seeing him completely bald, however, was something I didn't expect so soon.

Asher sits on the chair next to the bed. He rakes his fingers through his disheveled curls over and over again and awkwardly waves when I enter. Looks like my history teacher isn't the only one who got a lobotomy; I've never seen confident and sexy Asher this flustered. Not even when his mischievous stepmom was embarrassing the shit out of him the other day.

Ronan looks up at me with a sheepish smile, his bare head catching the soft glow of the fluorescent lights. "Hey, V."

I move closer, taking in the sight of him. His tangerine-colored blanket is wrapped tightly around his shoulders, his face pale but illuminated by the faintest trace of a smile. Even without his hair, he's still my little brother, though seeing him a shell of himself hit a nerve.

"Hi," I whisper back, at a loss for what to say.

Ronan probably sees me trying to make sense of what I'm seeing, so he speaks up. "Yeah, Asher did this. It had to happen at some point, V." His smile fades, leaving behind a stoic and determined expression. Though I commend his strength, something tells me he would rather stay silent about everything.

I glance at Asher again. When we make eye contact, guilt replaces the playful light in his dark eyes. His jittery hands and sheepish smile indicate this is deeper than "caught with his hand in the cookie jar" regret.

"Asher, it's a pleasure," I say, wincing at how fake my voice sounds. Part of me is confused and a little upset at his recent behavior, but I refuse to take it out on him. My frustration would only add to whatever he's so nervous about.

He relaxes a little because of my acknowledgement. "Hey, Valentina." His voice is as warm and sultry as it typically is, but there's a hint of uncertainty lacing his words.

After a beat of unbearable silence, Ronan narrows his eyes in my direction. "Do you mind going outside for a minute, V?"

"Oh, so I'm getting kicked out?" I chuckle. My brother doesn't think it's funny, so I step out of the room into the zoo of the hallways. Weird, but okay, you two.

Not even two minutes later, someone taps my shoulder. The touch makes my heart jump. I turn around and Asher is standing behind me, confidence somewhat restored but nerves still radiate off him. A beautiful bouquet of flowers is in one hand and his other one holds a folded up poster behind his back. I can't help but stare, not at him, but the gorgeous and thoughtful gift.

My mouth instantly twitches into a huge grin. "Asher, these are so pretty. Thank you," I say sincerely. From a young age, I've always fantasized about a moment like this. What girl doesn't want flowers from the guy she likes? At some point I just gave up on my floral dreams, but they're now in my hands.

Asher matches my grin and the arm behind his back twitches uncontrollably. "I'm glad you're happy with them," he exhales, his voice akin to an outstanding exam grade. "Look V, there's something else I need to ask you."

"Yes?" I try to sound casual about what he just put into the universe, but it comes out a whisper instead.

Asher shifts his weight from one foot to the other, his gaze dropping to the floor for a moment before returning to meet mine. His dark eyes, usually so confident and mischievous, are vulnerable now, almost pleading. The poster in his hand trembles slightly, like it's as nervous as he is. He clears his throat and pulls the poster from behind his back, gingerly unfolding it as if its a delicate piece of clothing. The poster is bold and impressive, but that's not what makes me pause.

~

sorry for the late update. pretty gut wrenching huh?
animosity hopefully coming soon + hope y'all love on her the way i do!