Christian's p.o.v.
Flashback: Two years ago

I wake up groggy from an alcohol infused dream of pain and regret. The taste of the girl from last night still lingers on my tongue, and I want nothing more than to wash away her presence. I hold my aching head and squint against the sunlight spilling in through the window as I slowly roll into a sitting position. I groan as the world beings to spin, and I heavily stagger my way to the bathroom. I trip and stumble a few times, and I must be making a lot of noise because as I'm leaving the bathroom my brother steps out of his room.

He gives me a disapproving look, while still managing to maintain it around a heavy yawn. "Christian, when I said you could stay with me over the summer I wasn't inviting you to bring every girl with you."

I laugh humorlessly, and cringe when the sound hurts my head. I rub my throbbing temple as I mutter, "Mom and Dad kicked me out, you didn't really have a choice."

Michael sighs. "Christian, you need help."

I scoff and reply, "I'm fine, Michael! Stop trying to fix me . . ." I say with an eye roll.

"You're not fine, Christian! You're spiraling and it hurts me to watch, so either clean up or get out because I can't handle this anymore," Michael cries.

"So you would kick me like Mom and Dad did? Wow, how brotherly of you," I sneer, with another eye roll.

Michael huffs. "You think I want to kick you out? You're a mess, Christian, how else are we going to get through to you?"

"You can let me stay, this is just a phase brother. I'll get better," I reply.

"Yeah, and how many times have you said that over the past three months?" Michael retorts.

I scrunch my nose up at him and scoff before turning away, and slam my door behind me as I walk back into my room that's thick with the scent of beer and sex. Maybe Michael's right, I think as I glance around the room, that after a month of me staying in has already been horribly trashed. I sigh as I sink onto the rumpled bed and run my hands through my greasy hair.

My life is a mess. My parents are disappointed in me and won't let me return home. Michael is close to giving up on me, and I know it's only a matter of time before he abandons me too.

I wake the next morning in a sweat, my head spinning with memories from another life full of heartache and regret. Michael's words and disappointment hurting me just as much then as they do now. I'm just happy it wasn't the other dream —- the words that nearly destroyed our bond and friendship; the day that still continues to affect us.

I sigh and pick myself out of bed, and head to the bathroom to take a cool shower to wash away the sticky sweat and the remaining tendrils of the dream before school. I let my hair air dry, and finger comb it as I search through my closet for a clean pair of jeans. I put them on over my boxers, and pull on the same hoodie I wore the day before; feeling a lack of motivation for anything else due to my dream and dredged up memories from the day before.

I cram my backpack full of my books and slide my black Vans on my feet, more or less ready to face the day. I go downstairs and stop in the kitchen to make a lunch, knowing Beau won't eat the school food. He's picky, but at the same time, I don't blame him because the lunches look like prison meals most days.

I'm slapping together a sandwich on wheat bread when Michael tromps into the kitchen behind me. He pulls open the fridge as he mutters, "Another school lunch?"

"Yes, another school lunch," I retort.

Michael chuckles. "So I'm guessing they have yet to pave the way for both good and edible meals."

I chuckle too. "You're lucky you don't have to suffer the torture of school lunches," I mutter.

Michael smiles thinly, and after a moment of silence, the air grows thick with things unsaid. I always hate these moments, I wish they didn't have to exist. Everything use to be so easy between us, now every conversation just feels strained and lacking in importance. I know Michael regrets the past, as do I, but he's too stubborn to admit he was wrong. He just apologies without merit; and I always refuse to accept.

Michael clears his throat, and breaks the silence as he says, "Well, have a good day at school. Tell Beau I said, 'Hi'."

I just nod and finish making the lunch as I reply, "I will. See you later, Michael."

The day is cold and the sky is gray, leaves continue to fall from the trees as the months slowly creep closer to December. And as I ride my bike to Beau's house, I find myself mulling over what to buy him for Christmas. Beau hates asking for things, and he never gives me a straight answer for what he might like when I mention wanting to buy him a gift. Even though I've told him countless time that I don't mind, and want nothing more than to celebrate our first Christmas together. He can be incredibly stubborn when he wants to be; and a huggable cotton ball other days.

A soft drizzle has started to fall when I pull up to Beau's house, and either the loud sound of the engine alerts him to my arrival, or he was already patiently waiting at the door for me. I can't help my smile as I picture him waiting, all adorable as he sits on the couch fiddling with his fingers or T-shirt.

"Hey, Beautiful!" I call out with a grin as he approaches. I purse my lips against a laugh, as I watch his face scrunch up in distaste at my play on his name.

Beau's lips stay pursed as he climbs onto the bike behind me, and presses his thin chest against my back. His arms wind around my waist, and his face snuggles into the back of my neck and shoulder. His warm breathes hits my exposed skin when he mutters, "Please, that was embarrassing. Don't ever call me that again."

I laugh and squeeze his arm, that's wrapped around my waist, and reply, "Sorry, Beau, but I make no promises."

He softly pinches my side in response, and I gasp with a small jump. I roll my eyes, and know he's grinning behind me. I gently pat his hands, and say, "Hold on tight." Then I rev the engine back to life, and we're tearing back down the street to school through a soft rain.

+ + +

The day is slow and uneventful, and when it comes to an end I'm taking Beau back home and kissing him goodnight. I have the day off from the restaurant, so I'm free to immediately start on my homework and listen to music in my room. My books are once again sprawled out on my bed and floor, finished and unfinished homework papers scattered just as messily. I've taken a break from my work, and I'm laying back against my pillows scrolling through my Instagram feed, when someone knocks on my door.

I glance up from my phone, as I yell, "Yeah? Who is it?"

"Someone tall and devilishly handsome!" Michael calls back.

I laugh with a roll of my eyes, as I call back, "What do you want?"

"Well, I want to stop yelling back and forth between a door, for starters!"

I roll my eyes again. "Then come in!"

Michael opens the door, and steps inside. He purses his lips at the mess of clothes —- both dirty and clean —- and the scattered books and homework papers. "Gosh, you're incapable of organization, Christian," Michael mutters.

I resist the urge to roll my eyes again, and say, "I happen to like the mess."

Michael scoffs. "I bet Beau loves it too, especially when he feels your dirty boxers under his feet," Michael retorts sarcastically, with a roll of his eyes.

I purse my lips and sit up as I snap, "Did you actually need something, or are you just here to annoy me with your presence?"

"Shut up!" Michael cries, childishly.

"Make me!" I retort, just as childishly.

Michael scoffs and rolls his eyes again. "Gosh, I forgot how annoying you can be."

I gape at him and cry, "Oh wow, thanks a lot, brother. And you started it . . ." I grumble.

Michael just snorts, and falls into my blue beanbag chair as he says, "Okay, let's set aside our brickering for the moment."

"And do what?" I ask.

Michael shrugs. "Talk, I guess . . ." He sighs, and says, "I feel like all we've done since I got back is exchange slightly hostile remarks."

"Does this mean you're calling a truce?" I ask.

Michael rolls his eyes. "Wishful thinking, Christian, we both know I'm still right."

I purse my lips and lean back again as I mutter, "That's debatable."

"Whatever," Michael replies, with a wave of his hand. "Can we just catch up now?"

I sigh, and grumble, "Fine. What do you want to know?"

Michael bites his bottom lip, and after a hesitate moment, he mutters, "So you met Beau at a youth group?"

I immediately go on the defensive, as I reply, "Yeah, why . . .?"

"Because that worries me, Christian," Michael mutters. "Did Mom and Dad know this before yesterday?"

"Yes, and I don't see why it matters," I reply.

Michael blinks in surprise, clearly expecting a different answer. "It matters, Christian," he replies. "You've finally bounced back from everything, so I'm surprised—-"

"You don't have to worry, Michael," I say, my tone softening as Beau's sweet smile flashes in my mind's eye. "Beau's good for me; as I am for him. He's been hurt before, but he doesn't let it control him. Since meeting him and his friends, my life has been so much easier. I don't dread the days anymore because I know he'll be waiting for me. I'm happy Michael, for the first time in a long time, I'm truly happy."

I can see Michael digesting my every word, and he bites his bottom lip as if in thought, before asking, "Does Beau care as deeply for you as you do for him?"

"I know he does," I softly reply.

"Do you love him?" Michael asks.

I feel heat creep over my cheeks, as I softly reply, "Yes, I love him a lot."

"Does he love you?"

I smile at the memory of Beau telling me he's loves me, standing in the middle of a smelly bowling alley restroom. It wasn't the ideal place to confess something so important, but Beau's words made that smelly bathroom transform into something bizarrely wonderful. And it had been so like him, turning something so dull into something memorable.

"Yes, he loves me," I softly reply.

Michael nods, and purses his lips. "You do seem a lot better than the last time I saw you . . ." he mutters.

I shrug. "I guess, I just needed Beau," I reply.

Michael nods. "Yeah, just . . . don't screw it up."

"I would never dream of it," I reply.

Michael nods with a half-hearted smile, and as we drift to a different subject, the air begins to feels lighter; as if our honesty and blatant concern is slowly mending the holes in our relationship.

Word count: 1,948

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A/N: Hello, lovelies! I hope you enjoyed the update, and please, don't forget to vote and comment. Thank you, have an amazing day/night!

Love from,
BunnyBaekkiee ❤️