The Young and Lost Club
018
“GOOD MORNING LEWIS,” Jack Barakat screamed in my ear.
Without lifting my head up from the table, I blindly reached out and started swatting at the air until I hit something solid and Jack started whimpering.
“It’s too early for you to be this violent,” Jack said, loudly, and into my very hung over ear.
I tried to hit him again, but he giggled and dodged out of the way.
Someone sat down in the booth next to me, and I took a sideways glance to see it was Alex, looking a little rough. “There is something seriously wrong with Jack,” I informed him.
“He’s immune to hangovers,” Alex groaned, putting his head down on the table as well.
“Kill him,” I muttered, making Alex laugh, which then caused him to groan.
I had found out the hard way that when you party with the boys from All Time Low, you party hard. For whatever reason, we had decided to play flip cup, and what started out as a quiet game with a small sip of beer in each cup, had escalated into a screaming and yelling drunken mess of a game, with hard liquor instead of beer.
Needless to say, we had all gotten wasted.
In fact, it was only Brian, Alex, Jack, Zack, and I that had managed to get up this morning and meet for breakfast. When I had asked Taylor this morning if he wanted to join us, he had lifted his hand out from under his covers and flicked me off. Max had found a girl last night and we had not seen him since. I planned on giving him a stern talking to when he came back to the hotel suite.
Despite the worst hangover I’d ever had in my life, it had actually been a great night…well the parts that I could remember. I honestly hadn’t blacked out from drinking since the dark times after my mom died, but last night had some hazy moments that were slowly trickling back in. I remembered Jack had started calling me Lewis at some point and me not bothering to correct him. I also remembered Jack naming our flip cup team “Team Sexy Pants” which had included Jack, Alex, Rian, Brian and I, and that we had won for the most part. I remembered Alex and I realizing we were both Ravens fans, even though our team sucked, and I clearly remember Alex telling me without shame that he would “go gay for Joe Flacco,” something I assured him I didn’t judge him for. I remembered Alex hitting on me for pretty much the entire evening, despite the fact that I had told him all about Brendon, even calling Brendon during the party (albeit it wasn’t a very long conversation). I remember Zack and I getting into an argument over music, and then made up over dumping a pitcher of beer over Rian Dawson’s head. I remembered Mark Hoppus, who was also wasted, perhaps even more so than we were, having a conversation with Max and I, I briefly remembered meeting Gabriel Saporta who I immediately disliked because he drunkenly tried to grab my ass, and then Taylor got angry and almost got into a fight.
Yes, it was a very eventful and fun night. And now I was paying for it.
But I liked the boys of All Time Low a lot. Especially Alex. We just got along very easily, and it felt so natural, within the span of one evening we had gone from complete strangers to someone I felt extremely comfortable around. He was every bit as arrogant, and cocky, and obnoxious as I was, but he also had a really sweet layer underneath of all of that. I felt like he was a lot like me. I understood him easily, just like he understood me. Not like Brendon understood me; Alex didn’t see through my bullshit like Brendon could. Alex simply accepted my bullshit for what it was, and left it at that.
A couple cups of coffee and some pancakes later, I was feeling relatively back to my normal self, and Brian, Jack and Zack had left to go play the Pacman game in the other room of the diner, leaving Alex and I to talk for a while. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alex said, adding more sugar to his mug of tea. “You went to collegeand already graduated? How old are you? 30?”
I punched his arm, making him laugh. “No asshole,” I said. “I skipped a grade in elementary school. I’m only 22, almost 23.”
“Why’d you skip a grade?”
I laughed. “I wanted to be in the same grade as Max, Taylor and Brian.”
“You’ve known them since elementary school?” Alex said, looking surprised.
“Yeah, Taylor and I became friends when I was like 3 or something, and Brian and Max were friends when they met in school. We all kind of merged together.”
“That’s crazy!”
“Nah, it was like growing up with three brothers instead of one. When did you and Jack meet?”
“Not until freshman year. We had English together with this shitty teacher. Pretty much love at first sight,” he joked.
I laughed. “He’s quite the kid.”
“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “He is. I love these guys though. They’re family.”
“Exactly.”
“So where did you go to college?”
“Johns Hopkins University.”
Alex let out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s a really good school.”
“I liked it a lot,” I agreed, deciding not to inform him that I really thought I’d gotten in because of my mom’s death and because I was 17 and living with my brother, basically independent. Colleges ate that shit up.
“What did you study?”
“I was a double major of Mathematics and Communications, with a minor in English.” I rattled off.
“That’s the weirdest combination I’ve ever heard,” Alex said, wrinkling his nose.
I snorted. “I know, right? I just took classes in what I liked, and that’s what I ended up with. I had no clue what I was going to do. Thank God for Steven Riley or fuck knows where I’d be right now. Did you go to college at all?”
“Me?” Alex said looking surprised. “Fuck no. We got signed during our senior year of high school. As soon as I got that news I stopped filling out my college supplications. I didn’t want to go at all, I just did it to make my parents happy, you know?”
“What would you have studied?”
Alex frowned, thinking. “I don’t know…I was always good at English, you know, like writing and stuff, but I hated school.”
We talked for a while longer about high school, and how much we had hated it. At least Alex had been fairly popular (which wasn’t surprising to me, he just had that natural charm), whereas I had been cynical and didn’t give a fuck about my social status. After we had exhausted the topic, Alex had turned to me, with a devilish smirk. “So,” he drawled. “Tell me about the boyfriend.”
I paused, thinking about Brendon, and I was just about to start talking when Alex laughed and let out a small groan. “What?” I demanded.
“You’ve got the look,” he said with a laugh.
“What look?”
“That dreamy look people get when they talk about someone they love me. Trust me, I’ve seen it, and you’ve got it.”
I flushed, “I’m not in love.”
“Yeah,” he said with a snort. “Okay.”
|||
We had a late flight leaving Los Angelos that night. It was kind of sad to leave so soon, especially having to leave the All Time Low guys so soon after we had met. Brian and I had exchanged numbers with them all before we left from breakfast, with promises to meet up again soon, whenever we were Maryland at the same time (which seemed doubtful to me, as I planned to stay out of that state as much as possible), or whenever they came to New York.
Max was all mysterious about the girl he had ended up going home with, despite all of Taylor and Brian’s teasing and prodding, trying to get information about her, until I had gotten annoyed, and to protect my brother, told them to shut up. All we knew was that her name was Cate Creevie, and things were left at that.
Traveling always made me sleepy. The whole airport situation, the checking of the bags, security, finding the gate, getting on the plane…it always wore me out, and so when we landed in New York City, I was tired and cranky and slightly jet lagged. I followed the guys to baggage claim, so we could get our suitcases, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sign that said “CLARK ABRAMS” written in bold black ink.
I did a double take, stopping suddenly, making Taylor nearly crash into me. “Ow!” Taylor whined. “Why’d you stop?!”
The person with the sign moved it slightly and I could see their face.
It was Brendon.
It didn’t make sense: Brendon was supposed to be on tour. Brendon was here in the airport with a sign that had my name on it. Brendon was here in the airport with a sign with my name on it and a bouquet of flowers and the grin I loved.
Without even thinking, I had dropped the bag on my shoulder to the ground, and I was suddenly rushing across the baggage claim and into his arms.
I felt his arms wrap around me, and he smelled so good, like he always did, like soap and something I could never quite put my finger on, and his arms around me felt wonderful. I had missed him so much, I hadn’t even realized how much I missed having his arms around me. “Brendon,” I said, and my voice came out thick, like I was about to cry. “Brendon,” I moved out of his arms slightly so I could see his face clearly. He was still smiling, his hair was in his eyes, oh god he was so beautiful. “Brendon what on earth are you doing here?!”
He laughed softly, and bent down and kissed me on the lips, and I melted into the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer to me. I didn’t care that I was in a public place.
“What are you doing here?” I asked again, softly, when he pulled away, but we were still inches from each others faces, neither of us letting go.
“We didn’t have any shows for the next three days, so I’m bailing on some interviews…”
“You’re horrible,” I teased, and he grinned again, kissing me quickly.
“And I missed you.” He said simply, as if this explained everything. And it did.
I hugged him again, tightly. “I missed you too,” I murmured in his ear. “This is the best surprise ever.”
Brendon and I caught a cab after saying goodbye to the guys. We were well behaved enough in the car, just holding hands, but he would occasionally brush his thumb across the back of my hand, or when I talked, he’d smile and kiss the underside of my wrist, sending shivers down my spine and I could hardly stand it. It felt like I had repressed how much I had missed him while he was gone, and now he had gone and shocked me, and it all hit me hard, and now it was taking all off my self-restraint to not climb onto his lap and kiss him with everything I had while in the taxi.
Brendon was obviously feeling the same way, because as soon as we had gotten in the elevator for my apartment, he had grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him, and with a small smile on his face, he leaned in and kissed me.
The kiss in the airport had been a polite one, sweet and it felt restrained, hesitant almost, as if he’d forgotten what it was like to kiss me. This kiss was entirely lust and, for lack of a better word, electrifying. His hand moved from my chin up into my hair, and he leaned into me so that I was pressed up against the back wall of the elevator. My self-restraint that had been so well held in the cab, broke, and I responded instantly, my own hands wrapping up into his hair and pulling him closer to me. Nothing mattered but him, and I wanted him closer, and I wanted him now. His hand slipped up under the hem of my shirt, and his fingers, rough from all the guitar use every night, were pressing patterns into the skin of my hip, and I hooked my fingers into his belt loops and pulled his hips into mine, causing him to gasp, and then kiss me even harder, and I wondered briefly if my lips were going to be bruised by morning.
The elevator dinged open, which made us both jump slightly, and then Brendon looked at me, slightly bemused, his hair going every which way, his eyes still looking slightly glazed over as they did anytime we were kissing, and he looked so damned beautiful I couldn’t take it.
I grabbed his hand, and he grabbed my bag from where it had been forgotten on the floor of the elevator, and we walked to my apartment door. As I struggled with the key (my hands were trembling), Brendon wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and started kissing my neck, up to my ear, grazing my earlobe with his teeth. I laughed shakily. “You’re making it very difficult for me to concentrate getting my door open,” I told him.
Brendon laughed, and then untangled his arms from around me, plucking the key out of my hand. “Well then allow me,” he said with a smile, and calmly opened to door, dropping the suitcase by the front door, and the shutting the door behind us. “Now,” he said, turning to face me. “Where were we?”
I grinned, and then grabbed his hand and led him to my bedroom.
And as Brendon and I resumed what we had started in the elevator, I thought, “It’s good to be home.”
|||
When I woke up in the morning, as Brendon slept next to me, I kept thinking about what Alex Gaskarth had told me the morning before in the restaurant: that when I talked about Brendon, I looked like I was in love. I didn’t know if I was in love with him, I didn’t know if I was capable of loving anyone after all the shit I had been through, but as I looked at him, I realized, with a sudden thrilling jolt of happiness, that I was capable of falling in love again, and I was falling in love with him.
It was both terrifying and exciting, and I knew I was too much of a chicken to say those words first to him, and I felt as though I needed more time to process these feelings. But I knew.
As I lay there next to him, I suddenly wished that he knew everything about me. I wanted to tell him about my life, about all the horrors I’d been through, I wanted to tell him about my mother and how she died, about how much I hated my dad and blamed him for his death. I wanted to tell him about how the scar on my shoulder was from Clive, one of my ex-boyfriends who threw a beer bottle at me when I was 19, I wanted to tell him about how Oliver had once punched me in the stomach when I tried to confront him about cheating on me, I wanted to tell him how I didn’t remember how I lost my virginity because I had been too drunk, that it had been the night of my mother’s funeral, and how I woke up with no clothes on and bruises that looked like I put up a fight. But how did I tell him these things when I had never told anyone about them before? I had never had to explain my Mom’s death and how painful it was to anyone, I never told the guys about half the shit the boys I dated put me through because I knew there was nothing they could do about it. These were my secrets, things I never intended to tell anybody, things I meant to take to the grave with me, and now, I wanted to tell Brendon everything and I didn’t even know how to begin.
Brendon stirred next to me, and I felt his lips on my shoulder blade. “What are you thinking about?” He asked softly, his breath warm on my skin.
I turned to face him, and I felt that swell of affection, and the beginnings of love as I looked at him. I simply smiled and kissed his lips, then his jaw, rough with stubble, and down his neck, to the beautiful tan skin that stretched across his collar bones, making him sigh happily. He ran his fingers through my tangled hair, and smiled at me. “I was thinking that we should stay in bed all day,” I told him.
His smile widened. “That sounds perfect.”
Without lifting my head up from the table, I blindly reached out and started swatting at the air until I hit something solid and Jack started whimpering.
“It’s too early for you to be this violent,” Jack said, loudly, and into my very hung over ear.
I tried to hit him again, but he giggled and dodged out of the way.
Someone sat down in the booth next to me, and I took a sideways glance to see it was Alex, looking a little rough. “There is something seriously wrong with Jack,” I informed him.
“He’s immune to hangovers,” Alex groaned, putting his head down on the table as well.
“Kill him,” I muttered, making Alex laugh, which then caused him to groan.
I had found out the hard way that when you party with the boys from All Time Low, you party hard. For whatever reason, we had decided to play flip cup, and what started out as a quiet game with a small sip of beer in each cup, had escalated into a screaming and yelling drunken mess of a game, with hard liquor instead of beer.
Needless to say, we had all gotten wasted.
In fact, it was only Brian, Alex, Jack, Zack, and I that had managed to get up this morning and meet for breakfast. When I had asked Taylor this morning if he wanted to join us, he had lifted his hand out from under his covers and flicked me off. Max had found a girl last night and we had not seen him since. I planned on giving him a stern talking to when he came back to the hotel suite.
Despite the worst hangover I’d ever had in my life, it had actually been a great night…well the parts that I could remember. I honestly hadn’t blacked out from drinking since the dark times after my mom died, but last night had some hazy moments that were slowly trickling back in. I remembered Jack had started calling me Lewis at some point and me not bothering to correct him. I also remembered Jack naming our flip cup team “Team Sexy Pants” which had included Jack, Alex, Rian, Brian and I, and that we had won for the most part. I remembered Alex and I realizing we were both Ravens fans, even though our team sucked, and I clearly remember Alex telling me without shame that he would “go gay for Joe Flacco,” something I assured him I didn’t judge him for. I remembered Alex hitting on me for pretty much the entire evening, despite the fact that I had told him all about Brendon, even calling Brendon during the party (albeit it wasn’t a very long conversation). I remember Zack and I getting into an argument over music, and then made up over dumping a pitcher of beer over Rian Dawson’s head. I remembered Mark Hoppus, who was also wasted, perhaps even more so than we were, having a conversation with Max and I, I briefly remembered meeting Gabriel Saporta who I immediately disliked because he drunkenly tried to grab my ass, and then Taylor got angry and almost got into a fight.
Yes, it was a very eventful and fun night. And now I was paying for it.
But I liked the boys of All Time Low a lot. Especially Alex. We just got along very easily, and it felt so natural, within the span of one evening we had gone from complete strangers to someone I felt extremely comfortable around. He was every bit as arrogant, and cocky, and obnoxious as I was, but he also had a really sweet layer underneath of all of that. I felt like he was a lot like me. I understood him easily, just like he understood me. Not like Brendon understood me; Alex didn’t see through my bullshit like Brendon could. Alex simply accepted my bullshit for what it was, and left it at that.
A couple cups of coffee and some pancakes later, I was feeling relatively back to my normal self, and Brian, Jack and Zack had left to go play the Pacman game in the other room of the diner, leaving Alex and I to talk for a while. “You’ve got to be kidding me,” Alex said, adding more sugar to his mug of tea. “You went to collegeand already graduated? How old are you? 30?”
I punched his arm, making him laugh. “No asshole,” I said. “I skipped a grade in elementary school. I’m only 22, almost 23.”
“Why’d you skip a grade?”
I laughed. “I wanted to be in the same grade as Max, Taylor and Brian.”
“You’ve known them since elementary school?” Alex said, looking surprised.
“Yeah, Taylor and I became friends when I was like 3 or something, and Brian and Max were friends when they met in school. We all kind of merged together.”
“That’s crazy!”
“Nah, it was like growing up with three brothers instead of one. When did you and Jack meet?”
“Not until freshman year. We had English together with this shitty teacher. Pretty much love at first sight,” he joked.
I laughed. “He’s quite the kid.”
“Yeah,” Alex agreed. “He is. I love these guys though. They’re family.”
“Exactly.”
“So where did you go to college?”
“Johns Hopkins University.”
Alex let out a low whistle. “Wow, that’s a really good school.”
“I liked it a lot,” I agreed, deciding not to inform him that I really thought I’d gotten in because of my mom’s death and because I was 17 and living with my brother, basically independent. Colleges ate that shit up.
“What did you study?”
“I was a double major of Mathematics and Communications, with a minor in English.” I rattled off.
“That’s the weirdest combination I’ve ever heard,” Alex said, wrinkling his nose.
I snorted. “I know, right? I just took classes in what I liked, and that’s what I ended up with. I had no clue what I was going to do. Thank God for Steven Riley or fuck knows where I’d be right now. Did you go to college at all?”
“Me?” Alex said looking surprised. “Fuck no. We got signed during our senior year of high school. As soon as I got that news I stopped filling out my college supplications. I didn’t want to go at all, I just did it to make my parents happy, you know?”
“What would you have studied?”
Alex frowned, thinking. “I don’t know…I was always good at English, you know, like writing and stuff, but I hated school.”
We talked for a while longer about high school, and how much we had hated it. At least Alex had been fairly popular (which wasn’t surprising to me, he just had that natural charm), whereas I had been cynical and didn’t give a fuck about my social status. After we had exhausted the topic, Alex had turned to me, with a devilish smirk. “So,” he drawled. “Tell me about the boyfriend.”
I paused, thinking about Brendon, and I was just about to start talking when Alex laughed and let out a small groan. “What?” I demanded.
“You’ve got the look,” he said with a laugh.
“What look?”
“That dreamy look people get when they talk about someone they love me. Trust me, I’ve seen it, and you’ve got it.”
I flushed, “I’m not in love.”
“Yeah,” he said with a snort. “Okay.”
|||
We had a late flight leaving Los Angelos that night. It was kind of sad to leave so soon, especially having to leave the All Time Low guys so soon after we had met. Brian and I had exchanged numbers with them all before we left from breakfast, with promises to meet up again soon, whenever we were Maryland at the same time (which seemed doubtful to me, as I planned to stay out of that state as much as possible), or whenever they came to New York.
Max was all mysterious about the girl he had ended up going home with, despite all of Taylor and Brian’s teasing and prodding, trying to get information about her, until I had gotten annoyed, and to protect my brother, told them to shut up. All we knew was that her name was Cate Creevie, and things were left at that.
Traveling always made me sleepy. The whole airport situation, the checking of the bags, security, finding the gate, getting on the plane…it always wore me out, and so when we landed in New York City, I was tired and cranky and slightly jet lagged. I followed the guys to baggage claim, so we could get our suitcases, when out of the corner of my eye, I saw a sign that said “CLARK ABRAMS” written in bold black ink.
I did a double take, stopping suddenly, making Taylor nearly crash into me. “Ow!” Taylor whined. “Why’d you stop?!”
The person with the sign moved it slightly and I could see their face.
It was Brendon.
It didn’t make sense: Brendon was supposed to be on tour. Brendon was here in the airport with a sign that had my name on it. Brendon was here in the airport with a sign with my name on it and a bouquet of flowers and the grin I loved.
Without even thinking, I had dropped the bag on my shoulder to the ground, and I was suddenly rushing across the baggage claim and into his arms.
I felt his arms wrap around me, and he smelled so good, like he always did, like soap and something I could never quite put my finger on, and his arms around me felt wonderful. I had missed him so much, I hadn’t even realized how much I missed having his arms around me. “Brendon,” I said, and my voice came out thick, like I was about to cry. “Brendon,” I moved out of his arms slightly so I could see his face clearly. He was still smiling, his hair was in his eyes, oh god he was so beautiful. “Brendon what on earth are you doing here?!”
He laughed softly, and bent down and kissed me on the lips, and I melted into the kiss, wrapping my arms around his neck and pulling him closer to me. I didn’t care that I was in a public place.
“What are you doing here?” I asked again, softly, when he pulled away, but we were still inches from each others faces, neither of us letting go.
“We didn’t have any shows for the next three days, so I’m bailing on some interviews…”
“You’re horrible,” I teased, and he grinned again, kissing me quickly.
“And I missed you.” He said simply, as if this explained everything. And it did.
I hugged him again, tightly. “I missed you too,” I murmured in his ear. “This is the best surprise ever.”
Brendon and I caught a cab after saying goodbye to the guys. We were well behaved enough in the car, just holding hands, but he would occasionally brush his thumb across the back of my hand, or when I talked, he’d smile and kiss the underside of my wrist, sending shivers down my spine and I could hardly stand it. It felt like I had repressed how much I had missed him while he was gone, and now he had gone and shocked me, and it all hit me hard, and now it was taking all off my self-restraint to not climb onto his lap and kiss him with everything I had while in the taxi.
Brendon was obviously feeling the same way, because as soon as we had gotten in the elevator for my apartment, he had grabbed my wrist and pulled me to him, and with a small smile on his face, he leaned in and kissed me.
The kiss in the airport had been a polite one, sweet and it felt restrained, hesitant almost, as if he’d forgotten what it was like to kiss me. This kiss was entirely lust and, for lack of a better word, electrifying. His hand moved from my chin up into my hair, and he leaned into me so that I was pressed up against the back wall of the elevator. My self-restraint that had been so well held in the cab, broke, and I responded instantly, my own hands wrapping up into his hair and pulling him closer to me. Nothing mattered but him, and I wanted him closer, and I wanted him now. His hand slipped up under the hem of my shirt, and his fingers, rough from all the guitar use every night, were pressing patterns into the skin of my hip, and I hooked my fingers into his belt loops and pulled his hips into mine, causing him to gasp, and then kiss me even harder, and I wondered briefly if my lips were going to be bruised by morning.
The elevator dinged open, which made us both jump slightly, and then Brendon looked at me, slightly bemused, his hair going every which way, his eyes still looking slightly glazed over as they did anytime we were kissing, and he looked so damned beautiful I couldn’t take it.
I grabbed his hand, and he grabbed my bag from where it had been forgotten on the floor of the elevator, and we walked to my apartment door. As I struggled with the key (my hands were trembling), Brendon wrapped his arms around my waist from behind and started kissing my neck, up to my ear, grazing my earlobe with his teeth. I laughed shakily. “You’re making it very difficult for me to concentrate getting my door open,” I told him.
Brendon laughed, and then untangled his arms from around me, plucking the key out of my hand. “Well then allow me,” he said with a smile, and calmly opened to door, dropping the suitcase by the front door, and the shutting the door behind us. “Now,” he said, turning to face me. “Where were we?”
I grinned, and then grabbed his hand and led him to my bedroom.
And as Brendon and I resumed what we had started in the elevator, I thought, “It’s good to be home.”
|||
When I woke up in the morning, as Brendon slept next to me, I kept thinking about what Alex Gaskarth had told me the morning before in the restaurant: that when I talked about Brendon, I looked like I was in love. I didn’t know if I was in love with him, I didn’t know if I was capable of loving anyone after all the shit I had been through, but as I looked at him, I realized, with a sudden thrilling jolt of happiness, that I was capable of falling in love again, and I was falling in love with him.
It was both terrifying and exciting, and I knew I was too much of a chicken to say those words first to him, and I felt as though I needed more time to process these feelings. But I knew.
As I lay there next to him, I suddenly wished that he knew everything about me. I wanted to tell him about my life, about all the horrors I’d been through, I wanted to tell him about my mother and how she died, about how much I hated my dad and blamed him for his death. I wanted to tell him about how the scar on my shoulder was from Clive, one of my ex-boyfriends who threw a beer bottle at me when I was 19, I wanted to tell him about how Oliver had once punched me in the stomach when I tried to confront him about cheating on me, I wanted to tell him how I didn’t remember how I lost my virginity because I had been too drunk, that it had been the night of my mother’s funeral, and how I woke up with no clothes on and bruises that looked like I put up a fight. But how did I tell him these things when I had never told anyone about them before? I had never had to explain my Mom’s death and how painful it was to anyone, I never told the guys about half the shit the boys I dated put me through because I knew there was nothing they could do about it. These were my secrets, things I never intended to tell anybody, things I meant to take to the grave with me, and now, I wanted to tell Brendon everything and I didn’t even know how to begin.
Brendon stirred next to me, and I felt his lips on my shoulder blade. “What are you thinking about?” He asked softly, his breath warm on my skin.
I turned to face him, and I felt that swell of affection, and the beginnings of love as I looked at him. I simply smiled and kissed his lips, then his jaw, rough with stubble, and down his neck, to the beautiful tan skin that stretched across his collar bones, making him sigh happily. He ran his fingers through my tangled hair, and smiled at me. “I was thinking that we should stay in bed all day,” I told him.
His smile widened. “That sounds perfect.”
♠ ♠ ♠
Oh my god, I love you all. No seriously, thank you for not abandoning me. And all your lovely comments (which I haven't gotten around to responding to everyone yet) made me want to update faster.I'm actually really happy with the way this story is panning out, it's exactly like I wanted it to, and I think it's probably about halfway over now. I decided a couple weeks ago that I will write a sequel, although it will not be a focus on Clark and Brendon, but rather another character who gets horribly ripped off in this story, and because I get far too attached to my characters, I simply couldn't be that cruel.
Anywhooo, I don't know if I've mentioned that I have a formspring and a tumblr so please hit me up on those if you'd like. And goodness this is such a long author's note.
LOVE YOU ALL LIKE VOLDEMORT LOVES HIS HORCRUXES.
-Sophie