*TWO WEEKS LATER*

"Oh, take me back to the night we met, when the night was full of terrors, and your eyes were filled with tears," I sang as hot water ran down my back.

I reached for my berry-scented soap, lathering it with my loofah and scrubbing my body.

"When you had not touched me yet. Oh, take me back to the night we met," I continued, rinsing the bubbles off.

I got out of the shower and wrapped a towel around my body. "I had all and then most of you, some and now none of you. Take me back to the night we met," I sang as I unlocked the door, sprinted to my room, and closed the door behind.

I opened up my wardrobe and picked out a greenish-grey turtleneck jumper and a grey skirt that sat just above my knees. I slipped on some sheer black tights and popped on some earrings.

I sat at my vanity, brushing my thick ginger hair and pulling it back into a sleek low ponytail. My hair was bone straight, but somehow it curled at the ends.

I think that was the 1% of my dad's curly hair I inherited.

My stomach began to growl as I put on my makeup, so I finished quickly and made my way to the kitchen.

"Good morning, Iris," Milo greeted as he poured himself a cup of freshly brewed coffee.

He was dressed in a t-shirt and sweatpants, his tattoo sleeve on full display. How was he not frozen?

I never took him for a guy that had tattoos, let alone a whole sleeve of them! It really surprised me. He seemed so put together.

"Good morning," I smiled, getting a bowl for my cereal from the cabinet.

"Didn't know you could sing," Milo teased as I poured the cereal into my bowl.

"You heard that?" I asked, praying that he didn't.

"What do you think?" he asked as he took a sip of his coffee.

I looked up at him, then to the coffee pot, then to my bowl, then back at him. "What if I pour coffee into my cereal instead of milk?"

He took up the coffee pot and moved it away from me, saying, "What if you didn't?"

I rolled my eyes and finished my breakfast.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

I took everything out of my bag and began sorting through it. "What are you up to?" Milo inquired as he approached me.

"Oh perfect, can you read this list out loud?" I asked, handing him a piece of paper.

He took it from me without question and called out each item one by one.

"Phone?" he read out.

"Yup," I responded, slipping it into my bag.

" Tablet... Yup. Life-saving chargers? Yep. Notebooks... Definitely. Pens and pencils? Yes. Voice recorder? Uh huh. Portable hard drive? Yep. The good headphones? Yup. Badge? Yes. Purse, cash and ID?"

I paused. "My purse. Where's my purse!?"

I leapt to my feet and frantically searched the couch. I probably looked like a madwoman right then.

"It's by your foot," Milo pointed out, and I sighed with relief as I picked it up and tossed it into my bag.

"Water bottle and snacks," he said finally.

"Thank you so much." I smiled, planting a quick, impulsive, and unplanned kiss on his cheek.

I did a runner because I didn't want to see his reaction. I also needed to catch a cab to work.

I usually arrived at work around 8 a.m. My workday ended at 5, but I could leave whenever I wanted if I didn't have any meetings or interviews.

As I stepped into the cold morning breeze, I shivered. My Uber was already waiting, and I entered.

"Morning Iris." Tom, who drove me to and from work every day, greeted me.

It was fantastic because I always knew what to expect and I believed it was safer.

"Hey, how are you?" I asked, and we got into a deep conversation.

Before I knew it, I was at work. "Thank you for the ride," I said as I stepped out of the taxi and into the building.

The front has the words, "New York Article" in bold black.

As I mentioned before, I was a journalist/ reporter. To sum it up in a word, a journalist's life was hectic. Most reporters must cover at least one story per day, sometimes as many as three or four, while also developing content for the future.

Each morning when I got to work, I usually didn't know what stories I would work on that day. If you had an idea, you pitched it in at the morning editorial meeting, or got assigned to cover a story you knew nothing about.

My workday consisted of writing on computers, formatting articles for a specific style, and conducting in-person and phone interviews with sources.

I then used the information I had gathered to add colour and detail to the story, making it as informative as possible before sending it to an editor for review and publication.

As I said, it was hectic.

"Iris, can you come to my office for a quick second?" My boss, Mr. Dempsey, called as I walked past his office.

"Good morning, Sir," I spoke as I entered the room and stood before his desk.

Mr. Dempsey was a tall, dark-haired man who was extremely built and had bright blue eyes that appeared almost fake.

I had been working here for two months. He had been nothing but polite to me, but he could be a real cockwomble sometimes.

He flirted occasionally, but I assumed it was just his way of interacting and conversing. Employer-employee relationships were doomed to fail.

He sat in this office chair, surrounded by mountains of files and papers on his mahogany desk that I was itching to sort into neat piles.

"Iris, good morning. I've got an interview for you. Here's the file, and I'd like it to go to the editors and be published by tomorrow morning." He handed me the file, and I took it from him.

"I'll get to it," I said as I stood up and walked to the door, but he called out again.

I returned my attention to him, and he said, "Could you get me my coffee, the usual?"

I internally groaned and wanted to bang my head a hundred times against the wall.

His coffee order was obnoxiously and impossibly long and complicated for no apparent reason. Anytime I had to say it to the barista, I almost had a stroke.

I gave him a wry smile and asked, "What happened to Sandra?" referring to his assistant, who was always, and I quote, "very very busy" all the time.

"She's very busy right now," he said, and I tried not to roll my eyes.

I exited the building and walked a short distance until I reached the Starbucks right next to the office.

I entered and stood in line. There were a lot of people there, but the line gradually moved up until I reached the counter.

"Welcome to Starbucks. What can I get for you? The lady at the till asked.

Bloody hell, the girl who usually took his order wasn't here. Fantastic, just my luck.

I took a deep breath in, bracing myself for the long and complicated ass order I was about to request.

"Hiya, could I please have a grande caramel macchiato in a venti cup with 1/3 whole milk, 1/3 almond milk, 1/3 soy milk, double the amount of vanilla syrup, caramel wall in the cup, no caramel drizzle on top, tall cup of ice, whipped cream, rounded lid, 1 shot extra espresso, upside-down, cinnamon sprinkled on top, for the name of Iris?" I rambled.

As I read out my order, I heard laughter from behind me. When I looked up at the barista, she rolled her eyes and gave me a passive-aggressive stare.

I could tell by her expression that she was not going to get it right and that Mr. Dempsey was going to kill me. I already knew the order would not go down well with middle-aged Martha.

"Sorry, could you repeat that?" She teased, a sardonic smile on her face.

Every. Time.

I let out a long sigh. "Martha," I spoke as I read her name tag, "Could you please make me a grande caramel macchiato in a venti cup, 1/3 whole milk, 1/3 almond milk, 1/3 soy milk, double the amount of vanilla syrup, caramel wall in the cup, no caramel drizzle on top, tall cup of ice, whipped cream, rounded lid, 1 shot extra espresso, upside-down, cinnamon sprinkled on top, for the name of Iris," I repeated for the second time.

More sniggers came from behind me. "Can you be quiet please?" I snapped as I turned around to face the perpetrators, but they just kept laughing.

I returned my attention to Martha, deciding to ignore them.

"That will be $6.45," she said as she tapped the screen.

I gave her $7 and she gave me the change. "Please keep the change," I insisted, feeling sorry for her having to go through all of this.

I moved to the side to allow those behind me to order, and I checked emails on my phone while I waited.

"Order number 53," the barista called.

I didn't even know my order number.

She picked up the cup and started reading the receipt. "Order for a grande caramel macchiato in a venti cup, 1/3 whole milk, 1/3 almond milk, 1/3 soy milk, double vanilla syrup, caramel syrup, tall cup of ice, whipped crea-"

"Yep, it's mine," I shouted, quickly grabbing the drink from her hand.

Oh, why didn't you just call out my name? I gave her my name just so I wouldn't have to go through this. I was not in the mood to be coffee-shamed this early in the morning for an order that was not even mine.

I quickly returned to his office, not wanting to waste any more time, and placed the cup on Mr. Dempsey's desk, saying, "Here you are."

He took a sip and nodded in approval. "Would you like some?" He offered his drink.

"No thank you. I'm allergic to almonds," I informed him for the 15th time since I started working here.

"Oh... was everything all right?" He asked, and I nodded, refusing to rant about the humiliation I endured, knowing he'd probably sue them for me.

"Sorry you had to pay," he apologized.

"It's fine," I said, shaking my head.

"No, I'll make it up to you. Allow me to buy you dinner tonight." He smiled, displaying his veneers that were extremely and overly white.

"Erm... I have to dog sit my friend's poodle tonight, sorry," I lied straight to his face.

I probably should not have lied to my boss, but girls' got to do what girls' got to do.

"That is not a problem. We'll fix it another time, right?" He proposed.

"You are pushy. You're extremely pushy. I told you no. Kindly leave me alone! I'm not interested in going to dinner with you because, for crying out loud, you're my boss and I'm not even attracted to you!"

That is what I would've loved to say, but since he had the authority to fire me at any time, I hesitantly mumbled, "I don't know..."

"C'mon, Iris, just this once. I'll make sure you have a good time. It will be worth it," he persisted.

I gave him a tight-lipped smile and said "sure," which I would probably soon come to regret.

He got a call, and I took advantage of the opportunity to rush out of his office and down the corridor to my own.

I sat in my chair, opened the file, and began reading the short paragraph.

The general gist was that I needed to interview Poppy Kiddman. She was an influencer who had just released her latest clothing collection, and the media was going crazy. In two hours, I would meet her at the studio in Manhattan.

I pulled out my devoted, designated, and beloved steno pad. I used this notebook to keep track of my notes and to remember any specific questions I needed to ask during an interview or conference.

I also pulled out my go-to, trusty black pom pom pen. I never left the house without either; it was a must.

I put pen to paper and began jotting down questions while also researching her brand so that I knew enough about it ahead of time.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"Now we have a young entrepreneur and influencer who moved from Utah to New York last year and has since risen to fame with her new clothing line, whose parents named her after the flower poppy and whose fans are referred to as "kids". If you haven't guessed her name by now, you must be living under a very large rock. Poppy Kiddman, ladies and gentlemen!" I say this to the camera, and clapping sound effects play as she walked onto the stage and took a seat across from me.

"Thank you for taking the time to do this interview, Poppy. By the way, I simply love your hair," I complimented, referring to her red side-parted bob.

"Thank you for having me," she said with a smile.

The interview was being streamed live, and once completed, I would write up and publish an article about it.

So, you've just launched your first clothing line; what inspired you, and why did you decide to start mode-ste?"

"Yes, my brand 'mode-ste' sells modest clothing. I had the idea in high school, but I really got started on it about two years ago. I used to have low self-esteem and avoided wearing clothes that exposed my skin or my body. As a result, I was always looking for clothes that I could wear comfortably," she expressed and I nodded to show understanding.

I understood how she felt, as when I was younger I got bullied for being skinny and being a redhead. It really hurt my feelings to know that my "friends" had been taking the piss out of me behind my back...

Jokes on them now.

"Now, my motivation is for the girls out there who are insecure and self-conscious, or even for those who can't show skin, such as some Muslims. It's all crop tops and miniskirts in the stores these days, and it's difficult to find good quality, affordable, modest clothing, and I wanted my clothes to be all of those things," she explained.

"That's really inspiring. You mentioned a lack of options," I observed. "What kinds of clothing do you sell?"

"We already have shirts, dresses, and skirts, and we're working on modest swimwear. Everything I sell is something I would wear myself. Some of the ones I've seen are modest but not fashionable," she responded.

"Like, I don't think people would wear a tunic," she laughed, and I laughed along with her. "Very true, I know I wouldn't," I joked.

"What do you believe your primary goal is?" I inquired.

"My goal is to help girls feel confident and comfortable in their clothes and bodies without having to be showy," she said, and I nodded in agreement.

"And what, in your opinion, has been the most rewarding aspect of developing this line?"

"I love designing and coming up with new ideas based on my own style and what's in fashion. For me, the process has been an incredible discovery; seeing a piece through from start to finish based on my ideas is simply amazing. The most rewarding aspect is also the feedback and comments from customers. Seeing them enjoy my product excites me and motivates me to keep going," she claimed proudly.

"I think what you're doing is fantastic. How are you dealing with brand competition?"

"Even though many brands do not necessarily sell modest clothing, there is still competition, as with any brand, such as these online stores that sell clothing for $5. People go to those and buy low-quality items, which end up in the oceans or land fills, which in itself is bad for the environment, not to mention the sweatshops used."

I crossed my left leg over my right. "The fashion industry is known for its ability to create trends, and it is currently working on its most important trend yet: sustainability. And, unlike some questionable fashion choices, this is a trend that all consumers can support."

"We know that Nordstrom is now selling used clothing. Everyone is waking up to the fact that consumer preferences have changed, and they now seek more environmentally friendly products," I stated, and she nodded repeatedly in agreement to everything I was saying.

"Customers want to contribute positively to the environment. Nevertheless, the fashion industry is notorious for its wasteful practises that harm the environment. Fashion production generates more greenhouse gas emissions than international flights and maritime shipping combined. The fashion industry is responsible for 20% of all global water pollution."

"Clearly, something must be done to correct the situation and disrupt the industry. How is your brand being sustainable? What measures have you taken?" I asked her, using all sorts of hand gestures.

"From our materials to production to the way we treat our employees, Mode-ste has been sustainable since day one. All our clothing is made from 100% recycled plastic water bottles, post-consumer recycled materials and ethically sourced and sustainable materials, including cork, coconut, recycled polyester and non-GMO cotton, produced in ethical factories. For each item purchased, we plant a tree and even give customers a code so they can track the growth of their trees," she explained

"Wow, it appears that you take sustainability very seriously. As I previously stated, many brands are stepping up; who do you consider your most significant online competitor?" I asked.

"Probably Shein because their clothing is cheap and that's what people want. All of our clothes are under $15 and of high quality. People promote things they should not, and the damage to our planet is a clear indication of this."

"If I'm not mistaken, you only sell online right now. Shein recently opened a store in England; will you ever have physical stores?"

"Hopefully in the near future."

"And if you have one, where would you like to set it up?"

"Probably here in New York, since it's now my home after all."

The interview went on for a little while longer, then we finished up, and I headed back to work to put it together. I stayed in my office for around 3 hours, then I decided to call it a day and finish it off at home.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

I walked into my house to find dirty dishes in the sink and an empty pack of crisps on the counter. "Milo!!!" I shouted, and he walked out of his room, muttering, "What?!?"

Stop leaving your trash and dirty dishes everywhere! I yelled.

He said he was clean!

"I was about to load the dishwasher when you came back, plus I have better things to do," he claimed as he walked towards the sink.

"Did you not hear a single thing I said?" I asked, slightly frustrated. "Look at the fridge! I've been out all day doing an interview, and you've been home all day at least. Ugh. You know what, I'll just do it myself," I sighed and pushed him to one side.

"Move. I'm doing it," he said, pushing me back with his hip.

I rolled my eyes and smeared the soap bubbles on his face. "You're so goddamn annoying."

"And you're not?" He replied, raising an eyebrow.

" Shut up... But in all seriousness, take some goddamn responsibility for the place that you live in, and act like the adult that you are. The "I'll leave it to someone else" attitude is for failures. Take some initiative," I said and walked to my room.

I hated a messy room or house. It made me extremely uncomfortable. I couldn't stand it. Everything needed to be clean and proper.

"Such a hackwack," I mumbled to myself.

"Hey," he shouted, "I heard that."

I rolled my eyes and shouted back, "You were supposed to."

I entered my room and changed into bohemian-style flare pants and a sweatshirt. I slipped my feet into my fluffy slippers and tied my hair up in a chaotic bun.

I entered the living room, where Milo was sitting in my favourite spot, watching the telly. "Um, what are you doing in my spot? Get up," I ordered.

He ignored me and continued to watch the TV show, so I yelled again, "Get up," I demanded.

He finally looked at me. He did a double take, scanning my body, and then he smirked, "Make me."

"Milo," I sighed. "I'm sorry, but I don't have time for this. I'm genuinely tired, to say the least. I'm worn out and I just need to relax and not be stressed for a change," I begged.

He pressed his lips together in a thin line, then scooted over. "Thank you," I mumbled, sitting beside him.

"I saw you on TV," Milo spoke after a while, and I turned to face him, asking, "What do you mean?"

"Your interview with Poppy Kiddman," he clarified.

I scrunched my nose in disgust. "Oh, I'm convinced I looked weird. It was only my second TV interview," I admitted.

"No, you looked...great up there," Milo spoke.

I groaned. "You were hesitant. You're fooling me," I grumbled.

"I am not!" he quickly defended.

"I just didn't want to use the wrong adjective," he assured me.

I let out a small giggle and lightly patted his shoulder. "You're a funny boy."

"Milo," I squealed as I skipped from the couch to his room.

When I came back from work one day, I noticed everyone's lights were up, and I was scrolling through Instagram and noticed that most people had already put up their Christmas decorations, but I hadn't.

Every year, my family and I went all out with decorations and presents as my birthday was on Christmas. But since I moved here just over two months ago, I hadn't been able to do this yet.

My favourite time of year was definitely the holiday season.

I knocked on his door and opened it. I grinned as I sat beside him on his bed.

"What do you want? It's 3 a.m., "he asked tiredly.

"I don't want anything, I just have a great offer," I stated.

"Well, what is your oh-so-great offer?" He asked, motioning for me to continue.

"I'd like to decorate the house for the holidays. It's a tradition my family and I have, and we go all out, but now that I'm here, I can't, and I'd appreciate it if you did it with me. Christmas is only about two weeks away," I rambled.

"Erm... I'm not a huge fan of putting up Christmas decorations and all, sorry," he sighed.

Oh... cool beans. That's spiffy," I said this with a phony smile, masking my disappointment.

"Are you sure?" he asked.

I hopped from his bed and walked toward the door. "Yup, it's peachy."

I closed his door and walked into my room. I pulled a box from the back of my wardrobe. I lifted the cover, revealing some decorations I ordered on Amazon last month. I carried the box to the main room and dropped it quietly so as not to make a sound.

I dashed over to my neighbor's house and retrieved the tree that I had left there. He assisted me in carrying it in, and I thanked him before proceeding to work.

I was sure it was going to be a long night.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"Iris!" I heard Milo shout. I jumped out of bed and approached him in the living room. As I took in my hard work, I smiled to myself.

The entire house was decked out in white decorations such as baubles, snow globes, tinsel, candy canes, mini present boxes, stockings, and, of course, Christmas lights. I deliberately left the mistletoes in the box, and I didn't think I even needed to explain why.

Surprise!" I exclaimed, with jazz hands.

"So, I wake up to find you have decorated our entire house overnight by yourself," he said with raised brows.

"Yup, I'm pretty chuffed," I grinned.

He shook his head. "Where did you even get all this stuff from? And the tree! Where on earth was it hiding?"

I shrugged. "I had a few bits and bobs lying around, and I left the tree next door."

"You mean with perverted Paul!?" he exclaimed.

"Shh, yes him. He was the only one that would let me keep it in his house," I explained, "it wasn't by choice."

He gave a nod and walked over to the tree. "I must say, you did an excellent job."

"Thank you... oh this one is a little wonky," I mumbled as I stood beside him, adjusting a slightly tilted bauble.

"Alexa, play my Christmas classics playlist," I called, and "All I Want for Christmas" by Mariah Carey started to play.

I don't want a lot for Christmas. There is just one thing I need. I don't care about the presents, underneath the Christmas tree

"How did you get the star on top? It looks really good," he questioned.

TW // de@th, cancer, $exual a$$ault

"I have my ways. You should know that the star was actually my mom's. Before she passed away, she always let me hang the star on the tree," I smiled at the memory.

"I'm sorry about that," he apologised sympathetically. "Do you mind if I ask about it?"

"No, it's fine. My mom died of leukaemia when I was ten years old. When I found out, she was in stage III, so I guess they were trying to keep me safe... But then it just started to go downhill... the treatment didn't work," I explained.

She was always tired, but she spent all of her time with me, and I was so grateful to have all of those special memories with her. She was incredibly beautiful. Dad told me that she was constantly sick when she was younger.

"Where did mama's hair go?" I remember wondering, which quickly became, "Where did mama go?"

"It was tough...but dad and I got through it and I wanted him to be happy so he then remarried to another woman, but they divorced 3 years later after he discovered her son was raping me."

"Oh... Iris I'm so sorry. I wouldn't have asked if—"

"It's fine," I cut him off. "It happened a while ago."

It did take place a long time ago. I found it strange because her son was like an older brother I never had, and I thought I could trust him after three years of knowing him, but obviously I couldn't.

I was around 14 at the time, so I was fully aware of what was going on, but every time he advanced on me, I couldn't move. After a while, I simply stopped resisting and allowed him to violate me. I became paralyzed emotionally, physically and mentally.

He was 21 years old then, so he was well aware of what he was doing, which was very disturbing.

I had, and still have a very good relationship with my dad so I was able to tell him what was going on a few months after the first time and he immediately filed for divorce, feeling guilty he let his little girl go through that.

Unfortunately, I still remember how it felt to be held down by him and his face, as well as everything that happened during those few months. I used to get nightmares and flashbacks, but I hadn't had one in the past 3 years.

Feelings of self-disgust and hatred occasionally resurfaced, which was upsetting. I hadn't had sex with anyone since it happened because I was still afraid they'd judge me for losing my virginity in such a vile manner.

Lots or relationship were affected and we had to file a few restraint orders.

However, I found comfort in something a friend told me once. They said, "Your cells regenerate every 7–10 years. You are living in a body that he hasn't touched." That meant the world to me, and I always kept it in my heart and mind, especially when times got tough again.

"Anyway, my Dad married for the third time, and they are like home," I said.

"Thank you for sharing," he expressed gratitude.

"How about your family?" I asked curiously.

"Oh mine? It's my mother, father, an older brother, and younger brother and sister. They're all down in Philadelphia. None of them really enjoy the holidays, only the presents," he laughed.

"No offense, but your family sounds dreadful. You should get a new one," I suggested.

"Yeah, well, that's impossible," he chuckled.

"Not really. You could always start one with me," I teased, with a grin.

"That's a good one," he laughed as he walked away to the kitchen.

"Oh, I just want you for my own

More than you could ever know

Make my wish come true," I sang, with a little dance.

"Baby, all I want for Christmas is... you." I hit the high note.

"So, just to be clear, you're not doing anything for the holidays with your family?" I sought clarification, following him into the kitchen.

"Nope, are you?" he asked as he poured apple juice into a glass cup.

"Pshh, my family is all the way in France," I chuckled.

"You're from France!" he exclaimed, looking up at me.

"I was born in Luton and then we moved to Toulouse when I was 9," I proudly stated. "But we're originally from the States."

"Ooh, that's exciting," he smiled.

I shrug one shoulder with a laugh. "I guess."

"Ahh... it all makes sense now," he muttered.

"What makes sense?" I asked.

"All the unusual slang and stuff, like peachy and monkeys," he explained, and I laughed.

"Did you not notice my accent?" I inquired, genuinely curious because I sounded quite British.

"I can hear it now. I'm just slow. Where is Luton anyway?" he asked.

"In Bedfordshire or to the north of London," I told him.

Cue the random fact about London in 3,2,1-

"You know, London is the smallest city in UK," he boasted. "I had a friend before who went to London."

"You should come visit someday, I'll take you with me and give you a proper tour of Luton and France," I laughed.

"So can you like, speak French?" he asked.

"Ouais, je peux parler français. Je suis en fait trilingue."

"Trilingual?" he inquired, raising an eyebrow.

"Yup," I said, and then signed, "How are you?"

"No way! You can sign!?" He exclaimed.

"Yeah, the school I went to in France made us learn ASL," I explained. "It's handy."

"Teach me something," he said, and I spent the next hour teaching him how to sign his name.

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"Hey," I greeted as I walked into the house after getting home from work.

"What did you get?" he asked, referring to the bag of hot fries.

"I got some crisps," I spoke.

He tilted his head to one side. "You mean chips?"

"I'm not even going to argue about that now. The main thing to note is that I actually bought these for myself. I'm about to lie down. Do not touch them. This was the store's last bag," I instructed.

"Don't eat it, got it."

⊱ ────── {.⋅ ✯ ⋅.} ────── ⊰

"What do you mean, you ate it?!?" I yelled, holding up the nearly empty packet of hot chips.

"I forgot and it was just lying there," he shrugged, "but I swear it wasn't on purpose."

I laughed hysterically. "Milo. Oh, Milo... I specifically told you not to touch them so that I could avoid this, and look at you, you did exactly what I told you not to do!" I took a long, deep breath.

"Sorry."

"I'm frustrated, annoyed, and now I'm fricking hungry," I whined.

"I'm sorry," he repeated, with a solemn look on his face.

"I don't want to talk to you. You ruined everything! After my nap, I was supposed to eat the snack, then wait until 8 p.m. to eat some rice noodles. I can't do that anymore. I have to go find something else to eat, which just messes everything up," I rambled.

"Come on, don't be like that," he said.

I huffed, folding my arms, and pouted. "I'll be like this if I want to," I grumbled, being extremely petty.

"Must I remind you that you are 22 years old and acting like a six-year-old?" he claimed.

"I'm a child at heart, but you're one to talk. You're still eating kids' cereal and watching cartoons," I responded, pointing to the TV and then to the bowl of Reese's Puffs in his lap.

"Hey!" he exclaimed, clutching the bowl as if trying to protect it. "The Amazing World of Gumball" is not a cartoon. It's a short animated television show," he argued.

"Isn't that the same as a cartoon?" I asked.

"No."

"I'm pretty sure it is," I claimed.

"It isn't!" he exclaimed.

"Let me google it then," I muttered, picking up my phone and looking up the definition of cartoon.

I smirked as the meaning popped up. "Well, take a look at that. A cartoon is a motion picture that uses animation techniques to photograph a series of drawings instead of real people or objects," I read aloud.

He grabbed my phone from my grasp and quickly typed. "The Amazing World Of Gumball; An animated comedy television series," he claimed.

"I was still correct," I said.

"We were both correct," he clarified.

I heard a ping. He looked down at my screen and scrunched his eyebrows.

I snatched my phone from his hand and walked into the kitchen. In search of a snack, I opened the pantry and cupboards.

I was about to shut the cupboard when my gaze was drawn to a yellow bag on the top shelf. I immediately recognised it as a bag of classic Lays.

I couldn't believe he tried to hog all the snacks.

I reached for it, but my arm came up a few inches too short. I continued to struggle to retrieve the bag that had been pushed to the back.

"Do you need me to get it for you?" Milo offered.

"Pfft, you're only about four inches taller than me. I can do it myself, thank you very much," I asserted, attempting to keep my dignity.

"OK then," he chuckled.

*five very short moments later....*

"Help me!" I whined, letting out a defeated sigh.

He strolled over to me and effortlessly picked up the bag, obviously knowing he was the one who placed it there. He opened it and handed it to me.

"Thank you," I muttered.

From the bread box, I took two slices of gluten-free sourdough bread (the best kind of bread in my opinion) and arranged them on a plate. I topped each slice with shredded cheese. I then took a handful of the crisps and placed them on both of the slices of bread. I assembled it so that everything was nicely covered.

"What are you up to?" Milo questioned, a puzzled expression on his face.

I squirted some ketchup on top and told him, "I'm making a crispwich," as I lightly pressed the two slices together.

"Tada!" I picked up the sandwich and bit into it. "Mmh," I groaned as I nodded my head in satisfaction.

I extended my hand to Milo and asked, "Would you like some?"

"No, I'm fine," he shook his head, "But... you have a little sauce," he said, gesturing to my face.

"Where?" I asked, wiping my cheek.

"No, the other side," he says as he wipes his own cheek to show me.

"Is it gone now?" I asked as I wiped the other side.

"No," he replied, and I sighed.

"Here, let me get it," he offered, moving closer until he was directly in front of me. His fingers lightly held my chin. I held my breath as he lightly rubbed my lips with his finger, gazing into my eyes.

"Got it," he said, but he didn't step back.

As he inched closer, an unknown feeling took over my body. I had never felt this way before. I could feel the tingling sensation of our lips brushing against each other, almost kissing, but not quite. My eyes began to flutter shut.

What's happening?

I took a step back, unable to handle the overwhelming feeling in my stomach. I mumbled, "Erm, I need to tinkle," and walked away.

"To what?" he asked.

"To use the loo," I shouted.

I actually went to my room and lay flat on my bed, facing the ceiling.

What exactly happened there?

We almost kissed...

How?

Why? He didn't even like me in that way. We were not even friends, barely.

Anyway, I was glad we didn't because it would have been awkward and messed up everything.

Plus, I was talking with someone. I met him on Tinder and he seemed very sweet.

It was nothing serious, but I felt like it would be insensitive and rude for me to be talking to someone and then kissing someone else.

I exhaled a sigh and got up.

I plugged in my earbuds and listened to some classics, which was my favourite genre of music.

I went to my closet and pulled out all of my clothes. I sat down on the ground and went through them one by one, sorting them by colour and putting them back in the wardrobe.

This should keep me busy for a while.