the morning

The day Josie meets Alfie she knows she probably shouldn't kiss him. But life is full of terrible mistakes and words that shouldn't be said, and maybe the relationship that follows is terrible too.

Or maybe it isn't.

(a short story set to the album 'the morning' by lewis watson--sometimes the end isn't always the end. sometimes maybe the end is just another beginning.)

*lyrics at beginning belong to lewis watson


3. into the wild


and if it's quite alright, you could be my way of life



December is the Student Union offering free hot chocolate on campus. December is frost dusting pavements like icing on a cake. December is kisses under the archway in the library, rain dripping from the brickwork in front of us. December is wearing socks in bed because the radiator in the hall is still fucked. And December—well, December is good.

One of our housemates, a usually shy and studious boy called James, does something totally un-James like and steals a barrel of mulled wine from the Christian Union and drags it back to the house. I should be morally opposed to it but we’re all kind of impressed, because this is more like the kind of thing you do for a laugh and definitely not James. You crack it open with an axe you found in the garage (I wonder if the accommodation office actually knows about that one) and yeah it’s not warm and tastes a bit disgusting but we’re all happy and that’s all that matters. Leah suggests Ring of Fire and it turns out that Lewis has just won a bottle of vodka from the tombola at the Bio Soc’s Christmas ball, so it sort of turns into an impromptu mid-afternoon drinking session that leads to Cara throwing up on the kitchen floor.

You hang your arm loosely round my shoulders in a display of affection usually hidden from our close friends, causing Lewis to raise an eyebrow. It’s not because we’re hiding anything, and I’m sure most of our house have sussed us out already, but we usually just don’t make a huge fuss of things when with the people we live with. But you’re drunk and I’m tipsy, so our usual etiquette rules go out the window and you kiss me and it tastes like cinnamon and cloves and Christmas.

“I knew it!” Leah screeches, pointing wildly at the two of us, “I so knew you two were fucking!”

James, who is more drunk that I’ve ever seen him, nods incredibly loosely like his head could just roll straight off his shoulders. “I think we all knew they were fucking.”

“Yeah, well I thought I’d make it official while we’re all pissed.”

You grin and kiss me again, long enough for Lewis to groan and tell us to fuck off upstairs if you’re going to keep doing that and it’s not as if we need telling twice. I’m used to your hands running all over my body now but that doesn’t stop the feeling pulsing through my bones, organs and every single beat of my heart. Your lips touch my neck, hot and fast, as you push me back onto your bed—your body heat is enough for me to forget how fucking freezing your bedroom always is.

As we lull into something slower you pull one of your old school rugby shirts over my shoulders because you’ve noticed the goosebumps rushing up my arms. Somehow, it’s the middle of the night, and I can see the soft white light of a full moon through your window.

“I hope you don’t mind me…uh…outing us,” you say quietly into the dark, “Like, I assumed you’d be okay with it.”

I grin, pressing a kiss on your bare shoulder blade. “I’m okay with it.”

“Good. That’s good.”

That night, as has every night since you promised back in November, ends in your bed. But it’s not as peaceful as I’m used to—at 4am your phone rings, and you dash out into the hallway leaving a flurry of profanities in your wake.

It’s the morning of the day your dad dies. The morning you start leaving me behind.

You knocked over your alarm clock in the rush to leave your room. I stand it back up. As usual, it continues to tick, until the noise is lost in a dream. 

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