chapter twenty-eight - thaw

chapter twenty-eight — thaw

THE DAYS PASSED LIKE NOTHING HAD HAPPENED. I still saw Lukas at school, our conversations limited to civil, mindless greetings, and quick mentions of changes in the practice schedule. Nobody seemed to have time to hang out in the passing week, the seniors faced upcoming college deadlines and everyone else was too unused to me to make an attempt. I was being ignored. And for once I understood, and I wished I could ignore myself the same way, peel away a layer of myself so all the stuff no one liked could be flushed down the drain.

I didn't feel like making an attempt either. I didn't feel like doing anything much. Lazy. I guessed that's what it was, I'm being lazy.

"Kieran, Keisha's on the line!"

"Right," I took the cellphone from Mum, smiling at her as best I could before trying to remember what the weather was like, "Hello, Ms. Keisha, how are you?"

"I'm well, Kieran, how are you?"

"I'm doing good, but it's too cold outside," I inhaled slowly, eyes blinking over the replaying NBA game on the television, "I'm watching a basketball game."

"Hmm, of course, you are."

We both laughed, dry and short. Lazy? Is that what this feeling was?

"I have to go—" I started, pausing when a shot was blocked on the three-point line. If only I had height like that.

Lukas was tall, but even he would be considered average, or even short maybe, in the NBA. What hope do I have? I could dribble and shoot, but I couldn't make myself tall. I can't make myself something I'm not, even if it meant losing something I thought I could always rely on.

"—finish watching the game?" Ms. Keisha guessed, chuckling at the end.

"Yeah." No, not lazy.

"Alright, goodbye Kieran," Goodbye again. "Tell your Mom I'll see her soon."

Lonely.

Okay. The phone went silent at the end of the call and I put it on the table next to me. Mum clattered around the kitchen, pouring herself a mug of coffee so she could get a nice start to her day. Winter recess had just begun for the both of us, but the break wasn't passing the way I thought it would. Basketball practice was still on, and the schoolwork I had for the break was still sitting pretty in my backpack, untouched, but it didn't feel like a break. It didn't feel fun.

"Kieran, your phone's been buzzing, dear."

I looked up, guiltily taking the half-charged device from Mum's hand and swapping it for hers. She smiled, sitting down next to me and passing me a mug of hot chocolate, the marshmallows arranged in what was supposed to be a smile but had ended up looking like a lima bean.

"Your father called me yesterday—" Mum spoke into her hand, her lips burnt as guilt churned in my stomach. He called her? "—he thinks you haven't been receiving his calls."

I've been receiving them and I've been ignoring them.

"Ms. Keisha says she'll see you soon," I mumbled into the rim of the cup, leaning forward to rest it on my knees because I had spilled too many drinks on this same seat over the years.

"Kieran."

My eyes snapped up, an apology ready even though I wasn't too sure what I was apologizing about. It had been a while since Mum had said my name like that: the way she'd said it when I'd come home from a fight, or skipped taking my medication in the morning. Fionnuala usually made it better, but the slacker was actually out, doing work, so Mum's disappointment hit me, concentrated like the smelly apple cider vinegar in the fridge.

"Call your father," Mum was frowning, wrinkles deep by her lips and in her forehead, "He just wants to wish you for your birthday."

"I don't want to," I looked back down at my cup and the sinking lima bean-shaped outline.

"Why? What happened?" Mum's arm wrapped around my shoulders, her nose pressing to my hair quickly before she stooped to try and see my face.

"Is everything okay, Kieran?"

"I don't like him," I swallowed, stiff, "I don't want to call him. I don't want to talk to him and I don't want to hear him talk."

"Kieran," Mum grabbed my mug and set it aside with her coffee cup, "What are you talking about? That's not very nice of you. What happened?"

"Nothing happened, Mum," I pressed the base of my palms into my eyes, watching colors pop and fizzle behind my eyelids.

"I just don't wanna."

Mum stayed quiet for a few seconds, her arm loose and uncertain around me.

"Kieran," She started, soft but steady, "He may not have been the best father, but he's still your father—"

"—I wish he wasn't," The confession sounded harsh and something a little like regret pooled in the base of my throat. Do I really wish that? Maybe, if I had a different dad, I would have been that kid with parents at every basketball game. I wouldn't have learned how to cook, but it would be fine because Mum could laugh and relax while my Dad cooked us a nice dinner and asked us about our days. But if I had a different dad, maybe I would have never tried basketball.

Would that have been terrible?

I wanted to play basketball because I was good and I loved it, but if I had never even tried it, would I miss it? Can you miss what you've never known? Maybe I'd have been better at math if I had a better dad, one who could sit me down and help out with homework instead of arguing with Mum late into the night and calling up divorce lawyers. But if I'd have been good at math and not tried basketball, I would've never met Lukas.

Would've never called him my best friend.

Or maybe I would've. I'd have been smart enough to be in his grade, in his classes. Maybe I wouldn't have been such an idiot if I had a different Dad.

I sighed all heavy-like, coming to the realization that Mum was holding me close to her side, carding her fingers through my hair as gently as she could. I hadn't really brushed my hair over the past few days, so her fingers snagged a little, but she wiggled them out.

"Kieran, take that back."

I stayed silent.

"You don't have to call him," She murmured after a few minutes, cheek pressed to my head so I could feel her jaw move.

"You don't have to call if you don't want, just," She breathed in deep, then out, "Just think through it, okay? Your dad and I may not see eye-to-eye, and we may not have been the best parents—"

"—You're a great mom—"

"—But we both love you," Mum smiled, pressing a kiss to the top of my head before squeezing me tight and then letting me go.

I stayed quiet this time, watching Mum recline into the chair, suddenly looking very small. Why do I always make people feel small? She sank into the fabric, hands folded in her lap as she pulled on her fingers, eyes locked on the far wall. We didn't have many pictures around the house, but she'd made it a point to hang up one of my baby pictures after finding a few in a scrapbook with Fionnuala. It was an ugly picture, but it made her happy.

"Parenting is really hard," She whispered, copying what I'd been doing and pressing the base of her palms to her eyes. I sat up in alarm, unsure of what to do. Did I make Mum cry? Great, I was the worst best friend and the worst son to ever live.

"It's really hard," She gulped down whatever had been coming up, calming down and looking at me before patting my knee consolingly, "Everything we do, every mistake, passes onto you, our kids, and it's all we can do to watch the ugliest parts of us grow. It makes us have to love those parts because we love our kids and every single part of them."

"Sounds like it sucks," I breathed, trying not to feel guilty about my existence.

"It does suck," Mum nodded, "but I'm so happy to be a parent. And I'm so happy you exist."

She's happy I exist?

I looked up at the ceiling in the hope gravity would suck whatever loose tears threatened to fall back into my skull. Mum was good at making me feel better, though she usually made me cry when she did. I didn't like crying much.

"And I know your father feels the same, even though he can't express it."

I hummed, mind in disarray because I didn't want to pity my father, but a small part of me wanted nothing more than to march over to his house and demand a hug. He never hugs. Dad never hugged people, but if what Mum was saying was true—

"—I don't owe him my understanding," I mumbled, copying something I'd seen in a show once. The past few days felt like they were passing as a soap opera, and it made me uncomfortable.

"You don't," Mum nodded, "You don't owe anyone anything, remember that."

I owe Lukas a lot though.

I nodded with her, awkwardly reaching for my now-lukewarm hot chocolate to sip at it, blankly. Mum did the same, the both of us sitting in the dramatic, prickly silence, sipping at our cold, warm beverages and missing the people we thought we'd have forever.

"Let's order pizza for lunch," Mum announced, pulling out her phone, "We can use your father's account."

"Can I order garlic knots?"

Mum shrugged, hiding a grin behind her cup, "It's your father's account, do what you want."

I used the online thing the pizzeria had set up to order pizza and two orders of garlic knots, figuring I might as well make good on the money my dad owed me from the tooth fairy. Half-an-hour went by, Mum and I making small, comfortable conversation about how kindergarteners and crackheads had more in common than they should've.

"Was that the doorbell?"

I nodded, getting up and grabbing Mum's cup along with mine to throw them in the sink. Wiping my hands on my pants, I opened the door and—

"—Michael, hey!"

"Hi, Kieran! Oh, uh, Happy belated Birthday," Michael beamed behind a stack of nice-smelling boxes. He hadn't worn his contacts, eyes brown and bottomless.

"I thought your shift ended an hour ago?" I leaned against the doorframe, grabbing the boxes from Michael. In a selfish kind of way, I was glad he'd been the one delivering the pizza since I hadn't interacted with my friends in what felt like weeks (it had really only been one week) and the need for human interaction was beginning to gnaw at me. Lonely.

"It did," Michael flushed, scratching the back of his neck with a laugh, "But, I stayed behind to help clean and then we got your order and I figured, hey, I know you, and it was your birthday recently so—"

"—You wanna come in?"

Michael froze, glitching on my doorstep, both of us caught in an uncomfortable middle where we didn't know each other well enough to be comfortable just walking into each other's houses, but we weren't complete strangers anymore. I blinked a few times, opening my mouth to retract the offer before Michael could shut me down and I'd have to accept the fact that I was friendless.

"I can pop in for a few," Michael nodded, pulling his pizzeria hat off his head and wringing it in between his hands.

"Is anyone home?"

"Yeah, yeah, my mom," I nodded too fast, walking backward and guiding him towards the kitchen, "I ordered too many garlic knots anyways, so thanks for uh—thanks."

Thanks for not rejecting me.

"It smells amazing—oh hello there, dear," Mum smiled big at Michael, eyes narrowed as she tried to place his face in her memory. Her eyes finally widened in recognition and her smile grew even bigger, eyes squinting at the sides the way Lukas' did when he was really happy.

"Michael, right? I'm friends with Keisha King," Mum flapped her hands in excitement, a smear of coffee stuck on the tip of her sleeve, "She's always saying what a good babysitter you are. Are you and Kieran friends? You work at the pizzeria, right? Both the pizzeria and babysitting? You must be a busy guy!"

"Uh, yeah," Michael blushed, shy, looking down at his laces before moving his foot so they swished across the floor like worms.

"Aw, well don't overwork yourself, honey!" Mum smiled, opening the pizza box and grabbing a slice for herself, leaning over the counter to press a quick kiss to my forehead.

"I'll get started on my grading, then. You boys have fun!"

I nodded, mute, before gesturing to the pizza box loosely.

"Want some?"

"I'm actually lactose intolerant," Michael smiled apologetically.

"Oh."

I grabbed three slices, getting a separate plate for garlic knots before realizing I'd ordered what I usually did when my friends were coming over. Fuck, I don't even like garlic knots.

"Oh, what the hell."

Michael brushed by me, grabbing two slices for himself and another plate for garlic knots.

"Oh, I got this for... both of us," I lifted my plate, freezing when Michael just smiled at me in that sickly sweet way he did whenever Kai was being a nuisance (which seemed to be always).

"You underestimate me, Mogan."

I snorted, balancing my plates on either arm, "Alright, Mikey, let's see what you got."

"Don't call me that, Keke."

Michael ran into my back when I stopped, turning to face him, unamused, "Touchy."

"What?"

"You know, 'touchy', like, we're at a draw."

"Touché?"

"That's what I said. Don't make fun of my accent."

"Oh my god," Michael stared at me, eyes wide and panicked as the regret set in. Yeah, most people regretted hanging out with me in half the time it had taken him.

You underestimate me, Mogan.

I smiled.

Conversation between Michael and I didn't flow naturally, his sarcasm sailing straight over my head and mine rubbing him the wrong way more often than not. But the goopy, half-stagnant conversation was better than none at all, his pained face when the cheese on the pizza finally kicked in enough to make us both laugh for another five minutes (and it went on longer as I choked on my garlic knot, forgetting that I didn't really like them too much).

He leaned back onto the couch cushion behind him (we'd sat on the floor), hair splaying out onto the seat. Michael patted his stomach as if he was apologizing, eyes loosely focused on the weird, yellow light fixture that had come with the house when we'd first bought it.

"So, you wanna play basketball professionally?"

Hmm? "Yeah," I splayed out, mimicking Michael, but spreading my legs so I fit snugly in the corner between the squishy chair and the squishy sofa.

"Got any offers?"

My stomach soured.

"Few."

"Which schools?"

What kind of conversation was this? I didn't really wanna talk about school. About offers. I knew they were important to my future, but the excitement I'd once had about it had been whittled away by stress and pressure from my Coach, from the scouts, and from—everything.

I was confident in my ability to be a good college player, but even though that was a big jump from high school basketball, the NBA was leagues above that. Dr. Gomez had tried talking to me about it before, tried suggesting I look into a major that would help me get jobs with just a bachelor's, but I didn't know how to tell her that I was absolutely incompetent at anything but basketball. I can't even keep a friend. The prospect of not having basketball scared me, and I didn't want to think about it.

"Uh, UCLA's the most recent, but they're not doing too hot this year."

"UCLA has some really good support for their LGBT community."

"Oh, that's," I swallowed, thinking about the soccer captain and the nauseous feeling I got whenever I saw the round, smeared marks from the stray soccer balls kicked against the club classroom's windows.

"That's really important."

"Yeah, it's good," Michael hummed in agreement, his voice flat.

"What about you Michael?" I tried deflecting any more questions, fingers curling into the ash-stained carpet below me.

"You gonna major in film or literature or something?"

"Film or literature?" Michael laughed, breathy, turning on his side so he could look directly at me.

"Kieran, tell me what you think I'd do in college," He demanded, not really giving me an opportunity to not.

Uh. "I haven't seen any school plays, but Elisabeth—" Lukas' sister, "— says you're really good at that: Plays and stuff."

"But," I cleared my throat, "I—I head from Roger that you're in his AP something-English class, and you're good at that too, so—"

I lost track of where I'd been heading.

"—you seem kinda good at everything, honestly—"

Just answer his question, idiot.

"Maybe a lawyer? Like, pre-law, 'cause you're kinda scary, but you'd be in a lot of clubs with art and stuff. I think you'd be popular—"

"—Popular?" Michael grinned, the expression not meeting his eyes like he genuinely couldn't comprehend him being not harassed for his existence.

I'm gonna punch the soccer captain, I decided. My offers wouldn't be retracted as long as he kept his fat mouth shut, and I knew people wouldn't snitch on me, even if they didn't particularly like me.

"You're nice."

"Oh," Michael blinked, slow, and the brown in his eyes melted out a little more, dark enough to drown in.

"Thanks."

"Yeah, no problem," I nodded fast, hair falling into my eyes so I pushed it out before sitting up, pulling my legs back to myself. There was a hole in my sock, so small it almost didn't matter, but if I pressed it against the floor the cold seeped in through it, slow.

"I'm not going to college."

Michael announced, voice wavering so slightly I wouldn't have picked it up if I hadn't done the same before. Not going to college?

"You're going straight to work?"

"Yeah," Michael hummed, swallowing so heavily that my throat started to ache at the sound.

I didn't ask him why. Sometimes, there were some things that people weren't ready to talk about, yet.

"Okay," I responded, neutral, because Michael didn't need anything from me and maybe he needed to sort it out himself. I could understand that much.

Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ     Δ

The waiting area was empty like it usually was. I think the people in charge made sure not to have too many appointments overlap because it wouldn't be safe to have so many crazy people in one room. Crazy. Is that what the others called people like me? I wasn't sure I was any crazier than the next teenage boy, but it seemed to differentiate me enough that the school couldn't stop bringing it up in conversation. I knew for a fact there were crazier people out there, but I also knew for a fact that lots of them would never step foot in a therapist's office.

Besides, ADHD wasn't even particularly rare. People just liked separating things into boxes.

It was always on the inside, but people seemed stubborn about sticking it with a label so they could pretend it was on the outside too. I don't like labels. Labels made me feel like a box. I didn't like the word crazy either. It was dumb. So was the word sick.

I wasn't crazy. I wasn't sick.

Feeling a bit anxious today, Kieran?

Fragile. Don't touch. And it would peel away terribly and leave behind a sticky residue.

Feeling a bit crazy today, Kieran?

Caution. Flammable. This sticker wouldn't peel back at all. Maybe it wasn't even a sticker, just a symbol burned into the packaging.

Feeling a bit sick—?

"—Kieran?"

I looked up, popping to my feet and awkwardly sidling around the woman whose appointment had just ended. Her eyes looked swollen and I found myself staring before I ducked into Dr. Gomez's office. Dr. Gomez followed me in, shutting the door behind us before turning on the little white-noise machine that always sat at the entrance.

"Hey Kieran," Dr. Gomez smiled, sitting down in her chair as I sat down in mine.

"How's everything going?"

"Uh," I stalled, settling further into the squishy cushion. Did the lady cry all over this? I checked for damp spots as subtly as I could, finally just sitting on my hands so they wouldn't roam.

"Bad, I think."

"You think?" Dr. Gomez's lips quirked up into a smile and she leaned forward, earrings swinging like a chandelier.

Why's she smiling? I frowned instinctively, curling up further on my chair as Dr. Gomez put on a more neutral expression.

"I'm not laughing at you," She apologized, "Tell me why you think it was bad?"

Stop. I scowled, not liking how little I felt. Why today? Dr. Gomez had laughed at me before, never mean, just kind of generally amused by how I was always unsure of what I was feeling. It was funny. It genuinely was funny how I never knew what was happening, but I didn't find it funny today.

I just felt stupid.

"—Kieran?" Dr. Gomez brought my attention back onto herself, folding her hands so the rings on her fingers flashed in the yellow light of her cramped office.

"Walk me through what you're feeling right now."

Right now? I could do that.

"I don't feel good," I started, encouraged by Dr. Gomez's little nod, "I actually feel really—"

What? It wasn't just bad, it was—

"—sad?" My voice cracked and I contemplated the chances of a hole opening in the ground to swallow me up.

"You feel sad, Kieran?" Dr. Gomez frowned and I nodded, flushing a little because it sounded so silly— "Why do you feel sad?"

"Actually, can we talk about something else?"

Dr. Gomez pursed her lips, "Let's continue with this for a litt—"

"—it's related." It's all related.

"Okay," Dr. Gomez relented, but she sounded uncertain.

"So," I began, nervous, "I got into an argument with Lukas."

"An argument?" Dr. Gomez repeated, "Have you both ever gotten into an argument before?"

"Yeah, actually—wait, no—okay, okay," I fumbled for words, pulling my hands out from under me and fiddling with the raggedy skin by my fingertips.

"Lukas and I have argued before, but this time we didn't actually argue."

'Cause I fucking like you, you idiot.

"We didn't argue, exactly," I parrotted, swinging my legs, "We just—I—"

I left it at that and Dr. Gomez hummed thoughtfully. Does she understand? It was beginning to piss me off how everyone knew what I meant when I didn't even know myself. I'd seen enough television to know that becoming a hermit in the woods was an option that helped with self-discovery, but I'd already mastered escapism and didn't want an encore.

"—I made a friend," I added. It slowly dawned on me that Dr. Gomez and I had been talking about school plenty, and my medications, and my routine too, but not about me. I wanted to talk about myself today.

"His name is Michael and he wears green contacts."

Dr. Gomez blinked, completely lost as I continued to piece together everything, using my words to figure it all out as I went. She didn't stop me, just kind of tilting her head and trying not to get lost in the torrent of word-vomit that I unleashed.

"He's g-gay," I swallowed, "And he wears rainbows."

"And Lukas—," I hesitated, not sure what I could say. Is Lukas gay? I was a boy. He was a boy. And he liked me. By definition, that meant a boy liked a boy. That was gay.

By definition.

"Lukas?" Dr. Gomez tapped her pen against her knuckles and I mimicked the motion with my fingers, flicking a dull beat into the chair cushion.

"He doesn't. He doesn't wear rainbows, I mean."

"Michael does," I mentioned again. Compare and contrast. In English class, we had to write compare and contrast essays sometimes— if my topic was Lukas and Michael I figured I could write a whole five pages pretty easily. Maybe more if I could make the font a little bigger without the teacher noticing.

Clarity dawned on Dr. Gomez's face as panic set on mine: saying it out loud seemed to make it real. The past week had passed by like a strange fever dream, but I couldn't keep ignoring what had happened. Lukas likes me. My stomach felt warm and weird so I exhaled, hoping I could push out whatever kept writhing in my gut.

"So, you and Lukas" She began, trying not to call it an argument. Nobody had argued. I wasn't sure it could be called an argument, but the radio silence and terrible, sinking feeling I'd felt as Lukas walked out the door could have only followed an argument.

"Have you guys talked about it?"

I shook my head no, interrupting her before she could continue.

"I want to, but I don't know what to say."

Her lips twisted into something confused and I did the same, swallowing back the ugly lump in my throat. I know. It was stupid of me to think there was something specific I had to say. I'd spent a few afternoons cooped up in the English classroom for GSA meetings over the past month, and I knew exactly what I was supposed to say to someone coming out.

"Hey, that's cool. Thanks for telling me. Want a hug?"

I wasn't supposed to make a big deal out of it (but Kai insisted rainbow cupcakes were in order) and I definitely wasn't supposed to keep fucking quiet.

But Lukas hadn't just come out to me. Actually, he hadn't really come out at all. He said he liked me. And so, my meager training and my budding acceptance had shriveled in an instant.

And my only friend had left through the front door, his shoelaces untied and head bowed low so I couldn't see his face out my window as he drove away.

"Kieran, what do you want to say to Lukas? Just tell me what you're feeling."

I'm fucking trying. I clenched my fist on the armrest feeling an unnatural surge of anger. When I was little, I used to be angry all the fucking time. It had calmed down to some extent in high school, most of my energy coming out with physical activity and dissolving during therapy. But, even so, I was never calm the way other kids could be. I couldn't just take it when someone was being a jackass, I couldn't just turn the other cheek. I just couldn't take it.

Fuck. Sometimes I felt so angry I didn't know what to do.

"I'm angry," I mentioned, voice low because me being mad wasn't new.

"At Lukas?" Dr. Gomez probed, "Or at yourself?"

Myself? I forced my legs to stop swinging, eyes burning a hole in the carpet as my ankles crossed so tight I was afraid they would snap. Why would I be mad at myself?

I mean, of-fucking-course I'm mad at myself. But Dr. Gomez was supposed to be on my side. She hadn't even heard about how suddenly Lukas had sprung it all on me. She hadn't listened to how fucking shitty I'd been feeling for a while.

Of course, I was mad at myself. It just pissed me off to know others expected me to be so angry.

Doesn't anyone think I can just be happy?

"No," I thought I was shouting and I made my voice drop even lower until it was almost a whisper. I hadn't been yelling, but there was a white noise in my ears that multiplied with the little machine in the corner of Dr. Gomez's room. I tried not to raise my voice when I wasn't on the court. I sounded too much like my dad.

"I'm not mad at Lukas."

I could never be mad at Lukas. Annoyed? Hell yeah, I was annoyed. But it was an annoyance that made me feel sour and small, and the little warmth that lay in my stomach when I thought of him ballooned when I realized that I needed to talk to Lukas.

I need to talk to Lukas.

But talking to Lukas wouldn't fix everything. No matter how important Lukas was to me, he wasn't my everything.

The only person I'd be stuck with for the entirety of my life would be me, I was my only everything (and that was a shitty deal), but I hoped Lukas and I could work something out that would make sure he was runner-up.

"At yourself then?" Dr. Gomez repeated and I sighed.

"Yeah, 'course I am," I shrugged, letting my shoulders relax, fingers tracing circles on the cloth of the couch, "I'm always mad at myself."

I cut off Dr. Gomez again, not really wanting her in-depth analysis of my issues. I could handle that myself, and though she could help me work through it, all I wanted right now was her to listen.

"There's something I need to talk about."

Dr. Gomez nodded, hands clasped in her lap and eyes focused on mine. I thought I could make out my reflection in her black eyes, my own gaze a familiar steely color that made me ache.

"When I was little—" I took a deep breath, noticing how still I'd gotten. Normally there was always a part of my body jumping, ticking, moving. But now? My limbs felt like they were filled with ice.

Maybe it's time to thaw?

"—I had a stuffed bunny rabbit named Paxton"

Feeling a bit human today, Kieran?

Handle with care. And the label peeled off, clean.

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4933 words

Hello everyone! I hope you've all been doing well :)

How did you like this chapter?

I didn't expect it to get so randomly angsty as I was writing it, but Kieran's got a lot to sort through so it shouldn't have been so surprising. Hopefully, with this chapter, it was implied that Kieran's opening up and understanding himself a little more. Fingers crossed my brain follows through with what I've planned - cliche romance moments ahead!

There should be around 4 updates left (including an epilogue) after which I'll periodically post some shorts about Kieran and Lukas while I take a break between books.

Thank you so much for patiently waiting! Have an awesome week, stay safe, and take care! <3

For those of you who were interested in my fanfiction (mainly Haikyuu!!), please head over to my profile and click on my Carrd.

If you can't find it drop a comment and I can link it to you - my AO3 account should be on my Carrd. Also, my socials (aside from Wattpad) are on my Carrd (Twitter and Tumblr) but those are more geared towards my fanfiction. If anyone would like though, I can post a few little shorts about BWBB and the characters on those accounts as well! Just let me know :)