Standard chapter warnings apply. Beware the angst my friends (but you already signed up for this by reading this far, so I'm sure you're aware).

Chapter Thirteen: Okay

Fingers carded through his wet hair, massaging circles against his tough scalp. Shampoo dripped down his cheek, and he folded his lips together to keep it out of his mouth. You can taste the sulfates, you know, he had said to his father once. That's why it tastes salty. They're bad for your hair, too, but don't worry. I'll take care of it. He'd been ten years old when he'd said that, and their house had never seen another sulfate shampoo.

Carole's fingers were calloused from decades of hard work, the kind only a nurse can have, the kind that speaks of compassion and loyalty. They scratched his skin as she washed his hair, the way she had for many other people. Kurt tried not to let the thought cheapen the gesture.

Carole's shampoo had sulfates; he'd checked the label when she and Finn were moving in.

She hummed, an unrecognizable melody, as she turned his head under the spray, shielding his face with one hand and coaxing the gel out of his hair with the other. "So," she began, the first words either of them had spoken since the awkwardness of getting him into the tub. "I haven't seen that boy in a few days. Blaine, I think his name was."

Kurt shrugged, water jetting off his sharp shoulder blades.

His stepmother frowned, squirting conditioner into her palms. "When we met on Saturday, I thought I would be seeing a lot of him. You two seemed close."

"Not really," Kurt muttered.

"He kissed your forehead goodnight," she protested. "Has anyone else done that, besides me, your dad and…" Your mother. It was left unsaid.

Kurt winced when Carole began to rub the conditioner into his hair, but neither of them moved away. "It d-doesn't matter," he concluded. "That's over."

The beat of silence between them was wrecked by the battering of water against the tub floor, loud as a gunshot.

Gunshot.

"Why?" Her tone was even. If he hadn't known her at all, he wouldn't have heard the disapproval.

"Some things are j-just," he breathed deeply and slowly through his nose, prolonging, afraid, "too big. Too much. Too… wrong."

"Nothing was wrong with the smile you had on that day, Kurt." She grimaced as soon as she said the words, realizing too late.

Too late.

Kurt took pity on her and folded his lips closed once more. The relief that flitted across her face angered him a little, ashamed as he was to admit it. Just because he hadn't said it didn't mean it wasn't there. She should know that by now.

Even if you know, you can't always change who you are, or even what you do. That was what Kurt had learned, a lesson he was eternally grateful and resentful for.

So, what was left? He knew the answer, but it was hard to accept.

"Kurt, it wasn't your fault," Carole breached carefully. They'd given him space after telling him, that Sunday morning where the smell of pancakes would forever be replaced by the smell of vomit. They'd told him his mother had died on a Sunday morning, too, but he hadn't thrown up last-night's dinner then, or even cried. Children don't understand death - children who lose someone are still waiting for them to come back, even ten years later when they're not children anymore. The human brain is cruel like that.

"I know it wasn't."

"These things happen. People feel like they have no other choice. He was going to be put away for a long, long time." She felt unsteady, like the ground below her was a trick, like it was a tightrope in disguise; if she stopped, she would fall, and so she blazed on. "It was never your fault. None of it."

"I know," he repeated, a hint of irritation in his tone.

"Oh," she mumbled. "Good." Her fingers resumed their ministrations, and soon Kurt was clean and wrapped in a towel, staggering back towards his bed. His hair would be a mess in the morning, sticking out haphazardly against his static pillow, but he didn't have it in him to care.

It was Blaine's fault, he wanted to whisper into his own ears. Blaine. He made me do it. I'm never speaking to him again.

Children who lose someone never do grow up, especially when that person was supposed to teach them how to.

His head was throbbing. He could have sworn he'd stopped drinking early enough last night to avoid a hangover; in fact, he'd made sure to. Well, Wes had made sure. You're drinking yourself into an early grave, he'd lectured as he took the bottle away. If you fail your exam tomorrow and flunk out of med school, you still have to pay rent.

Why did everyone keep saying that? He wasn't going to fail, and even if he did (which he wouldn't), it wasn't the end of the world. Blaine squeezed his eyes shut; just having that thought three years ago would have stopped his heart. Oh, how he had changed.

Marley looped her arm through his as he dug through his satchel for his sunglasses. "Are you really going to be that guy again who wears sunglasses indoors?" she scolded, flicking his cheek with her manicured finger. "It's gross, Blainey. You look like a fuckboy."

Sebastian snorted from their left. "That's the least accurate name for him I've ever heard. When was the last time you even got-"

"We are not having this conversation," he interrupted, flipping his friend the bird. "We literally just wrote the Shelf. My brain is a mess right now."

"Your brain has been a mess this entire week," Marley corrected. "Seriously, Blaine, what's going on with you? For a minute there I thought you were back to normal, but you're all mopey again."

A familiar figure leaned up against Sebastian, disrupting their conversation. "Are we talking about how King Anderson fell from his throne? I'd like to contribute."

"Don't be an ass, Hunter," Sebastian chided. The man kissed his cheek, pouting when all he received in return was a frown.

"Sorry, babe."

Marley blinked at them. "No, I'm sorry. What the fuck is this?"

"This is a loving relationship," Hunter boasted.

"Somehow I seriously doubt that," Blaine muttered under his breath. Hunter glared at him, tugging Sebastian closer.

Sebastian rolled his eyes, shrugging his boyfriend's arm off. "He's telling the truth," he declared. "We're together now."

Horror flashed across Marley's face. "How long exactly have I been living with the two of you while you've been bumping uglies?"

"Um, a few days maybe?" Sebastian offered.

"A few nights you mean," Hunter corrected, missing the flash of hurt across Sebastian's face.

"Right," he muttered.

"That's it, I'm moving out," Marley said, shuddering. "Blaine, I'm staying on your couch tonight."

"I wouldn't stop you," he agreed, wearing a matching expression of disgust. "I'll text Wes."

He pulled out his phone, typing out the quick text as Marley guided him through the hall towards the front entrance of campus where the three usually went their separate ways. At the confirmation text he received, which he showed to Marley enthusiastically, he tucked his phone back in his pocket, only for his gaze to land on a tall, serious-looking man leaning casually against a pillar. He jutted his chin towards him in greeting.

"What are you doing here?" he asked his brother after he and Marley had greeted one another with a hug.

"A guy can't just check up on his brother after his exam?" Cooper teased, ruffling Blaine's curly hair.

He batted his brother's hand away. "Not you. Anyway, you looked serious. What's going on?"

Cooper's easy grin hardened. "It's, uh…" He glanced at Marley, whose curious expression was poorly concealed. "About a patient."

She held both hands up in a surrender gesture. "I can take a hint," Marley joked. She leaned over and kissed Blaine's cheek before waving adorably. "See you at home."

His brother raised an eyebrow. "Home?"

"Sebastian and Hunter are dating now," Blaine explained, holding back a gag. "She needed to get away."

"Understandable," Cooper said, shivering. "I don't know why she put up with them for that long."

"We're med students with debt. Not all of us are glorious and successful ER doctors finished with residency and making actual money," Blaine teased.

Cooper frowned. "Are you still not using the money that dad left you? Blaine, we talked about this."

"And I already told you, I use it for rent and groceries. I haven't had a job since college so I can focus on school, and I'm settled with a roommate in a nice apartment."

"You and Wes live in a shoebox."

Blaine rolled his eyes. "That's a bit of an exaggeration."

"Is it?" Cooper sighed. "Blaine, we had a lot growing up. I don't understand how you're happy without it. I get that it's just stuff, but it's all you've ever known."

"It was all I knew for the first half of my life, Coop. The half of my life where I never felt at peace, or at home, or safe. I'm happier now, without all of it." He didn't mention the part where it felt wrong using his dad's money for anything other than necessity, knowing how he felt about his son's sexuality.

"Okay, as long as you're happy," he conceded, digging his hands into his pockets. They stood together in silence for a moment - not comfortable, but not tense either. Stagnant. "I came to talk to you about Kurt."

Blaine's heart sped up. "Is something wrong? Did he get hurt again? Does he need more surgery?"

"Nothing like that. Calm down." Cooper led Blaine to a nearby bench, sitting him down as his heart rate began to return to normal. He sighed. "It's actually this that I wanted to talk to you about."

"Huh?"

Cooper leaned against the bench, one arm slung over it behind Blaine's body. "Why haven't you spoken to Kurt in the last three days?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, feigning unawareness.

His brother glared at him. "Don't try that on me. I talked to Burt." Blaine folded his lips together, and Cooper grimaced. "I knew something was going on as soon as Finn mentioned that Kurt remembered your name."

"Don't say it like that. You make it sound illicit."

"Well, it's not innocent, is it? If you felt like you had to hide it from me?"

"I hid it from you because I knew you would overreact." Blaine shook his head, anger building up inside of him. "Kurt is hurt, inside and out. I'm here to be his friend, because he needs one, and for some reason, he likes me enough to trust me with his friendship."

Cooper went silent for a moment before asking, "Why is he mad at you? He's been off all week, which I assumed was because of… you know, but when I spoke to his parents, they seemed to think it was about you, at least a bit."

Blaine matched his silence. "I don't know." The pain in his voice stung Cooper like a wasp, and he pulled his arm back quickly. "He hasn't reached out, and when I heard what happened I tried going to see him, but Carole told me he didn't want to be visited. I could hear his friends inside. He just didn't want to see me."

"You didn't do something to hurt him?"

"God, I hope not. Nothing that I'm aware of."

Groaning, Cooper rubbed his temples. "Teenagers."

A faint, sad smile played on Blaine's lips. "You're gonna have one of your own in a few years," he reminded him.

The doctor groaned. "Don't remind me. I'm not looking forward to those years." He felt somber suddenly, lip twitching as he held back the knot in his throat. "Vivian would have known how to deal with Lily. She was always the parent."

"You're the other parent," Blaine reassured him. "It's in your blood."

"That's not what makes a parent, squirt. A parent is someone who cares for you and makes sure you're happy. I'm not her parent anymore."

"Lily loves you more than anyone," Blaine argued. "Losing her mom was hard, for all of us but especially her. But you have to know that what she needs right now isn't her grandmother taking care of her." Blaine bit his lip, hoping he hadn't overstepped, but he'd been meaning to say something for a long time now.

Cooper wiped away the tears streaming down his cheeks and looked around to make sure no one was looking at him - that had been a habit of his since he was twelve. The truth was that no one was looking at either of them; the world carried on despite how halted it felt to the Anderson brothers. They were so small in comparison, yet they were everything to each other.

"You're right," he finally decided, standing up and dusting off his white coat. "I'm going to move her back. It'll take some adjusting, and I'll have to cut back on hours at the hospital, but we'll make it work."

"Okay," Blaine said, grinning widely. "How about we go see her and mom this weekend, see how she feels about that plan? Not that she'll have any other response but enthusiastic."

"Sounds perfect." His brother pulled him into a tight hug, the honest kind that usually only happened in private, when no one could see the great Cooper Anderson in all his vulnerable glory. "Thank you, squirt."

"Any time," he breathed, clinging to the familiar, homey feeling of his brother's embrace. "Any time."

"Great job, everyone! See you tomorrow, bright and early at the bus bay. You know the drill." Mr. Schuester waved them off with that trademark performer's flourish, tucking the other hand behind his back in a half-bow. The teenagers dispersed, already locked in their cliquey conversations, and Finn approached his girlfriend, whose cardigan-clad back was turned towards him, shaking gently as she laughed at something someone was saying.

"Rach, do you need a ride home?" he asked, looping an arm around her waist from behind. "Burt's picking me up, but we can drop you off on the way."

She turned towards him, wide features exhibiting a gleeful grin. "Oh, hi Finn. Actually, Sam is gonna walk me home since he's staying with us anyway." Her arm secured around the boy in question's thick arm, as though displaying him to Finn.

"Are you sure?" He frowned, glancing at his watch. Their rehearsal had gone past eight o'clock, it being the day before competition. Everyone was in a rush to get home and get ready for the performance by themselves, not to mention beauty sleep. "It's pretty late, and it would be much faster to drive."

"It's fine," she replied, waving him off. "We've been meaning to discuss a duet since he came back. Aren't you going with Santana anyway?"

"She's staying with Britt tonight," he explained. The girls had gotten back together over the weekend, although no one had heard the full story. They'd just shown up on Monday with their pinkies interlocked, and everyone had known they would be fine. "Brittany claims it's to practice their solo, but the look Santana gave her when she suggested it made me want to barf."

"That's sweet," Rachel dismissed, pecking him on the cheek. A goodnight kiss. "Either way, I'm sure you want to get home sooner, right babe? Before you go see Kurt?"

"Mm. If you're sure, then…" He trailed off, sparing a glance at Sam who just shrugged agreeably.

"Nice tunes today, dude," Sam admired, bumping his fist before turning it into a pointed finger and walking backwards towards the door, tugging Rachel along with him. "See you tomorrow!"

"Right, tomorrow." He watched them leave until they turned the corner towards the parking lot, gripping the strap of his backpack. A hand came to rest on the opposite shoulder. He turned around to see his teacher with concern etched into his forehead.

Mr. Schuester clapped his shoulder once before releasing him. "How are you doing, Finn? I know you've had a rough go of it recently."

He half-smiled instinctively. "I'm fine." They both knew he was lying; the teacher hesitated a moment before deciding it wasn't the right time.

He nodded, solemnity in his eyes. "Let me know if you need anything, okay? You have my number."

After a few minutes of uncomfortably locking-up the choir room and making sure he had someone picking him up, Mr. Schue left Finn standing in the fluorescent-lit hallway on his own, the heavy, dark windows in the front door mocking him as he was assaulted with an onslaught of memories. He'd been careful not to stay too long after school, never past sunset so the lights wouldn't mock him against the juxtaposition of nighttime. But here he was, the day before Sectionals, hiding in plain sight once again.

A glint caught his eye - a decorated picture frame shining with dollar-store plastic gems at the end of the hall, reflecting the overhead lighting with a harsh glare. His feet carried him towards it, unconsciously, and he was suddenly face-to-face with a ghost; the image of David Karofsky stared back at him, haunting, like something he wasn't supposed to see. Days ago, it was an image that would have angered him until his fingernails had drawn up blood into his palm. Now, that anger was directed only at himself.

He knelt down to eye-level with the picture frame, the centerpiece of what appeared to be a post-mortem shrine to the once-beloved football player who had killed himself mysteriously on a Saturday night of little consequence. The locker beside the shrine, Azimio's, was empty; he'd been taken into custody that night, and no one would publicly support him anymore, even though they already knew what kind of person he was - sheeple, Kurt would call them. Whoever had built Karofsky's must have snuck in after class - he hadn't seen it walking from class to class, and he was certain that the school would have taken it down otherwise, knowing more of the story than everyone else but still not enough. Finn felt like even he didn't know enough, or anything at all.

Before he knew what he was doing, the shrine was in pieces. Shards of glass surrounded his feet, bright and reflective and wonderful now that they were off that horrific picture. Flowers, shredded, decorated the ugly speckled floor with their colourful petals. Such a beautiful thing should not be made for a monster.

It was his own fault. Karofsky had deserved far worse than what he had gotten, and it was Finn's fault that he didn't. He knelt on the floor, resting his casted hand against the torn image - a reminder of when the boy had been tangible, physical, under his fist and bleeding, the way Finn wanted to remember him.

Violent. That was the word his therapist had used yesterday before telling his parents to take away his car keys. Dangerous.

He looked up at the sound of heavy breathing. Burt stood, keeled over, panting as though he had just run from the parking lot. "I ran from the parking lot," he explained. Ah. "I heard banging…"

This was how it happened last time. With my other son.

Finn unclenched his fist. Blood pooled in his palm. He closed his eyes.

When he opened them, Burt was holding out a hand to help him up. He took it.

"Let's go home."

No one ended up visiting Kurt that night. Carole had apologized profusely before taking off, claiming that it was her sister's baby shower and there was no way she could miss it, since her and her husband had been trying for years. Finn and his father had called earlier that night saying they were going to the field to play a few rounds - of what, Kurt had no idea. A few years ago, he would have been incredibly jealous of this fact; now, he was glad to have some time away from them. It wasn't their fault he felt crushed under the attention.

He flexed his hand, relieved at the way it moved under his command. Exactly two weeks ago, he'd woken up from a coma - two weeks. Before, he wouldn't even have remembered two weeks. Before, every week was the same.

From the outside, maybe even to his dad, to Carole and Finn, his story looked like it was coming to an end. He'd had his beginning, a long and painful one, and his peak - even more painful, but painfully short as well. Now, everything was coming to a close; Karofsky was gone, Azimio was locked away, and he was in physical therapy with the prospect of regaining all that he'd lost.

To Kurt, he felt like his rollercoaster had stopped right at the top, just like his heart.

It began to beat again. The door to his room opened.

"Hi," Kurt breathed. Could he always feel his heartbeat in his neck?

"Hi," Blaine replied, staying in the doorway, too far away. The light was on - it was just past ten. His midnight-coloured curls seemed almost blue under the harsh illumination, and his wide glasses sat comfortably atop his strong nose. "It's been a while."

"Why are you here?" Kurt curled into his blankets, seeking their warmth. "Th-There's no one to protect me from anymore." Your story is ending.

The man raised a book in the air - Kurt couldn't see the cover clearly, but it looked like a textbook. Not the same one he'd had last week, though. "You had said I could study in your room. If the offer still stands…"

Kurt sucked on his inner cheek, shrugging. "Alright."

He grinned toothily. "Great." In a flash, Blaine plopped himself into the beside chair, cracking open the hardcover textbook. Kurt could see the title more clearly from here.

"Pediatrics?" He asked, gesturing towards the book.

"My next rotation," Blaine explained. He'd opened the book about a third of the way through, and it was evident he'd already begun preparing, perhaps a long time ago. Was he excited for this rotation in particular, or did he prepare like this for all of them? If it was the former, why? The latter, how did he carry on?

It dawned on Kurt; the exam had been today. He'd forgotten, not even texted Blaine good luck. A part of him raged with guilt - the other felt nothing. "Oh. Getting a head start?"

"There's no such thing in medicine. You're either ahead or you're out," he joked. At least, Kurt imagined it was joke - if not, he didn't really want to think about the kind of stress Blaine was under all the time. Blaine smiled reassuringly. "Don't look so scared. It's not bad. Not if you like what you're doing. Not if you care about it. We chose this knowing how important the work was, so we're doing our best to make sure we do it right. That means putting in the effort. Even just watching you get better has made me realize how special it all is."

"Right." He fell silent after that, not knowing how to respond and instead electing to ignore the man sitting to his left, despite the way his skin was on fire in his presence. Grabbing his phone, he scrolled through , having opened it for the first time in weeks just that morning. It was the most natural thing to him, surveying each piece and giving it a definitive opinion. It felt like home.

The article about formal winter accessories was wrapping up when Blaine leaned over and pointed at one of the images. "That one is nice." It was a baby blue bowtie with white dots, paired with a blue button-up and a white blazer, topped with a matching blue pocket square. Perfectly wintery, and most certainly formal.

Kurt didn't want to admit that he also loved it. "It's okay."

Blaine propped up onto his elbows to get a closer look. "What do you mean 'okay'? It's spectacular! Elegant, seasonal, and something I could have worn to my brother's wedding. It's exquisite."

Something in Kurt's chest squeezed far too tightly. "Shouldn't you be studying?"

Pulling back into the chair, Blaine shut the textbook with a thud - it wasn't loud, really, but it felt almost admonishing. He said, "You have to know that's not why I'm here."

"Th-Then why are you?"

"Because you won't speak to me, damn it!" Blaine's chest heaved as the frustration building inside of him for the last three days exploded in one burst. He calmed himself, a hand over his heart, reminding. "Sorry, I shouldn't have shouted."

"I do speak to you. I am right now."

"That's not what I meant." He hesitated for a moment, as though what he was about to say was important or life-changing, when it really couldn't have been. "Do you want me to stay away from you? I will if that's what you want."

He'd been wrong. Instinctively, he replied, "No, it isn't," before remembering that he was upset. Why was he upset again? Oh, right. "I just needed - need - some time. What happened was hard."

"It wasn't your fault," Blaine insisted, reaching for his hand, before thinking better of it and withdrawing.

Kurt squeezed his eyes shut, the anger returning. "I know it wasn't my f-fault! Why does everyone think I blame myself? I've never blamed myself. Not once."

"Oh." Blaine knew honesty, raw honesty, when he heard it - right now, in Kurt, it scared him.

Once Kurt had started, it felt like he couldn't stop. Every shameful thought he'd had since that weekend came barrelling out. "Even when th-they were bullying me, I didn't blame myself. You hear those stories, right? Insecure people being preyed on by bullies? Well, they were always th-the insecure ones in my life. The bullies, never me. I always knew I was… better than that."

"You're right. You are better," Blaine said. He stood, tucking his textbook under his arm. "I understand that you need time. Just let me know if or when that time is over."

He was halfway to the door before Kurt stopped him. "Wait."

"What?"

"I…" He tugged pointlessly at the tip of his blanket, looking younger suddenly, but no less frightening. "I want to blame you for what happened t-to Karofsky."

Blaine held his breath, hurt seeping up into his chest. "I guess I understand that, too." He didn't, not at all, but he would never admit it.

"Do you, Blaine?" Kurt fought. "Because I don't. Why would I want to blame you when all you've done is try to help me? When you convinced me to fight for my own sanity? When you've sat outside my room for who knows how long just to make sure I was alive?"

"Sometimes we just don't understand why we do things," Blaine answered meaningfully. Maybe it would have hurt that Blaine didn't know why he did those things, but it didn't. It made Kurt feel like someone else was as lost as he was, and that thought was as comforting as it was selfish.

"Okay," Kurt said. "So, now what do we do?"

"That depends on what you feel when you look at me, right now," Blaine replied.

Oh.

"I feel… I feel like I want what we had before. I feel like I want to know you better. I feel like I want to know me, and why I do th-these stupid things."

Blaine's wide grin returned. "Then, do another stupid thing, and let me stay."

"I…" Something settled inside him at the sight of that grin - something that drained away all the tension, all the fear, all the reluctance. "Okay, Blaine."

The man approached again, less hesitantly this time, straight for the chair he'd claimed as his own before Kurt shook his head and patted his old seat on the bed. His grin doubled as he took the spot.

"How was the exam?" Kurt asked, genuine and worried. "I didn't mean to forget, I promise. It's just with everything th-that happened and all this stuff going on in my head-"

"Don't worry about it, seriously. I almost forgot."

"That doesn't make me f-feel better, Blaine!" Kurt admonished.

Blaine's gentle laughter reassured him. "It wasn't horrible," he said.

"I'm so glad you're the optimistic one in our relationship," Kurt breathed without thinking. As his own words registered, his cheeks pinked with embarrassment; his only respite was the matching rouge in Blaine's face.

"Yeah," Blaine muttered lowly, adorably flustered. Kurt wondered what exactly he was thinking about to make him look like that. "How is physical therapy going?"

"Well, I think. My therapist is nice."

"What's their name? I went to high school with some of the physical therapists at this hospital."

"His name is Trent," Kurt said. "You went to high school with some of them? They can't have been doing this for long, then."

Blaine winced slightly. "Yeah, I know Trent. We dated in my junior year - he was a senior - for a few months before he realized he was in love with his best friend. He's been a PT for almost two years, I think?"

Kurt winced too. "God, Blaine, where were you finding boyfriends in high school? I'm literally th-the only one out at my school."

A tightness appeared in Blaine's jaw. He clicked it. "I have Dalton to thank for that. I'm sorry you haven't been able to have that experience, Kurt. I know how hard it can be to feel excluded from something as mundane as having a relationship."

"Mm," he agreed. "It is what it is."

"What if…" Blaine trailed off, fingers stroking his chin thoughtfully. "Uh, never mind."

Kurt frowned, but didn't prod. "When do you start your next rotation?" And with that, the topic was forgotten. They continued for hours about anything: pediatrics, vogue ("I knew you were lying about not liking that bowtie!") and Blaine's dapper schoolboy phase, the teachers/professors they'd liked and disliked, as well as classes. This time, it wasn't Kurt who fell asleep, but Blaine - the boy had had to poke him awake, which had led to a conversation about ticklishness that had gone on for far-too long and ended with a promise of a duel, after which Kurt had been forced to banish Blaine from his room so they could both get some rest.

"I'll see you tomorrow, for Sectionals?" Blaine asked hopefully. They'd agreed to listen to the performances together, as Blaine had a day off before his next rotation began.

"Yeah," Kurt agreed. "Okay."

Blaine went to leave for the hundredth time before pausing and leaning down to just above Kurt's head. He waited a beat, as though he would be shoved away - when Kurt did nothing but smile back up at him, he pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead before straightening his back and saying a final goodbye for the night.

He kissed your forehead goodnight. You two seemed close.

We did, didn't we?

You did.

And it's okay?

It's okay.

Hi again everyone! How's back-to-school season going for you? I've been super busy lately, so it's been hard finding time to write, but reviews really do motivate me more than anything else! If you want chapters sooner, always feel free to leave a review or message me letting me know! Other than that, I hope you enjoyed this one (sorry for the angst... no I'm not). Follow me on Instagram NayaWarbler for notifications, previews, and sometimes even fan art!

Also, I got a message asking if my actual name is Naya - yes, it is! I just thought that was funny lol.

Love,

Naya