[ MyStreet Garroth x Reader ] Choosing you

Chestnuts Roasting on an Open Fire

Edited; March 28, 2024

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[ Chapter 1, Page 7]
"Y/N-sama and Garroth-kun are so cute!!!!"

My Street ... The Guy's House... Garroth's POV; 

"Hmm? I don't know about you guys, but I just got this sudden feeling that we need to get a bigger tree," Laurence interjects out of nowhere, breaking the silence that had settled among us. His eyes gleam mischievously as he continues, "Better than everyone else's on this block."

I glance up from my phone, intrigued by the sudden topic. "Why do you say that? We already have a perfectly good tree," I respond, my gaze shifting towards the modest tree we had set up – a skinny one in a small pot, with minimal decorations and a pitiful star on top.

Dante chimes in, agreeing with Laurence. "Laurence might have a point about getting a new tree."

"Well, if we're considering a bigger tree, there's probably a store we can visit, right? Like Home Depot?" Laurence suggests, his enthusiasm evident.

Dante adds to the discussion. "I think so! But if we're gonna get a big tree, where are we going to find a car to carry the tree home with us?"

My gaze shifts towards Dante as he points out an idea. "Garroth, doesn't Y/N own a big car? Maybe she can help us out." Dante's playful smirk prompts a raised eyebrow from me, his curiosity piqued by the teasing tone. "You know she always comes if YOU'RE the one asking for her help"

A faint hue of pink spreads across my cheeks as I clear my throat, slightly flustered. "Y-y-you don't know what you're talking about, She helps me when I call her because that's kind of person she is," I defend, the blush still evident on my face. I hesitate before relenting, "But for the sake of the holidays, I can ask her right now."

I return my attention to my phone, contemplating a text to you. After a moment, I type out a message – 'You free today?' – and send it her way. As we await her response, the excitement of potentially getting a larger and more impressive Christmas tree lingers in the air, accompanied by the anticipation of your reply.

My Street... Your Home... Your POV; 

As I type up a new chapter for my book, the pressure seems to have settled in, causing a surge of stress that I haven't felt in a while. The words don't flow as effortlessly as usual, and it's frustrating to face what might be a bout of writer's block. I let out a heavy sigh, leaning back in my chair and tapping my pen on top of my notebook, trying to coax out some inspiration from my mind. It's as if my thoughts are trapped behind an invisible barrier.