In My Rearview Mirror, JACK.HUGHES

TWENTY FIVE

MORGAN'S POV

"Stop it, Braden. Give it to me," I say, playfully pouting my lip as I extend my arms toward my little blanket.

"You don't even sleep with it," he remarks, holding the blanket up to the light

I chuckle, the corners of my lips curling into a fond smile. "I know, but that's something I keep as a souvenir from when I was a baby." I pause, a nostalgic glint in my eyes, and then add, "I think I slept with it until I was 14 or 15. Then, I got a boyfriend, and I stopped sleeping with it because I was embarrassed." I reclaim the blanket, wrapping it around my shoulders like a protective shield against the embarrassment of teenage years.

"I think you should bring it back. It's cute," Braden says, his tone softened. He continues taping a box filled with souvenirs that were already packed in my wardrobe.

I roll my eyes with a smile, "Cute, huh? Well, I guess it does have a certain charm." I say putting it in the box identify by an etiquette that's says 'Souvenir' on it. 

I look around the room, spotting a dusty old photo album. I pick it up, blowing away some of the dust, and open it. "Oh, here's a classic. Me with pigtails and braces. Brace yourself for the cringe."

Braden laughs, joining me to flip through the pages as we continue to pack memories into boxes, creating new ones in the process.

As I carefully pack my belongings into boxes, the excitement of a new apartment in Brooklyn courses through my veins. The prospect of a fresh start, a space entirely my own, brings a sense of independence and adventure. The idea of exploring a new neighborhood and making new memories fills me with anticipation.

Yet, amidst the excitement, a subtle undercurrent of emotion tugs at my heart. Leaving my brother behind, the one who has been my roommate for the past year, adds a layer of bittersweet sentimentality to the process. We've shared late-night talks, inside jokes, and the comfort of each other's company in our little corner of the world.

"Are you excited to have your own apartment?" Braden asks me, the sound of cardboard flaps being folded and taped in the background.

"Well, yes I am. Kind of," I respond, my tone hesitant, as if grappling with conflicting emotions about the new chapter unfolding.

Braden pauses in his box assembly, looking up with a gentle curiosity. "What are you scared of?" he asks, his expression warm and encouraging.

I take a deep breath before revealing my inner turmoil. "I don't know. I'm scared to feel alone. I'm scared that I won't see you and Ced as often as I do now. I'm scared to ruin it all again." The vulnerability in my voice hangs in the air.

Braden sets the box aside, his attention fully on me. His warm hazel eyes convey understanding, and he speaks with a comforting reassurance, "Change is scary, but you're not alone. We're just a call or a short drive away. You won't ruin anything, look—you're starting to have a good career. Things are doing great, M. Things are falling into place."

I chew the inside of my cheek, contemplating the upcoming changes. Braden, sensing the weight of my thoughts, pauses in his packing. His eyes, filled with a comforting understanding, meet mine. The air hangs with anticipation as the question I've been grappling with slips past my lips, "Will you come see me?"

His response is swift, and his voice carries a reassuring certainty, "Why wouldn't I? I'm your biggest fan." A playful grin graces his lips, injecting a touch of lightness into the serious tone that lingered in the room.