"The Boy Next Door" Cliché

• one •

(Warning: this story contains bad language)

Aaaand we're here. Another 'family Christmas' at the grandparents. My family's car pulls up in the cul-de-sac and my heart drops with the hum of the engine.

Immediately, the usual awkward scuffle begins, in which my irritating little brother tries to avoid taking any bags into the house while I try to do as many trips as possible.

Don't get me wrong though! I love my family, and I mean that honestly. It's just...I'm 17 now and it feels like the adults are still forcing a get-together that's in serious need of being updated. Anyway, back to the car-unload...

Next door, the family in the other half of my grandparents' semi-detached house clearly had a similar situation was occurring. It took me about 0.35 seconds to notice the lad around my age strolling absentmindedly towards their door -

And bloody hell. He wasn't my type, exactly, but he was attractive as fuck and who needs types anyway? He had dark, silky hair that brushed around his brows and ears, he was taller than me but lanky, and in his left hand he fiddled absent-mindedly with a... guitar pick? Even better. When he turned to head back to the car cause his mum had yelled at him, I could glimpse his facial features. Lowkey emo, with soft puppy-brown eyes and thick brows to frame them... he reminded my vaguely of Kylo Ren from Star Wars, and he had a sort of relaxed but sarcastic air to the way he walked. I tore my eyes away.

So next I'm trying to carry too many boxes of food at once, and inevitably, I fail. But that's partly due to the fact something else - or should I say someone else - caught my eye. God, the mess I'd just made was awful. Thankfully not much on the ground, but the Yule log no longer resembled a cake... more like a dog had diarrhoea in a plastic box.

Now, I'd consider myself an optimistic sort of person. For that reason, I burst out laughing when I saw the dog-shit cake I'd just created, cause to be honest, it was pretty funny.

Only he saw me do it.

Laughing softly, he jogs over and asks, a cute, quizzical look on his face, "what the heck just happened?"

Grinning, I respond, "I just don't go to the gym often enough." Really smooth I know right.

He laughs again, and I refrain from shuddering cause his voice is so rich. He says, "guess you'll need a sponge for that," nodding to the destroyed cake. Of course he makes bad puns, this gets better by the second.

I pretend-glare at him then my mum appears behind me, chiding me for being so careless. Not-Kylo-Ren is clearly smart, cause he backs away with a wink at me and resumes his business with his own family. Goddamn that wink.

I turn to pick up the pieces of boxes and Yule log, suddenly feeling strangely conflicted by the slog of this compared to talking with him, and the idea of just talking to him...

.•*•.

So it's the 22nd of December and I'm in the sitting room with various family members, unable to concentrate on anything because he's perpetually on my mind. Let me describe my fam to you;

My parents: dad finds Christmas okay but tiring. Mum is not my best friend.

My brother Daniel; 3 years younger than me, football obsessed, can't-keep-still sorta lad.

My grandma; biggest heart ever, though unfortunately, she seriously overdoes Christmas

Granddad; occasionally racist/homophobic. Bad puns.

My uncle; drinks beer instead of water.

My aunt; actually decent her except she seems to be in a constant competition with my mum

My twin cousins Sophie and Jocelyn; have literally been one of the "grown ups" since they were twelve.

Oh, and I'm Fern. 17. A hopeless romantic.

.•*•.

Christmas Eve... or as it usually is in Britain, an overcast, dull grey morning that seems like the afternoon. For fresh air, I'm letting my brother take shots at me with a football on the grassy space at the end of the cul-de-sac. (See also: I can't stand the awkward interactions in the house.)

Then he (Not-Kylo-Ren) steps gracefully out of the front door to the house he's staying in with a dog.

A gorgeous golden retriever, practically his opposite in demeanour.

As he turns to step onto the pavement, his eyes meet mine.

-

Whoop whoop new storyyyy

Please comment/vote yknow the drill.

~ R x