Chapter 3: A Hopeless Romantic

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Soft music plays throughout the store, playing some new song that Mew's heard on the radio a few times already, but never really paid attention to, it not being his type of music.

Running his hand over the racked clothes, contemplating on what to pick as he looks through all the shirts. Brows creased as he tries to make his mind up about two particular shirts.

Giving up with a frustrated sigh, he decides to just buy them both. Taking them off the rack, he moves onto pants. Not having such a hard time with his decision making this time.

He picks two pairs of shorts and two pairs of jeans.

Throughout his life, Mew has always just found jeans to be his favourite thing to wear, even as a kid when he'd go shopping with his parents, he'd always go to the jeans section first, he just adored them. He always felt more comfortable in them than any other clothing item.

And as he grew up, he began to notice the other people that wore jeans, especially guys. And it was like a spell, almost every guy that he met or saw that wore jeans just looked so attractive to him. The way they'd hug their legs and highlight their curves, their thighs, waist...

God, how he'd always just want to wrap his arms around their waists, he couldn't explain why, but the act was just so endearing to him. And there was a time where to he too, wanted to be held like that. Was.

As a child, Mew knew he was different from the other kids. Even after figuring out his sexuality, while the other kids were all talking about sneaking out to go to parties and hooking up with girls, he was busy thinking about kissing guys and crushing on his friend.

How could he not, his friend had and was everything he liked in a guy, his physique, his features, his clothing style, and maybe, just maybe, it was also because of his bad boy persona.

Sometimes he'd just sit in the library day dreaming about him. His small waist, that his black high waisted ripped jeans just complemented perfectly. His long legs that gave him a little bit of height over himself. His broad shoulders that held the white shirt and leather jacket that he often wore. Then there were his hands and long slender fingers that were always decorated with various different rings.

And then there was his face.

Mew could never really look away from it. He had those perfect eyebrows, small but luscious pink lips, perfect nose, light brown hair that looked so soft as it shone in the sun, and his eyes...

Oh those beautiful dark blue eyes.

Mew loved them. He wanted to wake up everyday to them. He wanted to see them shine in the moonlight as they stared out into the night sky, watching shooting stars fly across the black canvas above...

And maybe if life was fair and kind, he might've got to have that. But it isn't, and we don't live in a fairy tale. What we wish we had is often not what we get. It's only something we find in books and cliché cinematography.

And maybe if he'd had realised that earlier, he wouldn't be where he is today. Or maybe he would.

But either way, in all honesty, he's happy with who he is and how everything turned out. Because he was shown what reality is, he no longer sets himself up for expectations that'll never be anything more disappointments.

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