A/N: Good evening! I know I really shouldn't be starting any new stories right now, but I've had this one lingering around for a while, and I'd really love to put it out for people to get a first glimpse. Tell me what you think <3

The moment you tilt your head up from the pillow, groggy from your previous slumber, you’re hit with another nosebleed. The third one this week.

You hastily grab a tissue from the nightstand, dabbing away at the crimson stream. A frown makes way to your lips, but you can’t afford to be hung up over it for too long. Nosebleeds had many causes, including the helplessly dry weather that had afflicted the region recently. Shaking it off, you take short steps over to the bathroom adjacent to your bedroom to wash your face.

These nosebleeds…they’d happened ever since you started college that year. Frankly, you’d keep brushing it off if it wasn’t for the other odd occurrences that you’d faced recently. Occult experiences, you liked to call them. Moments that made you doubt your sanity.

Your sluggish self saunters over to the kitchen, eager to get some breakfast before tackling the Saturday ahead of you. Midway through wolfing down an oversized bowl of cereal, you receive a phone call from your mother, which you decide to accept with a spoon still dangling halfway from your lips.

“Mm?”

“Good morning, sweetie.” Her voice is hopeful. You ask her why, and she replies quickly. “I finally received the confirmation. You’ll be able to move into your new dorm.” Your fingers clench around the receiver, and your smile reaches all the way up to your ears.

“That’s wonderful news.” You pause. “Will I be able to move in soon enough?”

“The day after tomorrow, yes.” The conversation doesn’t drag on for much longer, as your mother is quite busy. She whispers that she loves you and will talk to you soon, and you do the same, returning to your bowl of cereal and your daydreaming.

There’s a pretty vase with a few lose flower stems in front of you, and you realize all of the petals have fallen on the table top. After little hesitation, you brush the silky petals aside into a neat pile that you could clean at a later time, frowning deeply.

The same thing had happened with every single bouquet your mother brought from the garden. They’d stay fresh for a day, but the next morning, all the petals would fall off, as though the kitchen was afflicted by a curse. Your mother still collected flowers, of course, because she loved the sight of them and believed that one day, the bouquet would be strong enough to resist.

The comfortable smell wafts past your nostrils and you head over to the sink, washing up your bowl and cutlery. You were going to have to deal with a few hours of packing, so might as well start as early as possible. You head back up the creaky wooden stairwell and into your room, where you had set a few cardboard boxes aside for later use. You begin stacking away your favourite clothes and art supplies, as well as your treasured game console. The shelves slowly reveal some old books and trinkets that assault you with a fresh wave of nostalgia, as well as some other pieces of jewellery that you thought you had a lost a while back. You smile sadly to yourself, making the promise to dust off said shelves as soon as you come back home for the holidays.

It doesn’t stop your heart from aching at the new emptiness within your bedroom. A sacred place where you’d created countless memories, all of which you cherished deeply.

Your phone’s ringtone echoes through the silence yet again, and you pick up with a quiet greeting.

“Hey! I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” An unfamiliar voice apologizes from the other side of the receiver, and you frown.

“Who is this?”

“Your new roommate!” He has a clean, and very energetic voice that you find quite invigorating. “Listen, we heard you’d be arriving soon, so we thought we could come help you out with the moving.”

You’re taken aback. “Are you sure? I don’t have that many things.” After a short silence, you speak up again. “But, thank you for your offer. It would be less burdensome for my mother, so I’ll gladly accept your help.”

“Cool!” You hear the grin in his voice. “Uh, do you think you could give us your address? Or is that too creepy?”

You smile softly. “If you meet me at the station, I’ll walk you to my house. It’s not far.”

“Alright, deal. Does tomorrow morning sound alright?” You agree, and after saying your goodbyes, you hang up first. You can’t help but feel a little odd about the whole situation, but dismiss it in the hopes of being able to focus on packing once again.

It dawns upon you that you never asked how he got your number.

*

It’s the day of the move and you decide to bake your new roommates a little treat. You’ve always wanted to try making those fancy French macarons anyway, so with a whisk in hand and a bag of powdered sugar in the other, you get to work.

Taking a step towards the newly cleaned wooden counter, you open the windows overhead to let the mild morning breeze and place down all your utensils.

You turn on your favourite, relaxed morning playlist on the speaker and follow the recipe as closely as you can. The instructions don’t make it sound too difficult, but it doesn’t take long for you to drop pieces of egg shell into the mixture, then rip your disposable piping bag. The batter also looks kind of bumpy and it doesn’t smell quite right…

“Crud.” You furrow your eyebrows together, watching the thickened mixture drip from your rubber spatula. “I think this’ll have to do.”

You try your hand at pouring the concoction down another piping bag, and squeeze out experimental little discs on the parchment paper you set aside – much to your surprise, they are turning out semi-decent, and you manage to empty the contents in neat rows.

Baking sure does take some focus. You wipe your forearm across your nose to relieve you of the itchiness. You have to let these little guys rest and form a shell for a bit now anyway, so you finish cleaning up the counter and the space under your clogged fingernails, then return to your bedroom.

Your stomach is already growling by the time you slump back into the mattress. You ought to pick up a little snack at the grocery store…you think back to your mother complaining about how there is never enough dried fruit in the house. With a determined nod to yourself, you pick up your little backpack and coin purse, then head down the two flights of stairs it takes to reach the entrance and step out into the breezy spring air.

Walking to the grocery store in and of itself is a peaceful experience, strolling past the small bushes and newly planted saplings, air thick with spring warmth. It’s comforting to the point where you just tune out your surroundings and focus on the sweet, earthly smells, the sound of your soles hitting the pavement, and the rustling of the overhead trees.

Never did you think you would one day regret that, as you suddenly collide with another person, then stumble backwards and land on your .

Ouchie…

You’re flustered and a little embarrassed, then peek up at whomever the victim was to apologize and your breath is taken away.

He’s…gorgeous. Shadowy, sharp eyes, platinum blond hair, thick eyebrows, and deliciously sculpted lips. You find yourself at a loss for words, and scramble up to your feet, purse clutched in your arms.

“I’m so sorry.” You mumble. “I hope you didn’t get hurt.”

“Yeah.” It finally occurs to you that he’s not particularly amused, and actually looks quite annoyed. “Just watch where you’re going next time.”

“It won’t happen again.” You’re a little annoyed that he doesn’t return the apology, but decide to shake it off after burning his image into your memory. You’re almost tempted to ask him what his name is, so that you could stalk him on social media after.

However, that would be too creepy, and you are far too embarrassed to say anything more, then stumble past him and hurry onwards to the grocery store.

*

By the time you arrive back home, arms loaded with dried apricots and berry mixes, the macarons are ready to bake off. The house is filled with a thick almond-like scent as you prepare the cream filling. Your playlist also happens to switch to one of your favourite songs, leading you to dance around the kitchen with the bowl of frosting in your hands, whisking the concoction to the beat of the song. It’s one of those moments where if someone would come in and notice the scene unravelling in front of them, you wouldn’t have any logical explanation to give.

Today was just…a great day. You felt great. So why should you stop yourself from expressing that?

Your phone buzzes on the counter, and you notice the same mystery number that called you the other day - and the sudden realization that you completely forgot about the time makes your stomach sink low in dread.

“H-Hello?”

“Hey!” The cheerful voice immediately soothes yours ears. “We’re on our way to the station, are you ready?”

“We?” You inquire, lips twisted doubtfully. “I’ll be on my way in two minutes.” You reach over to the oven and pry the door open to catch a glimpse of the pastries’ progress. “Oh, .”

“Huh?” Pause. “Is somethjng the matter?”

“My- ah, they were supposed to be a surprise, but I messed up.” You whine, then turn the oven heat off. The little discs had turned to crispy, mushy almond pools of mystery goop.

“You were making us something?” The voice teases, to which you smile guiltily. “You’re so sweet!”

“Hmm…we’ll see about that.” You scratch the back of your head. “I’ll see you in a bit. You should be able to recognize me from afar…I, uhm. Have pink hair.”

“Oho~.” He sounds genuinely surprised. “Interesting. I’m looking forward to it!” He hangs up, and you’re left to wallow in misery in front of your crispy, mushy almond pools of mystery goop.