Good Choices and Lavender Keychains

Leo

The gentle hum of the laptop filled the dimly lit room, the flickering light of the movie playing a mere backdrop to the whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me. My gaze darted between the screen and Collin, my brother, who sat beside me, engrossed in some popular movie of Netflix that kept playing on his laptop. Gratitude, a warm and heavy emotion, settled in my chest. How lucky was I to have him?

While his eyes devoured the data, my mind drifted back to simpler times. Back to high school me, awkward and gawky, and Collin, a lanky freshman with a passion for math (a subject that, even then, held all the allure of a soggy sock for me). He was on his way to becoming a professor, a mind destined for the ivory tower, until life, in its cruel way, intervened.

The accident. Our parents, returning from a relative's wedding, gone in a blink. The world tilted on its axis, leaving a gaping hole where laughter and warmth used to be. Collin, barely eighteen, shouldered the unimaginable. He dropped out of college, his dreams placed on a dusty shelf as he dealt with the unimaginable – the arrangements, the unbearable pitying glances, and most importantly, me.

That's when I retreated into myself, the world a dull echo of what it once was. Video games became my refuge, a virtual world where grief couldn't touch me. Collin, however, understood. He didn't try to drag me back into a life that felt meaningless. He held the fort, his grief a silent storm beneath the calm exterior. He poured his heart and soul into the family company, a small operation then, struggling to stay afloat.

His dedication was fierce, a fire fueled by a silent promise. Within five years, the company became a top five conglomerate in the country. Five more years, and it climbed the global ladder, a testament to his unwavering focus. He never spoke of his own dreams, his own grief. All his energy was directed towards the company and me, his introverted little brother.

A pang of guilt twisted in my gut. While I spent hours slaying dragons in pixelated landscapes, Collin fought real battles, his victories measured in balance sheets and market share. Yet, there was a flicker of pride, too. Proud of his unwavering resolve, proud of the empire he built from the ashes of our grief.

A sudden cough from Collin pulled me back to the present. He looked up from his tablet, a wry smile gracing his lips. "The strawberry cake, Leo," he said, a twinkle in his eyes. "Good choice."My cheeks flushed with a mixture of surprise and relief. Relief that my internal monologue hadn't been a one-sided conversation. "I thought you might need a break from all those numbers," I replied, a grin tugging at the corners of my lips.

He chuckled, a warm sound that filled the room. "Maybe you're right," he conceded, closing the tablet. "How about some virtual slaying of your own? Up for a rematch?"

The familiar challenge and the comfortable banter were a balm to my soul. Tonight, under the soft glow of the laptop screen, with the remnants of strawberry cake on our fingers, it felt like we were bridging the chasm that grief had created. 

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Cereus

The cacophony of the fairground felt like a vibrant melody as Matthew and I strolled hand-in-hand. The air buzzed with laughter, the smell of fried foods hung heavy, and the flashing lights of carnival rides painted the night sky in technicolour. It was far from the quiet coffee dates we'd been accustomed to, yet a different kind of spark ignited between us amidst the joyous chaos.

We stopped at a stall overflowing with an assortment of keychains. Tiny animals, cartoon characters, and glittering trinkets jostled for attention. I reached out to inspect a fuzzy panda, a small smile playing on my lips.

However, Matthew surprised me by abruptly stopping and ducking into the stall. A moment later, he reappeared, a small lavender-blue keychain dangling from his fingertips. It was charmingly simple, a small lavender flower encased in a clear resin block, suspended beside a miniature bluebird charm.

My pulse quickened as he shyly held it out to me. "This reminded me of you," he said, his voice barely above a whisper. "The lavender—it has such a calming effect on me, just like being with you. And the blue," he continued, his cheeks flushing slightly, "that's for your favourite colour."

Surprise melted into warmth. This simple gesture spoke volumes, a heartfelt sentiment nestled within the unassuming keychain. "It's beautiful, Matthew," I breathed, taking the keychain from his hands. "Thank you."

I unclasped my favourite handbag, a well-worn leather satchel that held countless memories. With a touch of reverence, I attached the keychain to one of the loops, the lavender flower nestled against the worn leather. Matthew's gaze followed my movement, a silent contentment in his eyes.

He didn't ask for a similar keychain, content to keep it in his pocket for now. Perhaps he harboured a plan for it, but for the moment, its resting place was in his hand, a silent reminder of the night he compared me to a calming flower.

The rest of the evening unfolded in a delightful blur. We rode the Ferris wheel, the city twinkling beneath us like scattered diamonds. We shared cotton candy, the sugary sweetness sticking delightfully to our fingers. And as the night drew to a close, Matthew walked me home.

Standing on my doorstep, the scent of honeysuckle heavy in the night air, he took my face in his hands. The kiss was gentle, a slow exploration of newfound feelings. When we finally pulled away, a comfortable silence settled between us.

"Thank you for tonight, Matthew," I whispered, my heart brimming with a happiness I hadn't expected.

"It was perfect, Cereus," he replied, his voice warm. "Until next time?"

I smiled, the memory of the lavender keychain already etched in my mind. "Until next time."

With a final lingering kiss, he turned and walked away, leaving me at my doorstep, looking at his back as he walked away.