So I'm trying something new. And when i say new, i mean, actually writing and finishing a story. I promise the after chapter 3 it gets better. So please, bare with me.


" Do you think it works here?"

"Maybe it would be better on the book shelf instead."

"But I like it here."

"Then keep it there, it looks fine, perfect even."

A sigh, a few more adjustments, another sigh and finally…

"Perfect." He looks over to investigate, his small smirk confirming my previous comment, and a quick eye roll to the rest of my previous comments.

He comes to stand behind me for a closer look, his arms encircling my waist and his chin resting on my shoulder. His messy hair tickles my cheek and his three-day scruff scratches my bare shoulders.

"Do you think he'd like it?" It sounds small, but weighs heavily in the air for a few minutes.

I don't get an answer, just a peck on the cheek, but that's okay; I didn't need an answer. I know he would. .

The smile on his face was small, but it was that special one that you loved to see because it made his whole face winkle up and his eyes to twinkle. Even through the smile, you could see how awkward the picture was for him, he had just been crying because he "had something in his eyes," yet there he stood with us, our arms around his shoulders, huge happy smiles on our faces.

The frame was dark blue with his name on it in black, nothing special, but it definitely stood out against our soft yellow walls and red brick fireplace. I know he would like it if he were to ever see it. It was one of many frames we had on the fireplace, the wall, the shelves; there were plenty.

Yeah, he would like it…

It was Charlie's kind of thing anyway.