《Flatmates》9
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But we don't. I feel like I am lost in his eyes, unable to move away.
It feels like his eyes are burning into me, seeing exactly what I am thinking. His gaze flickers down to my lips before returning to my eyes. His finger stops rubbish circles and his hand holds my side firmly, almost daring me to move closer. Almost daring me to make a move.
I don't know what happens. I don't know if it was me, Alex or both, but suddenly our lips smash together, moving in sync. My hand at the base of his neck tangled in his hair, him pulling me closer so that I am practically laying on him. He nibbles my lip, causing me to gasp. My mouth opening just enough for his tongue to bury its way in and find mine.
It feels like it lasts forever, but at the same time it is over too soon. Alex suddenly pulls away, pulling himself out from under me and standing.
'Im sorry' is all he says as he turns and walks away.
***
It has been two days and Alex still hasn't come out of his room. Not when I am about anyway. I have tried to talk to him, I have text him, even messaged him on instagram. All I have received back is radio silence.
'Jess, come here' I hear George shout from the living room. 'What the fuck have you ordered?'
I pull myself off of my bed and head in his direction, only to find him stood in the hall surrounded by boxes.
'Uhhh.. that would be packing materials' I laugh, having not realised JUST how much there would be. 'I.. uhh.. thought I would order enough for everything so I didn't have to place another order?'
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'Jesus. Ring Will and ask him to come and help, I will put my shoes on.
***
Once all of the boxes have safely been moved to Will's spare room, we collapse on his sofa knackered.
'Thank god the merch is coming straight here or we would die' Will laughs, kicking his feet up onto the coffee table. 'At least you won't need to buy packaging materials for a long fucking time' Will pauses. 'Oh that reminds me! This box came for you' he says as he jumps up and heads into his bedroom. He returns with the box and puts it in front of me.
'What is it? I haven't ordered anything else' I ask, confusion etched on my face.
'Open it and you will see' he laughs in response.
I take my keys from my pocket and use it to cut through the tape. I put the keys back in my pocket, before slowly opening the box. Inside are five hoodies, five t-shirts and five phone cases - one of each design.
'Your samples, so we can get the photos taken and the website up' Will smiles as I pull each item out of the box, carefully inspecting them. They were amazing, better than I could have ever imagined.
Will grabbed his camera and dragged me and the box off to his bedroom. 'We will take the clothing photo's in front of this window, they will look amazing' he says as he throws me the first item. 'Now get this on and let's get going.
Two hours later and the photos are all taken, transferred onto Will's Mac and uploaded to my new website. It was my first time seeing it as I had let Will sort it with his friend, and it was breath taking.
'Leave it with me and I will get all the sizes and prices and stuff on for you ready for launch. I may have been cheeky and made sure we had mine, Alex's and George's sizes so that we can start advertising them for you on our social medias and channels' Will grinned.
'You are honestly amazing.'
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The First Corridor of Old Works
But what is it, really? Old Works. They say, some do anyway, or would, if they still had tongues - it's a dream. That it's a million year old mystery connecting three planets. Some, yet other, anonymous entities, charge that it's a structure, more accurately, an architecture - a quest, even, made from, and through - corridors. Pretty inarguably, for one thing, it's a maze. Even some pronounce, if you can understand those currently vomiting blood, that it's a corporation, and yet others - the brave ones – and dead - say it's... near death. Or that it is. Death. - Death itself. But that dark thing on the horizon, that thing emerging to replace the only system we... know. - Whatever it is it couldn't be the end, of everything, could it? Eminently possible, but - it couldn't be worse? 3 civilisations/3 planets... and Old Works. 4 heroes: The Cyclops seeing out his Eye the reality of that place - and by means of that vision - greasing the many-toothed gears of that great old churning nightmare. The Writer sweating to keep the story alive that supports the great old lying structure. The Fake King who abides among all those tunnels of dreams and lies and dreams and... slaves. And the Hero Dreamt, all those slaves - to maintain that structure's even functioning, have to - at all... they dream him. They literally dream him. But that thing, from whence, who knows, arriving? What kind of sick demonic mind could even - But it can only be psychosis - Or possession. Reducing all of reality to some kind of – what would you call it? A Game? A video... joke? And that half-Cyclops, that beauty – what does she have growing – beneath her supernatural genitals? A game for him? A game/a dream; a – world? Or just Old Works. And this Wound in reality – that our writer near-died putting inside her. What is it anyway? And what reality does it bring with it. This demon or God. Through the corridors; lattices of smoke and shadows and colours; dungeons; and supernatural organs; the labyrinths made from dreams... and flesh. - What happens when they face that Wound – staring the absolute. right. in. them? - Through - What happens to all us... slaves... then? But at the end of the hallway, you see it there, I say you do, that turning - It's only the First Corridor of Old Works. This finished 104,000 word kind of LITRPGy fantasy novel, the First Corridor of Old Works will be released in daily 2000 word chapters, or equivalent [unfailingly at 20:47 GMT] Immediately followed by the Second Corridor of Old Works [161,000 words, edited, ongoing, as of 24/09/21] At first lite on stats these LITRPGy elements will become increasingly - built meticulously upon what precedes - ubiquitous, as we proceed into a world painstakingly built to support these mechanisms. After - minimum - 6 months, this manic daily release schedule will be somewhat relaxed: 5 days a week. - But don't lie to yourself it's not there. That thing watching at the end of the hallway... and where it leads. It's - Of countless, it could only be - The First Corridor of Old Works.
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