yeah as soon as I get back on my laptop sure!!
June 21st, 1999
“Can you drive faster?” I watch as my mom’s knuckles turn white from gripping the steering wheel too tightly. She scrapes her teeth against the outside of her bottom lip takes a deep breath. “I told you before; I’m already going over the speed limit. Just, chill out. We’ll be there soon.” I sigh and fall back into my seat. Chill out? It’s my last year of being a camper because next year I’ll be too old. Though, I am coming back as a Leader in Training (L.I.T.). You basically help with the littler kids and set up the activities and stuff. My older brother was an L.I.T. last year and since he’s a senior now (and 18) he’s considered a counselor.
I try and read the book I have resting in my lap, but I’m too excited. I get to see all my friends that have been camp with me since we were eight. Most of them are from the area, but there’s one girl from Ohio and obviously, me from New York. I watch as we drive past a larger green traffic sign that says “NORTH SPRINGFIELD, PA.” My heart bounces out of my chest as I read the bottom of the sign that reads “HOME OF CAMP FITCH.”
Finally I see the similar cabins and loads of kids holding luggage with teary eyed parents standing next to them. My mom parks in the grass parking lot and I get out of the car and make my way into a full sprint toward the registration tent. There about 10 people in line but this is when I don’t care at all and I jump right in front of everyone. “Mallore, Lilly Mallore.” I say jumping up and down. The older women sitting behind the table gives me a confused and obviously annoyed look. “Where’s your mom, sweety?” She says with a halfhearted smile. “Right here!” My mom says coming from behind me with a sigh. They exchange a small chat and my mom signs a couple papers and finally I get handed my key.
It reads Cabin 8. I immediately leave my mom and head back into a sprint towards the girls’ cabins. Cabin 5,6,7, and finally 8! The door is wide open and I rush inside to claim my preferred bunk. When I get inside I rush to the top bunk of one of the beds right against the window. I stay there smiling and looking out of the window when I hear someone’s footsteps on the small porch. I sit up and find a redhead holding a suit case and a pillow facing away, talking to someone who I assume is her dad. She turns around and I recognize her contagious smile in an instant. “EMILY!” I say as I jump off and watch as she drops her things as we engulf each other in a huge hug. “LILLY!” She says mocking me when we release from our hug.
“Like, how are you? Oh my god I’ve missed you! Wait did you ever end up going out with-“ I cut myself off when I see my mom coming in with my stuff. “Sorry, I was just coming.” I say smiling apologetically. “Whatever. I love you. Don’t be stupid.” She put the stuff down and wraps her arms around me and kisses me on the head. “I love you too, see you July 5th.” I say looking up at her. After a moment she’s gone and my attention returns to Emily sitting on the bed. “Alright so tell me about school, any new boyfriends?” I say moving my eyebrows.
For the next hour we talk as we meet the other two girls staying in our cabin. Ava and Sophia, twins. They’re both shy and have long blonde hair and glasses. We let them take the other bunk to themselves; as I help Emily move her things over to the bottom bunk we hear the bell for dinner. “Thank god, I’m starving.” I say dropping her blanket to the floor.
After dinner we got back to our cabins and get ready for the evening activity. Slipping on sweatshirts and bug spray, we make our way outside. There are three different fires going on since it’s such a large camp; they’re divided up by age. Me, Lilly, Ava and Sophia walk to the end of a long trail until we hear loud laughs and see the fire billowing with smoke. We take a seat next to a group of boys, dressed in kakis and cardigans. “Hi!” I say to the boys. They stop the conversation they were having and turn toward the 4 of us. “Hello!” One of them says. “I’m Lilly. I think I recognize you guys! Ezra, right? And your name is Chris, I think?” Two of the boys nod and mutter something that sounded like “yep.”
“I’m Rostam, and that’s Chris, the other Chris. He goes by CT.” Rostam points to the boy sitting farthest away from me. Oh my god he is so cute. “Greetings, Lillian” The way he said my name made me want to melt into the ground. “Where are you guys from? Near here?” “New Jersey.” Ezra says pointing to him and CT. “I’m from New York.” Chris says and finally Rostam chimes in, “I’m from DC.”
“No way! I live right outside New York City! And DC sure is pretty far to come for this camp.” Rostam shrugs “It’s worth it. How long have you been doing the camp?” “Since I was-“ For the second time that night I get cut off. Martha, one of the L.I.T. people has a ukulele in her and she starts strumming the familiar Camp Fitch theme.
srry if it’s kinda slow i’ll try and get part two up asap -anna
I like it a lot!!
10:18 and you’re filing archive work in the basement with Andy poking your ribs every five seconds instead of doing his actual job, so really, you’re focusing on your hula-hoop/dodge Andy skills more than organizational ones.
“So, who is he?”
“What is that supposed to mean, exactly?”
“Whoever’s got your cheeks,” he tries to nip your face between his fingers, “flaring a very cute tomato red in the middle of reorganizing actual paper paperwork,” Andy and his instigating and nudging your side. Classic, typical Andy.
“That’s not…(dodge) first of all, I’m not tomato red, and if I were it (dodge) wouldn’t be cute. Can’t you busy yourself toying with a baby intern who has no binky to suck today instead of me?” you impose.
“Quit avoiiiiiding meeee and answer my questionnnnn!” the dork moans, still trying to pinch your cheeks. You spin away from him, barely, and start carrying a crate with files in it away from your work desk and through the aisles of basement record shelving, trying to further deter the un-deterable Andrew from bothering you. Especially with it being about mill-stealing-baby-blues. Jerk. You were used to Andy’s antics and you loved his terse demeanor, but commentary right now surrounding beardy-lifter-perve-thief would not help you forget about him or the guilt you still felt from the contents of this morning’s shower.
Of course he follows you like a hawk instead of going upstairs to do his share of the day’s productivity (probably consisting of a coffee and smoke break), making all kinds of lame noises and buzzings and endlessly trying to pinch your sides as you walk like an insolent six foot one child. Finally, you just give in. You know he’s borderline maniacal and will never give up trying to get baby-blue-thief out of you.
“Fine,” you flip around to face him; he’s much taller than you, but his blatant flamboyancy and obvious ladies’ skinny jeans ruin your serious approach instantly, “I don’t know his name.”
“What do you mean you don’t know his name? Your life isn’t a Sandra Bullock romcom, honey,” he retorts, placing his hand on his hip and giving you the look.
You place your crate on an empty ledge and start sifting through what’s already been sifted distractedly, “I…well, some strange guy at the gym stole my treadmill this morning so then I checked him out and after I was done my run he checked ME out, but I caught him…I dunno…he’s pretty cute. And he was pressing, like, 150 but I was upside down and glassesless so it was probably 50 pounds. Well, at least that’s close to how weak I felt after the ogling,” you budge out, blushing at yourself.
His face lit up, “Well, well, well, it looks like we need to figure out how to keep this pseudo-gym romance up and running, if you know what I mean…” he winks and elbows you in the gut, making you spill all of the files in your hands on the tiled floor.
“Ugh…seriously, Andrew, why…” rolling your eyes in annoyance, you both reach to pick up the papers scattered everywhere, “Ha ha… yeah, like that’s going to happen, since today wasn’t the only time I’ve ever seen him at the gym…smell the roses, Andy.”
“Gymnasium love is the cousin of textbook, my dear! Stay positive about this, I just know something good will come out of it,” the freak says, since he must have seen right through you as you reported the details. Great.
You scoff and murmur quiet death threats if he were to exploit the knowledge of your dirty business to anyone else, especially at work, as you both stand. With that and a smile he hands you the single sheet of paper he’d gathered from the floor and hoots a “later!” as he traipses back upstairs to flare up someone else’s morning with more horrible pun placement. Typical Andy.
7:00 exactly and you shoot upright out of bed. Fuck your subconscious, what an asshole traitor. Totally didn’t need to wake up to or from a dream like that. You felt so good, but so, so wrong, because reality-you would never get turned on from being fed the contents of a submarine sandwich piece by piece from a nude and oiled treadmill-stealing booty ogler. (Hot, big yes. The weirdest sexy dream ever, bigger yes).
It’d been a week since the check out sesh with non-oiled-ogler-bearded-lifty-pants, who you’d found out from Martha one morning’s name was actually Chris. Christopher. The more you thought about him in the last few days the less (or maybe more) holy he started to sound.
The fact that he hadn’t come back to the gym, or at least maybe you had avoided each other completely, made you think…things about him. Things you hadn’t thought about just any one person in a long, long time. That’s probably why you had that dream. Ugh.
But you had to keep telling yourself to chill out about him; it was a one-time eye-candy-palooza and you knew that you were stronger than becoming a carnal, Samantha Jones-esque smitten ditz over a complete stranger you saw once in a Midtown gym.
Just once, of course, until 9:09 as you enter Ess-A-Bagel’s on the way to work and, by the grace of Christ himself, ogling-sandwich-dream-beard was standing at the back counter in line placing an order to the clerk. You had your distance lenses on now and… Wow. Capital W Wow. Fine-ass man alert. He’s sporting a navy blue knit sweater with a red and orange stitch pattern in the middle, tight (tight-tight tight) tan pants on, a messenger bag, and black vans. His hair was shiny and a little long in the front and it flopped into his eyes several times as he spoke so he kept running his hand through it to calm it back into place and occasionally scratching the fresher stubble on his neck below his groomed beard. Hot.
Hot. Very Hot. Bares repeating-level of Hot. Call the bagel shop security team, we need a number H-O-T cease and desist on this man from behind, which is now right in front of you as your stomach took control of your legs and walked the rest of your body from the doorway, except for your head (and some other certain parts), to the order line. You were close enough to even catch a whiff of all the sexy happening before he shuffled in line a little too far away to tell any longer. Sweet, kind of-delicious as a smell?? Minty, too. Clean. Hot.
Cool the fuck down, good lord; you are a psycho crushing maniac. He doesn’t notice you, even though probably distracted by the meats and cream cheese combinations in the counter fridge; he only really knows what your ass is made of, not your face. He’s still hot as he follows his order back to the front of house where the cashier waits. That ass as it waltzed away with your eyes embedded in his back pockets…just too much for nine in the morning.
You see the clerk is watching you watching hotty-mc-sexy-mill-thief walk away and you just smile at her, kind of ignoring your previous public perversion and the sudden through the door lineup behind you as you tell your usual twice toasted raisin-pumpernickel with plain cheese and lox and a large black coffee.
He’s sitting next to the front windows and from the side the light kind of casts over his body as if Jesus was giving you a free for all photo shoot and you were the photographer. Hot. Even hot while shoving a giant, cheesy bagel in his face.
You pay a little more attention to your necessary actions as a customer and try not to let the side-glances at his table become truly noticed. Cash out, bagel, bag, and coffee in hand, and you round through the door and outside without a trace. But your final look into the windows is at a slow-chewing, cream cheese-covered beard of a sex god staring right at you, and in the glance’s last second, a wink and grin shoots a laser right through your skull and straight down to your panties.
August 1st 2004 *TW abuse*
"How do you not know Chris?" I demanded, "You have to have known! Andrew is your best friend."
"I don’t know!" he stammered, "All I remember is him saying you were in the hospital- not telling me why, and then he was gone for weeks, Elanor. I have no idea what happened."
I feel tears brim over onto my cheeks, keeping a rock solid stare at the TV. “What so now you care? Now you want to know?”
"Yes I want to know! Of course I do! I’ve wanted to know for two years!" he threw his hands up dramatically and brought his eyebrows together. "Why can’t you tell me? Why don’t I matter then?"
"For fucks sake Chris! You weren’t there! You weren’t fucking there!" I was yelling now. I stood up and clenched my fists. I looked at him and I don’t even know how I made eye contact. "You left and you didn’t come back and you just weren’t there okay? No one was. You both just fucked off to have a new life and left me in Jersey to pick up the pieces,"
I kept going even though my voice was cracking, and I was crying harder now. Chris was sat on the couch below me with his lips pressed together. He didn’t say anything.
"You really want to know? Fine. Fucking fine. About a month after you both left I started dating a guy, Daniel," I paced around the living room still maintaining eye contact. "We dated for 8 months, and it was nice… for a while. Until we were at his house eating dinner together and I spilled my coke onto his shirt. I spilled a drink, and he slapped me in the face. And of course he said he wouldn’t do it again, but he did. Again and again and again,” I felt like I was going to throw up.
Chris had shifted positions leaning towards me but looking at the floor, his hands were clenched together and covering his mouth. He started bouncing his knee. He couldn’t look at me.
"And I put up with it. I fucking put up with it until I tried not to and he pushed me down my stairs and broke my leg," I choked. "And he left me passed out there until my dad came home to find me like that."
His eyes had widened and he had white knuckles. I sat down on the couch and covered my face, sobbing. Pull yourself together for fucks sake Elanor. Stop crying stop crying stop crying. But why did I put up with it? Again and again and again and- Chris had wrapped his arms around me. He held me up to his chest gently.
"He never should have hurt you Elanor," he trembled. "I’m sorry he did, he never should have hurt you." He dragged a hand up and down on my back and held my head to his shoulder with the other. "He never should have hurt you," he repeated. His hands were so big and I could feel the muscles in his shoulder and chest. He was so strong but so gentle. In high school he was always so lanky, it was like he didn’t even know how big he was. I took a couple deep breaths. Books and beer- Chris.
We sit like that on the couch for a while, until I’m sure I’ve made his arm fall asleep and soaked his shirt. Good thing I wasn’t wearing make-up. As if I even would have been in the first place. I feel sleepy and I have a crying headache.
"Hey…" I mumble. He loosens his grip on me and I sit back and rub my eyes, "Do you want to get food?"
"I thought Andrew was bringing back Chinese?" he inquired, his voice slightly groggy and stiff.
"Yeah but he said he’d be back ‘later’ and with him that means midnight."
"This is true," he nods his head and rubs his short beard. It was 4:00.
And just like that I’d filled the pieces he wanted. He knew about me even if he didn’t deserve to. I just wasn’t sure about the pieces I missed out on from his life.
"Okay so my best friend’s a fugitive? I didn’t know Andy had it in him, dude," Chris grinned.
"God he’s not a fugitive. He spent one night on jail and got off easy, and it was only because he almost beat him to death. And there’s another thing that’s my fault," I murmured, taking a bite of the pepperoni and bacon pizza.
"Hey that’s not your fault," he had pizza sauce in his beard, "We both know how much he loves you, nothing wrong with defending your sisters honor."
I shrugged. I cant believe how calm I’d kept about all of this. I mean my medication helped and everything, but something about just being with Chris was calming, and I know I’d told them that I missed him but wen I said that I didn’t really realize how much I actually really fucking missed him.
"You know this pizza choice was A+ El," he marveled, flashing a smile at me. I smile back, just not as enthusiastically as he does. He lifts up his hand for a high 5 and I raise my eyebrows at him, reaching over and tapping it it the tips of my fingers.
"Elanor?" he inquires.
"I’m so sorry," he adds with a softer voice.
It went on for a couple weeks after that incident in the class room, He would purposely walk past me while I unlocked my bike, or brush pass me in the corridor. The smell….the cologne….the menthol cigarettes. It was almost too much some days. I chew my lip so hard some days it would bleed. It was almost like fate was throwing us together, one the way home one evening I had a fall on my bicycle, and of course who happened to be pulling up to a stop sign. I scraped my arm and legs pretty bad on the concrete. I hadn’t even noticed that Chris had pulled up in front and rushed out of the car.
"FUCK…fuck fuck fuck" I cried out grabbing my knee, then my arm. I took my helmet off and threw it pushing my self onto the curb. My uniform was ruined….covered in dirt and blood. My leg shook as the pain ran up and down.
"Ruby….are you ok?" I looked up with tears in my eyes at Chris….he pulled my bike onto the pavement and sat down next to me taking my arm gently.
"I’m fine….just…..it stings…A LOT" I grit my teeth. "You know what they say, falling off, getting straight back on…." I felt a little foolish saying it, but he still made me feel a little…..funny at the time.
"Come on, let me take you home…..at least, you cannot ride home with all the blood running down your arm and legs" I caught him staring at my bare legs, my skirt riding up. I pulled it down and blushed, It was so cute looking back at it. How modest we were.
"first of all, my bike will not fit in your car….plus I’m sure Mr Koenig wont appreciate me in the back of the car whining the whole way home" Chris helped me up, holding my waist tightly…..like he never wanted to let go. That’s when I really knew…..I wanted this guys touch…his hands….all over me. I felt warm all over, and my pain had disappeared.
"I’ve already dropped him off today…." He grinned at me. I grinned back. "I’ll put the seats down in the back, don’t worry" He gripped me a little tighter. He helped me into the car and stroking my hair a little as he went back for my bike.
Just before he pulled off he pulled out some tissue from his bag and told me to hold it over my cuts.
"You fallen off your bike much before" He was making this weird small talk on the way to my home, and each moment I wanted to beg him not to take me home, to take me somewhere and clean my wounds and nurse me….
"Nope….I guess I was distracted…." I looked up at him, he glanced over at me.
Please touch me again….please touch me….just a little….on my leg. Somewhere.
"Well if you pay attention in class like that then should I be worried?" He laughed nervously…..I sighed and sat back frustrated. We pulled up outside and he switched the engine off.
"You need help inside"
"I’ll be ok thanks….Chris" I opened the door quickly to exit this strange interaction when he took my hand and pulled me back and pulled me across to him so I was inches from his face. It was intense…..he felt down my arm and onto my lap.
"Please make me stop" He whispered to me gently. We were both shaking so much. I was so close his glasses were steaming up.
"No…..no fucking way" I whispered back at him and pushed his hand further up my body towards my chest. He pulled away and covered his face….shaking. I felt deflated…..and embarrassed so I just exited the car with out taking my bike. I just rushed inside…..close to tears feeling sick.
I sat in my bathroom, wiping my cuts and grazes watching my self in the mirror. I wasn’t sure what he liked about me. I wasn’t drop dead……my tits were….average, but I was ok with that. I’ve never loved myself but never hated my self. I was content, but Chris got me thinking twice.
The next day at school I limped into the class room, I had pulled my skirt up a little higher, my knees were all banged up, but that didn’t stop him looking at me.
"Morning Mr Tomson" I said gently….
He adjusted his glasses and sighed heavily. I can’t believe how little it took, just hiking my skirt up….wearing my hair down. He couldn’t stop himself, rubbing my clit over my panties in the back of his car…..We had thrown my bike from the back and pushed me down…..shaking and shuddering over me kissing me…..his glasses had fallen off on to the floor, and I got a better look at his beautiful blue eyes for the first time. I clutched his face and smiled, breathing heavily…….
It was intense….
(: (: (:
Nooo it’s great!!!!
6:47 and you’re awake, for one of the few times in your life, before your blaring foghorn alarm was set to blow at seven. Other than that, it’s the same routine you’ve followed for a little over a year. Wake up, drag yourself out of bed, do your biz, throw on the cleanest pair of booty shorts in lying in eyesight, and crawl along off to the gym. The Vanderbilt YMCA was right across the block from your modest-ish New York apartment building and you had deliberately invested in such a housing location to whip yourself into shape, mind and body. It had been paying off and you felt great about yourself.
A few years had gone by since your last relationship, the breakup pounds where there as a result, and the dull repetitiveness of your office job in Washington had made you forget what you loved most in life—art. That’s how you ended up in New York.
Painting, sculpting, printmaking, even little penpad doodles where the few things in the world that kept you steady and on solid ground, although, not exactly financially. Yet. So you ran coffee escapades and sat in boardrooms for Mr. So-and-so and What’s-his-name and saved saved saved until you had enough (with help from your blessed parents) for a statewide move and down payment in a relatively calm but community oriented Manhattan neighborhood.
Your redbrick was only a few blocks away from the MoMa where you’d applied and been accepted into a two year museum archive internship. Your degree in visual art would finally be put to use, and having one of your closest school friends, Andy, curating a show there made you hopeful for a full-time archival position with your name on it in a few months.
Out the door and down the road with a water bottle, keys, and phone in tow, your earbuds popping into place one by one, as you swing the doors open, swipe your keypass and with a wave to smiley Martha the desk attendant, it’s upstairs to the treadmills. These stairs slayed you when you first joined up, and a year later they where only starting to get easier to climb. The occasional raid of the stairmaster must have been working. You hoped.
The row of treadmills along the street-facing window was relatively vacant, except your usual machine at the last of the line was occupied. A form you didn’t recognize from the morning crew of known smiles, so you check him out: tall, beard, expected headphones, basketball shorts, maroon-y t-shirt clinging to his arms and chest with sweat from his rough attempt at a jog. Not half bad without your far-away glasses on, but focus, it’s mill time. It’s just odd to see a strange body in your spot since you were the only person, usually, to be running miles indoors around here at seven on a spring morning in Manhattan when Central Park existed. Maybe if you got close enough you’d tell him off for invading your zone, or check out what’s causing the commotion in the front of his shorts…Head it the gutter, again, ugh. You’re probably no better than him for ogling at strangers.
No matter, you hopped onto one machine near the middle and went for it. Slow at first, then a gradual speed boost until you were skipping to keep up, and then settling in for a comfy mile, mile and a half to some Phoenix. That’s all you could probably handle with waking up before the alarm today. Getting lost in your head with the beat of your feet adjacent to the 1234 of your current track was better than meditating.
You notice a while into your jog that mill-stealing-man had disappeared from your spot on the right, but a with quick look backwards you see him on a weight machine working his arms? or shoulders, it was too brief a glimpse to be sure.
Again, no matter, you had no time for games or men to distract from the run and the lengthy, studious shifts of your work. Finally the meter said its mile and a half and you slowed down to a stop. Time to stretch everything out, ankles all the way up to your neck. This was a lot easier done at your normal spot since the corner machine had an empty patch of floor next to it, but you’d done stretching elsewhere here a handful of times and it didn’t really bother you.
Until you noticed while bent over ankles apart that you and mill-stealer where the only two bodies on the floor, and the eyes attached to the grinning (or grimacing) beard of him were looking pretty much in your direction, which in this position, meant right at your ass. Great. Thanks, buddy. Totally needed a rando lifting what upside-down looked like 150lbs, but probably wasn’t, to check out these cheeks. Yeah.
You stand back up and forget the rest of your upper body, snatching your water and things, with a final and unnoticed glare at mill-stealer-ass-looker, and heading off to the ladies’ locker. Whatever, he struck your turf on your morning and you could forget about it. Yeah.
But his eyes were blue and you didn’t need your distance lenses to remember that. Crap.
Having turned on the shower as you entered the locker room, the water hadn’t exactly heated up to standard while you searched for a pair of earrings in your locker that may or may not have been left in there from an after work visit. Oh well, you’d just go home and use yours.
On the way out of the main doors you catch your last glimpse at wandering-eye-mill-man heading down the stairs. He had a Nets ball cap on his head tucking back his floppy, gross/sweaty bangs, and a gym bag slung around his shoulder. Probably filled with vitamins and binoculars to glare at the Asses of America. Perve. His shirt which you could now see read the word “Phish” on it was a totally mop shade of brown from the sweating he obviously had no control over, and you bet his shower was out as well. He caught you staring through the door and down the front steps right at him, but neither of you made anything of it as he turned to the main desk to speak to Martha and you walked across the street. Blue like the halfway of a saltwater pool, those eyes.
At home in the shower you found yourself humming along to the radio and trying to think of work and cleaning your oil palette and finding the missing paintbrushes from your back up set and then grabbing a bagel and coffee on the way over and maybe stopping in to drag Andy in on time for once, but on rinse down your mind caught wind of mill-stealer-man-lifty-shorts…thinking about how stand offish and, really, territorial you’d been at the sight of him on your treadmill.
You usually were never like that at the gym, you knew nearly everyone’s name and were never afraid to introduce yourself and discuss normal gym stuff with new faces.
You couldn’t get the remembered gleam of his baby blues on your backside out of your head, though…what he must have thought while he watched you stretch meticulously; your hand slipping between your thighs; wondering if he got distracted while lifting up and down; just like you, now; wondering if you ever did this, perhaps, or envisioning himself doing this to you; reaching that spot; you grabbing onto his thick biceps, moaning in delight from his strong but delicate handiwork; the water running down your body as if his sweat and musk clung to your own skin; him grinning with starry blue orbs and flushed cheeks at you from between your knees, there! Right there.
Wait…what the fuck…what the hell is up with you?? He’s a complete stranger who stole your spot and repaid you by ogling your ass as you innocently stretched post-run. You should be pissed and already on the way to work, not fooling around in the shower thinking about what johnny-mc’steal-your-mill might have been dreaming about while gluing his retinas to your behind. Jesus. That’s enough for this shower.
8:47 you’re pulling a bra on and you’re definitely going to be late for work.
hey you guys im back at it again at chris-py kreme, idk whats gonna go down (well, hopefully ct) but i’m thinking at least two more parts? yeah itd have to, this wasnt nearly up to steam as my other fics… hope u enjoy, i would so dig some feedback if you could send these lovely ladies a comment or message to their inbox !! thank u sm <3