As the years had passed from Ada’s death, the times where he’d be overwhelmed with his grief grew fewer and further between. Sometimes he could even predict when it would affect him most—on days like her birthday, the day of the accident, or her funeral—but other times, times like today, the grief came out of nowhere, like someone bludgeoning him in the back of the head.
Though perhaps that wasn’t the right metaphor. It had snuck up on him today like a thief in the night. He’d barely paid attention to the other bachelors’ surprise and jealousy when Sophia had handed Noah—the tall, Black, tattooed biker with long, luscious locs—the Red Heart of the night. Hell, even when Sophia had handed Obiora his Pink Heart, he had no fucking idea what the fuck he’d said to her as she’d pinned it to his chest, vaguely recalling she’d at least laughed.
Now he sat on his bed, the chain of a locket curled around his fist. Ada had been sentimental like that. She loved things like friendship bracelets, favourite pictures of hers she’d get freaking laminated just so she could store them safely in the zipper of her bags and purses without risk of them fraying too soon, along with playful collage photos people took in tiny mall photo booths. He didn’t wear the locket anymore, content to have it close in his bag or wallet, but when he was feeling down like today, it felt important to him to grieve while he remembered her face—her dazzling grin and her big, brown eyes, rich with life.
Obiora remembered how nervous he’d been when they were seventeen, the first time he’d looked at her and seen her; a young, brilliant, beautiful Black girl who just so happened to be his best friend, except, then, he’d suddenly realised how badly he wanted to kiss her—to sweep her off her feet, and have her look at him the same way.
His opportunity had come in the form of their prom; he’d gone all out that year, making the most elaborate promposal he could think of because he’d known, on some level, she would have loved it, romantic or not. Luckily for him, it had been the former.
She’d taken one look at him, standing nervously in the middle of the school hallway surrounded by red, heart-shaped balloons, rose petals, streamers, and an impromptu choir made up of some of their mates standing behind him, and for the first time, she’d seen him—her best friend, but also a young Black boy who’d fallen head over heels for her.
She’d walked up to him, taken the bouquet of roses from his hands with a shy, whispered thanks, then she’d kissed him right there, blushing and ignoring their friends’ exclamations of “finally!”, their hoots and jeers and laughter, while Obiora had felt his whole world shift on its axis.
They’d gone to the same university, shared a flat with their friends. After they’d both graduated, they’d moved from Sheffield to London, fresh-faced and eager to start life in the city rife with opportunities. God, they hadn’t even finished emptying all their boxes before the accident. They’d been tentatively planning out their futures, basking in the few days of freedom afforded to them after their graduation—gorging down on takeaways, piling little knickknacks to decorate their place, not worrying too much about careers and marriage, content at the moment with their service jobs and the privilege of having families more than willing to pitch in to aid their dreams—
And then she was gone. Just like that.
“Do you need the light?”
Obiora looked up. It was Tyler. Jin had already gone to bed, lying on his back with his hands crossed serenely over his chest, like a fucking vampire. The last bed lay empty, since Ricky had been eliminated on week two.
“Nah,” Obiora said, slipping out of his bed. “I don’t feel tired just yet. Gonna chill a bit in the sitting room.”
“All right, man. Goodnight.”
The light went off as he exited the room. On his way to the sitting room, he noticed Ejiro’s room light was also on, their room door open. A quick glance showed him the man in question on his bed by the window, his sketchpad and pencils in his lap. Obiora’s heart dutifully skipped a beat, before he looked away, curling his hand tighter around the locket until it bit into the tender flesh of his palm, as if to punish himself for feeling something for someone else when he was currently feeling raw about Ada.
The sitting room proved not to be conductive for his frame of mind, housing some of the other bachelors who were laughing and talking. So he headed toward the dining and pool. The first option was another no go, with Alistair and Eddie cooking something spicy on the stove. The scent of it, delicious as it was, made Obiora’s stomach turn.
The pool was no better; Noah was taking a leisurely swim. Obiora really didn’t feel like talking to anyone right now.
He was about to give up, turn around and head back to his room to lay in bed and stare at the ceiling until morning, knowing sleep wouldn’t be coming easy tonight, when his eyes caught on the veranda extending from the back porch and surrounding the right side of the house.
The very end of the veranda had some chest-high plants entwined with the railing, essentially blocking the seating there from view of the pool and the house, creating a soft, cosy nook.
Obiora ducked there before Noah could notice him. The chair there was a specially made unit that fit the entire nook in the shape of an “n”. It was a soft creamy colour with comfortable cushions, and had a small black coffee table in its centre. The plants blocking it off from view surrounded it on all three sides.
Obiora sank into the far right corner of the chair against the side of the house with a soft sigh.
Then he quietly flicked the locket open, and let himself drown.
EJIRO HAD WON ANOTHER DATE with Sophia. He should’ve been happy, excited even, but all he could feel was a strange nervousness. The botched kiss of their previous date filled his thoughts; what if she wanted a kiss again? She’d definitely want a kiss again, and Ejiro should want to kiss her—she was beautiful and sweet and lovely and he liked her, so why did the thought of kissing her fill him with slight panic? Why did it make him feel like running as far away as possible?
Maybe he was just nervous, he told himself, though the conclusion didn’t feel completely accurate. He did feel nervous, yes, almost extremely so, but there was something else, something he couldn’t quite name.
His thoughts wouldn’t stop churning until he was grabbing his sketchbook from underneath his pillow and losing himself to the movement of his pencils.
At first, he drew aimlessly, letting his hand flow freely across the page. Eventually, his mind went to the group date, and he found himself drawing some of the other bachelors, the emotive, animated expressions on their faces as they’d answered Sophia’s questions, before drawing some sketches of the bachelorette herself.
Soon, his thoughts narrowed in on Obiora. Ejiro had once thought Obiora to be nothing but a cocky, obnoxious pain in his butt. Even though their relationship had started thawing ever since their banter in the pool a few days ago, Ejiro still hadn’t been able to picture anything else underneath the surface.
Until today. When Obiora had been talking about his late girlfriend …
Ejiro bit his lip, his eyebrows furrowing with concentration as he tried to recreate the vulnerable look in Obiora’s eyes on the page.
Obiora had tried to hide it, of course, and perhaps if you weren’t looking for it, you wouldn’t even notice, but Ejiro had seen it in his eyes; his love for her, his grief. It had humanised him so much in that moment that Ejiro had wanted badly to give him a hug.
“Hey,” Chris Wu said sleepily from his bed. “I’m sorry, buddy, but do you mind—” He gestured at the lights.
