TGGBB Preferences and Imagines

Finding Them Crying

Bennett
Bennett was a very emotionless person so when I walked into his house and heard small sobs coming from his bedroom I was shocked. I opened the door slowly to see all the lights off and Bennett curled up under the covers. He didn't even seem to notice me till I was sat on the bed beside him. "Hey Bennett," I said, reaching a hand to sit on his shoulder.

Bennett turned away, "GO away," he said through muffled pillows and sobs.

I sighed and laid down behind him, stroking his hair, "What's the matter?" I asked.

Bennett seemed to stop for a moment, "It's stupid. It's just it's just it's just," he broke down crying again, "it's my mom's anniversary,"

"Aw Bennett, why didn't you say? come here," he hesitantly turned around to look at me. I opened my arms, "Bennett," instantly he wrapped his arms around my torso, crying into my lap. My hands flew to stroke his hair, "Its okay Bennett. It's okay,"

There wasn't much I could say. I knew how he felt about his mum, how his family had changed after, and how much he missed her. Finally, the tears slowed down, "I'm sorry," he murmured.

"Don't be," I told him, wiping his tears away, "It's natural to miss those we love. It's okay to cry," he nodded and looked down, "What do you want to do?"

He sniffled, "Can we just cuddle?" he asked sounding exhausted.

"Of course," I'd never been big spoon with Bennett before, but I honestly didn't mind it. plus, he seemed to like it. Bennett told me stories about his mum while I rubbed his back. We stayed like that for a while.

Jordan
Jordan had invited me over for a family dinner despite his mum's inability to cook as he described it. Ms. Wallace greeted me with a smile and hug, "Hey kiddo," she let me in, "I'm making my specialty; Chinese takeaway," she did jazz hands and I chuckled, "Jordan's in his room,"

I nodded and walked the familiar path to my boyfriends' room. I didn't knock, not really feeling a need to. The sight greeting me made me freeze for a second. Jordan was sat on his bed, head in hands crying. "Jordan?" I whispered, shocked. It was so unlike Jordan to be anything other than happy.

He looked up and instantly whipped under his eyes. "Hey," he murmured, voice stuffy with tears. I rushed over, "I didn't realise you were here,"

"What's wrong?"

He shook his head and sniffled, "Nothing," I sat next to him, putting a hand on his back, "Just some stupid comments, doesn't matter,"

Deciding it did matter I grabbed his phone. He reached out to stop me half-heartedly, but I'd already unlocked it, having known his password. It was already open on his Instagram. Earlier this year he'd decided to make an art Instagram showcasing his greyscale work. 

Jordan was colour blind so all his work was made of black, grey, and white, proving you can be a colour-blind artist. Not according to this commenter though, 'how can you call yourself an artist if you can't use colour?'. I scoffed and clicked off the post, onto his notifications.

The last few comments were all about his colour palette. 'you're really good but can't you use colour?' 'this would look so much cooler in colour tbh' 'why are you so afraid of colour'.

"What the hell is wrong with people?" I said.

Jordan took the phone from me, putting it aside, "They're right. How am I meant to do art when I'm colour blind?"

"How was Mozart meant to compose symphonise when he was deaf?" I asked. Jordan shrugged, "How was Albert Einstein meant to write the theory of relativity and be dyslexic? Because they didn't let their limitations hold them back. They worked and they worked hard, and it showed. You get depressed comedians, dyslexic writers, deaf musicians, so why not a colour-blind artist?"