The Kippens | Tyrus

Kids

Cyrus' POV

7 Years Ago

"You're still unpacking?" Buffy questions. "How much stuff do you have?"

The girl peaks over my shoulder, trying to sneak a peak at what I'm looking at. I knew when I agreed to share a dorm with her that the next few years at Shadyside University would be a lot of her getting even more into my life than she already was, and even though I would usually not care, I know that she will certainly have an opinion about this, me staring at an old photo of TJ and me from back when we were in high school. It's the last good photo we took together, a selfie of us on his couch, my chin on his shoulder, eyes gazing up at his lips. He kissed me after that. I remember it. I remember everything about him—his seafoam green eyes, the slight crookedness of his smile, the way he touched me so delicately like a treasure he couldn't bear to lose. It's ironic thinking about that now. 

Although I press the photo against my chest in an attempt to block it from Buffy's view, she's already seen it, and she immediately goes into overprotective best friend mode. 

"No, Cyrus, don't do this to yourself," she orders. "Get rid of that."

I can't even respond. I know she's right. I know that it's not healthy for me to be holding on to this picture. It only makes me miss him more. 

"I've never tried it for myself, but Kaitlin's told me that when she breaks up with a boy, she takes every old photo she has of them and burns them in a fire pit," Buffy illustrates. 

"I'm not burning this," I reply in a heartbeat. No matter how much I need to forget about TJ and move on, I refuse to do something so permanent, so tragical, to this piece of paper which depicts who held my heart for the past five years. He still holds it, even though he tried to give it back. 

"Fine," Buffy huffs. "Then just give it to me. I'll keep it safe and away from you so that you can move on."

Reluctantly, I hold out the photo, and Buffy swipes it away so fast I have no time to change my mind. She walks it over to her dresser and pulls out a little, wooden box then tucks it into there. I frown at her from where I'm kneeling next to my suitcase on the carpet, not purposefully wanting to give her this expression. I just can't hide my sadness. 

"You'll be okay," Buffy assures me. "You'll meet someone else in no time, and pretty soon you'll forget he ever existed."

I know that's supposed to be comforting, but it's not. I don't want to forget him. I don't want to move on from him. I want him back. But he doesn't want me. 

"You know he's hanging out with Reed and Lester again now?" I mention.

Buffy raises her eyebrows at me. "How do you know that?"

"I—" I sigh. "I saw it on his Instapic."

She instantly holds out her open palm, saying, "Give me your phone."

I do as asked, unlocking it for her. I know exactly what she's doing, and I know it's only best for me. 

"There," she says as she passes me back the device. "You are not following him anymore."

I look at the screen, curious more than anything about what the blue bar by his name says. A throb hits my chest when I see that it says "follow back" rather than just "follow." He's still following me. But only digitally. In person, he hasn't spoken to me in a month. 

I'm not sure if it's for myself or for him—to give myself an extra guard or to force him to let me go—but I tap the three dots in the top right corner of his profile page. The options pop up, and I press the one I never once imagined I'd press on his profile. I press "block."