ASHTON
My fingers flew over the keyboard, fluid and practiced. What used to take me days — watching tutorials, second-guessing layouts, Googling “how the hell do I format this?” — now took a few hours. Editing reels, updating my website, tweaking thumbnails. It had all become second nature.
The part that hadn’t gotten easier? People.
Everyone has the potential to be an asshole.
Most aren’t, but the ones who are seem to treat it like a calling.
Their comments used to rattle around in my head for days, making it hard to face myself in the mirror.
I’d walk into a room and feel exposed, wondering if someone recognised me, if they’d confront me, if they’d laugh.
It got to me. More than I liked to admit.
There were nights I nearly quit — when the pressure of studying, the bills, the cold grey weather, and the constant hum of judgement made me want to pack up and fly home.
I missed the cookies. I missed the coffee.
I missed conversations where I didn’t need Gavin to translate British sarcasm into American English.
We were both speaking English, but sometimes it didn’t feel like it.
Mostly, I missed the sun. And the salt in the air. And the version of me who didn’t feel so...scrutinised.
But things got better. Slowly. I made more friends. I adapted. I bought a bigger coat. I learned about British history, its weirdly charming culture, and developed a deep, spiritual appreciation for Jammie Dodgers.
And through it all, there was Gavin — my chaos goblin. The one who told me to get my head out of my ass when I needed it, shoved biscuits into my hand when I forgot to eat, and reminded me that quitting wasn’t the same as resting.
Somewhere along the way, I turned a corner. And for the first time since landing in this cold, damp island, I felt like maybe — just maybe — I wasn’t running anymore.