[You Got My Soul]

3°

» "I'm fienin hard that's the obvious..."

Wyatt Household;

Paris had waken Bryson up to tell him to at least get in the bed but it seemed that once he stretched, his exhaustion disappeared.

"How long was I sleep?" He asked with a yawn lacing his speech.

"Like an hour," Paris estimated," I got my reading done."

"Now you can stop being a boring book worm and entertain me." He hummed, taking her book off of the bench and tossing in onto the bed.

"Don't throw it, it's not mine!" Paris lectured while hitting Bryson's shoulder.

"Hey," his attention fell to her small necklace, "When did you get this?" He asked holding in his hands, making Paris lean forward.

"Cydney gave it to me, you like it?" She asked looking down at it with a small smile.

"Yea, it's dope. When my mama gets out I want to buy her one just like it."

Another one of Bryson's flaws— his delusion.

When Bryson was young, his mother was a super hero to him, protecting him at all costs— including her freedom.  When his drug-addicted dad tried to kidnap him, she fatally stabbed him and received a plethora of prison time; the rest of her life.

Bryson's not one for reality, it's too cold. He likes to dream— what could happen and should've happened.

Paris accepted her love's hurt; his refusal to believe the truth. She knew that somewhere deep inside, a bell rung letting him know that no matter how many dreams you dream, life is always a blink away.

Paris bit the bottom lip, "Why don't you buy her one now and go give it to her? She'll really like that, don't you think?"

"Yea, that's-...that's a good idea." He murmured, suddenly heaved with thought.

"Let's go to your house." Paris suggested, standing up and slipping on her shoes.

"Paris." He spoke quietly.

"Yea, Bryson?" She asked, her attention partially elsewhere.

"Just trying to make sure you can hear me."