One Year Later.
Dove pov
Cursing under my breath, I readjust the thin bag strap digging into the hollow of my shoulder.
The familiar burn of my lungs accompanies up every slick step as I wind upward. One heaving bag slushes at my knees, the strap cutting into my fingers, while the other balances precariously on my hip.
He better be grateful for this.
Finally I reach the top landing, dumping the bags by my apartment door. After fiddling with my keys, I shoulder it open and press inside.
My roommate and best friend sits on the floor of our tiny living room, leaning over our coffee table. A sagging clump of fabric hangs over it, off cuts strewn about all over the tawny rug beneath him.
He glances up as I walk in, unceremoniously dumping the bags at my feet. His soft blue eyes sparkle,
