→ charlotte & henry branwell
And then she said nothing else, for Henry put his arms around her and kissed her. Kissed her in such a way that she no longer felt plain, or conscious of her hair or the ink spot on her dress or anything but Henry, whom she had always loved. Tears welled up and spilled down her cheeks, and when he drew away, he touched her wet face wonderingly.
"Really," he said. "You love me too, Lottie?"
We’re supposed to take care of each other…
”Don’t tell me,” he said, drawing his words out in that way he knew she hated. “Simon’s turned himself into an ocelot and you want me to do something about it before Isabelle makes him into a stole. Well, you’ll have to wait till tomorrow. I’m out of commission.” He pointed at himself—he was wearing blue pajamas with a hole in the sleeve. “Look. Jammies.”
I didn’t have a ton of friends in high school. It was very cliquey so it was hard to fit in. But it didn’t really bother me because I figured I would rather be surrounded by few people who appreciated my weirdness than many who did not.