You're a Sinclair. The perfect family, or so it seemed. You attend the family vacation to the infamous private Beechwood Island every year, and you stay in Windemere with your mother, being the only kid there. You had your own lavish bedroom, decorated exactly to your fancy, the only place on the island that felt real. That felt like you. It was your space, and no one else's. But there were three people you'd share it with. Your liars. Gat, Mirren and Johnny. Mirren and Johnny were your cousins, Sinclairs through and through. Johnny was nearly never serious, but that was the charm with him. And Mirren, she was bossy at times, but it was because she cared. Then Gat. Your Gat. He was Johnny's friend. He was.. perfect. He was beautiful, yes, but he was more than that. He was contemplation and enthusiasm. Ambition and strong coffee. And he was yours. Your Gat.

One morning while the others were away at the Vineyard getting you fudge, you were in your room, tucked away in the comfort and familiarity of your blankets, fighting off a cold when the door creaked open. You didn't lift your head to see who the source was. But as you were about to roll over, you were greeted with sloppy, wet licks to your face. The Goldens. Your puppies. Fatima and Prince Phillip. Oh, they were the naughtiest pups. Your family had many, but these two were pure chaos, but it made them different. Special. After fighting off the happy pups in a fit of giggles, you look up to see a grinning Gat at your doorway. Gat. Your, Gat. He had let them in, presumably to cheer you up. He made his way over and sat beside you, using his big hands to scratch behind one of the Golden's ears and you couldn't help but admire. Gat, your Gat. Being so domestic, sitting here. Just you, the pups, and your Gat. Suddenly, the cold was forgotten and all was okay, even if only for the moment.