𝘥𝘰𝘭

previous chapter

02

You genuinely think you're losing it.

As a woman in her 40s narrated how her husband had killed their own children, your thoughts wandered. Your eyes stayed on the screen, but you were only passively watching, a background noise for your spiraling thoughts. True crime documentaries were something you liked watching when you were alone, though you couldn't quite explain why.

It's the damn letter plaguing your thoughts. It had been approximately 48 hours since you sent the mail to the prison.

Earlier this morning, you'd checked the website of the organization that's currently handling the pen-pal program. You read that a reply from an inmate typically takes 8 days to 2 weeks. It would be a long wait… though you convinced yourself you weren't going to obsess over it. Why did you even care so much?

You begrudgingly shut the laptop after that. You wanted to turn off your wi-fi to prevent yourself from obsessing over a program that reminded you how much of a loner you actually were. Or even throw away your laptop. 

That channel shouldn't have made itself known to you. Now, you were bearing the consequences of being an anxious loner freak over some inked paper with messy telling of feelings.

With a groan, you glanced through the window, looking for any signs of a mailman dropping mail into your mailbox. Seeing not a single soul outside, you dropped your ass on the couch with a sigh. When the documentary revealed the husband had a mistress—ah, shocking, the most predictable motive—you turned off the television. 

You were supposed to be looking for a job on different job apps, but here you were… expecting. Get a hold of yourself, you rolled your eyes at your inner voice.

Deciding it was time to distract yourself without internet or consuming any media, you took a quick bath. You'd planned on going to a café to finish the book you were reading, but you remembered the message Faye had sent you earlier this morning. You had yet to respond to her, not because you were ignoring her. You just didn't know what to say to “I'm sorry about your mother.”

You hated it when people felt sorry for you. What could possibly be the perfect response to that? “Thank you”?

You knew your friend had no intention of offending you, because you knew how nice she was. That was worse, somehow, knowing how good she was, yet you still held back from her. Or from anyone else who tried. You wouldn't even be surprised when the time came and she was finally done with you, no matter how genuine she'd been. Most people didn't have the patience to put up with someone as closed off as you.

She should call you out for being a bad friend since you hadn't even sent her an invite to the funeral. Well, to be fair, you hadn't invited some of the people who showed up either. In general, you hadn't willingly invited anyone. But Faye didn't know that.

Despite being a bad friend, you tapped on her contact and began to message her. Points for trying.

"hey… i'm going out for a coffee. are you free?"

Within a few minutes, you received a reply.

"hiii! yes, i'm free, just ran some errands. where do u want to meet?!"

Even through the screen, you could sense her enthusiasm. You thought it was something you lacked and often wondered why Faye was too… happy. Especially now that you had no reason to be enthusiastic, considering your best friend was now buried six feet in the ground. Ha ha.

Seeing how near she was, you sent her the location of the café nearby your place.

This was the first time you were leaving the house after the funeral, so you made sure you looked presentable enough, thus, the layers of concealer under your eyes.

The person standing in front of the mirror didn't look like a grieving daughter with obsessive traits over a harmless letter. She looked normal, ready to meet her friend (even though she wasn’t really ready to interact with anyone in person, she just wanted a distraction from the letters).

Faye messaged while you were walking halfway to the café, saying she was almost there. Since it was only a few blocks away, you opted to walk rather than use the car. Besides the fresh memories tied to it, you figured walking would save you gas, since it was only walking distance from your house.

The small coffee shop's view warmed your heart. It was a place you'd found comfort in, whenever you stayed for summer at the house. A distant memory resurfaced as you entered the shop. Your chest tightened as you remembered how much your mother had loved their pumpkin spice latte.

Well, just like Spider-Man said, “everywhere I go, I see her face.”

Amused at your inner thoughts, you searched for a familiar redhead, but she hadn't arrived yet. You chose a vacant table beside the couple who were whispering to each other, giggling. Ah, lovers in a café. How cliché.

You couldn't imagine yourself being in a relationship where you could publicly display your affection to your partner. Maybe that's why you thought it was cringe when you saw couples being all lovey-dovey with each other.

Or maybe you just had daddy issues. The first man in your life disappointed you by leaving you… why would you even trust men after that?

And who were you to judge people who were in love? As if you knew what that felt like.

The small bell at the top of the door signaled that someone had just walked in. You glanced up and met Faye's gaze, who waved at you with a wide smile on her face. Her red hair bounced with every step she took, and you were drawn to her bangs that stayed put, not a single hair out of place.

"It's so good to see you," her sweet scent engulfed your senses as she leaned over to give you a hug, which made you tense. She must've felt your stiff muscles, so she quickly backed away with a bashful smile. "Sorry, I'm just quite a hugger," she explained as she took the seat in front of you.

"I don't mind." You waved her off. You were just not expecting physical contact this early. The last time was when people offered you half-assed apologies at your mother's funeral. It was unbearable.

She set down her bag on the table, pulling out her wallet. "Have you ordered yet?" Your eyes roamed around her round face, her big brown eyes so expressive, framed with lashes that were to die for.

The dorm you stayed in during your sophomore year was having a renovation, and after so many nights of enduring the noise from above you, you decided to move to another. There, you met Faye.

Faye was your roommate from junior to senior year. She was someone you could call a friend, and you'd only see each other when she wasn't out with friends, which was pretty often. She was an outgoing person, and you swore she knew most of the people on campus. Partying was one of the things she loved to do.

While you relished the dorm on your own, her kind of fun was being a social butterfly.

You shook your head. "No, I haven't. I figured we could order together."

She smiled, the first genuine one you'd seen in a while. "Okay, let's go?"

The two of you walked to the counter, and luckily, there weren't many people in line. In line, Faye turned to you. "Did you walk here from your house?"

You nodded. "Yeah, I figured I could save gas by walking." She chuckled, and when she was about to speak, you figured you should ask her. "Were you in the middle of running errands? Or…"

"Oh, no! I was already done by the time you messaged, which by the way, I was so glad you did." You noticed the way her smile slowly faded, like she'd realized something.

Before you could respond, it was her turn to order. You could feel she was about to mention your mother, so you were grateful that she got cut off. Once you were done ordering your favorite coffee, you both walked back to your table.

As soon as she sat, she was already speaking. "I'm really glad to see you, y'know?" she softly said. You felt bad that you'd agreed to meet her for distraction, not on purpose.

Being an avoidant person was something you'd been working on, along with other issues you had. Guilt crept into you as you stared at your friend, who was genuinely happy that you'd asked her to have coffee with you. Ah, shit. Bad friend of the year.

She took your silence as a sign to continue. "I guess… I understand why you didn't reply the day your…" She didn't continue, but you knew what she was talking about, so you nodded.

"Yeah, about that," you cleared your throat, suddenly feeling awkward. "I didn't invite you to the funeral because I honestly just didn't want to invite anyone."

Her eyes widened a bit in surprise, as if not expecting you to explain. "Hey, no need to apologize. I can imagine how much that sucked for you." Her eyebrows furrowed in understanding.

The corner of your lips tipped at her response. You were glad Faye understood that, though you knew you didn't have to explain, you felt like she had to know what you felt about the funeral. That way, she wouldn't have hard feelings about how you didn't invite her on purpose.

You felt shitty enough as a friend. Faye had been nothing but nice and had always wanted to be closer. She probably figured out you had issues with intimacy by now. You didn't even know why she was still hanging out with you.

Even back when you were roommates, she would always ask you to join her at a party she was invited to. Every time she did, you'd refuse her. It wasn't because you didn't want to be with her, but being at parties was not your scene.

You did go to a party once—it was last Halloween. Faye squealed when she saw who you were dressing up as, which was a naked Sims character. Not exactly a difficult one to do, but Faye acted like it was the funniest thing she'd seen.

She helped you make the cardboard censor bar, and underneath was a skin-tone tube top and shorts. You weren't a killjoy, and you figured you could give that party a try. Admittedly, it was fun. You enjoyed the party, had the time of your life, but not too much to get shit-faced. Even though you were with Faye the whole time, you still had your guard up since there were still unfamiliar faces in the room.

You didn't fully trust people enough yet to be comfortable getting drunk around them.

Faye reached for your hand, squeezing it gently. You let her, looking down at your hands. "How are you actually doing? If you don't mind me asking," there was an unmistakable concern in her voice, one that made you shift in your seat.

Oh, I just wrote a letter where I word-vomited all over it, telling a stranger the way I grieved for my mother. I addressed it to a prison, by the way. Fun fact: I thought being pen pals with a prisoner would actually make me feel better!

Of course, that's not what you told her.

"I'm okay," is what you said.

If she noticed that you were deflecting, she didn't comment on it. Instead, she changed the topic to what you were also dreading—work. Though, you'd take it rather than talk about anything related to your mother.

“Do you remember the news outlet I interned at? Well… they wanted to take me in! Full-time!” Excitement radiated off her.

You blinked, caught off guard by her news, and gave her a small smile. You weren't surprised that she'd landed the job. During her internship, she would always stay up late at the dorm, either writing or researching. You were impressed by how she'd managed to balance her internship with her social life. 

“That's great, Faye. When do you start?” you asked before sipping your coffee. You almost sighed in bliss at how good it was.

Her cheeks must have been hurting from smiling too hard, but you couldn't blame her. From what she'd told you before, it was the outlet she'd always dreamed of working for. “I probably start next week? Ugh, I'm so excited! I hope they trust me enough to give me a big girl assignment that would keep me up all night,” she sighed dreamily, staring at the wall behind you.

There was no doubt you were happy for her, but there was a tiny bit of envy nestled in your heart. She had her life all sorted out, yet here you were, still contemplating yours. You'd taken a course you knew you wouldn't regret finishing. But when your mother died, it was like all your dreams went down with her.

She took all of it with her. Nice one, mom.

“Congrats, I know how much you wanted to work there.” Her smile grew impossibly wider at your comment.

“I know, right?!” She bit her lower lip, then lifted her coffee to her lips, eyeing you over the rim of her cup. “How 'bout you? What are your plans?”

It was a simple question, yet it felt heavy. You avoided her gaze, staring at the ice that created moisture in your drink. “I… haven't thought about it yet.” You didn't try to lie to her.

Faye nodded in understanding. “There's no pressure in that. You can take all the time you need.” There was a hint of sympathy in her eyes. You just shrugged it off, a forced smile on your lips.

The inheritance, mostly your mother's savings, was enough to keep you afloat for now. Still, you wanted to start working as soon as possible, but that was the thing—your plans suddenly didn't make sense after the tragedy. However, you couldn't stomach the fact that you were using up all her savings just to survive, when it was intended to be used for your future.

You needed to work. You promised yourself that this week, you would send out more applications, in the midst of your grief. You'd do whatever it took to get out of the house and keep living, like your mother would’ve wanted.

The longer you stayed inside, the more you felt like you were losing your mind.

Your friend did all the talking, filling the silence you caused, and honestly, you didn't mind. After that topic, you didn't know what to say anymore.

She talked about her situationship, how she ghosted him after she saw him with his ex, who was also calling her nonstop to explain, yet she didn't give him a chance. You also found out that her parents wanted her to come with them for a mini vacation, yet she chose to stay because of her new job. The errands she'd had earlier were because her dog apparently was sick and needed to be checked at the vet.

There was so much going on in her life, and she kept you updated about it. You knew she was trying hard to divert your attention from the mess that was your life, and you were thankful for it. She really was a great friend, and you wished you were one, too.

The time you spent in the shop didn't feel like three hours, considering how good Faye was at talking and moving from one topic to another. Most of it was random, and she was surprised to learn you also watched true crime documentaries. She told you she'd make sure to tell you once she got an assignment that involved crime. You chuckled at that.

One year of being roommates, yet this was the first time the two of you went out for coffee and talked for hours. You'd built a friendship with her back then, and sitting here now, you were reminded why.

“Please message me when you're free,” she murmured in your hair as she hugged you goodbye. You waved at her and watched her get inside her car before you turned in the other direction.

Your mood was much lighter today, and it felt like a weight had been lifted off your shoulders. You forgot how good it felt to have company, since you'd only been on your own for almost a week. If you didn't even make an effort to interact with anyone else, you'd probably go crazy.

It was good to talk to someone. Even better when the topic didn't revolve around your mother.

Once you got home, you let out a sigh at the silence you were greeted with. You should probably get a cat or a dog sometime, just so you wouldn't feel lonely. You removed your shoes and placed them beside your mother's.

Yeah, job. I should get one.

You grabbed your laptop from your room and opened the job applications. As you scrolled down, you saw an open position for a bookstore just a few blocks away from your house. Your interest piqued as you read the job ad, and since you were a bookworm yourself, that wouldn't be a problem at all.

A whole day surrounded by books? Let me in.

You sent them your cover letter and resume, then went back to the open tab to scroll a bit further. It was almost evening, so you figured you should order takeout. You felt guilty for ordering junk food, so you added a salad on the side. Yay, for trying to be healthy.

Rolling your eyes at yourself, you decided to take a break from window-shopping for jobs. You opened your phone to check your notifications, a habit you'd stopped ever since they announced your mother's death at the hospital. You'd stayed away from social media for a while, for your own sake.

Now that you were back on it, you saw some messages sent a few days ago, sending their condolences. You didn't know how these people had found out about your mother, but you didn't think too much about it once you remembered how small the neighborhood was. Your relatives had also posted, and it had gained attention, random people commenting on it.

It was funny that they were the ones who'd posted a photo of your mother — when they hadn't even helped with the hospital bills, and you were the one who'd taken care of everything, all the way through her funeral.

You'd already had enough after a few minutes of scrolling, and decided to just put on a movie to keep yourself entertained. It didn't take long for the food to arrive, and when you got a whiff of the takeout, your stomach grumbled. You gave the delivery guy a tip and were about to close the door when your gaze landed on your mailbox.

The front door was still open, giving you a clear view of it. You clenched your jaw at a feeling you couldn't quite shake off. Your takeout was set aside as you walked over to the mailbox. With gritted teeth, you opened it, and your heart almost dropped at the sight of something white inside.

A fucking mail.

You grabbed it without reading what was written on the back, almost running back into your house. You closed the door with a little more force than necessary and flopped down on your couch. You shut your eyes for a moment. "Calm down. Must be something else," you muttered to yourself.

But you didn't receive mail often, which got your heart beating rapidly and your hands shaking as you turned the letter over. There, written on it, was your return address, in handwriting that wasn't yours.

You observed the handwriting, and it was messily written in a way you could tell it belonged to a man—heavy-handed strokes, sharp angles instead of soft curves, like whoever held the pen pressed down a little harder than necessary. Definitely not something a woman would write, you thought. There was nothing dainty about it. 

The enveloped letter sat like a weight in your hands, so you decided to finally open it carefully. You unfolded the letter, tracing the slanted handwriting. There was something about the way he wrote. It was like he didn't care enough to make it prettier than it needed to be. It looked rough, nothing like your own neat and careful handwriting.

You read his letter.

If I'd tell you I had worse letters than this, you'd probably wouldn't believe me. This is the most normal letter I've received since I got here.

Sorry about your mother.

Don't know what that feels like. Don't plan on finding out either. But I know what it's like having no one left to say things to. Didn't expect a stranger's letter to be the one that gets that out of you. Neither did you, probably.

Cookies. Interesting way to cope. Everyone's got one. Mine used to be different. Doesn't matter now.

You said you don't talk about your feelings. Good. Neither do I. Write it down instead, it's easier that way. Less to explain, less to take back.

Following her — funny way to put it. Wasn't laughing, though. Glad you didn't. Wouldn't have read this letter.

Graduate anyway. Wear the dress. Doesn't matter who's watching.

It's quiet in here. Your letter didn't fix that. Made it worse, actually, now I know what I'm not getting more of.

You don't know what I did to end up here. Might be better that way, for now.

Write again or don't. I'm not going anywhere.

— T

You read it over and over again, as if the words might rearrange themselves into something less unsettling, something easier to sit with. His reply was short, and even his sentences weren't complete, until you'd nearly memorized what he wrote.

Mine used to be different. Doesn't matter now.

You don't know what I did to end up here. Might be better that way, for now.

What was that supposed to mean? Deep down, you knew what he was hinting at, and you waited for the uneasiness to come. It didn't. Instead, you reread the two lines like they were a puzzle you wanted to solve.

Something else came up. It was curiosity. Curious about how he composed the letter, how he came up with it, and the thoughts in his head when he wrote it.

The single letter "T" scrawled at the bottom was enough for you to be hooked. And how he said, "Wasn't laughing, though. Glad you didn't. Wouldn't have read this letter."

Shit, were you really interested in a prisoner whose capabilities you didn't even fully know?

You knew it was dangerous and that you should be more careful. But you couldn't help it. You were already staring at the letter like he understood you like no one else could. No judgment, no making fun of it… he just listened to every word you said.

For all you knew, he could be lying. But why would he? 

You couldn't stop thinking about it, and your takeout was about to get cold. No one else had said anything like that to you. Not your relatives, not the "friends" at the funeral, not even Faye, who cared for you but didn't know how to hold something this heavy without dropping it.

A stranger in prison did.

You pressed the letter against your chest for reasons you couldn't quite explain, and let out a breath you didn't realize you'd been holding.

Holy shit. Who knew a prisoner could make you feel this way?

notes: aaand the first letter was received. how was it? lmk your thoughts!

credits to @angeliicide & @uzmacchiato for the dividers <3

01

“I'm sorry,” someone claiming to be a dear friend of your mother’s patted your shoulder. You didn't care to turn to acknowledge her, just staring at the headstone where your mother's name was engraved. The longer you stared at it, the worse you felt as you recalled her being buried six feet deep into the ground.

You barely paid attention to the ceremony, and you didn't even try to give one last message. It was a funeral, for Christ's sake. Solemnity was the only thing that should matter. You weren’t going to bawl your eyes out because you've had enough of that at the hospital, where she died. The priest gave you a look that you hated — pity — when you refused to give a speech in front of the people who didn't even know your mother's favorite food.

What was pitying in not wanting to be transparent to strangers? That should stay between you and your mother, and you're not going to thank the people for attending her funeral. There's nothing to be thankful for.

As the few remaining people left, some of whom tried to pay their respects with a pat or a side hug, you didn't bother responding. An hour later, you were the only one left standing — dressed in all black, even holding a black umbrella, paired with a black coat, handkerchief, and shoes. It was like you were cosplaying. Cosplaying as someone who hid their feelings well underneath the monochrome clothing.

How could they take her away from you? She still had dreams at her age, and she wanted to travel more. At the hospital three days ago, she even told you she'd join a book club when she got discharged and tag you along, to which you rolled your eyes at. She was happy and full of energy… why did it end so quickly?

You remember dumping your coffee in the nearby trash and running to her room. They didn't even let you in, restraining you when you tried to pull away so you could get to her. But it was too late. Your chest tightened at the sound of the flatline. The sound haunted you so much that you could still hear it, even now.

Drifting back to reality, you gripped the flowers in your hand — lilies, to be exact — and bent down to lay them on her grave. You felt your throat tightening at her name on the tombstone. Scanning it, you brushed away some dirt then caressed it.

“I know you like lilies, so…” You set the bouquet against the headstone before stepping back. You could almost picture the smile she'd give you. In your current state, she'd probably tease you for spending money on flowers.

“Don't complain that they're expensive.” Your lips twitched, waiting for the familiar retort that never came.

You clicked your tongue.

“No complaints, huh? Yeah, figures.”

You stared at her polished stone, gripping the umbrella in your hand. It was ridiculous, really. Four days ago she'd been arguing with a nurse over hospital food, insisting she'd make better curry once she got home.

Now she was a name carved into granite.

You refused to believe it. Or even understand it.

The funeral had made one thing painfully obvious, and it was that everyone expected you to cry. They expected a sobbing daughter, one who would stand before them and pour her heart out for people who barely knew your mother.

Most of them were relatives you'd met once or twice in your life. The rest were her so-called dear friends—the same people who never visited her in the hospital, never called to ask how she was doing, and somehow still found the time to mourn her in public. They looked at you with pity when you refused to give a speech.

As if you were the strange one.

Screw that.

You shoved your right hand inside the pocket of your coat when you felt the urge to touch the stone again. You blew out a breath, chuckling without humor. "Who am I supposed to complain to now?" It came out harsher than intended.

The silence irritated you.

That wasn't her. It was just a piece of rock with her name carved on it.

So why were you still talking?

You took one last look at her before you turned slowly, making your way to your mom's car—which was now yours. The drive back to the house felt dreadfully long, but maybe it was because you drove too slowly. You could still feel her presence in the car, which made you grip the steering wheel tighter.

Once you made it there, you stayed inside the car for a few moments. With a sigh, you rested your forehead against the wheel.

How the hell are you going to stay inside the house? You'd lived with your mother until your freshman year of college. During the summer before your sophomore year, she insisted that you learn to live on your own. She didn't want you to be caged in your house, and she wanted you to explore life for yourself. That's why she made you move into a dorm.

You even tried to talk her out of it, but she stood her ground. “Stop it and do what I tell you. You're going to regret living with me until you're single and old,” she said.

And you did. You regretted leaving her, because if you hadn't, you would've been able to take care of her. 

Ever since you were a toddler with no father in sight, you'd only ever grown comfortable with your mother's presence. For the first time in your life, you were miles away from her, so you'd often call whenever you were free and didn't have any coursework to do. It was a routine the two of you had. She was practically your best friend, since she knew almost everything that happened in your life.

You didn't have a best friend other than your mother. Well, you did once, but it didn't end well. It was the reason you had trust issues whenever someone tried to befriend you. The only person you could call a friend now was Faye, but you'd kept your guard up ever since the incident, so you never really tried to get any closer to her.

So, you had no one. It was just you and your mother, until she died.

Sitting in silence grew uncomfortable as moments passed, so you grabbed your things and got out of the car. Your steps felt heavier as you approached the front door. The last time you were here was this morning, when you had numbly dressed for the funeral. You hadn't had the time to dwell on your mother's absence.

Now that the ceremony was over, there was plenty of time to notice her absence. Her shoes in the corner, the flower vase on the coffee table, her keys hanging from the wall-mounted key rack, and her scent lingering in the air.

Stupid fucking disease.

You removed your coat and threw it on the sofa, not before picking it up again to hang it on the coat rack—as if your mother were there to scold you. The house was eerily quiet, so you made your way to your bedroom, one you hadn't slept in for a few months.

As you opened the door to your room, you were greeted by the stale scent caused by trapped air. Everything was exactly where you'd left it — which somehow made it worse. You inhaled deeply, memories flooding back, eyeing the bed that you once cried on when you and your mother had a fight. It was about your absent father — how you'd asked your mother about him, only for her to shrug off your curiosity. Now, you knew why she acted like that. She just didn't want to talk about the man who hurt you both. 

You never asked about him after that.

Taking slow steps, your eyes roamed around your childhood room. A lump formed in your throat as your vision blurred at the edges before you forced it back, jaw clenched. You'd had enough of crying. You already did plenty of that this week, and you didn't want to lose your streak of not bawling your eyes out on the day of her funeral. 

You sat on the edge of the bed, and caressed the flat sheets. She probably washed this every now and then while you were away. A small smile formed on your lips — before you caught yourself and let it fall. Habit, maybe. Old enough that it didn't need an audience anymore. 

She was too good for this world, anyway.

It felt like hours before you decided to move and change out of your funeral-outfit cosplay. The bathroom was the only place where you could be yourself without expectant looks from others. You scrubbed your skin raw under the shower until it reddened, making you numb — as if the cold water could erase the feeling of solitude threatening to drown you. Everything was numb, even when you pinched yourself and rested your head against the wall. 

A tear slid down your cheek, the water washing it down quickly. You didn't bother stopping it as it continuously flowed, letting yourself feel vulnerable, if only for a moment. A sound escaped you, something between a laugh and a sob. You didn't recognize your own voice.

Was this what everyone wanted from you today? To crumble, to sob, to prove you loved her? Screw them for wanting it. But here you were, alone, doing it anyway — just for yourself this time.

Well, you were human after all. Fuck the streak. Fuck cancer. Fuck everyone else.

A few hours later, drained of whatever that was in the shower, you found yourself in the kitchen — doing something you didn't even know you had a skill for: baking cookies. You didn't even know why your feet dragged you here. Maybe because the smell of her in the kitchen still lingered, or a distant memory of her teaching you how to bake.

Either way, you were going to bake cookies even if you could feel the exhaustion in your bones.

Kneading the dough with more force than necessary, you decided that the silence was deafening. You wiped your hands and went to your room to grab your phone. There were messages from Faye, from the nurse in the hospital, and others from distant relatives. You cleared all notifications and played a song that would distract your thoughts.

Finally, your attention was solely on the cookie you were attempting to bake. Tasting it, you tilted your head, unsure. You weren't an expert cookie baker, but at least Gordon Ramsay wasn't here to scold you for the mediocre batch. Eh, that was good enough for now. 

After a few minutes of letting it sit inside the oven, you opened it and were met by how good it smelled. Guess that wasn't so bad, huh? The corner of your lips tipped, impressed by your work. You grabbed one cookie and blew on it before taking a small bite. Okay, that wasn't the best, but not the worst either.

You were suddenly motivated to bake more batches, not even thinking about how you were going to finish it all by yourself. Your neighbors probably knew you just came home from your mother's funeral, so you weren't planning on giving them cookies. They'd probably think it was poisoned, that you'd lost your mind, or that you were heartless for "celebrating."

A bowl filled with cookies and a cold juice in your hands, you decided to watch something. You decided to continue the series you were watching, Sex and the City. It was halfway through the episode when you finished your first batch of cookies. You kept watching, keeping yourself entertained, until you reached the episode where Miranda's mother died. What a coincidence.

She represented you in a way — wanting to put on a front, too damn stubborn to let her feelings out. The queen of suppression. Damn, was this episode written for you?

You decided you'd had enough of watching yourself on screen and turned it off. But the silence enveloping the room made you turn it on again, mindlessly flicking over the channels. 

You landed on a news channel, the anchor's voice steady and practiced. You almost changed it, but something he mentioned made you pause.

“...and in tonight's special segment, we take a look at an initiative that's been gaining quiet attention across state correctional facilities — inmate pen-pal programs.”

You blinked at the screen, thumb hovering over the remote as your curiosity grew.

The screen cut to a woman being interviewed, her expression somewhere between hopeful and tired, judging by the circles under her eyes. “I never thought I'd be the one writing to a stranger in prison,” she said. “But he replies to every letter. Some of these men just don't have anyone left in their lives.”

The segment cut to file footage of rows of cells, hands gripping bars, a man sitting alone at a metal table with nothing but a pen and paper in front of him. The anchor's voiceover mentioned something about reduced reoffending rates, about isolation being one of the biggest challenges inside the system, about people who hadn't received a single letter in years.

At the bottom of the screen, a number scrolled by along with a website — some organization that matched volunteers with inmates who'd opted in to receive mail.

You didn't write it down. You didn't need to. Some prisons, the segment mentioned, accepted mail addressed simply to the facility, no name required, sorted and distributed among inmates who wanted correspondence. The woman’s words rang in your head, “Some of these men just don’t have anyone left in their lives.”

You sat there long after the segment ended, your juice forgotten as it left a moist ring on your coffee table. 

Someone with no one left, huh.

The thought sat there, uninvited, refusing to leave. You bit your lower lip hard, staring into space. You told yourself it was stupid. You told yourself you'd forget about it by morning.

You didn't.

It was currently 2:00 AM, a tab open on your laptop, the search bar reading: how to send letters to prison. You told yourself it was crazy. You almost shut down your laptop and tucked yourself into bed to sleep, so you could forget the ridiculous idea forming in your head. But you kept staring at the pen and paper laying on your night table, as if it were teasing you. 

“Shit,” you mumbled to yourself, gnawing your lower lip until it drew blood and woke you up.

After a quick debate with yourself, you gave in to the urge and snatched the paper and pen off the table. You exhaled deeply and closed your eyes for a moment. Were you really going to do this? Your eyes fell to the paper in your hand, staring at it as if it would disappear. It didn’t.

You took that as a sign to pull yourself out of bed, turned the lamp on your study table, then sat on the chair. Laid out before you were the paper and pen, and whatever was left of your pride. With shaky hands, you grabbed the pen… and started writing.

Surprisingly, you weren't nervous about the writing itself — the words came easier than expected. What made it nerve-wracking was knowing your dignity was on the line, but you poured your heart into the letter anyway. Without pausing, you wrote whatever you were feeling in the moment, letting it all spill onto the page.

Hi.

I don't know if anyone would read this, or if anyone in prison would even want a letter from a stranger who didn't ask for a name. I just needed to send it somewhere. So if this doesn't get burned or torn, I guess I'll try to make it worth reading.

My mother died two days ago. I don't think I'd ever really known grief until now. It was a weird feeling — loss. I just lost someone I loved, and here I am, baking cookies just to distract myself.

I wasn't someone who talked to people about my feelings, and I think this is the best way to let it out. Crazy and sad, but I didn't have anyone left. I lost everyone. Never had a father growing up, a couple of friends along the way, but they weren't the type to stay.

The last time I talked to her, I was excited to shop for a dress for my graduation. I'll be graduating in a week, but I can't bring myself to look forward to it. My mom was the only person I had, and she was supposed to be there.

Honestly, this was an impulsive decision — it's currently 2:34 AM. I couldn't sleep, and I didn't want to rely on sleeping pills. I love my mother, but I wasn't about to become a ghost story too by following her.

I just had to let this out. It's fine if no one reads this, or if you read this and think it's weird to receive a letter from a grieving 20-something. I'll be alright knowing I delivered it to the right address, because from what I've heard, it's boring in prison. Unless you gained pals there, well… good for you. 0 - me, 1 - you.

Thanks for reading this far, if you did.

Hope you’re having a great day there. You’re probably doing better than me. 

Sincerely, 

a girl who should be sleeping

Once you filled the whole paper with words you didn't know you'd say to someone, you scanned it thoroughly. A small part of you felt hopeful about the response, while the other felt pathetic and alone. 

Were you that lonely, resorting to opening up to a prisoner by sending a letter about your mom's death? Someone who'd probably committed heinous crimes — or maybe hadn't, maybe they'd been wronged and didn't deserve to be there at all. Either way, someone locked up behind bars. 

Reading it over and over again, you contemplated whether you'd send it or not.

What could go wrong? At this moment, you couldn't think of anything. It was a harmless letter, one that a prisoner would read and probably judge you by how you wrote it.

You folded the letter carefully, sliding it into the envelope before sealing it shut. Grabbing a pen, you hovered over the blank space meant for a return address.

Your hand stayed frozen there for a moment too long.

Did you actually want a stranger — a prisoner — to know where you lived? The thought alone made you pause, chewing the inside of your cheek. But then again, what were the odds he'd even reply? You were just some random name attached to a random letter, one of probably hundreds he'd never bother responding to.

Actually, scratch that. He wouldn't even know your name since you didn't write it.

You settled on writing just your address, leaving your name out of it entirely. If this whole thing turned out to be a mistake, at least you'd have that much control over it. Satisfied, you capped the pen and set the envelope on your desk, staring at it for a long moment before finally allowing yourself to exhale.

Tomorrow, you decided. You'd mail it tomorrow, once the sun was up and this 2 AM impulse didn't feel quite as insane as it probably was.

Sleep didn't take over. You barely slept — if you could even call it sleep, when it was just a nap.

Three hours of tossing and turning, you gave up and groaned. Sitting up, you rubbed your tired eyes, a yawn escaping your mouth. You were so tired, but apparently not tired enough to actually get any real sleep. 

And you blamed it on the envelope sitting on your table.

Narrowing your eyes at it, you averted your gaze to ignore it and decided to wash your face. You stared at yourself in the mirror, noticing the dark circles under your eyes, fatigue evident on your features. Not wanting to be more depressed, you turned away from the mirror and made your way to the table.

You reached for the envelope that contained your feelings. The more you looked at it, the more the anxiety grew. It's just a simple letter, calm down, you told yourself. Yeah, a simple letter that would let a prisoner take a glimpse at your vulnerability.

Once you were done beating yourself up over some letter, you grabbed your keys, put on a hoodie, and left the house at six in the morning. You drove to the nearest post office, glancing at the envelope on the passenger seat every so often, as if making sure it hadn't disappeared.

Before you could talk yourself out of it, you stepped out of your car with the envelope in hand. The line was short, a few people ahead of you, each one making the wait feel unbearably long, the anxiety growing with every passing minute.

When it was finally your turn, you slid the envelope across the counter almost too quickly, as if speed would keep you from changing your mind.

“Just this one?” the clerk asked, barely looking up.

“Yeah,” you said quietly, fiddling with the sleeve of your hoodie. “Just this one.”

You watched it disappear into the outgoing mail bin, and something in your chest tightened.

There was no taking it back now.

next chapter

notes: there's a few SATC references in here because fun fact... I had this exact idea a few days ago while watching that specific episode where miranda's mother dies. I wanted to write prisoner!Toji and a pen-pal dark romance, and then, cherry on top, I was watching that SATC episode at the same time. which is also how the title "mama, I'm in love with a criminal" came to be. short rant over. hope you liked this one :) I'll try to update frequently!

credits to @angeliicide & @uzmacchiato for the dividers <3

02

Frack! You cursed in your mind when your tongue almost got burnt as you sipped your hot coffee. The cold wind hit your face as you tried to bite the apple that you'd grabbed on the table at your house. Aunt Quinn would surely give you an earful if she found out you were running late for the third time today. Really, it wasn't your fault that crocheting was therapeutic.

I didn't even realize it was already 3 am when I finished the cute little frog bucket hat crochet I made.

You struggled to try and eat breakfast while you hurried towards school since you didn't catch the bus. You didn't mind at all walking to school, but only if you weren't running late. Today, you were about two minutes late to class, and Ms. Reign was an early bird who was strict with time. Great, another record of tardiness.

Well... like I said, not really my fault.

Today, you wore the craft that made you late to class, a wide grin forming on your lips. You looked cute today, as always, and despite knowing you were going to have another record of tardiness, you felt good. Little things didn't dampen your mood, since it would take a lot to get you upset. Aunt Quinn would often ask if you were really human, and how you were always optimistic, since she could never—her words.

Honestly, you didn't really know why. You just liked to look at the brighter side of things. Nothing could affect you at this point.

Some drops of coffee fell to the ground as you speed-walked to school. Luckily, your clothes didn't get stained, however, it did burn your hand. You couldn't ride your bicycle today since the tires had been flat ever since yesterday, so you had no choice but to run, since there was no bus in view.

Fifteen minutes later, apple eaten, coffee cup thrown away, tongue burnt, feet running to your class. As you knocked, you heard someone say 'come in', so you twisted the knob and stood at the entrance with a heaving chest. Some of your classmates snickered at your presence, some didn't care, and some rolled their eyes.

"Ms. Y/N. Care to explain why you're late... again?" Your curly-haired teacher had her hand on her hip, while the other supported her leaning weight on the wooden table. She wore a floral dress with cream flats, her hair tied into a bun. Her everyday look.

You smiled sheepishly. "Sorry, Ms. Reign. I didn't get to use my bicycle today."

She raised an eyebrow, shaking her head in disappointment. You stood there, watching her pull out her record book, and tapped your fingers on the side of your hips, eyes moving to your best friend's. Her curly, blonde hair looked wild today, which was one of your favorite looks of hers. She raised her fake long nails, waving in the air, like she was trying to say something.

"What?" you mouthed, leaning down to get it better. She pressed her lips together, like she was trying to contain her laughter, and covered her mouth. Before you could ask her to do it again, you caught the person sitting in the front row giving you a dirty look.

It was Shamirah, that one girl who seemed to have a sour mood whenever she saw you... especially Keysha, your best friend. She rolled her eyes so hard that you were afraid she'd fall off whenever she was around.

Somehow, you could understand where she was coming from. This 'feud' between the two of them started when Keysha won first place in a singing contest that the school held a year ago, which was junior year. Your music teacher, Mr. Lee, always rooted for Shamirah because she'd been an active member of the choir since freshman year. She was the golden child that Mr. Lee always talked about, even in your Music class.

She'd joined competitions outside of school, and had been the school's pride for almost four years now. No one had ever replaced her spot, and she seemed to bask in the spotlight because her popularity gained her many friends.

Shamirah was a great singer. You admired her talent, and you could see how much she loved her passion. However, you'd always root for your best friend. Keysha had been singing since she was a kid, she'd told you. She just didn't have the confidence to join singing contests or even join the school's choir. Her parents weren't really the most supportive people in her choice of passion before.

At the end of junior year, you formed a group with Keysha and some classmates of yours in Music class with Mr. Lee. He gave a final task to the whole class, which was to form a band and perform at least two to three songs. You instantly encouraged Keysha to sing, and at first, she wasn't really up for it. After giving her a little push, she finally gave in, to which you cheered.

For the sake of grades, you learned how to play flute for a week. Some of your groupmates knew how to play instruments, so it was easy for your group to comply for every practice. You were amused at how surprised your 'bandmates' were when they first heard Keysha sing. She was showered with compliments afterwards, to which she just shrugged off with a smile on her face.

When the day of the performance came, everyone was shocked at Keysha. You'd heard her sing a few times before she came out of her shell, and you felt proud at how much she enjoyed singing in front of the class. All throughout the performance, you swore you could see stars in your classmates' eyes, especially Mr. Lee's, who had his mouth hung open the whole time.

By the end of the performance, Mr. Lee was clapping so hard you swore he was the loudest among the class. Since you were the last to perform, he praised Keysha for half an hour, like he couldn't believe she would hide her talent from him. Your best friend only smiled sheepishly, probably not used to the attention they were giving her.

Only one person didn't like the performance, who sat there with a deep frown, her arms crossed over her chest.

So when a singing contest was announced, Mr. Lee approached Keysha with a spring in his step. Keysha said when she was about to decline Mr. Lee because she wasn't really one to join contests, he looked offended. He assured her that her voice would bring her somewhere, and hiding it would be a waste of potential.

Eventually, she was convinced, and prepared for the competition. You remembered her being so nervous that day, and you squeezed her hand, giving her the best smile you had. "You'll nail it there, Kiki! I know you will." Her lips slowly turned into a smile, and she hugged you so tight.

She did. She did nail it, and the judges looked impressed, the same stars that you'd seen in your classmates' eyes were now passed to them. You were loud at the back, jumping up and down as you cheered for your best friend. When she was announced first place, you teared up, seeing your best friend's speechless state. You knew how big this was for her, and you applauded until you couldn't anymore.

What you didn't know while you made your way backstage was that Keysha and Shamirah had a heated argument. Shamirah was placed second, and you could only imagine how this would hurt her, since she'd always been first since freshman year.

She had to understand that envy didn't look good on her, since she told Keysha how she'd purposely done that to rub it in her face, or how she'd always been trying to take her down for a while now. She implied that Keysha had always been jealous of her.

Since that day, Shamirah changed. From the reserved popular girl, to a bitter girl who liked to be alone nowadays. Sure, you still saw some of her friends, but not as often as you did before. You kind of felt bad for her, but you remembered how she'd accused Keysha of being jealous of her, so that feeling faded a bit. Whenever you and Keysha would pass her, she would roll her eyes, expressing her disgust to your friend. Sometimes, Keysha would shrug it off, but sometimes, she glared back, too.

Back to where you stood, you took your eyes off Shamirah, who had her eyebrows furrowed. Shifting your attention to Ms. Reign, who was now sighing as she closed her record book. She narrowed her eyes at you. "This will be the last time, Y/N. You'll be getting a detention on your fourth one," she warned you with a pointed finger.

You nodded, flashing her a smile. "It won't happen again. Thank you, Ms. Reign." She waved dismissively, so you made your way to the empty seat beside Keysha, who had her plucked eyebrows raised, giving you a knowing look.

When you placed your things on the table of your chair, she leaned in to whisper. "You know she didn't buy that, right?"

You shrugged, twisting your lip in amusement. "Yeah, but I was telling the truth," you half-lied. You definitely weren't sure that you wouldn't be late again.

She couldn't help but snort, and luckily, Ms. Reign was busy discussing something with her back turned, so she didn't hear her. "What got you late this time?"

You brought out your cute ballpens and notebook, laying them on your table. You glanced at her sideways, and pointed at the frog bucket hat crochet that you were wearing. She blinked at that, and shook her head.

You stuck your tongue out at her. "This took me so long to make, okay?" With that, she shook her head again with a playful smile on her lips.

The class ended in thirty minutes, and you didn't mind Shamirah's burning gaze on you, pulling Keysha outside of the room. Her nails clicked as she typed on her phone. "Okay, these two should seriously stop dragging Yuji with them." You tried to take a peek at her screen. "Who is that?"

"Addie. She and Harper cut classes again and they dragged Yuji with them."

You chuckled. The couple, Addie and Harper, had been together since the last year of middle school. They'd been your friends since second year, which was unexpected, seeing how they were always in their own world. They were your favorite couple at school.

Yuji, however, had been a friend since freshman year. He was the first person to talk to you when Keysha didn't attend the first day of classes because of an emergency. His bubbly personality matched yours, and you instantly clicked at your first conversation.

This was the second time this week that they'd cut classes with Yuji. You agreed with Keysha, and if Yuji's grandpa found out about this, he would get his butt handed to him. Bringing out your phone, you sent Yuji a text.

hey!! where r u?

He responded within seconds.

yuji :DD with addie and harper. we're trying to buy keysha food before second period.. so, as harper says, 'she'll forget she's mad at us' :P

You snorted, and you could feel Keysha glancing at you.

hey!! what about me???

A minute later, he replied.

i'll buy you :) these dorks are taking too long!

Your grin widened. Before you could reply, Keysha snatched your phone from your hands. "Hey!" Since she was a bit taller than you, she raised the phone to the air, trying to read the text. You tried to grab it from her but failed, and laughed instead. Some students were giving you looks, so you covered your mouth, signaling Keysha to give your phone back to you.

She gave your phone back with a funny look on her face. "Those two won't be able to escape my madness," she said in a deeper voice. You chuckled once again, playfully shoving her. "Weirdo." She gasped dramatically, stopping in front of her locker, a hand on her hip. "You taught me your ways, remember?" And you laughed once again.

True enough, the three made it to second period, almost late. Keysha melted over the slice of cheesecake they'd bought for her, but still scolded them for bringing Yuji with them. While they tried to reason with Keysha, you thanked Yuji for the food he'd bought for you, which were five pieces of brownies. After class, the five of you chatted while making your way to the cafeteria.

On the way there, you ate the delicious brownies, nudging Yuji to the side so he could eat one. He widened his eyes. "Woah, I did not expect that." You giggled, making the three of them look your way. Since you weren't one to gatekeep, you gave the remaining ones to them. They sighed in unison, and you kept in mind to buy these goodies again sometime.

As usual, the cafeteria was packed. Each table represented the jocks, the edgy kids, the popular kids, musically talented kids, teacher's pets, and the nerds. Your typical high school scenario. The table at the right corner of the room was where the five of you sat.

Addie sat beside you. She had wild raven hair, a nose ring and ear piercings, and wore only tight shirts and jeans that hugged her curves perfectly. Harper, who sat beside her, had a buzz cut, a lone piercing on his right ear, and wore plain shirts with baggy pants. Yuji, across from them, had a university hoodie on—the baseball team—and sweatpants. Keysha, who sat across from you, wore her signature clothes, which were a black short tight skirt, and a light green cardigan over her white tank top.

"Okay, you two need to stop cutting classes from now on," Keysha said, giving the two beside you a pointed look. Both groaned simultaneously. "You literally gave us an earful a while ago, aren't you done yet?" Addie complained. Harper threw his arm around his girlfriend's shoulders. "Yeah, live a little, Kiki," he coolly said.

Your best friend just raised an eyebrow at them, then turned to Yuji. "And you, stop joining these two," pointing at the two, who were making faces at Keysha childishly. You let out a chuckle at their childishness.

"Okay, mom." Yuji saluted, making Keysha push him slightly. He fell out of balance a bit, holding the arm that Keysha pushed while recovering. "Damn girl, you should definitely join the team. That was a solid push." The table burst with laughter, and Keysha just rolled her eyes for the nth time.

Addie complimented the frog bucket hat you'd made, and you explained once again that it had gotten you late for the third time, so it should look cute. Harper tried to wear it, but the vibrant color of green looked out of place against the dark colors he wore. Addie snapped pictures of him, amused at how her boyfriend looked.

You watched them with your hand tucked under your chin, then your attention shifted to the table you'd avoided looking at since you sat down. Everything suddenly didn't matter, blurry faces surrounding him.

Three tables away, sat him, with his popular friends. He wore a black sweatshirt, with a watch on his wrist, and one thin silver ring around his middle finger. With his arms crossed and elbows resting on the table, he listened to whatever the person across him was saying. The gods agreed with you when you say in your mind that he's sculpted by them and that they took their time doing it.

His green eyes seemed to be always distant, but you knew he was listening intently by the way he nodded his head slightly. When he moved to touch his shoulder blades, you could feel your cheeks heating when his biceps bulged under his clothes. You watched, hypnotized, as he spoke. The way his Adam's apple bobbed, his lips moved, how he mimicked your actions by tucking his hand under his chin, his eyebrows furrowing slightly.

The sound of a chortle woke you up from your mini daydream about the man a few tables away from you. Averting your attention, you mentally face-palmed yourself when you realized that you'd stared at him again shamelessly. Really hope no one caught me doing that.

Yuji snapped his fingers at you. "Right?"

You blinked at him, clueless as to what he was saying. Addie tilted her head, looking behind you, her gaze following whoever you'd been staring at. Giving Keysha a panicked look, she quickly understood the assignment, on a mission to redirect Addie's attention.

"Ads, remember when—"

"It's weird how completely alike they are."

Everyone followed her gaze, and hesitantly, you did, too, not without widening your eyes slightly at Keysha, who shrugged lightly. You turned your head to see who she was talking about.

"Who are we talking about?" Harper asked, sticking his head beside Addie's arm.

Addie not so subtly pouted toward the table you'd been staring at earlier. "That guy. Fushiguro on the sports team. The... ah, I forgot which one. He's in too many sports, can you believe that?"

Your heart raced at the mention of his name, like it always did, for the past eight years. Keysha was the only person in your life who knew about your infatuation with the said guy. She'd been shocked that he was the same guy who'd helped you at the playground eight years ago, where she'd also been present.

She was impressed at how you were able to like someone who probably didn't remember who you were. When she'd said that, you pouted, and she said sorry, but it was the truth. She was right, but it kind of hurt that you'd always expect recognition on his face whenever he saw you in the hallway. He didn't remember you, and it... sucked.

The moment you found out he was going to the same school as you, you screamed into your pillow, the summer before freshman year. You were excited to tell Keysha about it, and she always tried her best to assure you that he'd remember you. Your heart always sank whenever he ignored your existence, and you'd try to cover it with a pained smile when you got home.

It's been years. I should probably give up.

But you're not. You're determined to get him to notice you without making a fool out of yourself.

On your last year in high school, you have to be able to talk to him.

Or miraculously make him fall in love with you.

You didn't let Keysha know about this plan, because you knew she'd just tell you how delusional you were. Which... well, you were... but no harm in trying, right?

I just have to find a way to get close to him.

"Oh, yeah. He's on our team, too," Yuji commented, munching on his food.

Addie nodded. "Yeah, yeah. Y'all see that gal over there? Kyla or Kyra—"

"Kyra," Keysha confirmed.

"Yeah, her." Addie sipped on her juice before she spoke again. "Well, I've heard something about Fushiguro and her."

"What?" you eagerly asked, your nails sinking into your palm. Keysha shot you a look, but you just nudged her foot under the table.

Your friend shrugged and picked at her nails. "Just something about Fushiguro finally pursuing her, I guess. Kyra's liked him for so long that I'm surprised Fushiguro was only making a move now. They have so many things in common that I thought he was blind or something like that."

Kyra, the tall, slim, pretty girl, sat next to their table with her friends. She had perfectly ironed brunette hair, her back straight, and she moved gracefully. You knew her. You'd heard rumors about her and him... but you didn't believe any of them, with a stubborn heart. But hearing this from your friend now, who had trusted sources, formed a lump in your throat.

She kept stealing glances at him, and you observed his body language, who was busy eating. A short feeling of triumph washed over you when he didn't look back at her. "I mean, look at her. She's an executive officer of the Lit club. Athletic like him, plays volleyball and badminton. She's rich. Don't know what took him so long, to be honest. They're like... soulmates."

Her words brought a pang to your heart. Soulmates. Are they really?

A foot nudged yours, and you glanced up, meeting your best friend's eyes. She gave you a pity look, so you forced a smile, turning your attention to your food. Yuji and Harper agreed with what she'd said, and you just tuned them out. Making sure your friends weren't paying attention, you snuck a glance at him, and you wished you hadn't.

His eyes made contact with Kyra, and he watched her wave at him. You didn't miss the small twitch on his lips, like he'd smiled at her, noticing her. Slowly, you felt your mood dampening, clenching your hands into tight fists.

Guess I just blew my chance.

credits to @uzmacchiato for the divider

01

𝘴𝘱𝘶𝘯𝘬𝘺 (𝘢𝘥𝘫.) 𝘩𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘴𝘱𝘪𝘳𝘪𝘵𝘦𝘥, 𝘤𝘰𝘶𝘳𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘰𝘶𝘴, 𝘥𝘦𝘵𝘦𝘳𝘮𝘪𝘯𝘦𝘥, 𝘢𝘯𝘥 𝘣𝘳𝘢𝘷𝘦.

Eight years ago

"Please, Auntie?"

Your aunt sighed loudly, and you couldn't blame her, because you'd been bugging her for two hours straight. She kept telling you that she was busy, but you badly wanted to go now. You weren't the type to give up easily, especially now that she was giving you 'that' look. Which was a sign that she was about to give in to your puppy eyes and constant nagging.

"Y/N, you can't even use the bike." She rubbed her eyes in a tired manner. "How are you going to go there? I can't drive you because I'm too busy right now." She waved her hands in front of her laptop.

You didn't know what she was doing, but due to the dark circles under her eyes, it must have been work. She had once told you that work was the cause of her misery. You'd laughed at that, but seeing her still sitting in the same spot for half a day... maybe she wasn't joking after all.

"No! I can ride my bicycle! I just learned how to use it properly yesterday." You flashed her a toothy grin, determined to woo her. I did try to learn, but I ended up falling three times, and she didn't have to know that. She raised an eyebrow at you, and you prayed she wouldn't see the band-aid on your scraped knees, the ones you'd stolen from her first-aid kit. It was covered by your knee-high socks, thankfully, but you had to make sure you didn't wince at the pain so she wouldn't notice.

She let out an exasperated sigh. She stared at you for a while. "Are you sure you can ride your bike?"

You hesitated for a moment, and when you opened your mouth, she stood up, leaving her laptop open. "That's it. I'm going to drive you there, you little devil." You giggled at that and cheered, then followed her with a spring in your step. She just can't resist me.

Today was the grand opening of a park that was just around the corner. You wanted to make new friends and try the big slide they'd been working on. Aunt Quinn never let you go out on your own, even if it was just a walking distance from your house. She could be very overprotective sometimes. So you'd tried to practice using your bike, but you always ended up falling on your butt.

Not even five minutes or so later, you arrived at the new park filled with kids. You grinned, watching the kids play with their friends, and some with their parents. Aunt Quinn glanced at you. "I can't go with you today, sunshine. But I'll make sure to pick you up in an hour. Is that good?"

You checked your watch. It was only 4:10 pm. "Sooo... 5:10 pm?" She nodded at that with a soft smile, then you gave her a kiss on the cheek before running towards the playground.

"Be careful! An hour, alright?" You gave her a thumbs up and ran to the swing set. That was enough time for you to look for a friend. The other seat was occupied by a girl with pigtails, wearing a strawberry pink dress. She looked like a real-life Disney princess. You waved at her, and you were surprised when she waved back, smiling.

"Hi. Are you new here?" she asked with curious eyes. She looked older than you.

You shook your head. "No. My house is not that far from here. Are you allergic to peanuts?"

She raised an eyebrow at your random question. "Hmm. I'm not, why do you ask?" You shrugged, pouting. "Nothing. It'll suck if you can't eat peanuts. My aunt makes tasty peanut butter fingers. It's so good that you're going to forget your name." You grinned at her.

Instead of getting weirded out, she smiled. "Cool. I'd love to try that sometime. Wanna play?"

For half an hour, you played with her, playing tag with other kids, and even rode the seesaw with her. You found out she was a year older than you, and was planning to transfer to the school you were going to. She was a Grade five student, and she seemed picky when it came to playing with other kids. You wondered why she stayed with you, though. But you didn't complain. You liked her.

You'd never had so many friends until now that you were ten years old, since you always got called names like 'weirdo' or 'hyper kid'. Being a weirdo meant bad to them, but to you, it wasn't. It sounded cool.

Yeah, it was cool to be different, to be odd, but sometimes... you wanted to be like them. Normal. Boring. Quiet. So kids would play with you.

However, with Keysha, your new friend, it wasn't the same sad scenario. Instead, she was smiling, holding your hand, pulling you to the big slide with her. The one you'd wanted to see ever since you saw a new park near your house was being built. You'd hoped you'd find a friend that would accept you for who you were, and you did. Her curly afro black hair, tied in pigtails, bounced as she climbed the ladder up to the slide.

You peered up at her. "Come on up, Y/N!" She motioned for you to follow her. A smile made its way to your lips, eager to follow her. She offered her hand for you to grab, which you gladly took. Your eyes wandered around the playground set made of wood, then darted to the kids who were screaming and pushing each other. Keysha held your hand, pulling you with her as you crossed the mini bridge.

Some kid bumped into you without even saying sorry, but it didn't matter. What mattered at the moment was that you had a friend by your side, who didn't mind when you talked too much or said the most random things. There were other kids in line for the long slide, and both of you went behind a kid who had braces. You could see her spit flying while she talked, so you scrunched your nose, backing up a bit.

Keysha noticed that and laughed. You laughed with her, holding your stomach. It didn't take long before it was finally your turn. You turned to her. "I want you to go first, but I'd be lying, and I don't want to lie, or my Aunt will hide Lily, my elephant plushie. I want to go first," you told your friend with a straight face. She giggled, rolling her eyes playfully. "Yeah, I know. Wait for me, okay?"

You nodded. "Of course!" Then you turned your head to your front. Your smile fell at the sight before you. Your hands became clammy, and you realized it sure was scary from up here even if it wasn't that high. The slide that wasn't even that scary got scarier as you imagined yourself falling, which sent shivers down your spine.

You could hear Keysha talking, but you couldn't focus on whatever she was saying. A deep inhale. Then exhale. You shut your eyes for a moment, calming your nerves and shaky figure. Heights weren't listed as one of your fears. Bats and lizards were. So why were you hesitating to go down the chute you'd been wanting to slide on since you'd caught a glimpse of it?

A few minutes later, a light push woke you up from your mini panic moment. "What's taking you so long, scaredy cat? Get your butt on the slide." The annoying voice came from a boy with blonde hair. You drew your brows together, realizing that Keysha was nowhere to be seen. Had she run off, too? Behind him, a black-haired boy with freckles tried to scare you off by stepping forward. You held onto the railings, and glared at them.

"There's a line here, stupid bitch! Are you just gonna stand there, or what?" The blonde guy was too close, and you were afraid he might push you and you'd fall off the slide backwards. You gulped, but didn't show them you were scared. Stupid boys.

"Y/N!" You heard Keysha call somewhere. You tried to find where she was, but your view was blocked by a big kid with a big scowl on his face. "Hey, stop messing with Y/N!" Then, you found your friend's hand, waving at the back. You frowned at the realization. They cut in line. These jerks.

"I'm okay, Keysha!" you shouted, then winced when the blonde kid pushed you a bit. I hope Keysha is okay. To be safe, you sat on the top of the slide carefully and continued throwing daggers at him. You didn't care if he was a boy or he was bigger than you. You were going to fight back if he ever hit you. He clearly didn't like that, giving his friends a knowing look.

Before you could push yourself off, you felt someone kick your back, making you go down the slide faster than you should have. You screamed your lungs out and closed your eyes, hoping you wouldn't hurt yourself. When you finally reached the end, you tried to stand and jump instead of falling face forward, but you failed.

Your knees hit the ground, then you tumbled forward from the force of it. You hissed at the pain, checking your scraped knees to see if they were bleeding. "Oh, no." Tears pooled in your eyes when you saw blood staining your white knee socks. I don't want to cry, you said to yourself. But you couldn't help but sob when you felt the sharp pain in your knees.

Too busy staring at your injuries in despair, you didn't notice the shoes in front of you. You sniffed, then slowly glanced up at whoever it was.

You stared at the hand being offered to you. You couldn't see the face of the person since they were blocking the sun, so you accepted their hand as they pulled you up to your feet. "Aw," you whined. You couldn't stand straight because of your wounds, so the person held both of your arms to help you. Since you had no choice, you relied all your weight on them.

"T-thank you..." your voice shook.

You finally had a clearer view of the person who helped you, and you couldn't help but be surprised. It was a boy. He looked like he was just your age, or a year older. He had black hair, green eyes, and a frown etched on his face. He wasn't looking at you, though. He was looking at your bloody knees, his forehead creased.

Looking at his frown, you didn't know why you felt the need to not make him worry. "I'm fine," you tried to smile widely at him despite the pain.

Finally, his gaze met yours. You blinked when you felt like you were about to combust any moment, feeling the blood rushing through your fingers, up to your fingertips. He was staring at you, and the feeling of being praised by your Aunt Quinn was similar to this. Your cheeks heated along with the tips of your ears.

Oh, boy.

He stared right past you, and you realized he was still holding you. You fluttered your eyes, suddenly embarrassed and conscious that he'd seen you tumble from the slide. His face was void of any emotion, just looking at something behind you.

"Y/N!" You heard your friend, so you turned your head to see her.

You smiled sheepishly. "Hey, Keysha." She was frowning, and concern was plastered on her face. "Are you okay?" And when she saw your wounds, she gasped. "We have to get you to the hospital!" That made you laugh. "I'm fine. My Aunt can handle this."

I forgot about Aunt Quinn! You groaned, squeezing your eyes shut. She would be mad if she saw the blood gushing down your legs. The boy tightened his hold on you when you tried to move. Once again, your eyes lifted to meet his gaze.

The booming of your heart was furious but you ignored it. His eyes are beautiful. His lashes are so long. He still didn't say anything before he darted his eyes behind you. You didn't get to look behind you when Keysha took you away from the boy.

No!

She was scowling at the boy, but you squeezed her arm reassuringly. You threw the green-eyed boy a sweet smile. "Thank you for helping me," your eyes softening at him. You wanted him to hold you again.

For a moment, you saw his eyes flash an emotion that was quick to vanish before you could figure it out. He dragged his eyes behind you, scowling, then turned his back on you without a word. While Keysha was inspecting your knees, your eyes stayed on the boy's retreating back. He never said a single word, yet he'd left you speechless.

He was finally out of sight when you decided to follow his gaze. You realized he was actually glaring at the boys who'd pushed you down the slide, who were now standing by the monkey bars. He's mad at them for pushing me. You felt a flush of happiness inside you, despite your wounded knees and blood-stained socks.

As Keysha helped you stand properly, your mind was elsewhere. Specifically on a pair of mysterious green eyes. The eyes that were blank, but could be so beautiful when you stared longer at them. You bit your lip, containing your smile. Keysha didn't miss that. "What are you smiling about, you crazy girl?"

You shook your head, your cheeks hurting by how wide your smile was. "Nothing."

I hope I can see him again.

next chapter

credits to @uzmacchiato for the divider