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The first thought in my mind when I wake up in a heap on the floor of my foyer is something along the lines of “My bones feel like rusty springs.” Who would have thought falling asleep against a door after a long, stressful day would cause every bone in your body to creak in protest with every bend and stretch? Not even a minute of consciousness and it’s apparent that leaving the house is gonna be a pain in more ways than one today.

The second thought is “Whoever just knocked on my door is dead to me.” Which, I will admit, is a bit harsh, but the headache that rears up from the sound compounded by the burn of every joint in my body would make anyone just a tad grouchy.

Against my body’s wishes, I force myself up off the ground, the sound of joints popping ringing in my ears. Some of the pain subsides with the release of pressure, but it’s clear that a good long soak in a hot bath will be necessary later. I allow myself a good, long stretch to wring out any remaining bubbles before relaxing with a heaving breath and opening the door.

The large stranger is smiling with an air of patience, as if he already knew of my predicament. He’s dressed rather simply: a button up shirt, a multicolored tie, and plain slacks. The emblem on his hat and bag signifies that he’s the mailman, which in hindsight should have been obvious considering the two letters clutched in his hands.

“Well, hey there, neighbor!” His voice holds the heavy twang of a southern accent that’s imbedded itself deep into his soul. “Don’t reckon we’ve met yet, have we?” His empty hand extends itself towards me as he proclaims, “Name’s Eddie.”

You’d think I’d be more accustomed to the sheer friendliness of the people around here, and yet I still have to take a moment to register the greeting and introduce myself. After a firm handshake, he offers me the mail in his other hand. “Got a couple letters for ya. You sure made friends fast!”

I let out a chuckle as I take the envelopes. “Guess I did, huh?” I respond as I take a quick glance at the two letters. One is a bright shade of pink, the other a cool blue. I look back up at the friendly man. “I’m kind of embarrassed to admit I didn’t know there was a post office here,” I say sheepishly.

To my relief, Eddie laughs. “Guess we are a pretty small neighborhood, but every town needs a mailman.” He pats his mailbag for emphasis, and I hear the light crinkling of paper rustling around inside. “Letters ain’t gonna deliver themselves, you know.” He spares a glance at his watch to check the time. “Speaking of, I still got a few more stops on the route, so I’d best be leaving.”

“Oh, alright!” I say with a smile. “Wouldn’t want to keep you. Have a nice day!”

“I will, you have a nice day, too, neighbor!” With a grin and a wave, Eddie sets off while whistling a tune. I watch him walk away for a moment before ducking back into my house and shutting the door. I debate reading the letters right there in the foyer, but my decision to skip dinner the night prior seems to have upset my weary body, which lets out a growl of hunger. The sudden realization of just how starving I was propelled me into my kitchen, where I haphazardly tossed the letters onto the table. Breakfast first, then social life.

As I start to prepare a simple meal, I happen to catch of whiff of myself.

…a bath. Breakfast, a bath, then social life.

—————————

It’s a little past midday when I finally wander back into my dining room, the worst of the muscle pain having dissolved in hot, soapy water. The feeling left me sleepy, and I only came back to grab a quick snack from the fridge before taking a nap. However, the garish colors of the envelopes lying askew on the table are a reminder that I forgot to get around to reading them.

With a vague feeling of guilt for having functionally ignored my neighbors, I grab the envelope on top first, which happens to be the pink one. A scan of the address reveals the sender to be none other than Julie. I huff out a laugh. I should’ve guessed. After a trip to the junk drawer to locate my letter opener, I unfold the paper (Why does it smell like flowers? Does she put perfume on her parchment?) and lean against the table as I read.

Dear Neighbor,

Hope you’ve been feeling better! You seemed a little anxious at the picnic and I’ve been rather worried. I talked to Frank and he said you just weren’t adjusted to the neighborhood yet. So, I had an idea! I’d like you to come over to my house today to play with me and Frank! We still have plenty of treats leftover and a ton of games we didn’t get to play. I think we’ll all be the best of friends!

Lots of Love,

Julie Joyful <3

The whole paper is covered in doodles of hearts and smiley faces and it brings a smile to my face. I smooth the letter out as best I can. When the wrinkles are all gone, I grab a few magnets and hang it up on my fridge. My first letter! I really do make friends fast. As I beam at the page, picking up the other letter, a sense of calm washes over me. A fun day with two of my lovely neighbors. Just what I need to take my mind off-

I don’t move for a second. My eyes stay glued down to the deep blue envelope held in my hands. I know it’s a bit silly to be so scared of a simple name neatly printed on a piece of paper, but that acknowledgment does little to comfort me. All I can do is stare at the letter.

The letter from Wally.

I breathe in. I breathe out. In. Out. In. Out. I let my hand drift back down, setting the envelope and whatever it might hold within back onto the table. It almost feels dangerous to let my eyes linger on it. I walk away, leaving the kitchen without the snacks I once intended to grab.

I’m not hungry anymore.

—————————

Julie’s house is every bit as bright and cheery as the woman who lives there. The colors border on overwhelming, both the exterior and interior being so vibrant you could make out all the furniture in the dead of night. The smell of grass, flowers, and a hint of sugar waft through the air. It’s the kind of place you can enter and know deep down you’re gonna be safe. But the single most stunning feature of her home has to be the flower garden.

I enter under a beautiful picket fence arch which has long been overtaken by interwoven pink roses. Those same roses line the garden, weaving around each other and the white stakes in the ground. Bushes of multicolored hydrangeas line the back of the house, and stepping stones made of pebbles and small glass stones forge paths through the flowerbeds. In the middle of it all is a clearing in which a yellow blanket lies covered with tea cakes and sandwiches.

I’m so wrapped up in the scenery that I bump into Frank as he carries a small tea set to the blanket. The two of us both jump in surprise, and the cups wobble on the tray for a moment before they level it out to keep them balanced. I put a hand on my chest to calm myself. “I’m so sorry!” I exclaim. “I got distracted, are you alright?”

Frank huffs a bit as he continues to make his way toward the blanket. “I’m fine, neighbor. No harm, no foul.” They lower the set to the ground, careful to keep it steady. Once he seems sure of its integrity, he looks up at me, a hint of exasperation on his face. “Just, please pay a bit more attention to where you’re going.”

With a wave of anxiety, my hands move to tuck near to my chest and tug at each other, eyes averted to a patch of daffodils. “Yeah, I’ll try. It’s just…” My sentence trails off as I admire the intricacies of the garden around us. I manage to turn back to him. “This place is incredible, isn’t it?”

Frank stands up and takes a look around too, an air of peace overtaking his grumpy exterior for a moment. “It really is. Julie works hard to keep it like this, and it really pays off.” I murmur an agreement, and we both take in our surroundings in silence for a minute or two.

The sound of the back door swinging open appears in my periphery, and a familiar, chipper voice follows it shortly. “Oh, you’re early!” Julie steps out and joins us, the small plate of warm sugar cookies in her grasp sending steam into the air. “I didn’t think you’d show up for another half hour. I’m so happy to see you!” She moves the plate to her left hand, wrapping her right arm around me in a half hug. I’m ushered back towards the blanket, and the three of us all settle down in the middle of the garden. I don’t waste a moment before picking up a sandwich and taking a bite.

We don’t chat much while we eat, though Frank does have to remind Julie not to talk with her mouth full a time or two. She seems eager for us to finish eating so we can get to the games, the buzzing energy around her so infectious that I find myself rushing to finish my lunch so I can find out what she has planned. She’s done within minutes, and it doesn’t take long before I’m also licking the errant sugar sprinkles from my fingers. We chatter about everything and nothing as Frank works their way through their meal, seeming immune to Julie’s impatience.

After a good long while, Frank finally wipes his mouth and begins to pile up our dirty dishes onto the tea tray. It doesn’t even take a second for Julie to already be on her feet, bouncing in excitement. “Are we ready? Can we play now? What should we do first?”

“First, we should clean up.” Frank seems to be struggling to balance everything as he stands up, and I hurry to my feet to take the tray from him. They murmur out a brief thank you as they push themself off the blanket. “It’s not a good idea to start running around with glass on the ground. We don’t want anyone getting hurt.” Once he regains his bearings, he kneels down to pick up the remaining few plates and a few scattered pieces of trash. “We should probably take the blanket in, too, so we don’t trip over it.”

Taking the cue, Julie bends down to pull the yellow blanket from the grass, folding it into a messy pile in her arms. “Good idea, Frank! Come on!” Not seeming concerned with waiting for Frank and me, she disappears in a flash of pink into her house. The two of us glance at each other, chuckling as we follow behind, the clinking of china marking our footsteps.

The dishes have only just touched the kitchen counter when Julie darts back into the room. She notices my looking towards the sink and rushes to say “Don’t worry about it, I’ll clean all of them later. Let’s just go!” I match her smile as I follow her back outside with Frank tailing behind.

The next couple of hours seem to soar by, the boundless energy given off by the pastel woman so contagious that I don’t even realize how exhausted I am until I stumble and fall during a game of shadow tag and find that I don’t feel like getting up. I instead stay flopped over panting in the grass, arms outstretched, staring at the sky as the shades of blue begin to fade to soft arrays of green, orange, and pink. A grey face pops into my view, peering at me from the side with their eyebrows furrowed in concern. “Are you alright? That was a pretty rough fall.” Still trying to catch my breath, I offer a thumbs up in lieu of a verbal response. Frank seems satisfied with that, and lowers himself to the ground far more gently than I had.

He’s at once nearly bowled over by Julie, who if I didn’t know better almost seems a little winded herself. With residual giggles, she says, “Wow, I haven’t gotten to play for so long in ages! I knew we were gonna get along great!”

It’s a tad awkward being the only person fully lying on the ground. I funnel all my self discipline into propping myself up, opting to lean back on my hands to continue taking in the scenery above my head. My eyes sweep over it all, noting telltale specks of stars as the sun slips away to reveal them from behind the blue. I don’t think I’ve ever such a beautiful view of the sky before.

“I agree, it’s incredible.” Frank’s voice nearly makes me jump out of my skin. It takes a second to register that I must’ve let that last sentence stray from my mind to my tongue. I keep my focus upwards, hoping no one noticed my embarrassment. It appears to have worked as he continues, “It almost looks like a painting.”

A painting. A simple, commonplace thing that shouldn’t churn my stomach, but I still feel my heart drop at the words. In my periphery, Julie leans in with a giddy look on her face. “Speaking of, you and Wally seemed to have fun yesterday. Why, you two were out by the woods so long, Poppy almost sent out a search party!” She laughs, and I deem myself lucky that she didn’t notice the blood drain away from my head.

A pale imitation of a laugh comes out with the words, “Yeah, I guess we did…” The silence in the air grows thick, for me if not for the others. The rational and empathetic sides of my brain are waging war once more, and before I can stop myself, I blurt out, “Does… does he ever make you guys feel…” I trail off, struggling to find the words with two sets of eyes now focused on me. “…nervous?”

Frank’s head tilts, and he appears puzzled. “What do you mean? Why would he?”

My head begins to sink into my neck, like a turtle hiding from danger. “It’s just, I always feel like he’s staring at me, and some of the things he says while he does it come across a bit… off. Y’know?”

“Oh, that’s just how Wally is!” Julie bats at the air as if to dismiss the notion. “You’re worrying over nothing.”

As I begin to stutter out my disagreement, Frank asserts, “She’s right. He doesn’t mean any harm. You just haven’t gotten used to him yet.”

“I mean, I guess.” I push myself off my hands, the need to articulate my emotions taking over in my flustered state. “But, I got used to you guys and Poppy and Eddie within minutes. Wally just makes me feel uncomfortable.” The words are tumbling out now, and there’s nothing I can do to stop them.

When I force my eyes upward, Julie’s are already meeting them, and my gut wrenches at the uncharacteristic dour edge to her appearance. “It’s rude to talk about people like that behind their back, neighbor. He’s been nothing but lovely to you since you got here, and it’s not nice for you to treat him like some kind of threat.” A glance at Frank reveals a similar sentiment in his appraisal of me, and shame builds up within my heart. Against my will, tears begin to burn my eyes and mist my vision.

Unable to take it any longer, I push myself up. “I think I should go.” Neither of them tries to stop me. I pass through the magnificent greenery, knowing that the memory of it is going to have a permanent black mark tied to it. My hand settles on the garden gate, and I hesitate for a brief moment before deciding on “Thank you for the lunch, and for the games.” A mutter akin to that of ‘you’re welcome’ is heard behind me, and with that, I set off for my home.

Steam poured out of your bathroom door the moment you opened it, providing you a much-needed release from the hot air inside. Damp hair fell by your ears, and you promised yourself you would take the time to actually dry and fix it next time. Having brought your clothes in with you, you were now clad in a pair of pajamas that were patterned with spirals in your favorite colors, and you'd slipped on a pair of house-shoes that clapped against the wooden floor noisily with every step you took. 

You walked into your bedroom and took a seat on the edge of your bed. On your nightstand, right where you'd left it, was the response from the letter you'd left that afternoon.

You knew they were quick, knew that they'd write back in no time like usual, but you weren't ready to see it so soon. This had been the first time you'd interacted with them directly– or, that is, as directly as you could with the circumstances. You had no idea what to expect.

(Actually, you realized, this probably wasn't the first time you'd talked to them, considering that you'd spoken to everyone in town at least once, but that was besides the point.)

You picked up the letter, still in its colorful but blank envelope. This anticipation, this anxiety-- is this what they felt like, waiting on you to find their latest work? Waiting to see how you reacted, waiting to see any potential sign of shared affection? No wonder they hung around like they did.

Before you knew it, you were ripping open the envelope and pulling out its contents. Red pen, big letters, everything you would usually expect. 

Oh, my. Isn't this a nice surprise? I think you've just made my day, neighbor.

I was so worried to see one of my letters torn apart and left on the ground like that. I wasn't sure what to think, Y/N; I think it is better off left undescribed. But I should have known you would explain everything-- you're so kind, so understanding. You always have been. It's part of the reason I keep sending these, neighbor. It's why I keep trying.

You had to stop reading to let out a breath you didn't know you'd been holding. Well, at least you made the right call writing back to them...

As for the letter itself... I wasn't going to send anything that day, admittedly. I don't like the rain– my hair looks terrible when its wet, ha ha ha. But when I saw how bad the storm was, and I remembered how isolated you were in the forest, I became very worried. If something happened to you, or your home, I would never forgive myself. I had to at least try to reach out.

So, all I said was that, if you were hurt or if something happened because of the weather, to go into the middle of town. I would come out and help you however I could. I don't know why I never considered the fact that you're surrounded by trees, and that storms would be so dangerous for you. I'm so happy that nothing terrible happened.

I'd love to hear from you more often. Please, please, write to me more often.

♡

You mulled over the letter for a while, now resting against your headboard rather than the edge of your bed. No wonder they'd made a trip in the rain, no wonder they'd tried to leave you something despite the storm; they were scared you'd be hurt, and they wanted you to know you would have somewhere to go.

...

Somewhere to go.

You imagined, for a moment, what may have happened if something did happen to your house. You pictured yourself, trudging through mud and rain and flooded grass into town, and a neighbor rushing out of their house to get you back inside. Poppy would have fretted over you being out in the cold for so long and would have made you soup; Howdy probably would have closed his store just to give you the time and space you would have needed; Julie would have immediately given you outfit after outfit to change into so you weren't in soaked clothes. Just like that, it would have been over; you would have known who it was, and you'd have to confront them far sooner than you were ready to. How lucky you were that nothing terrible had happened, especially with how close the lightning had been to you in particular.

The paper crinkled gently in your hands. It was late, well past nine o' clock; a glance outside of your bedroom window told you that almost every house in Home was dark, save for Sally's, Eddie's, and Wally's. Sally's lights were always on, and you were sure she would say something about how "a star never steps out of the limelight!" if you ever asked; Eddie had mentioned how bad he was about staying up late into the night to work, even on what were supposed to be his off days; Wally... Well, you could only speculate what kept him up late into the night. Doing his hair, probably. In any case, there was a good chance that your admirer was either fast asleep or scared to risk waking the neighborhood up by sneaking out so late. You wouldn't be getting a response anytime soon, so writing a reply was probably unnecessary.

Very, very unnecessary.

...

But you knew that you wouldn't be able to sleep well with them on your mind all night, so you dragged yourself out of bed, grabbed the pen and stack of paper you'd pulled out last time, and decided to write a quick response. It only took you two tries and a little crossing out to say what you wanted to say;

Haha, hi! I'm glad I made your day, I guess!

That sure does explain a lot, at least. I thought it was pretty silly that you would leave something made of paper out in the rain... It's very sweet of you to worry about me so much, but I still feel so bad for your note getting ruined. And your hair, too, I guess! Please don't risk going out like that again-- I don't think I'm worth catching a cold over!

I've gotta say, though, I'm pretty shocked surprised you would've just... revealed yourself like that. Between this and the prints you left in my yard, I'd say you're getting sort of sloppy, haha! Maybe you won't be a "secret" admirer for much longer after all >:)

I like I want If you don't mind me responding, then I'll happily keep talking to you, neighbor. It's a nice change of pace, I think!

See you tomorrow! 

You slipped out of bed and downstairs, doing your best to ignore the darkness surrounding your home. You'd never actually been up this late before, so seeing the neighborhood so barren and shadowed felt... unnerving. Very, very unnerving. Like something bad was sure to happen if you let yourself out into the darkness for too long.

You cracked open your door and gently laid the folded note down on your step, then closed and locked it back. You felt oddly excited about this whole thing, and you just about couldn't wait for tomorrow to come.

As you headed back upstairs and back into bed, you smiled to yourself, heart swelling at the fact that you were finally able to speak to the person who'd been so infatuated with you. If you were able to get to know them better, then maybe... maybe you'd actually, really fall for them, too. Maybe your worries would no longer have to gravitate around how you were going to let them down easy when the time came. But that was extremely wishful thinking; you couldn't get too ahead of yourself, now.

You fell asleep to the thought of being embraced, and you slept a dreamless sleep.

%%%%%%%%%%%

The sun was already streaming through your windows, cascading through your curtains and onto your face. Sleeping through the night always felt like little more than a blink in Home, but you didn't mind it too much. You nonetheless felt refreshed, and, as you slipped out of your pajamas and into better clothes, your mind drifted back to the letters, your doorstep, and last night. Your heart was doing somersaults in your chest at the mere idea of hearing from them again, and you decided you would just take a quick peep before you started making breakfast. 

To no surprise whatsoever, another letter had been delivered. You suppressed an excited squeal, scooped up the letter, and read through it.

Y/N... 

let me assure you, neighbor; you are very worth it. Very, very worth it. Don't put yourself down so quickly like that-- it makes me so sad to think you don't see how wonderful you are.

Yes, I would have been sad to see our game end so soon, but some things take priority– like you. I want you to be safe and happy here, no matter what that takes. But nothing happened, so I'm just thrilled that I still get to see how you figure it all out, neighbor. Speaking of which...

Who ever said I left those on accident? Silly, silly. 

♡

Your eyes widened. They... did that on purpose? The pride you'd first felt at catching them off guard dissipated all at once. Why on earth would they willingly do that? You had to respond, now; you wouldn't be able to get it off of your mind otherwise.

...

And then you would make breakfast.

Wait, what? You did that on purpose?? I mean... why? I thought you didn weren't ready to show yourself yet. 

You wanted to say more, but... you were running off of no energy and couldn't think of anything else to say, so you set the letter down and went to the kitchen to make breakfast. Maybe that would help clear your mind a little.

After breakfast, you checked again, and you let out a laugh when you saw a letter already sitting there for you with not a single trace of them left. Their speed and the way they seemed to always be just right there had unnerved you before, but it became so regular to you that it just seemed kind of silly to you now.

Because I'm enjoying this. I want you to figure it out, neighbor. You know that I see you, but I want you to see me . Where is the fun in telling you? ♡

Your response came as so;

Then why give me a hint at all if there's no fun in telling me? You're not as sneaky as you think you are, you know, haha! I have your handwriting, your prints, and you're constantly referring to places we've both been in at the same time. What are you going to do when I figure it out?

Your response came after you finished doing dishes, and it made your heart skip a beat.

Love you as much as I do now, neighbor.

Besides... I don't think that will be for a while now. I can't begin to imagine your theories at this point, ha ha ha!

You got into a fairly consistent rhythm from there. You would leave a letter, go to take care of something-- like doing chores, talking to your neighbors on the phone, or fixing yourself food-- then find your response after you were done. Rinse and repeat.

Hehe– woulnd wouldn't you like to know!

I don't know who it is yet, but I'm sure there can't be that many people in Home with such cute handwr your handwriting and heart-soled shoes! There's no way I could say what I think right now, though-- not to you and not to anyone else. I really don't want to say the wrong thing and hurt someone's feelings... 

You... think my handwriting is cute? That makes me so very happy, neighbor. Thank you. Your handwriting is very pretty, too. Kind of like… you. 

Tell you what. If you tell me who you think it is, I'll tell you someone who I'm not. That way, we both get to know what we want to know. 

I promise I won't get mad, if you're worried about that. I could never stay mad at you anyways, darling.

Oh, gosh, you really weren't supposed to see that! I thought I crossed it out better than I did... you must have a really good eye, hehe!

Well... alright, deal. I can't really pass up an opportunity like that! But it'd be easier to talk about who I think it might not b who it isn't than who it is. 

Ha ha ha, yes. I do have a good eye. Two of them, actually.

That sounds just fine to me, neighbor. However you'd want to do it is just perfect to me. 

Haha, you're so funny! 

Alright, here goes...!

I thought it was Eddie at first, because it just made sense at the time! These are love letters, and he takes care of the mail. But he acted kinda strangely the last time we talked about the whole thing, and not in a flustered way, but in a sort of... worried way. So I already thought it wasn't him, and then the other day, Julie mentioned that him and Frank were actually engaged! I feel pretty embarrassed I ever speculated it was him now, haha! So at least I know it's neither of them. 

Poppy doesn't seem like the romantic type, I don't think– she's always been very motherly and caring with me, but I think she's like that with everyone. Regardless, I don't think it's her, either. And Barnaby is great, don't get me wrong! But he doesn't seem like the type to write love letters or face a thunderstorm just to leave a note. I also don't think he could cover tracks quite that well, as mean as it feels to say that...

Wally is... I don't know what to think about Wally, actually. Everyone adores him so much, I feel like I can't go three feet without hearing about how wonderful he is! It's sort of intimidating, actually. It's why I haven't really hung out with him just yet. Point is, I don't think I'm close enough to him for him to care about me like you do, and even if I was, he's way too out of my league, aha!

As for everyone else... Sally is always so ambitious and determined enough to do this sort of thing, I interact with Howdy the most which explains how you keep seeing me and know what I'm doing for the day, and Julie is the sweetest person I know besides you, so they're the ones I suspect the most.

But... aagh! I really don't know! Maybe it could be Poppy, or Wally, or Barnaby! There's no way of knowing just yet, is there? 

Hm... How interesting, Y/N. Thank you for giving me this... insight. 

I'm not Barnaby. I think that will help you some, ha ha ha!

P.S. 

I need to say something. I need you to listen to me, neighbor.

You're not out of anyone's league. Not out of mine or anyone else's. You really are wonderful, Y/N-- more wonderful than whatever the neighborhood has said about anyone else. Anyone would be lucky to have you.

(The last part of that note left your face so bright red that, when Eddie made a surprise visit to deliver the pie Poppy had made with your blackberries, he just about worried himself to death thinking that you were sick or having an allergy attack or something. You managed to convince him your house was a little stuffy and that you would open the windows just to get him to leave. It took you a little while to get your thoughts together enough to write back after that one.)

Ah... wow. You... you're really something, you know that? You're so sweet and kind, I just... I don't know what to say, really!

Well, that's three neighbors I know for sure it isn't, so that leaves Poppy, Julie, Wally, Howdy, and Sally! I'm noticing a bit of a theme with the names there, hahaha!! Maybe I'll figure you out soon after all. 

Or... maybe I won't. You said I was smart, that I would know in no time, but... I really don't know if I can figure it out that easily. Sometimes I think you think too highly of me, you know? I don't want you to get your hopes up only for it to take me an extra month just to know your name.

Don't be so mean to yourself, neighbor. No one's good at what they've just started, Y/N! Don't worry about what I may or may not feel- I assure you, 

I'll wait for you as long as it takes.

%%%%%%%%%%%

The sun was setting. You hadn't written back yet, and they hadn't sent anything else. You'd taken care of everything for the day, so you had no way of distracting yourself. Your thoughts switched erratically between theorizing on who it was, given your new information, and focusing on the strangely new fullness to your heart.

You wanted to say something-- something before night blanketed the town, but your mind was so loud you couldn't think of anything meaningful to say.

...

So you didn't.

You grabbed another pen, another paper (you kept both by your door now, for convenience sake), and you drew a crude little stick figure in the middle of the page. You didn't fold it, you just set it outside and closed the door. You weren't sure why you did it, actually-- to see what would happen? To make them laugh? To fill the literal, physical silence between you? 

...Did it actually matter? It was a stick figure. It wasn't the end of the world. And it was getting late– they probably wouldn't even be around until tomorrow, when you'd be busy at Sally's.

You turned away from your door–

Knock, knock.

–and immediately turned right back around to face it. Was that...? No. No, there was no way– it was too soon –

But when you checked, you saw that another, similar stick figure had been added to the paper, holding the first one's hand and smiling. 

You held your breath and looked around. There wasn't a single stir in the trees, not a rustle of the grass, not even the faint sound of someone breathing. 

They... were they here? Did they really just knock on your door? 

You picked up the letter and decided to add a bright sun in the corner and a couple of clouds overhead. You set it down and gave one more wide berth of the area– as if it would prove anything– then closed the door and went back inside. This time, you were going to be ready. You were going to swing open that door the moment they knocked, and you were going to catch them and... uh, actually, what were you going to do?-- 

Knock, knock.

"Aha!"

You swung the door open to an empty, grassy yard surrounded by trees and a piece of paper with a sun, clouds, two stick figures, and a meadow of grass below them made of still-wet ink.

"What?" You asked yourself, voice barely above a mumble. "But... but there wasn't any way for them to..."

You looked around again.

This... this was a game. That's what they'd called it, right? That's what this all was.

And, for what it was, it was… honestly kind of fun. It really was.

So you kept playing.

You added some flowers, then, instead of shutting your door, you stepped out and walked to the side of your house, leaving it there instead. You hung around the corner, trying to shallow your breaths so as to not make too much noise. You tried to zero in on any sound that may have told you where they were or what they were doing, if they were even here at all.

This time, they knocked on the side of your house, and you jumped out in time to finally catch absolutely nothing and no one at all. On some level, you wanted to be frustrated, wanted to ask them why exactly they were messing with you like this– but, when you spoke, it came out as a genuine laugh.

"I know you're there! You're hiding , aren't you?"

You picked up the paper. They'd added two big trees to frame the sides of the portrait.

"Trees, huh? Is that where you're hiding, admirer?" You called out. You got no answer, but... it was like you could feel the shared joy in the air, hear the smile in the strokes of their pen. "Or are you right on the other side of my house?"

You got a knock on the backside of your home in response, and when you sprinted over to see no one there, you could only giggle. It was like the world's most exciting game of hide and seek.

"You're not going to let me find you, are you?" You smiled, "You're just going to keep darting away the moment I come looking."

You sat against your house and used your knee as a prop to continue drawing. 

"Well, Sally, Howdy, Poppy, Julie, Wally, whoever-you-are, you asked for it! Your stick figure's getting a little hat right now!"

You giggled even more, and this time, in an attempt to play along, you folded the paper up into a little paper airplane, which you sent back around the corner before you hid back where neither of you could see each other.

A minute later, a knock sounded from the other wall, and a little, crudely folded origami swan sat halfway between you and the next corner of your home. You unfolded it. They'd given your figure a little apple on top of their head.

How... adorable. It was incredibly endearing. It was so endearing that, before you could really think it through, you decided to add a little heart between the two figures. 

Before you could set it down again (you wondered, for a moment, if they would be patient enough for you to run in and grab the origami book Frank gave you as a welcoming present forever ago), a thought occurred to you. Somewhere, around here, they were standing there, watching you, waiting. They were actively risking exposing themself to you for the sake of... what, exactly? Fun? To mess with your head? It seemed a little unfair.

So, this time, you sat right at where the two walls met, and you set the note barely a foot away from you. You simply turned away where you couldn't see it. If they were willing to get as close to you, physically, as they were now, then how willing were they to risk exposure? To risk the game ending all too soon.

Much to your surprise, when you turned around, they had added... nothing. In fact, the letter was exactly as it had been when you turned around.

"Oh, come on," you spoke out, half amused and half annoyed, "so you can dash around corners and make me think you're there when you're not, but if I want to mess with you..."

You listened to the sound of leaves in the wind, as if it was any sort of answer.

Nearby, a butterfly floated down to visit a flower at the edge of the woods.

"Oh, fine. You've convinced me. I'll compromise."

You stood and moved further away from the drawing, then faced away from it and covered your eyes with both hands.

"I know you can see me, so I don't need to tell you that I can't see you at all right now! Really, I ca– oof!" You took a step forward, and accidentally ran into what you deduced was your home. "--And as much as I'd like to, I won't uncover my eyes or turn around or anything, since I know that wouldn't be 'fun' for you."

A resounding crrk of a twig being snapped in two sounded out to your left, and it took a lot for you to not uncover your eyes and look.

Quietly, more to yourself than anyone else, you murmured, "I just... I want to know you're actually there, you know?"

At first, silence.

Then, the gentle sound of footsteps, grass crunching softly under their feet. A pause-- a sudden hesitation, and then a resumption. You held your breath, and every nerve in your body seemed to stand alert all together. You kind of weren't expecting them to actually believe you, honestly. It would be so easy to simply turn around and see, to undo all of this in barely a turn of your body, but...

As much as you didn't like it, you'd promised . You didn't want to break that trust. Regardless of who they were-- regardless of what neighbor they may or may not have been, you knew for certain that you didn't want to betray them in such a way.

"Oh, wow. You're… you're actually there, aren't you?"

No response. How could anyone be so quiet?

The soft crinkle of paper, and a hitch of the breath– you hadn't even realized they were breathing at all. The scrrt scrrt scrrt of pen on paper-- rapid and scratchy and all over the place, but indistinguishable nonetheless.

Another pause, and a long one at that. Their eyes... you could feel them on you, like they were everywhere all at once. Your left shoulder tingled, telling you to look behind you look behind you look behind–

Knock... knock... knock.

You turned around and slowly uncovered your eyes. The paper was neatly folded by your feet. It... it hadn't been that close before. You suppressed a shudder at the idea of just how near they could've been to you. How near to you they were, right this moment.

You unfolded it and let out a small gasp. They'd surrounded everything with hearts; not a single free space remained, so even if you wanted to add something else, you couldn't without drawing over something of theirs. You thought of the hitch of their breath, the sound of pen on paper.

Giving a short glance around that you knew was ultimately pointless, you swallowed and stammered out,

"W... wow! I, um-- o-okay, then. Thank you for... trusting me. You... you can keep this. I know i-it probably means a lot to you, and..."

Why were you suddenly so nervous? You were having fun messing around with each other one moment, and the next...

The sun had set; it was evening now, and the sky was a grey-purple that you knew was soon to become black. You needed to get inside, and soon.

(Why did it make your chest hurt at the thought of leaving?)

"I-I'm going to leave this right here for you, where it was. I... I'll talk to you in the morning, right? Well, uh-- not in the morning, probably later, I have rehearsal with Sally then-- but... um."

You were talking to open air, the whistle of wind through leaves, and the vague idea of a person watching you from just out of your field of vision. 

"I-- I need. To go. To bed," you said stiffly, backing away from the side of your house. "I'll... talk to you tomorrow, yeah? Yeah."

You slipped back into your home, the door clicking behind you softly. Your mind was a vortex of emotions and thoughts about what had just happened. You imagined them, only a few feet away from you, and almost immediately your heart skipped a beat. You cupped your own cheek and felt the heat radiating off of it, felt the tightness of your own chest, felt the wobbliness in your knees and the racing of your heart and–

Oh no.

"Oh, no," you repeated, aloud this time. This wasn't one-sided anymore, was it? The sudden anxiety that enveloped you-- it all slowly made sense, and it terrified you. You didn't even know who it was, and yet, through all the compliments, the genuine expression of how much they cared about you, the games and the guessing and the anybody would be lucky to have you , you felt like you'd known them forever. (And you technically did. It was one of your friends, after all.) You buried your face into your hands in a combination of shock, embarrassment, and, oddly enough, excitement. 

People who requested to be tagged; @whynot5243 @tikosan @itsyellow @twerkingnutella18 @azoart Y’all keep me going, I wish you the best.

Prev

You know, maybe it was hasty to imagine Wally killing me as the worst case scenario. I think I’d take getting murdered in the woods over the uncomfortable silence I’ve been stewing in all afternoon.

Or at least, the silence is making me uncomfortable. Ever since I dragged myself out of the house to paint with him like I promised, I’ve spent damn near every minute avoiding eye contact like it’d kill me. Not that it seems to be working, as every time I glance up from my painting, I can see him out of the corner of my eye, and without fail he’s always focused on me. How he’s managed to finish his own drawing in between these moments is beyond me, but the way the easels are laid out, I can’t see his canvas anyway. There’s every chance it’s blank, and he just coerced me out here to stare at me without interruption.

But now, the sky is shifting to a myriad of colors, and I send up a silent thank you to the heavens for the excuse to leave. “Well, this has been fun,” I start, wiping the excess paint on my hands onto the apron he loaned me. “But I don’t wanna have to walk home in the dark, so I’d best be off.”

“It has been fun, hasn’t it?” After who knows how long of complete silence, his voice makes me jump slightly. Wally takes a few slow, measured steps in my direction, stopping just a little too close to my personal bubble. His eyes glued to my messy painting of the woods, and his eternal smile seems to widen. “You’re good at this.”

I manage to let out a laugh. “Not really, but I appreciate it.” I glance over my own art at the back of his easel, morbid curiosity eating away at me. As much as I want to see what the resident weirdo drew when he wasn’t trying to burn a hole in my forehead, something tells me it’s better not to know.

Wally’s head turns slightly, following my gaze to his own artwork. “Oh, do you want to see mine?” he asks, not waiting for my answer as he walks over and grabs it off the easel. He stares down at it for a moment, as if ensuring its quality, then turns it around and holding it up for me to see. “I worked hard on it. What do you think?”

Upon examination, I think I should have chosen a different neighborhood to move into, one with less terrifying residents. Staring back at me is a portrait of none other than myself. I’m sitting on a bench, which, after a moment, I recognize as the one under the apple tree where Wally had been the day prior. I look relaxed, leaning back and resting my weight on my hands behind me, my attention drawn to something off to the right. As I scan it over, I note that I wasn’t drawn with the clothes I wore today, but the ones I had on yesterday, down to finest of details. It’s beautiful, and I hate it.

I’m left frozen in place, gawking at the perfect recreation of my likeness in silence. The man doesn’t seem to mind, content to let me take in the details of his piece as he in turn observes my reaction. When I manage to pull my attention back to his face, I stammer out, “That’s…” A hell of a red flag? My worst nightmare on a canvas? A fear I’d have deemed laughable before this moment? “…incredibly realistic.”

Wally turns the painting back to himself, looking down at it with an air of fondness. “I suppose it is. I can’t take all the credit, though.” His eyes look up at me, his head unmoving. “I had a very inspiring model.”

At this, I can feel the two sides of my brain start to feud. The optimistic side makes a good effort to insist that this explains the staring, that he just wanted to get the details right and I was wrong to treat it like a problem. The more realistic side then slaps the optimistic side upside the head and points out that no amount of staring could explain the sheer level of detail in clothes that I’m not even wearing today.

My thoughts continue to conflict with each other, the turmoil so strong that I don’t even register Wally getting closer until he’s barely a foot away from me. I jolt back, nearly falling over. He seems unbothered. “Say, neighbor, would you mind helping me carry all this back to Home? The paintings are delicate, I don’t want them getting crushed.”

Part of me really wants that painting getting crushed, but I don’t dare admit that out loud. Instead, I nod. “Alright, but we gotta hurry. It’ll be dark soon.” Already the sun is casting long shadows, obscured by the trees to the west. Wally and I pack up the paints and fold up the easels, and I balance them all in my arms while he holds the canvases to his chest. Together, the two of us set off towards the house in the center of the neighborhood.

No words are exchanged as we journey through the town. He seems content with the silence, and I’m content to not have to talk to him. It seems the rest of our neighbors have called it a day, Wally and I being the only two people out and about. The weight of the supplies makes my arms ache, but if the alternative is carrying a piece of art that feels just a little too haunted for my taste, I think I can tolerate the discomfort. I don’t know how the hell he managed to drag all of this junk out in the first place.

The sun has sunk down past the horizon by the time we make it to Home, painting the sky a myriad of purples and deep blues. It takes all I have left in me not to collapse upon the porch, made all the worse by Wally’s continued nonchalance as he opens the door and beckons me inside. I brush past him into the living room, dumping my armload of supplies onto the coffee table. With a weary huff, I throw myself down onto his couch to catch my breath, my eyes drooping shut.

“You feeling alright, there, neighbor?” The sofa sinks ever so slightly as he settles down beside me. When I don’t reply, too busy staring at my eyelids and regulating my heartbeat, he speaks with what almost feels like genuine concern, “If you were getting tired, you should have spoken up. I’d have been happy to take a break.”

I shake my head. “Fine, I’m fine. Just need a minute before I head home.”

There it is again, that damn laugh. “What do you mean? This is Home.” The sound of a door squeaking registers in my periphery, and I let my eyes open, squinting against the bright colors of his house. I take a glance out of the corner of my eye, and sure enough, his own are glued on my face with a smile that registers as a little too suspicious for my tastes.

An increasingly familiar sense of unease overtaking me, I push myself up and lean away from him, hoping he didn’t notice, yet knowing he did. “I mean yeah, it’s your home, Wally,” I say, “but I have my own home to get back to.”

He lets out a soft hum, and I swear his smile wavers for just a moment. “I suppose you do,” he murmurs, sounding like he was talking to himself more than me. Risking another glance, I’m surprised to see his eyes not on me, but focused on the paintings that he had leaned against his armchair. My portrait, with its flat, distracted gaze, seemed to be staring back at us from the angle at which it stood.

With this newfound distraction from his observation, I move to push myself up off the couch, snapping him out of whatever stupor he’d been wandering in. I make sure to speak before his mouth catches up to his brain. “Well, today’s been… fun, but I think I’m gonna head out.”

I feel a hand clasp around my forearm, and I barely bite back a yelp at the contact. “It’s pretty dark out there, neighbor. Are you sure you don’t want to just sleep here tonight? I think you’d be safer.”

Nope, nope, nope nope nope. I pull my arm away, praying it didn’t look as panicked as it felt. “I appreciate the concern, but I’ll have to pass. It’s not that long a walk, I’ll be fine.” I step away towards the door, and my stomach sinks when I hear Wally get up as well.

As I prepare to head out, the same hand settles upon my shoulder instead. “Well, if you’re sure, I won’t stop you,” he drawls, a trace of emotion I can’t quite name evident in his tone. He slips past me, opening the door himself. He tilts his head, eyes locked on mine. “Let’s do this again sometime. Won’t that be nice?”

If I didn’t know better, I’d say that was a challenge. Straightening up, I stand in the doorframe and meet his stare as evenly as I can. “I’m sure it would be.” The evening chill washes over me as I exit Home. “Good night, Wally.”

“Good night, neighbor. Sleep well.” My steps are steady and even as I walk down the porch stairs, and the light still pouring out as I walk away tells me that the door is still open. That he’s still there, still watching me. I hurry along towards my house, being sure to break out of his line of sight as soon as possible. It doesn’t help with the paranoia, but I pretend it does.

Tears nearly stream down my face in relief as I enter my own home and close the door, leaning back against it and sliding down to the ground. I don’t bother getting up, not to eat, not to shower, nothing. I just sit there, alternating between keeping my eyes closed to try and relax and opening them when I see those horrible eyes taunting me in the inky black. As I feel myself drifting off, one final thought crosses into my mind: