- Messages
- 64
- Blood Status
- Half Blood
- Age
- 11
He watched her go.
HE WATCHED HER GO.
Why?! He didn’t ask if she needed company, if she was okay, if she was in trouble. No. He just stood there like a lump and watched her leave.
Who does that?
Once he got back “home,” he used every ounce of effort to look normal, which honestly didn’t take much. Normal for him looked like being mad at the world, and he was very mad at the world for cutting their time short.
After saying no three times to Amelia, like, no, he wasn’t hungry, no, he didn’t want to talk, no, he didn’t want tea or any other beverage and yes, things were fine, he finally made it upstairs, slammed the door, then realized the noise would bring her back.
He caught the handle at the last second.
Collapsing on the bed, he stared at the saved number under the name L Technically, she hadn’t listed L among her acceptable nicknames. People deserved to be called what they wanted, and she had said LZ, not L.
He should text and ask if it was okay.
Oh, my God.
He had already called her L.
The thought sent him upright. He had literally said face the consequences, L types. What if she was offended? No, they were having a good time. She didn’t storm off. But what if she had just been polite?
“How long to wait after a friend gives you their number to not seem desperate?” He typed that into his search bar.
Multiple searches came up and all of them said the same thing. Texting on the same day definitely screamed desperation. Okay. He wasn’t going to argue with a bunch of internet strangers. But then... when was the right time?
“…to avoid seeming desperate after getting a friend’s number, it’s generally recommended to wait a day or two before texting. This allows for a natural progression of communication and avoids appearing overly eager.”
Right, makes sense.
“However, the best approach can depend on the specific context of your interaction.”
What does that mean? What was their context? A boy of questionable mental state chopping grass with a stick, rescued by the coolest scout in the region?
Some sites said three days. He couldn’t survive three days. He settled on two. Two days. That was the line.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After two nights of not sleeping, he could finally admit it to himself.
He wanted her to be his friend.
Desperately.
That time with her at the park had genuinely been the best he'd had since getting dumped here, and he had no idea what to do with himself.
He knew he couldn’t be himself, that much was clear to him, thanks to his parents of the year. But the thing was, he had been himself around her. Or so he thought, he wasn’t very sure who he was these days, but still, he’d been himself to the best of his knowledge and it was fine. So was it really that bad?
Except, being himself had said “You make me feel seen.”
He was pacing around his room. His phone confirmed that walking in circles could hit 10k steps.
You make me feel seen.
Oh. My. God.
OH MY GOD.
WHO SAYS THAT?
It sounded like something printed on a mug. He winced so hard it physically hurt.
Still... it had felt so right when he said it.
He opened up his search tab once again.
"Is saying you make me feel seen lame?"
He scrolled through the results:
“Wanting to feel seen.. why do compliments..” he didn’t even finish that one.
“When someone says you make me feel like is a statement of truth and that saying such as..” was that supposed to be legible? He kept scrolling.
"Do You Find It Unsettling to Feel Seen by Others?"
After a few more unhelpful titles he closed the tab. Okay. So either he hadn’t said some overused cheesy line... or he was the first idiot to ever come up with it. No way. He briefly considered asking a forum, but decided against it.
But two days had passed.
He found her contact. Selected "Start chat".
The dark background stared back.
Hello, how are you?
Typed. Deleted. Sounded like he was six and in his first English class.
Hiiiiii.
Deleted.
A few more false starts later, he settled on one word.
"Hey"
Sent.
He dropped his phone on his bed like it was scalding hot and immediately started pacing the room again. What if she gave the wrong number? What if she never texted back? What if he’d made a mistake?
He rushed back, double checked he hadn’t misspelled a three letter word, then tossed the phone away again.
Tried to act like the “Delivered” notification didn’t matter.
Time passed. He didn’t know how much. Two days had already felt like five years, so his sense of time was useless.
Then FINALLY.... a notification chimed.
His heart jumped.
Two strides and he dove for the bed like the floor was lava, elbows bracing, fingers fumbling for the phone.
“Your Digital Wellbeing report is ready. You used your phone 1 hour and 46 minutes mor..”
He didn’t even finish reading the stupid message before dropping the phone on the pillow and letting his head fall in despair.
He pondered if he screamed, would the blanket be sufficient enough to mask it? He didn’t try it.
But then another thought hit him. She couldn’t have known who wrote to her. What if she thought it was a scam? He quickly got his phone again.
It’s Alf
Last three letters got immediately deleted.
"It's John Doe.
How are you?"
Sent.
At the back of his mind, he did realize this kind of overthinking and spiraling couldn’t be normal or healthy, but he was rejected by the two people who were supposed to want him by default. And he didn’t have anyone else.
That leaves a mark.
HE WATCHED HER GO.
Why?! He didn’t ask if she needed company, if she was okay, if she was in trouble. No. He just stood there like a lump and watched her leave.
Who does that?
Once he got back “home,” he used every ounce of effort to look normal, which honestly didn’t take much. Normal for him looked like being mad at the world, and he was very mad at the world for cutting their time short.
After saying no three times to Amelia, like, no, he wasn’t hungry, no, he didn’t want to talk, no, he didn’t want tea or any other beverage and yes, things were fine, he finally made it upstairs, slammed the door, then realized the noise would bring her back.
He caught the handle at the last second.
Collapsing on the bed, he stared at the saved number under the name L Technically, she hadn’t listed L among her acceptable nicknames. People deserved to be called what they wanted, and she had said LZ, not L.
He should text and ask if it was okay.
Oh, my God.
He had already called her L.
The thought sent him upright. He had literally said face the consequences, L types. What if she was offended? No, they were having a good time. She didn’t storm off. But what if she had just been polite?
“How long to wait after a friend gives you their number to not seem desperate?” He typed that into his search bar.
Multiple searches came up and all of them said the same thing. Texting on the same day definitely screamed desperation. Okay. He wasn’t going to argue with a bunch of internet strangers. But then... when was the right time?
“…to avoid seeming desperate after getting a friend’s number, it’s generally recommended to wait a day or two before texting. This allows for a natural progression of communication and avoids appearing overly eager.”
Right, makes sense.
“However, the best approach can depend on the specific context of your interaction.”
What does that mean? What was their context? A boy of questionable mental state chopping grass with a stick, rescued by the coolest scout in the region?
Some sites said three days. He couldn’t survive three days. He settled on two. Two days. That was the line.
_______________________________________________________________________________________________________________
After two nights of not sleeping, he could finally admit it to himself.
He wanted her to be his friend.
Desperately.
That time with her at the park had genuinely been the best he'd had since getting dumped here, and he had no idea what to do with himself.
He knew he couldn’t be himself, that much was clear to him, thanks to his parents of the year. But the thing was, he had been himself around her. Or so he thought, he wasn’t very sure who he was these days, but still, he’d been himself to the best of his knowledge and it was fine. So was it really that bad?
Except, being himself had said “You make me feel seen.”
He was pacing around his room. His phone confirmed that walking in circles could hit 10k steps.
You make me feel seen.
Oh. My. God.
OH MY GOD.
WHO SAYS THAT?
It sounded like something printed on a mug. He winced so hard it physically hurt.
Still... it had felt so right when he said it.
He opened up his search tab once again.
"Is saying you make me feel seen lame?"
He scrolled through the results:
“Wanting to feel seen.. why do compliments..” he didn’t even finish that one.
“When someone says you make me feel like is a statement of truth and that saying such as..” was that supposed to be legible? He kept scrolling.
"Do You Find It Unsettling to Feel Seen by Others?"
After a few more unhelpful titles he closed the tab. Okay. So either he hadn’t said some overused cheesy line... or he was the first idiot to ever come up with it. No way. He briefly considered asking a forum, but decided against it.
But two days had passed.
He found her contact. Selected "Start chat".
The dark background stared back.
Hello, how are you?
Typed. Deleted. Sounded like he was six and in his first English class.
Hiiiiii.
Deleted.
A few more false starts later, he settled on one word.
"Hey"
Sent.
He dropped his phone on his bed like it was scalding hot and immediately started pacing the room again. What if she gave the wrong number? What if she never texted back? What if he’d made a mistake?
He rushed back, double checked he hadn’t misspelled a three letter word, then tossed the phone away again.
Tried to act like the “Delivered” notification didn’t matter.
Time passed. He didn’t know how much. Two days had already felt like five years, so his sense of time was useless.
Then FINALLY.... a notification chimed.
His heart jumped.
Two strides and he dove for the bed like the floor was lava, elbows bracing, fingers fumbling for the phone.
“Your Digital Wellbeing report is ready. You used your phone 1 hour and 46 minutes mor..”
He didn’t even finish reading the stupid message before dropping the phone on the pillow and letting his head fall in despair.
He pondered if he screamed, would the blanket be sufficient enough to mask it? He didn’t try it.
But then another thought hit him. She couldn’t have known who wrote to her. What if she thought it was a scam? He quickly got his phone again.
It’s Alf
Last three letters got immediately deleted.
"It's John Doe.
How are you?"
Sent.
At the back of his mind, he did realize this kind of overthinking and spiraling couldn’t be normal or healthy, but he was rejected by the two people who were supposed to want him by default. And he didn’t have anyone else.
That leaves a mark.
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