There was nothing special about Blue Meadows. It was a small town tucked away in some unknown patch of nowhere somewhere upstate. It was a simple town, filled with equally simple people, and most people knew everyone’s whole family by name. The town’s boundaries were marked by a small mountain, which curved around the northwest corner of the town and stretched on for miles beyond that. There was a lake, somewhere in the middle of all this, that no one ever really visited even in the summer: it just never was warm enough for a swim.

Nothing else existed outside of the borders except a few stray houses and a good number of bears. There was only one highway in and out of the town and it was a good forty five minutes before someone would hit a big city, regardless of which direction they took. Not that many people minded. They had everything they could need in their small nowhere-town.

The town was big enough for a good number of McDonalds but only one high school, and much like the town itself, there was nothing special about Blue Meadows High School.

The high school was settled somewhere in the middle of town, the ancient and cracked walls covered with a gracious amount of graffiti and weeds sprouting from the cracked sidewalk that surrounded the school grounds. The elementary and junior high where much in the same state. (But every year they repainted the walls of the elementary school to cover the graffiti)

On the inside, the high school was in a much worse state of disrepair. The rooms were tiny, the desks shaky on their legs, the plumbing system was more than a little untrustworthy, and their always seemed to be a shortage of algebra textbooks. Due to high theft rates, the school had to downgrade to only one portable television in the entire school that they kept locked up safe in the principal’s office and wheeled out only on special occasions. More than a few windows in the classrooms where missing, replaced with newspaper and cardboard. The teachers desk had vulgar messages carved in, which they always frowned at during the first few weeks of school, but quickly got used to until they didn’t even notice anymore.

The reason the high school was in such a horrible shape was probably because Blue Meadows had more than their fair share of delinquents. There were more than a few gangs that caused trouble around the town, knocking windows in with metal bats and starting fights with rivaling gangs. Things very rarely escalated past a few punches thrown after school or in the restrooms, or a few stolen objects. Oddly enough, these things only seemed to happen during the school year. Like, once the final bell rang for school that year, there was some unspoken truce initiated that there would be no fights so that everyone could enjoy their summer.

The whole gang thing was more of a hassle than anything and most of the kids only joined their respective gangs because the entertainment department of Blue Meadows was seriously lacking.

After the first few years of fights and damaged goods, the faculty of the high school decided that buying new desks and replacing stolen TV’s every year was not something they would like to do or their budget would allow. So they just became slightly more protective of what they already had and decided to live with the chaos that seemed to dominate their everyday lives. Or, at least the chaos that dominated their lives from September to June.

Of course, Blue Meadows wasn’t completely filled with delinquents/future gang members. They had that one kid who, every since junior high, had managed to make it to the National Spelling Bee every year, but never actually win.

No, there was nothing special about Blue Meadows, but it should be noted that the spelling bee kid was good friends with Minho.

--

Minho spent most of his time in the back stall of the boys bathroom in the senior hallway, cigarette pursed between his lips as he was bent in a U shape on the toilet seat, feet propped up as he leaned back. Sometimes there would be a book in his hand and other times there would be a pad of paper open on his lap, hand moving as he wrote in his nearly illegible scrawl. Some days, he would just be leaning back, cigarette untouched and burning away in his hand as he stared up at the dirty, yellowing ceiling of the bathroom, eyes half lidded as he thought.

Today was one of those days. He was in his usual spot, head tilted slightly as it rested on the wall behind him. The restroom was empty, as it usually was. Class was going on and most knew better than to step foot in his bathroom. Most people listened to the right rumors. That always made things easier for Minho in the grand scheme of things; people knew not to mess with people with a reputation like his.

Minho was known by the majority of the student population as the name teachers whispered under their breath whenever something went wrong and by the title of Trouble Maker that had stuck around with him ever since Junior High. Every school prank imaginable, he had done. Every situation that ended sitting in the principal’s office, praying that whoever had to come pick you up wasn’t too angry with you and that whatever punishment they had in store was something you could live through, he had done. With a smile, even. No problem.

Eventually, people didn’t have to guess who it was that pulled the fire alarm or who had started the fight by the science department. It always leads back to Minho. It didn’t matter if he wasn’t even involved; it always leads back to Minho.

Not that he minded the reputation he was branded with. If nothing else it gave him a quiet place to sit.

His fingers were being burnt. He blinked, straightening out his stiffened neck as he glanced down at his hand where his unsmoked cigarette was puffing out, the end hot against his finger tips. He let it drop to the floor before he shuffled around in his pockets for another, lighting it and returning back to his earlier position. That was the fate of most of his cigarette, to end up untouched in a pile of ashes on a bathroom floor.

He didn’t like smoking much, anyway, just thought the way the smoke curled up into the air was interesting to look at.

--

Jonghyun, Taemin decided, was a lot like a box of rocks. Interesting at first, but ultimately useless once you figured out that much like the town and school he attended, there was nothing special about him. Or, maybe he wasn’t necessarily a box of rocks so much as a box of diamonds. He seemed to be worth something and was even easy to look at, and that was what the people of Blue Meadows did: looked. But in the end, no one had a use for a diamond like Jonghyun. Not here, anyway.

Taemin always thought that he belonged in a big city. On a stage, even, where thousands of people could see and cheer for him every day, every night. He would never be bored, always doing the newest, greatest thing. He could have a fanclub even, after he became famous for that pretty voice of his. He’d have concerts and go on tour across the country and after every show there would be a sea of people cheering his name and waving their hands. Everyone would see him for the precious thing he was.

But in this town, Jonghyun was just like everyone else.

Taemin never understood why Jonghyun stuck around, since it was clear that the life of a star was the life for him. Maybe it was because he didn’t want to leave. The people he knew here were what made him want to be great, and he refused to leave unless he could take everyone with him. But Taemin didn’t think that. He thought it was just because Jonghyun could never be alone no matter how badly he wanted something.

Normally, Taemin would want nothing to do with a person like Jonghyun. In fact, he probably would have lived his life happily without ever having met him. But Jonghyun lived in the blue house right next to his burnt white house, and despite the three year age difference Jonghyun had always been determined to make Taemin his friend. It was something Taemin never really understood but accepted anyway because Jonghyun was like a diamond and everyone wanted nice things.

Now, it isn’t really important to know why Jonghyun wanted to befriend Taemin, but it should be noted that they did become friends and that Jonghyun’s bedroom window faced Taemin’s bathroom window.

--

Taemin, Jonghyun decided, was a lot like a doorknob. He was something that not many people paid attention to, but still played an important part in everyone’s everyday life. He was just a kid who, only fifteen, still had that childlike look in his eyes, could still have that carefree smile, and still ordered happy meals just so he could play the crosswords that are printed on the bags. Jonghyun never understood that. He used to order Happy Meals for the toy, not the bags they came in. But Taemin had always been a little weird like that.

Jonghyun had known Taemin his whole life, had been three years old when he had first seen him and Taemin had just been a few days old, finally coming home from the hospital. He didn’t know it then, but when he first saw Taemin all small and vulnerable he wanted to be friends with him.

It was almost instant, their friendship. Living next door to each other meant seeing each other every day as they grew up. Even then, when Taemin was only five and Jonghyun eight, he thought of each other as they do now: a diamond and a doorknob. They were an odd pair, but they worked, and that was all that really mattered.

--

Flash.

Taemin put down his camera and Jonghyun moved to look over his shoulder. Grinning, Taemin hid the camera screen. “Did I say you could move? Get back up there.”

Jonghyun’s head tilted slightly but he ignored his friends’ request. Instead he snatched the camera from Taemin’s hands, insisting that he just wanted to look when the younger complained.

When he began looking through the hundreds of pictures stored on Taemin’s camera he wasn’t surprised to find it was mostly just photos of him. According to Taemin, Jonghyun was a perfect subject, his features soft and easy to focus on. “A model.” Taemin had said. “You could be a model.”

A model. A singer. A dancer. A star. Taemin said Jonghyun could be a lot of things.

In the midst of profiles and full body shots there were a few scenery photos as well, capturing all the natural wonders Blue Meadows had to offer in greens and browns. Near the end of the film, Jonghyun paused on a picture of three people he vaguely recognized from being in his class. Staring at the picture, he realized he knew these people, the whole school did. They played on the football team, the towns big stars. If the student population saw this photo, Jonghyun doubted anyone would still see them as respectful.

Smirking, he held out the camera to Taemin. “Drug bust? How noble of you.”

Taemin took back the camera, taking a look at the picture. “Nah, more like blackmail. This was taken last weekend. Did you know these three have scholarships for football? Full ride.”

“Those scholarships would be long gone if those photos get out. doesn’t look good on applications. How’d you get that without them knowing, anyway?” Jonghyun tried to remember back to last weekend, details of the party all blurry around the edges. Jonghyun had been there. Everyone had been there.

“It was an accident.” Taemin explained, shutting his camera off. “But who knows. I could ‘accidentally’ let this leak out, too.”

“The sooner the better.” Jonghyun acted like Taemin had already decided what to do. “They’ve been pulling this since freshman year. About time someone busted them.”

--

There was the scuffling of feet and the murmur of voices started as class let out. Minho could hear it all the way from the back of his stall and he clamped his eyes shut. Only five minutes for passing time and then things would quiet down again. It was these five minute interruptions in Minho’s day that caused him to get irritated.

He was in the middle of burning his fourth cigarette when the bathroom door slammed open and the noise from the hallway was momentarily intensified but Minho wasn’t paying attention to that, instead more focused on the squeak of shoes against the dirty floor and the grunts coming from whoever happened to have barged into his bathroom.

“L-let me go!”

“What’s the problem? Lose your nerve? Can’t do anything without your ing camera, can you.”

Geez, it was even more annoying than the noisy hallways.

Putting on a glare he straightened himself up, and in one swift moment, had kicked his bathroom stall door open, the door hitting the wall with a resounding bang. The half burnt cigarette was in his mouth, and despite how much he hated them, he did have a reputation to uphold. The way the four intruders tensed up at his sudden appearance made him smirk, lips quirking up around the cigarette. Once he was sure they were all significantly startled, he took the moment to assess the situation.

There were four of them, three of them looking to be seniors. Football players, even, judging from the way they held themselves. They had a hold on some kid, some small little boy Minho had never seen before. The boy’s jaw was set, a bruise forming on his chin from where he must have been hit, his hair slightly mused. One of the guys had a hold on the kid’s shirt, one of the others had his arms and the last was just standing there, mouth hanging open looking as if he had never seen a teenager before as he stared at Minho.

Minho stuck his hands into his pockets, crossed his ankles, and leaned back against the wall, tilting his chin upward as he waited for an explanation for why these idiots had to come and make so much noise in his bathroom.

The one who was standing there finally got over himself, crossing his arms over his chest. “ off, Minho. This isn’t any of your business.”

“Don’t think you’re hot just because of your rep. Why do you hang out in here, anyway? This is the senior hall, you’re still a junior. We have more of a right to be here than you do.” Another piped up, letting go of the kid, who at some point after Minho had appeared, had slumped in defeat, a look of resignation on his face.

“He ed us over. We’re just returning the favor.”

Minho breathed, blowing the smoke out slowly between his teeth as he pushed himself off the wall, taking a few slow steps towards them. “Whoa, hold on. I didn’t ask for your life story.” He took a long drag on his cigarette. It was idiots like these that made him consider being a regular smoker. They were too much of a hassle. And he had just gotten comfortable in his little stall, too.

Glare set in place, he spoke in a cold hard voice. “Now that you’re here, it is my business. What’d one kid do to you? Push you in the hallway? Ruin your art project?” The unspoken Grow the up hung in the air.

They didn’t know what to say to that, just looked between each other before the last of them finally let go of the kid. “Whatever. We don’t need to deal with this.” One said, and they quickly shuffled out of the bathroom. Minho imagined them as whipped dogs for a moment, and was highly amused by the imagine of them with flattened ears and tails tucked between their legs as they practically bolted out into the hallway, still filled with students reluctant to go to class.

He was about to snuff out his cigarette and retreat back to his stall when he remembered the kid. He stopped mid-step and tossed his cigarette to the ground, grinding it out with the heel of his foot, stuffing his hands back into his pockets, looking at the kid over his shoulder. Minho studied him for a moment, noted how he just kind of slumped against the sink, twisting a lock of his hair in between his fingers as he stared down, before sighing.

The kid looked like a twelve year old. Seriously.

But he decided to give the kid the benefit of the doubt and decided that he must be a freshman from that fact that he had never seen him before. Maybe a sophomore since he managed to take those three idiots with no more than a few bruises on his part and because Minho didn’t pay much attention to the student body to know who anyone was outside of his circle, anyway.

Maybe it was the fact that he was just a kid (or maybe that he held the kid in a kind of respect at the moment, because he had somehow managed to start with those douche bags) that caused Minho to make his way over to him, head tilted slightly. He stopped just a foot or so away from the kid, hands still in his pockets. The kid just kept looking down, which irritated Minho slightly because he wasn’t used to being ignored by anybody, stranger or not.

“Hey.” He called, and it may have come out harsher than he expected, but it got the wanted effect across because he stopped looking at his shoes and looked up at Minho and he looked kind of… innocent. His eyes were a little wide and his face a little boyish and—wait, was he pouting? Maybe he really was twelve. Minho wondered vaguely just how someone like him got into a fight with a couple of seniors who were probably linebackers.

Minho must not have been expecting that, since he just kind of stood there, eyebrows stitched together as he just stared. What was he going to say? Damn, he totally forgot. He reached up to his lips, looking for his cigarette so he could have something to look at other than this kid, but at the last moment remembered he put it out when those three idiots had left. So he scowled, stuffing his hands back in his pockets.

The kid fidgeted slightly under his gaze, gripping the edge of the sinks he was leaning up against, mirroring Minho’s expression. “What?”

“Uh…” Minho rubbed lightly at the back of his head, rolling his eyes up toward the ceiling he spent so much time staring at before returning his attention to the boy, leaning down slightly so he could look him in the eye. “They didn’t get ya too bad, did they?”

It was silent for a moment and Minho almost had the right mind to just shove to the kid into the sink. He was about to, really, but then the kid just started laughing. A full, hunched over, side clutching kind of laugh that left him breathless and left Minho to just blink and stare like the kid had just lost his mind. Which he very well could have. For all Minho knew, that hit the jaw could have done more damage than he thought.

But the kid straightened up, still smiling widely and let a few more quiet chuckles escape before he glanced up at Minho from the corner of his eyes. “Nah, ‘m fine. They got the worst of it, anyway.” And then he had this cheeky little grin, eyes glittering as he told Minho this piece of information and this time he really did shove him into the sink, although, he really couldn’t say why. Maybe it was because the kid’s sudden attitude change had caught him off guard, or maybe it was because he didn’t know what else to do. Either way it was easier than talking to the kid.

Minho his heels and stalked back into his stall, kicking the small pile of cigarette ashes so they scattered around the floor before collecting his backpack. On his way out of the bathroom he stopped briefly in front of the kid, who had adopted the same position that Minho had earlier back in his stall—his feet were dangling in the air slightly as he was bent v-shaped in the sink and his head was resting against the mirror as he stared up. Minho wondered briefly is he saw anything different in the ceiling than he did and felt a bit sorry for him.

So he reached a hand out, ruffling the kids’ hair and giving him a sideways smirk when he looked over. “You’re not bad, kid. Hope you didn’t plan on going to class because you’re defiantly late. See ya around.”

It was only when he was halfway back to the junior hallway did he realize he never found out the kids name.

--

It was a long time before Taemin moved from his spot on the sink. He didn’t really care if he missed a class because of his laziness. After the morning he had, he figured he deserved an hour to do nothing. He just never thought the first time he skipped class it would be spent in a sink, probably getting the back of his pants soaked, after just barely getting out of a fight that would most likely have ended with him bloody and bruised in the hospital. How would he have explained that to mom? He figured he could pass the bruise on his chin by saying he slammed it against a locker when he wasn’t paying attention.

Okay, so maybe he did deserve that punch. But it wasn’t like he actually showed the pictures to anyone. Well, other than Jonghyun. He didn’t know how the word got out that he had them, wasn’t sure who told who what. Jonghyun wouldn’t have said anything.

Would he?

After the day he was having, he was willing to believe anything.

Jonghyun was the first notable difference in his morning. Usually, the senior would meet him out by the street and the pair would walk the two blocks to school. Taemin had been running a few minutes late and was all ready with an apology, but Jonghyun never showed up. Taemin didn’t think anything of it and had just walked to school himself. When Taemin arrived he felt eyes on him. As he walked through the freshman hall and drifted from class to class he felt that nagging pull that something was going to happen.

After fourth hour, Taemin had the nagging, yet cliché thought, that things were quiet. Too quiet.

There was a short cut to his fifth hour that he took every day out of habit to talk with Jonghyun, and it was to cut through the school courtyard and ultimately, the senior hall. It was there that he caught site of them and it was all he could do to stumble into the boys’ bathroom before they got a hold of him.

So, they somehow heard about the photos. Taemin was saying his goodbyes to life when Minho had shown up.
Taemin knew Minho as the name teachers whispered under their breath whenever something went wrong and by the title of Trouble Maker that, according to Jonghyun, had stuck around with him since conception. He knew that Minho was a junior who spent the majority of his time in the senior boys’ bathroom, although he still wasn’t sure why. He had heard enough rumors from Jonghyun and everyone else to know he had a reputation and had something along the lines of a cult following. He knew that half of the school was afraid of him, the other half respected him. He also knew that a majority of the freshman girls had a crush on him since he is ‘soooo cool!’

Taemin had never seen Minho and had always thought of him as the stereotype delinquent; some big buff, idiot who had the word 'PAIN' tattooed on their knuckles or something. But Minho has looked just like any other teenager. Normal, even. Definitely not like the kind of person to have a cult following.

But from the way Minho had cleared the bathroom out without having to throw a punch, no questions asked cleared up any misconceptions Taemin might have had about him. Minho definitely knew how to use that reputation of his.

Minho didn’t seem like that bad of a guy and in that moment, after Minho had chased those idiots out and turned, shoulders set and eyes sliding shut as he took a drag on a cigarette, Taemin became a part of the student population that respected him.

He was a bit surprised when Minho actually spoke to him. He has just sort of expected him to keep turning and go back to whatever it was he was doing before since things like this—fights and stuff—they had to happen every day in Minho’s world, right?

Regardless of where the conversation was heading, he didn’t expect it to end with him being pushed into a sink. But then again, it was Minho he was dealing with here. He shouldn’t have expected anything.
“Man, what a ty morning…”

Taemin slid out of the sink, checking in the mirror to see that, yeah, his was wet. He frowned, checking his hair in the mirror, too. It had suffered far too much abuse today. He grabbed his backpack (which had fallen off his shoulder some point after he had dived into the bathroom) and adjusted the straps so his backpack hung low. He would miss class to sit in a bathroom sink, sure, but he wasn’t going to miss out on lunch because his pants were a bit wet.

He walked out of the bathroom just as class was letting out, and he silently prayed that he wouldn’t run into the idiots again and hurried off towards the cafeteria. He didn’t get very far before he heard his name being shouted.
“Oi, Taemin!”

He froze, shoulders tensing. He was in the senior hallway. He didn’t know any seniors. (except Jonghyun, but he had apparently decided to vanish off the face of the planet) Who was calling his name? He was almost afraid to turn and see because if a senior was looking for him it had to be one of those three idiots from before and that was not—“Hey Taeminnie~ What’re you doing down over this way, huh?” Oh wait, it was just Key. Breathe Taemin, breathe.

An arm was slung around his shoulder in a friendly gesture as he resumed walking again, Key keeping up with a little dance in his step, his free hand holding onto the brim of his baseball cap as he smiled. Taemin tilted his head slightly offering a small smile in greeting. “I was just… checking to see if Jonghyun had come in late is all. You haven’t seen him, have you?”

Key shook his head, squeezing Taemin’s shoulders lightly before letting go, settling his hands behind his head. “No, man, haven’t. He’s probably just sick of something, so nothing to worry about, maknae. You can survive a day without him, can’t ya?”

“Yeah. Of course.” At least, Taemin hoped so. He had already been jumped once and his chances of being jumped again were only increasing the longer he stayed here. With one last look in Key’s general direction (Key had scampered away from his side in order to greet a group of girls in a way that involved way too many flicks of his wrist) he smiled tightly “I’m going to head to lunch. See ya Key.”

Key waved slightly, not even turning. “O-kaaaay! I’ll catch up with you soon!” and then dived right back into conversation with the girls.

Taemin scampered off before the girls could notice him, because for some reason, they seemed to like him and often insisted on giving him a good fifty hugs before anything else. He blamed Jonghyun and Key entirely for this because they often encouraged them.

He sighed. Lunch was going to awful boring without Jonghyun. But first, he had to make a stop at the principal’s office.

--

Contrary to popular belief, Onew wasn’t that great of a speller. The only way he gets to the national spelling bee every year because of luck, he supposed, even though most would disagree with him being a lucky guy. It could also be just because the rest of the state was also very bad spellers, which guaranteed Onew a spot in nationals. Probably also why he was usually out the first round. Onew didn’t really mind though. Spelling wasn’t his thing, anyway, but it was a good way to pass the time.

Onew also spent the majority of his time in Minho’s general proximity because that’s what best friend did. Most people didn’t believe that Onew—the Onew—was best friends with Minho—the Minho. But they had been. Since kindergarten, in fact, when Minho had tripped Onew in the playground on the second day of school. Minho must have felt sorry for him, because he helped him right back up afterwards. Since then Onew had always been his faithful shadow, which Minho hadn’t been too keen on at first, but quickly got over it when he realized that Onew had to be the best friend anyone could have.

Onew was the kind of guy who was willing to do anything at anytime for anyone, stranger or not. Even if he made a fool of himself, he would try, try, and try until he had done his part. It wouldn’t matter if the person he hated (well, not really hate since Onew probably wasn’t capable of hating anyone) most in the world came knocking on his door at 3 AM, Onew would probably invite them in, bake them a fresh batch of cookies, offer them his bed and shower and give them whatever they wanted because that was just the type of guy he was.

It was easy to take advantage of. Even Onew knew it, but that didn’t mean he wouldn’t do what was asked of him. Help was help, and if he was willing to give it, why not? Even so, Onew wasn’t an idiot. He was good at watching, good at waiting. Just spend a few minutes with him and he’ll have you figured out, know what makes you tick, what makes you upset, all your nervous habits and what makes you smile. He could analyze all of that, figure out every last detail, and then he’d help with whatever happened to be wrong. People liked him and maybe that was why he was never taken advantage of.

He knew Minho better than anyone. He had spent enough time with the guy in his bathroom stall, in his basement, on the streets, at school, to know every last thing there was to know about him. And that was probably why he knew that something had happened the moment he saw Minho at lunch, fingers tapping the table as he down one of those juice boxes that people still handed out with a furious expression on his face, glaring at people at random. That was why Onew slipped down into his seat beside him, setting his lunch down in front of him and staring out of the corner of his eye and asked “Who did you beat up this time?”

And as expected, Minho slapped the juice carton back on the table, and leaned back in his seat, hands flying up to gesture wildly at nothing as he began his story, glare still in place. “It’s not that. It’s just this kid.” He nearly spat the word, gesturing off to the student body at large.

Onew twisted open his soda bottle, taking a sip. “Who?”

Minho balked, only for second, because really, who was that kid? “I don’t know. Some freshman, probably.” He admitted, crossing his arms over his chest and picking up his now empty juice box, the tension draining from his shoulders slightly.

“Uh-huh. And what happened?” Minho must have been overreacting. What could one kid have done, anyway?
Minho shrugged one shoulder in response, slamming down the juice box again once he realized it was empty and reached for Onew’s soda in retaliation. “I don’t know. But he had three guys on him when I found him. I don’t know what he did but it had to be bad, right?” Onew slapped his hands away, just as he grabbed the soda, snatching it up himself and taking another sip before handing it over to Minho.

“I mean, there were three of them.”Minho had his arms resting on the table, propping his head up with a hand as he waited for Onew’s expert advice.

…which didn’t come.

“Three.” Minho emphasized, just in case Onew hadn’t caught on yet.

Onew stared, before realized an answer was expected of him. He took a long, and what he hoped to be a thoughtful looking chew of his sandwich. “It’s not your problem. Don’t go sticking your nose in things that don’t concern you. You get into enough trouble as it is.” Good advice, if he did say so himself. But he knew Minho, and he would never listen.

“But it is my problem! They were in my bathroom. And I helped him out, and now those idiots are going to think I’m involved and try to start with me.” After he said it, he figured that made sense. That had to be why he was so concerned, right? Right.

Onew leaned back, stealing his soda back as he puffed out his cheeks. “Okay, if that happens, then I was wrong. But until that happens, just stay out of it. You’ll probably never see that kid again, anyway.”

Minho didn’t say anything to that, just stared out at the people around their table, no longer glaring, just thinking. Onew was probably right; he’ll never see the kid again, those idiots wouldn’t dare to start things with him and it defiantly wasn’t his problem. He should just brush it aside like he had done so many times before for so many other things.

So why was it so hard to forget?