ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ 6 - ɪ ᴍɪss ᴜ, ɪ'ᴍ sᴏʀʀʏ *.✧

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FREE'S HAND CLASPED HIS PHONE.



Am...am I really gonna do this?



He sat in the comfort of the shadows beneath the canopy of thick leaves.  The branch he sat upon kept a circumspect distance from the untrimmed grasses; green blades reaching above and trying to grab at his legs.

Free wasn't comfortable back in his dorm—with their thin walls and memories to recall every few seconds.

He wished to call Y/N, and just...fix everything.

His finger hovered above the green button illuminating obnoxiously from the screen.  It shook, in fact, his entire self is shaking.  Free holds up his left arm in the air.  His eyes easily took in the clear tremors of his gauntlet with the contrasting, blinding background sourced from the sun.

Free dropped his arm gently, attention now drifting back onto his phone.

He lifted his finger once again, then drew it back.



What am I going to say?



Free sat there on the branch, legs hanging down loosely.  His arms are close to his torso, phone hidden from sight of nature's prying eyes.

Nothing came to mind.

Actually, an abundance of words spurred out inside his head.  Words flew past his consciousness at a rate so brisk and so far in a moment's whim that he couldn't catch it nor comprehend it.

Paragraphs drummed up, stirring around and knocking a myriad of rationalities out of order.

Free had so many things he wished to express.

Yet none of them could make it past his tongue; none he could form into sensible, fathomable scripts; none that could truly define the dealings in the pit of himself.

He knew what he felt and how he wanted to feel when he said it.

       In the end, Free could only muster out a few feeble sentences.



I wish...I wish that you understand just how badly I fucked this up. I wish you know that I want to take everything back.



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