Letter's

A Cold Beginning

The cold air rifles Zane’s jet-black hair. Although the winter is coming to an end, the weather reflects how Zane feels about his life, cold and gloom. He was never the one to show much emotion, but this constant melancholy feeling he always carries with him like a ton of bricks. Loneliness has consumed him whole, a beast he can’t defeat, nor did he try. It was an impossible feat he always wished to do, but had enough brain cells to not go after it.

Walking into his house he brushed off the ever-lingering feeling, to put his groceries away. His weak arms were tired and he had no work that day, so he decided to do what he always does on these days; eat snacks in bed and hollow away from the world. Why try when you can instead cry? This wasn’t healthy. It's not like he cares what's good for him anyway, his arms were proof of that. He took his poptarts, hot fudge sundae, and crawled to his bedroom.

But before he made it to his bed, Zane spotted the letter. It was one of many, a love letter, a sign of weakness. In this specific letter, he never said the name of who it was addressed to. He was depressed that day and any time he thought of the name of the man, the one that he has pinned over for years, brought him to tears.

It was pathetic, like the sorry excuse of a man he is. In rage and sorrow, he crumpled up the paper and weakly threw it towards the trash can, just barely missing the can and landing on the floor instead. It didn’t matter, he was going to pick it up and put it with the others anyways; in a hidden drawer of sadness. 

Climbing into bed, after getting properly dressed, falling face first; not wasting any time with going to sleep. The only thing stopping him at this point was his thoughts. He needs to stop thinking in this sad philosophical bullshit way, he doesn’t need to give the others any more reason to call him emo. He already still wears the same type of clothes he wore in high school: a black sweatshirt, black jeans, hair covering one half of his face, and a mask covering his mouth and nose. 

Either way, Zane went to sleep, dreaming of someone who smells of sea salt, straight from the ocean. Someone whose smile was so bright it could replace the sun, and whose skin was so warm touching it felt like a nice cup of hot chocolate. A loud voice, almost laughter, that sounds just so sincerely filled with happiness it's contagious. 

With big strong arms begging to hold someone, to make them feel safe, arms calling out to him. Zane could feel himself being pulled towards this kind, gentle, and warm figure. As he got closer he could almost touch the soft snow-white hair, grab that warm firm hand, feel his warm breath on his ski- * D I N G * * D O NG *!

That is the sound of a doorbell. His doorbell. Someone is at his door.

Fuck.

Tired and not wanting to deal with this, Zane tries to ignore the bell to no avail. Whoever is at the door won't stop ringing the bell for even a second, and sadly Zane knows exactly who loves to constantly abuse his doorbell. Getting up and slugging his way downstairs he opened his front door.

“What do you want?”

Despite his feminine stature, it is easy to see that he is male with his astonishing deep voice. It is deeper than everyone else, making them all jealous of his voice; especially his older brother. It didn’t help that he has sunken eyes, people believe it is from the amount of coffee he drinks, but it is also the fault of so much crying over the years. Though he would never admit to that. But despite all of that the person in front of him couldn't be more of the opposite.

Aphmau, his dear best friend, she’s everything he isn’t. She’s outgoing, likable, has a lot of friends, goes out a lot, has an upbeat personality, is absolutely gorgeous, and is loved by all. If he wasn’t friends with her since childhood he would hate her, but they are friends so here they are.
“Hey, grumpy pants! Were you sleeping?”
“Of course I was, but you woke me up. Why?”
“That's because it's like, 2 pm?”
“And?”