Identity V One-shots

Victor Grantz

   "For you, miss!" His huge, sunny smile catches my attention.

   "Are you sure? I don't think I have any friends to mail with." I tilt my head, confused.

   "It's yours." He points at the address on the envelope.

   I don't read it, the letters too small. So I take it, tearing it open at the seal.

   Hey, it reads. I think you're cute!
Xx,
   Victor.

He's gone before I could ask for his number.

"You're here, too?"

"Yeah." He smiles shyly at me, once bright features darkened by the charcoal wash of hurt. Pain. Trauma.

I didn't understand why at first, but after I feel every single nerve of my body catch aflame— and suddenly, I look around, my surroundings a creaking, slouching circus— and in a whirlwind of black, I'm set on a chair, launched to the bane of my existence— I understand.

"What brings you here?"

"I don't know," he smiles again, the motion an obvious habit instead of emotion. "Some wicked curse, I guess."

"I heard," I soothe as he turns his head, palm covering his features. "There was a saying I heard." I rephrase. "Maybe it's not our fault. Our ancestors sinned too much."

"Maybe it's fate," his voice crackles. Looking up at the gloomy sky, gravity helps keep his tears in a glistening blanket over his eyes.

"Maybe it is."