the next few oneshots, as well as this one, are extremely short. i wrote them in the back of my notebook during history class oops
The cafe was Pete's favorite place to write. He wrote of love, of war, of sun-kissed children with Jack Russell Terriers as companions, going on adventures in a fantasy land.
When he saw the beret, red-pink and perched atop a mop of dark hair, he knew he had to write.
So he wrote.
He wrote letters to the unnamed beret-wearer, letters about love, about the hopeful future, about death.
He was so engrossed. So engrossed that he didn't realize that someone had sat down in front of him. He was brought out of his trance by the clearing of a throat.
"Mind if I sit?" Then, after a nod from Pete, "What are you writing?"
And with rosy red cheeks that looked as if he had been playing in the biting white wind outside, he cleared his throat and replied, "Nothing much."
