Only Yours

45

Hamish's P.O.V

'You know, I sometimes think the sky can tell us the future. Like certain weather types mean something good, or bad, or happy, or sad will happen.' Spencer settles next to me on the log and unwraps his sandwich, pulling a face. 'Eurgh. Peanut Butter. I keep telling Joe to stop making these.'

I jump back slightly (I'm proper allergic to nuts). 'It's fine, I can go-'

Spencer chucks the sandwich into the forest. 'Dude, no. I'm not ditching my friend just to eat a crappy sandwich.'

I smile at him and he smirks back, grabbing one of my crisps. 'Oi!' I try to sound pissed off but I can't stop the smile on my face widening and quickly look away as he leans further into me so our arms are touching. It's freezing cold but he's only wearing a t-shirt and I can feel his biceps through my sweater.

Spencer and I have been friends since January, three months ago. I went with him to the grief-counselling thing and after that we started hanging out all the time.

He started skipping lunchtimes with Saph and his mates to eat with me. At first we went to the cupboard where I used to hide but soon we ventured into the woods behind Keenwood because the cupboard started smelling and it was proper cramped. Last month we found this stream, and if you crossed it there was a cave with some logs and stuff outside it, and we've been coming here ever since.

I have never been this happy. I haven't cut in three months.

Spencer slides down the log so he's sitting on the floor. 'How's William? And your parents?'

I sigh. 'God, Spence, it's awful. He remembers my Dad, everything about my Dad, but he can't remember anything about anyone else. Not Papa, not me or Saph, no one. And his bloody girlfriend is refusing to go and see him because it's too 'emotionally traumatising'. Then the press found out and they're camped outside the hospital everyday and the newspaper headlines are all, 'William Holmes Wakes From Coma' or 'William Holmes Permanently Brain-Damaged'. It's impossible. And I'm having to take Jacob to all his modelling things and adverts and shit because everyone else is too busy trying to jog Will's memory and I hate going to the modelling things. And we're not allowed to tell him what really happened because it may make him freak or something.'

'It'll get better, mate, I promise.' Spencer says quietly, staring up at the sky, before closing his eyes. I look up at the sky, a dazzling blue that is not appropriate for March, then back across at Spencer and I cannot look away. Spencer is lounging back against the log, t-shirt and jeans tightly fighting, his brown eyes fixed on the sky and his hair scruffy. He matches the weather perfectly; beautiful with a sharp edge.

'Don't stare at me, I'm thinking.' He says without opening his eyes. I jerk backwards and swallow nervously. 'Um-'

'Joking, Mish. Just joking.' He opens his eyes and smiles lazily at me and the feeling of content builds up in my chest until I feel like it's about to burst.

He looks me up and down before turning around so he's facing me. 'Have you ever played 21 Declarations?'

'Of course.' I scoff. Everyone's played 21 declarations. Me and my friends used to play it all the time before-

'Shall we play?' he says.

I raise one eyebrow. 'Sure.'

Spencer clears his throat and starts, '1, 2, 3.'

'4.' I say confidently.

'5, 6, 7.'

'8, 9.'

'10, 11, 12.'

Damn it.

'13, 14, 15.'

'16, 17, 18.'

'19, 20.'