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POV — amber
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I STOOD completely still when i saw him. he was hunched over in his seat, fingers interlocked, hands hanging just above his knees. he looked sad, like he was about to deliver the news that he had just ran over my cat or that he knew the world was coming to an end soon. my eyebrow raised, curious as to what he wanted.
"graham?"
i sat down beside him on the patio furniture, still bewildered by the fact he was even here. he remained still, breathing heavily in and out, and i had now noticed a small envelope in his hand, dirty in the corners and messy handwriting on the front of it. i narrowed my eyes at the sight, curious of what the envelope contained. "what's in the envelope, gray?" i questioned him, my nerves swelling. he placed the envelope down on the table, sliding it across to me. he breathed in again, catching my eye.
"i think you need to just read this yourself." he explained, sitting back into the chair and making himself comfortable. now gradually getting annoyed at him for not elaborating, i tore open the envelope, and out fell a piece of old, yellow journal paper. i picked it up before it got dirty, scanning the content of what appeared to be a handwritten letter, carefully.
"my amber," it started out. i looked back at graham, who smiled gently, nodding as to tell me to keep going. i puffed my cheeks, continuing to read the paragraphs. i knew straight away who it was from.
"i'm not very good at writing letters, hell, maybe just writing in general. you know, often i'll even find my songs rather drab and lifeless, especially my first album (even though we don't talk about that heap of garbage), but just for you, i'll try my best to display my feelings on this small piece of writing paper, because, it's my belief that some things have to be said,"
"graham," i turned to look at the brunette, who was fiddling around with his glasses, adjusting them as they sat on his long nose. "is this," i breathed in, cautiously. "this is from damon, init?" he nodded his head slowly and i turned my head back slowly to the letter.
"first of all," the second paragraph spoke. "i'm sorry. i'm sorry for making you feel as if i was trying to control your life and your perception of that walking unibrow boy, liam. yes, we still don't get along and most likely will never see eye to eye. but, if you fancy him, and if i want to remain friends, i suppose i can learn how to be civil towards him and his equally infuriating brother."
