When you were one year and nine months, you caressed your dad’s cheek while you were half asleep and made him cry.

On your third birthday, you got a puppy you named Blue (because it was your favorite color, but clearly he wasn’t blue).

(He was actually black).

Your first day of school, you smiled at a classmate named Lucy and she told you that dinosaurs were her least favorite thing. You loved dinosaurs but you played together the whole year until she had to leave and you never saw her again.

At ten, you played a ping pong match with a friend of your friend and he won. You laughed as you didn’t care but you cried on your way home.

You went to a party when you were thirteen and had your second drink. You felt hazy and someone tried to take you home, but your friends took you instead.

You’re glad they did.

There are a lot of things you didn’t remember.

After a week or so though, you noticed how everything seemed so clear. You can navigate through your memories as if they were in a timeline. You just click and they’ll appear in front of you, so transparent.

You’ve been trapped replaying memories the whole week, staying in Matthew’s, since he apparently doesn’t leave the apartment. You two have been talking a bit more and you hoped to tell him to go to Uni, but he’s in his computer the whole day, and you’re starting to drop the idea you two go to the same Uni. He clearly doesn’t go to places. At all.

In any other situation you’d have been delighted to see your memories, but now… without being able to share with anyone you know.

And if Matthew is being slightly kinder with you now, it’s not like you two are friends.

You’re just being polite around each other.

You’ve missed one whole week though, you feel like you’re wasting your time being on Matthew’s house all the time, you should be saying goodbye to the people you care about. You still don’t know how, but at least you need to be close to them to actually try.

As the sun rises, you try to think of a way of asking Matthew to go with you to Uni.

It’s officially your eight day here now.

***

It isn’t until two in the afternoon that Matthew wakes up. He went to bed around four in the morning, so you’re not really surprised.

There’s this idea that you have (that you might or might have not taken from the movie Ghost). That maybe you could try to manifest yourself in a dream.

But that plan is a bit difficult to put into action.

You’d have to be close to them while they’re asleep and that’s creepy, because Matthew would have to be close as well and there’s no way he’s going to agree to stand near someone’s house at 2am or something.

He doesn’t move, and he’s not thinking anything either, so you wait. You’re sure he’ll remember he decided to help you, but does it make sense that he’s acts this way towards you?

You want to ask why. And your head is filled with thoughts about why he hurts himself. You are not even sure how you’re supposed to ask that though, and it’s not like it’s any of your business anyway.

“Morning,” he mumbles, muffled by the pillow and for a second you’re too stunned to talk, it’s the first time he says morning to you. It’s stupid, but it feels special, being acknowledged like that.

You open your mouth and then close it again.

“Morning, Matthew,” although it’s like two in the afternoon, but you’re too giddy to care.

Maybe today’s the day.

You should take a slow approach to the subject… carefully, because gaining Matthew’s trust is hard, you can’t fuck it up.

Matthew gets up, he doesn’t shower everyday, like if he doesn’t actually remember to do it, it’s not like he leaves the house anyway, so it’s no big deal.

“You’re looking at me funny,” he comments, yawning and you stay where you are, trying not to flinch under the weight of his gaze. He looks a bit intimidating sometimes, like he’s about to snap at you.

“Yeah,” you say, getting down from his closet. He frowns.

you’re not denying that, huh?

He raises his eyebrows instead.

“Matthew,” you blurt out, “Can we go out? Please? Anywhere will be just fine.”

The answer comes painfully fast.

“No.”

“Please?”

“No.”

“Pretty please?” You ask, and he rolls his eyes.

He crosses his arms against his chest, he’s wearing last night clothes, you think that maybe if he had some ridiculous pajama pants, like Mickey Mouse or something, you would find him less intimidating.

“Just… can you at least think about it? You offered to help, but how are we supposed to do this if we don’t leave the...” you trail off, Matthew’s small smile dropping.

You almost regret it, but you have to do this.

“I…” he starts and you allow yourself to feel hopeful, but the moment breaks when a phone starts ringing. You’re a bit startled at that, eight days and you haven’t seen him communicate with anyone.

why now mom you hear and your eyes go to his phone, Matthew catches the change on your expression and seems to remember you can read his thoughts. He sighs, picking up.

You’re so curious about him, but you try to zoom out, this feels like a breach of privacy. To hear his thoughts and his call to his mom. So you leave the room, trying to think of your favorite song, so you can muffle his words and thoughts.

After a minute or two, he leaves, holding the phone in his hand with a weird expression on his face.

“We’re going to buy some groceries,” he says, and you almost jump in glee.

***

Matthew clenches his fist, pondering yelling at you in a public space. (You don’t need to hear his thoughts to know that).

The trip to the store is uneventful, just a few blocks from his house. You’re like a kid on a sugar rush, commenting on everything on the store.

“Shut up,” he hisses through his teeth, the aisle it’s empty, so he takes the chance to scold you.

“Matthew, I never managed to try this grape juice, can we please buy it? Please?” you ask, and maybe you’re pushing this, but you’re outside and feeling oh so happy.

“You’re so dramatic,” he whispers, trying to pick between two pears that to you, look exactly the same.

“Please,” you ask, kneeling down in front of him instead, “Please, Matthew. Only one, I won’t ask you any more favors.”

He sighs, clearly regretting his life choices. Not for the first time today.

“That’s a lie and you know it,” he says, hissing through his teeth again and a woman with her child gives him a suspicious look, hurrying up from his side.

You snort, covering your mouth. Matthew blushes bright red and ends up picking both pears and he starts to walk to the cashier, mumbling angrily.

“No, Matthew,” you follow him right away, “Please.”

“You can’t even try it, why do you want it?” he asks, pinching the bridge of his nose.

“I want to know if it’s good or not.”

“You know what? Go wait outside.”

You close your mouth, sighing and decide not to push it, heading outside.

It takes ten minutes for Matthew to leave the store, and when he does, he’s drinking the grape juice you told him to buy.

Your eyes light up.

“It’s good,” he whispers, (your heart would have skipped a beat if it could), and you follow him back home.