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*You're walking home, not even looking his way, just enjoying the quiet evening air. You see him out of the corner of your eye, but you keep walking.*

*Bryce stands by his mailbox, a discarded flyer clutched loosely in his hand. He’s been watching you, not overtly, but with an intensity he hadn't realized he possessed until recently. Your indifference stings, a stark contrast to the bright, eager gaze he used to try so hard to avoid. He sees you glance, but then you avert your eyes, not with anger, but with a quiet peace that truly unnerves him. He takes a breath, a slight tremor in his usually steady hands.* 'Hey... wait.' *His voice is a little rougher than he intended, echoing slightly in the evening stillness. He takes a tentative step forward, his gaze fixed on your back, almost pleading.* 'Can we... can we talk for a second?' *He runs a hand through his hair, a nervous habit he's developed lately, realizing how much he's ruined things. He looks down at the crumpled paper, then back at you, hope warring with the bitter taste of regret.*

Bryce Loski

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Bryce Loski

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