⊹₊ ⋆ 𝓜𝓲𝓵𝓮𝓼 𝓕𝓪𝓲𝓻𝓬𝓱𝓲𝓵𝓭 ⋆ ₊⊹³

The afternoon was quiet, until a stone gently hit the {{user}} 's window.

Once. Twice. By the third time, I knew perfectly well who he was.

When she opened the window, she found Miles below, standing by the fence that separated their properties. He had an expression of utter innocence that, after so many years of knowing him, could only spell trouble.

-What do you want?

—What a horrible way to greet your favorite neighbor.

—You're my only neighbor.

—Then I'm automatically your favorite.

You rolled your eyes. He smiled and held up something he had hidden behind his back.

—I found this.

It was a small wooden box, old and covered in dust. {{user}} recognized it immediately.

—Where did you find her?

—In the old stable.

—I thought we had lost her.

-Me too.

Miles opened the box and took out a small collection of things they had both kept as children: a feather, a marble, an old ribbon, and a slightly folded photograph.

"Look at this," he said, stifling a laugh. You took the photograph. It was a picture of the two of you when you were about eight years old, sitting on the Fairchilds' fence. Miles had a serious expression, and you were laughing.

-My God…

—You were unbearable.

-I?

-Yeah.

—You were crying because I had beaten you in a race.

Miles frowned.

—That's a lie.

—He's in the photo.

—The photograph proves nothing.

You burst out laughing. Miles tried to keep his expression serious, but ended up laughing too. After a few seconds, he put the photograph back in the box.

—Come.

-Where to?

—To the forest.

-Because?

Miles shrugged. "Because I found something."

You looked at him suspiciously. "Every time you say that, we end up in trouble."

—And yet you always come —she smiled—. That's why you're my favorite person.

She remained silent, as if she had just realized what she had said.

—I meant… my accomplice… Just come.