Time || m.c. (on hold)

4:00

"Michael!" Gordon greeted from behind the sticky counter as the boy cringed at the above-the-door bell that all stores nowadays seemed to have.

"Hello, Gordon." Michael sighed and layed his arms down on then surface. Gordon waved at Michael's black hair before getting Michael his usual orange sherbet.

"Where's your girlfriend gone to now, Clifford?" Michael had been trying to forget this all day, but everything just kept asking him.

An orange flower reminded him of her.

"Where's Opal?"

Michael saw a lady crossing a cross walk with the same unmanageable red locks that his strawberry possessed and for a split second he thought that just might be her trying to rejoin him, but alas she carried a briefcase and entered a office building.

"Where's Opal?"

"She had chores," Michael huffed with a grunt. "I begged her to skip like I do, but she lectured me like usual."

"I'm new here," Opal protested. "Though I hate it, I have to do my part. It gives me purpose, Mikey. Something I've never had before."

"You have purpose," Michael tried to explain. "Your purpose is to be my Strawberry."

"Well, Mikey. Maybe if you did your chores they would like you more." Opal smiled as she picked up the broom and marched down the hall way, around a corner, and out of sight.

She looked like she was going to band practice, Michael thought.

The thing Michael loved best about Opal is that he reminded him of his childhood, before all this shit happened.

Opal always does silly things to make Michael laugh. From marching around like a conductor in a marching back to remind Michael of the parades his brother would hoist him on his shoulders for or dancing and spinning like children at the park near Michael's childhood home.

Home. Home was a foreign word to Michael.
These were not foster homes. No, they were foster prisons or foster houses. Home, no. Hell, yes. Michael can hardly remember his home. Home. There's that word again. They say home his where your heart is, but then you're stuck in a prison with a bunch of shit faced kids and people who don't even want you to be here, Michael thought he had lost that heart a very long, long time ago.

Michael thought. After he had met Opal, Michael had been happier. Michael started to care about Opal and notice the small things. Michael liked his new self. So did Opal.

"Maybe she's right, Michael," Gordon wiped the counter and followed Michael to a corner booth. "Maybe all you need to start doing is putting yourself out there. Maybe then they'll realize how talented and caring you really are."

"Have you met me? Me? Care about all those shit heads in that building? No. I believe you have the wrong Michael."

Gordon seemed to ponder this for a bit; As if debating, should I laugh, or be his father and encourage him. He chose the latter option.

"Your Opal, she's changed you. For the better. You're different. Have a strawberry for the road. A cold treat after a long day of floor sweeping will be just what she needs."

-

"Michael," Opal sputtered after taking a massive bite of the frozen delicacy. "Oh my god, this is just heavenly."

"Heavenly?" Michael giggled as he took a bite of her ice cream.

"Heavenly. Adjective, meaning extremely good. Example: This ice cream is heavenly." Opal beamed at her correct use of a, what Michael would call, smart word.

"Alright, alright. Little Miss Walking Dictionary. Teach me more words." Michael grinned an extremely cheeky grin and stared at the freckles on her lovely cheeks.

"You could say that you were a raconteur." Opal smiled back at the boy.

"A raccoon?"

"Raconteur. Noun. A person who tells good stories."

"Raccoonteur?"

"Never mind."

"Ok."

"You could say I have monophobia or am monophobic."

"What does that mean, Opal?"

"Monophobia. Noun. Fear of being alone." She replied and with that she drew in a shaky breath and Michael knew he shouldn't bought some fucking tissues.

4:00 and I guess relapsing happens more often than not.