March 22 1986
Dear Mikey,
It's y/n, and I kinda have something to confess.
I like you.
As in crush-like you.
You don't have to like me back, in fact, you won't even be able to tell me by the time you read this if you do or don't, but I will be realistic, and go with you don't, and that's okay.
I remember when my mom died, you were there for me, you made sure I ate and got out, how you'd always bring me a bouquet of forget-me-knots, my favourite flower every time you came to visit, you did that for 2 months straight. I still can't thank you enough for that.
I'm sorry that I'm gone, I really am.
I'll miss you so much, same with Will, Dustin and Lucas, tell them that for me.
Love, Y/N
I put the letter down, tears falling freely.
I still am sitting in her empty hospital room, that she had been in and out of for a few years.
The bed has already been stripped of its sheets, all the cards and flowers gone. It's over.
-
I feel a hand on my shoulder,
"You ready?" I smiled, "yeah"
"You did it"
"We did it" she corrected me, rubbing my still recovering arm.
She fixed her wig, and we both walked out of the hospital, hand in hand, matching smiles on our faces, small tears running down our faces.
It's over.
___________________________
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