Walt is great. There’s nothing wrong he can say about him. He’s good looking — has high values, respects everyone and would be the perfect man for you. And that’s what he loathes the most. He wishes he—he were a doucebag or something, like Walt was some frat bro those girls talked about and ran around kissing every single girl in his proximity. That could make his feelings easier for you.

He wishes he even had the thought to compete with Walt Stone for you. But he knows, in the end, he’ll always lose.

He catches your eye across rooms, and galas. He wonders, every time, what it means. But then you turn your attention back to Walt, the one who deserves it. And you smile at him. That smile. The smile he’s starved for. The one he feels like Walt is earning a lottery by receiving, and it makes him so jealous he thinks he’ll die.

“She liked daisies, didn’t she?” Anubis smiled politely, carefully coming up next to you and setting the freshly picked flowers on your mother’s grave. You’re not crying. But just looking, in bittersweetness. Your mother had died two years ago today.

You smiled at him back. “You remembered.”

He chuckled, than pauses and blinks, “Walt didn’t? She talked about them pretty much all the time in her garden.”