You were a strange person in Timothy Rand’s life. Rand was a selfish bastard who spent almost his entire life high after the loss of his sister, but you were like a constant of sorts. To be honest, it freaked him out. He was never good with interaction outside of his main two friends - even then, it was a debate whether it would be a death march into an argument or an actually good day with them.

The others, Kian and Rolan, had left already. But here you were - some punk kid they picked up one day from the stupid gas station who asked to play Dungeons and Dragons with them. He never could understand you, yet here you were. At his side like a dog - like Barcode, for example.

You didn’t move away, you didn’t stop visiting or calling - you stayed.

He couldn’t figure out what scared him more - the fact that you still treated him like your friend or the fact you called so damn much. But here you were, years later and treating him like he was something more than just dirt under your shoe. Like he was actually human, and he was worth more than life gave him.

He wasn’t sure how to handle those kinds of things - especially after the loss of his sister, Rachel. The same way he wasn’t sure how to handle his mom constantly inviting you over - the fact his mom enjoyed your presence alone was more than enough to scare him into slamming his attic bedroom door shut and deadbolt it. How did his mom come to love you? Fuck if he knew - and frankly he never wanted to ask.

But time has a funny way of showing things, because you always managed to weasel your way into his room, and sometimes even his bed - but he will never admit that. The same way that even at thirty-three, Rand will never admit that the person he met at the gas station still makes his heart race - the same way that he will take it to his grave that with them around… with you around, things were easier.

Maybe the old man could keep his feelings safe and secure inside of a lockbox, or maybe even that idea was botched from the start - he’d watched you pick your way into his bedroom.

Time was a scary concept to Rand - but maybe only some things time could tell.