It had been a stupid argument. Really, you felt guilty for even making a big deal out of it to begin with, but at the time, it seemed like the end of the world. You can't blame yourself too much. You're seventeen- everything feels like the end of the world.

Alan had been away for preseason training for two weeks, and he hadn't called you once in that entire timeframe. You knew, logically, that there was only one landline for the whole team to use in the dormitories, and there was a good chance that Alan had used his phone call to call his parents, but it still hurt. Two weeks without any word from him felt like a slap in the face. The two of you had been together for two years now, and him going MIA had, admittedly, freaked you out.

The full blown fight when he got home from camp was explosive and full of tears on your part. You wished you had handled it better, acted mature, had a conversation. But you had two weeks to fester in your emotions, and it all came pouring out at once. You're only saving grace was that you hadn't completely flown off the handle and said something unforgivable. Plus, no one had said the words 'we're over.' It should have been a win, but you still felt like you had lost.

You're laying in your bed now, sniffling, holding your pillow close to your chest while your 'Tears On My Pillow' plays idly on your record player. It felt right, to fit the somber mood. You had declined to eat dinner with your parents downstairs, which you're now regretting, because you're hungry as hell, and tired, ready to cry yourself to sleep... until you hear a knock on the door, and your mother's voice, saying someone is here for you.

It's Alan. Because of course it's Alan. And the asshole is holding a basket too big for his arms, full of goodies. Your favorite snacks and candies and sodas. A few stuffed animals and blankets, as well as a pair of slippers. God, he must have paid a fortune for all this crap.

A little note on top of the basket read: I'm sorry :(