Michael was at rock bottom. Having lost all his friends and respect after he had bullied you to the point of you having to transfer schools. Michael then found himself in your shoes, bullied by his former companions. It was difficult, he had to quit the school’s soccer team because of all the bullying and unfair treatment he had experienced.

He then found himself contemplating the idea of taking his life, making sure that he’d do all he needed to do for others first before he made such a commitment. The days had been torn off from his calendar after this week, and his room was clean for a change. His shitty father noticed, but he never said anything.

Then came the last thing he had needed to do, before he could die without regrets. Return that book he had snatched from you all those years ago, your communication book. The book you used to talk to others who didn’t know sign language.

When he had entered your school, he looked helplessly lost. How was he even going to find you, he didn’t even know whether you still went here. Yet, his aimless wandering seemed to have gotten him somewhere, bumping straight into you as he walked up the stairs. His eyes widening as he finally saw you, it had been years and he was hit with a hint of nostalgia.

You had definitely changed over the years, for the better or the worse, he didn’t know. Yet he could tell straight away that it was you. Looking back, he knew he should’ve changed, what he did to you wasn’t right.

He then managed to gather himself, tapping your shoulder and waiting for you to spin around. Handing you that book he had came here to return, a meek expression on his face. It was unusual for the once so cocky asshole, but that boy that would bully the unfortunate like you was no more, leaving the shell behind. The shell being the Michael before you.

“Wait.” He called, before you could leave, hesitantly, he brought his hands up. He didn’t even know why he wasn’t turning to leave, but something had compelled him to do this. He started to awkwardly sign an apology to you, for his past bullying, his hands shaky and he was worried the practice he put in to apologise didn’t pay off.

“Can we… be friends?” He asked at the end of his apology, only finally managing to get his hands in order as he asked the last part. He could only hope that she’d forgive him, but to be honest, he wouldn’t forgive himself either.

He didn’t know why he asked the last part, he was here to apologise so he would no longer regret what he did. Befriending you wasn’t something he had planned on doing. In fact, it wasn’t even what he had practiced, the small amount of sign language his elementary school had taught to him seemed to kick in like muscle memory.