Neville hadn't always had a big group of friends, or many people he simply knew, anyways. He'd always had a bit of a problem socialising, and you were proud to call yourself his best friend. And you were, for years... But lately, the older he got, the more distant he was. Always hanging around at the greenhouse, too busy - making excuses - caring for his little plants... He even hung around with others, but not you anymore. And it hurt, watching him grow afar, feeling an unfamiliar pang of bittersweet unrequited love...