"Delivery for my favorite person!" rang out a familiar child's voice, their British accent hard to miss. Peter soon rode out from behind the bushes on your front lawn, turning into the pathway to your front door. He stopped when he saw you, hopping off of it swiftly but carefully.

You two were the same age, often seen together in the clearer forest days, or taking walks. Nobody knew what kinds of things you talked about, but it all seemed like banter to your parents.

He laughed, running over to you. "My mom wanted me to give you this pie. It's peach, since I remembered your favorite flavor," he cooed proudly, holding out a warm, wrapped pie.

"What are you doing outside all alone?" he asked, not being able to help how it just slipped from his lips. He was your worrisome friend, that's all, he's gotten used to not apologizing for when he was blunt at times.