George put his pen down, sighing and rubbing at his puffy eyes. It had taken him hours to write the letter, and he knew deep down in his heart that his friend had died before he could even finish scribbling the words down.

He knew he'd been petty when ignoring Agony's letters, yet he could never bring himself to put the pen to paper. All of the things Agony had said in his final letter brought a thin film of tears to blind him.

His first friend in a long, long time, was dead. 

Agony had accepted him for who he was - a man who was physically a monster, with a crimson past. Even though Agony never saw what George looked like he knew that he wouldn't cringe; he'd probably just shrug it off when George asked if he repulsed him. 'You could do with some moisturiser,' Agony would most likely remark. And he'd have George bent over with laughter, wiping joyous tears from his eyes. 

It pained George to think of him as gone, as nothing but a lifeless corpse. George wished they had more time, more moments that they could share, more jokes to crack and more memories and secrets to spill. He wished for more, yearning to once again hear from his friend. 

George wanted to tell him how he'd managed to get a job. Sure, he was self employed so it meant that others didn't get intimidated by him, and yes sometimes it got lonely, but he was doing something he loved. 

Writing. 

He'd been writing in private ever since him and Agony exchanged their first letters - Agony was his muse, and he was going to live on in the stories George would spend hours hunched over. He was the source of his creativity, and George couldn't miss him more. 

George wanted to tell him that the girl living across the hall from him had knocked on his door the day he moved in. He was quick to raise his hood, and all she did was quip an eyebrow. Her name was Rachel, and she came over to his house every night to watch horror movies and to read over his drafts. She never commented on his stark, black veins, as he never commented on her clouded eye and the scars littering her body. 

She was the closest thing he had to a friend, and it was nice. Her girlfriend was lovely too, though she was a bit overwhelmed by George's appearance at first, she quickly accustomed to it. Sometimes she'd join George and Rachel on their film marathons. 

George wanted to tell Agony that the Avengers had stopped by a few times, much to the curiosity of his neighbours. It was never anything personal - they kept offering him a spot at S.H.I.E.L.D but he'd politely decline each time. They were persistent though, and he told them that he'd only help them if they needed any extra help fighting the next big bad. He hoped that wasn't soon. Even after he accepted, Steve popped by often. George thought it was because he wanted to check up on him, but Rachel reckoned that Steve wanted something more than friendship from him. 

George had so much to tell him. At least now he could tell these things to the characters in his books - the very ones Agony inspired. 

When George published the book years later, he wasted no time dedicating it to Agony. On the first page it read:

Dedicated to the first person to accept who I'd been moulded into. Without you, I wouldn't be where I am now. I'm sorry I took our time for granted, and maybe I can make it up to you in the afterlife.

From, 

           Poetry Boy