Standing in wonder, Leon's gaze stared straight at Will who was shovelling last night's leftover dinner into his smaller-than-average mouth.  In his hand was a slice of burnt toast; in Will's palm was a pot of cold lasagne. Leon had told his brother to take his time, but something was making Will keener than normal to go to work that Saturday morning. This was a surprise considering that a) Will being keen was a revelation b) his brother hated work and today was a full shift and c) that lasagne was making Leon want to throw up and he wasn't even eating it.

"Tell mum I'll probably be back late," Will practically shouted at his older sibling who frowned. A loud crunch filled the air as Leon bit into his blackened toast. He had defended his cooking skills to Will, saying it was only caramelised and tasted simply delicious.

"Mum," he whined loudly to the woman in the next room, "Will wants to talk to you."

The reply was a curt and blunt, "Will can tell me himself." It wasn't as if she was angry at her son anymore. No, that anger she harboured for him had now turned to pure impatience that had stretched for not just him, but Leon and their younger sister as well.

Slouching against the fridge Will picked up his beanie and tugged it on his head, pulling the brim down lower. He took a deep breath in before manoeuvring his body from leaning against the fridge to leaning against the dining room door frame. There was only so much independent standing he could do. Will didn't bother to smile at his mum, who was surprisingly short considering his own height. She glared up at him.

"I'm going to be back late. Work."

Will's mum folded her arms, her eyes narrowing as she rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet. "Work, again? You spend all your life there. Don't you have any friends anymore? Hmm?" With those words she shooed her son off, not caring for his reply. "Just go. I'll speak to your dad about this."  It wasn't as if that would make a difference - they both knew that. It was just what Will's mum said when she was too tired to come up with some kind of punishment or scaremongering tactic.

Turning away, he gave Leon a small salute of triumph before swiftly turning around and shrugging his coat on, his back pushing open the front door so his face didn't have to meet the harsh wind that still hadn't left. It took Will longer than normal to reach the cafe. The wind, bustle of confused tourists and dawdling pedestrians slowed down his journey.

Nevertheless Karen, otherwise known as the manager, gave Will a tired but cheery wave as he entered the cafe that day. She was in the middle of cleaning the counter that was chock-a-block with homemade cakes, biscuits and treats, her cheeks starting to flush red from the effort. They both exchanged pleasantries without much effort. Karen made sure to thank Will for taking his time to help her out. She didn't say how she thought he wouldn't mind, considering how little he talked about his friends.

Sliding his apron over his lanky body, Will positioned himself behind the counter, ready for the day. Sure, he did feel like he was going to throw up from his choice of breakfast, but he had a task to do. Ready to go, he couldn't help but fidget his feet to the music playing on the radio.

Will's bright start quickly fell down hill and eventually struck rock bottom at around two in the afternoon. It was a surprise the customers even assumed he was a member of staff, a moody teenager was probably more accurate. Karen had gone off to have a quick lunch, which was good news. This was mainly because afterwards Will was allowed to have his slightly shorter lunch break. His own creation of a BLT Panini was calling to him and the temptation was getting stronger and stronger by the minute.

Standing up from the small spot in the corner of the cafe, Karen took her small plate that once held her lunch and walked over to Will to take over the till . The poor adolescent boy almost fell of his stool in excitement. The manager looked him and down, trying to understand her employee, before shooing him off and taking over the till.

Will made his staple lunch with ease, nearly drooling as he carried it over to a spare seat by the window. Getting comfortable, he wiggled down in his seat and flexed his fingers as he took the Panini with his hands and lifted it to his mouth. From here he spent far too long munching on the food as his mind flicked across the view of the street outside, other people's conversations and his own inane thoughts.

Taking another large bite, Will's eyes moved over to the empty table in front of his own. There was a leftover cup and saucer, something he should probably clean up after he'd finished his lunch. But then, he could always pretend to not realise he saw it. Ignorance was sometimes the best option.

It was at this time, swallowing a large piece of bacon, Will noticed the letter. Coughing at the bacon wedged in his throat he hit his chest and gulped down some water he had brought himself, the semi-shock almost killing him. Literally.

Abandoning his food Will clumsily got up from his seat. Knocking the table and a few chairs on his way, he found himself standing over the letter, his fingers moving the crockery away so he could pick up the paper. He took a deep, shaky breath. His stomach felt weird for some reason.

Will didn't bother to seem non-suspicious in the slightest. Maybe it was the fact that his level of care on anything other than the scribbling on some semi-torn paper had dramatically gone down. Maybe it was just the adrenaline of finding another one.

Tugging at the corners of the paper, Will straightened it out so he could read it easily against the table.

I can't write down your name. Not yet. Probably not ever. I'm not even sure what to say. It seems stupid writing this to you. It's not as if you're a you in the first place. It's not like you're anything really. Just something that explains a number of things. You're a scapegoat for feelings, actions and arguments that only really lead downhill. How stupid I was. I didn't realise you were even there.

I still live in denial. Regrettably.

You've always been there, haven't you? That's my theory anyway. Without realising it I had someone with me wherever I want. Without realising it I was ill. You've made me do so many things. But should I blame them all on you? As I've said, you're not even a you. How can I blame something that doesn't even physically exist?

Maybe it was just me all along. Maybe it was me that led me to become this thing. Maybe it was me all this time. I am going to get better. I will do that not for my family or friends, but for me. I want to be normal again.

The catch is I'm still discovering what normal is. Or what is a healthy normal. I wish this could be over quickly, I still believe it can be over soon, but I'm slow and tired. So fucking tired.

I can only hope I come out of this better than I came in.

Will placed down the letter, not really sure what to do. The hustle of customers around him seemed like a comfort and he placed the paper down and stepped back slightly, blinking as he thought about what he had just read.

"Excuse me?"

The voice was soft, curious but not wanting to be rude. The teenage girl tried to smile up at the tall waiter who was standing by her table. That's when Will noticed the small bag under the table - she hadn't even left yet. Crap. He looked up to her, licking his lips as he tried to smile.

In those split seconds he took in the image of someone he vaguely recognised from school. Someone who Will could only describe as seeming normal. Her clothes were simple and comfy, hair slightly frizzy but presentable, face just awkwardly confused. She looked like any other regular girl of his age. Looking back, he hadn't seen her in school for the past few weeks but then again, he didn't even know her. It wasn't as if they had even talked before. She was a mere face in the crowd.

To Will, she was a nobody.

Coughing, he took the tea cup she had finished using and smiled at her. Instinctively she smiled back. Hers was slightly more forced than Will's, but he didn't notice. Instead he gestured towards the crockery in his hand, "Thought you'd finished. Was just clearing it away."

He was just about to walk off, his gaze shifting on to anything but her and that letter she had written when she interrupted him: "I. Um. I haven't paid for that yet."

Twisting around Will let his gaze fall on the array of customers talking and chatting casually in the cafe. They all seemed normal too. And yet... and yet they probably had hidden secrets just like her. Some had probably experienced what she had, and she wouldn't even know it. It was sad to think all she could talk to was an empty notepad.

Will guessed this whole thing was strange.

He desperately wanted to say something meaningful. Something that would make her smile, keep her going and miraculously make her better. He wanted to spurt out some words of wisdom. But he had none. He was Will, after all. Just this morning he had eaten a cold lasagne; that stupid idea had lived with his body until his recent trip to the toilet. He wasn't intelligent, that much was clear. She needed someone intelligent. God forbid, she needed anyone.

So, with that, Will gave her the warmest smile he had given in a long time.

"It's on the house."