Will couldn't sit still. Ever since he had entered the cafe to start work that afternoon he was on edge. The day before, and reading that letter under the counter, had caused him to analyse every single customer that entered and left through the cafe door. For all Will knew, it could be the annoyed old lady from earlier who was writing these letters.

Snapping his gaze upwards, Will eyed the businessman who strode into the shop. He carried on,  handing him the receipt and change for his blueberry muffin. In return the man gifted him a what-the-hell-are-you-looking-at face before taking a seat at the window and ignoring Will completely.

Will tapped his hand against his thigh, endeavouring the drum a beat that matched his rapid thoughts . He didn't quite know what he was looking for. The letters didn't say in detail what the problem was so he was left to guess. Guessing was never Will's strong point. He liked to know the facts, or at least vaguely understand what the situation was. A vague understanding was what kept him sane through his day.

The door bell rang and Will quickly turned his head around to see who it was. His neck let out a loud crack and his brother laughed at him as he entered, taking a moment of his time to reach out his large hand to ruffle Will's shaggy black hair. The action failed, however, as Will was wearing his ratty beanie and protecting his hair.

"You need a haircut," his brother said, noting the fact that Will's hair could now be tucked underneath his hat.

Will's response was short as he wiped some dirt off the counter. "Leon, I need many things."

Leon smiled, plucking out a gingerbread man from the array of sweet treats and nodding his head. "That I can agree on. The question is, do you mean sexually or mentally?"

Will raised an eyebrow, opening his palm up, "That would be three fifty, please."

Smile dropping, Will's brother frowned and shoved the gingerbread man back where it came from. "Three fifty, for that?"

"It's gluten-free," Will sarcastically defended before adding, "You do realise you have to pay for it. You touched it." Leon didn't reply for a while, instead surveying the cafe as if it was his own. He had tried to get a job here, as a way of trying to up Will, but he was swiftly rejected.

"Well, if I touched it then double the price."

Giving up, Will sighed and just handed the gingerbread man to his brother. Its smile was made of raisins, looking slightly eerie and reminding him of a scarecrow. Will would pay for it at the end of his shift. "Why are you here, Leon?" he asked, his voice sounding tired.

His brother bit the head of the biscuit, making Will pity it slightly. Leon had always been that slightest bit disturbing when it came to eating food; chocolate rabbits at Easter were the worst. Will distinctively remembered how Leon explained how to eat it. First the feet, so it can't hop away. Next the head. And lastly... the heart.

"Mum wants to have a word with you after work. You've been found out. The school sent a letter about your work. Congratulations: you're doing worse than me."

Will eyed his brother. "Why are you giving me a heads up?" His question was legitimate enough; his brother was always after something. Even though he wasn't quite sure if he should believe Leon, Will's eyes looked over to check the time. If what his brother said was true, Will had two hours to come up with a legitimate excuse before facing the dragon.

Leon shrugged, swallowing another section of his biscuit. "I wanted a gingerbread man. Plus, I wanted to state how your grades are worse than mine. It feels good, doesn't it?"

Will frowned. "What feels good?"

His brother laughed, digging one hand in his pocket before polishing up his food in a few seconds. Leon gleefully made his way out the cafe while saying, "You and me, we're defeating the stereotypes. Not all Asians are brainy. Break those barriers, Will!"

He couldn't help but chuckle as he watched Leon strut down the street and out of sight. Sure, Will was breaking those stereotypes people sometimes dumped on him, but if that meant that his mum was going to have a word than he'd rather embrace the typecast. Sitting behind the till, he wondered why the school hadn't just told his Dad. In the past they had done just that, and it had worked out fine. There was a certain level of care his father had with him in general - little to none - and this came in handy with Will's failing grades.

For the next hour behind the counter he thought of every single excuse he could give for his admittedly terrible schoolwork. The truth was he just wasn't very intelligent. What Will had brainstormed - the teachers weren't very good. His mum would see through that lie like it was made of glass.

Looking at the time Will realised it was time to lock up. Six o'clock had arrived too quickly for him and a few teenage schoolgirls who were hovering at the back of the room. Reluctantly he shooed them off, ignoring their whines of disapproval as they trudged out the door.

Taking as much time as possible, Will went through his mental list of tasks. He had locked the till, cleaned the counter and checked that the safe was locked more than five times. He had just started to clean up again, his mind buzzing with the image of his mother's angered face, when he found it, just like it had been before. Same table. Same handwriting. Same someone.

Will placed the tray of dirty crockery on the table and slid in the seat. He wanted to get a feel of it. To understand the person. In truth, Will felt like a less attractive, Asian, Sherlock.  His long fingers picked up the paper that was left under the cup, just like it had been left before. Sure enough, as he opened up the paper he found the messy scribbles of who he was looking for. Will only hoped this would give him some more clues.

Dear Dad,

I'm not really sure what to say to you. Out of everyone, you seem to act the most normal around me. But that's a lie, isn't it? I know you're in denial - I heard mum say it. I don't know what annoys me more: that you can't see or that mum sometimes imagines seeing.

I'm grateful for what you did, I truly am. Those car rides we went on were a fresh relief from being cooped up inside the house. Going to the garden centre is quite a sad thing for someone my age to be doing, but you let me, and we both discovered my love for plants. It was nice. Being with you was nice.

I understand that I'm not unique or fun like you thought I was. I didn't turn out to be that daughter you probably wanted me to be. I'm boring, fitting right into the stereotype people create with what you say I have. I can just imagine what the doctors think: oh, not another one.

You told me there is no stigma. But there is. For me, for you, for everyone who knows, there is a stigma. Some people hide their thoughts; others show theirs on their faces. I hate it. I truly do. I can just imagine going back to school and everyone finding out, labelling me as being so vain that I put myself under this. I was my own undoing. And in a way that is true. Actually, in every way that is true.

I got myself here. I need to get myself out.

I think you realised how bad it was when you put that piece of fruit in front of me. Do you remember that? It started off as a small fruit salad as a pudding on a Thursday night. That fruit salad then went down to a grape, a blueberry then half a blueberry. After what you described as a panic attack, I ate that pathetic crumb of fruit.

I want to apologise for that. And I want to say sorry for the incident at the pub. Freaking out like that in front of Gran, all those people, and you were embarrassed. I shouldn't have done that. So, I'm sorry.