A frail boy sat alone on the railway, rocking back and forth on an old wood park bench. It's one of those run-of-the-mill standard benches that, no matter how great the weather has been, it's always slightly damp. The boy shakes his head rather aggressively, making his hair bounce around like a fluffy firework display on his face. He patted his backpack a few times before springing up out of the bench and slinging the bag over his shoulder.

His shoes slightly sank into the grass when he walked, making his dark-reddish Vans muddy. He kept walking onward, looking around for his friends. Well, a friend. As he continued, he felt the cold mud begin to cake to the bottoms of his shoes, only causing water to fill inside them. "Damn it." He cursed under his breath. His voice was raspy and barely audible. He shook his leg, hoping to free the bits of mud from his shoes and maybe get some of the soaked-in water out in the process. Two birds with one stone.

He began running along a tree-lined street, trying to find the meeting spot. "The big tree down on Cherry St. You literally can't miss it, Felix."

Cheyanne's words were always blunt and to the point, but she had a sense of compassion to the things she said, no matter how harsh they seemed. The boy finally approached the tree, but came to a bit of a hault. Before he could be noticed, he ducked downwards. Micheal was there. Everyone just calls him Mike since he hates his full name. No one could tell you why he hated it, but you definitely don't want to call him it.

Felix looked over at them both. A pang of jealousy practically stabbed into him as he watched Cheyanne lean into Mike. Her long, messy, ginger hair getting in her face as she pressed her lips against Mike. Mike's broad shoulders made him look absolutely massive compared to her.

Felix walked home. He didn't bother walking up to hangout anymore. He didn't care. Why would he care? It doesn't matter anyways. He stuffed his hand in his pocket, messing around with the contents of it. An empty gum wrapper and a thing of chapstick. Cherry chapstick. It was Cheyanne's. He had planned to give it back today, but nevermind. It probably touched Mike's lips. He made a slightly disgusted face, but couldn't help pressing it against his own lips, letting the cherry scent fill his nose as he held his eyes tightly shut. He felt tears welling up at the corners of his eyes, but wiped them away and put it down on his nightstand. Cherries.