sit with me awhile [write to me sequel]

[sit with me awhile]

The water's freezing, the cold soaking into his bones as he kicks his feet at the passing fish.

With the sun peeking over the horizon, barely lighting the lake or the trees, one would think the air is just as chilled. It's the opposite- warm and heavy with the scent of summer, something sweet and floral. The perfect temperature.

Willy's cheeks flush crimson as if he just finished an hour-long run, or if he were running a fever. Scooting closer to the edge, he sticks his long, lanky legs further into the coolness, soaking the ends of his shorts. Mud squishes between his toes as he digs them in deeper. Something wiggles against the soles, perhaps a worm or even a snake, but he's not too worried about it.

He slips further into the water until fully engulfed. The contrast between hot and cold burns his flesh in an oddly pleasant way. Willy remains beneath the surface for a long time, the pressure in his ears or the need to breathe not a pressing issue or even a concern.

No, if anything, the only things that hurt are his eyes. They're sore, heavy, and somehow dry even when submerged. He can barely keep them open to admire the beauty within the water. Schools of tiny colorful fish, bright blue crabs crawling among the moss and iridescent rocks, seahorses whizzing around each other as if playing a game of tag.

Willy wants to watch it all, wants to swim out there and join the underwater creatures, but he can barely see.

He can't remember the last time his eyes hurt this much.

Hell, the last time he cried like this-

There's laughter.

It's muffled, deep.

Willy squints through the pain, searching the water, but the source of the laughter isn't down here.

Of course not, he thinks. Fish can't laugh.

The water breaks and he takes a gulp of fresh air. He spits, blowing his nose and shaking his head, droplets spraying from his sopping locks.

The laughter is clear now.

"Oh, c'mon!"

The crash of a can.

High-pitched whimpers.

Willy rubs at his eyes, wincing.

"Really?!"

A voice responds, something gargled like if a walker tried to talk.

It's enough for him to pull forward, clinging to the land and climbing up, still rubbing his eyes on his arms and blinking away any blurriness brought on by the water.

Frantic, exuberant barking.

His eyes- his ears- they're lying to him. They have to be.

Royal purple adorns the front of Louis' shirt as a man- someone unrecognizable- flings a paintbrush at him. Rosie jumps and barks with excitement as she chases after it.

Willy becomes rigid, half stuck in the cold water at the sight before him. He blinks several times, but nothing changes.

Louis dodges to the side, the paintbrush smacking against the side of the house-

The house?

Willy hurts his neck cranking it back to try and see the top of the half-painted house- no, not a house- half-painted mansion but all he sees are clouds. Big, fluffy, gray clouds high up in the orange and lavender sky hide the rest of the building, and for the first time since his growth spurt, Willy feels small.