Stupid. Unfathomable and oh, so stupid.

How long had he been wandering Kingsport? He had lost track of the hour but the sun had almost sunk below the horizon and a night winter chill that spring had not yet succeeded in evicting was starting to creep into Gilbert's bones.

Realizing he had arrived at an empty block he sank onto a large stone in a small park and closed his eyes as the memories he had been avoiding flooded his mind, unwantedly.

Could it have been an hour? Maybe two? since he had made that godawful proposal. Idiot, he chided himself, head sliding into his hands.

The logical part of his brain was already categorizing and analyzing his botched attempt in securing his beloved into his store of Anne-memories.

She rejected my proposal- she doesn't love me

The memory of that sweet, tender blush at Miss Lavender's wedding- unfeelingly, Gilbert's relentlessly logical mind tore that memory from the 'she loves me' category and forced it into the 'Gilbert is an idiot' category. Gilbert's bruised heart lurched at this change.

If he was to get over this he would need to thoroughly understand what had gone wrong, he reasoned. This is like any math problem, he thought, I can find the solution and move on. He concentrated on this thought but no matter how forcefully he concentrated, his body would not relax, his eyes would not stop burning, and his breath refused to come back to his control.

Anne Shirley's tortured grey eyes and perfect lips forming the words 'forgive me' persisted in dominating his thoughts. A pained 'humpf' escaped his lips and he wildly opened his eyes to ensure he was still alone. Finally gaining his bearings, he gave up on the solitude lent to him by the park and took off towards his boarding house.

All their intimate jokes- shuffled from 'she loves me' to 'she loves me not'

The dances they had shared together at many Redmond socials- 'she loves me not'

That night where Charlie had accidently gotten drunk off a punch and, attempting to impress queen Anne, was trying to pass off the poem 'The Highway Man' as his own creation, evidently forgetting the day that Anne herself had recited said poem. Face red with supressed mirth, Anne had taken Gilbert by the arm and dragged him to the back of their walking group of friends and they had laughed until they cried, out of hearing of poor Charlie.

Another 'not' memory.

Not. Not. Not. With every step he was reminded of every time he had let himself believe she had cared.

The memories came faster and faster until he found himself reliving a particularly sweet memory of a walk they had shared down lover's lane that had long been cherished by Gilbert and hurt that much more on its relocation to the 'not' category. He was interrupted by a friendly holler of "Blythe!" that barely succeeded in piercing through his haze of subconscious.

Cormac Hannigan had hesitated a moment in calling out to his friend, realizing something was missing in the walk of the familiar set of shoulders he had spotted and unsure if that could, indeed, be the confident, jovial captain of his football team. Faced with the prospect of continuing the long, chilly walk to their shared boarding house alone, he had decided to call out in faith and was rewarded by one of the whitest faces he had ever seen. 'Oy mate, are you alright?' a startled Cormac hurried to close the distance between himself and the revered Blythe.

Gilbert felt his mouth forming the word 'yes' before he thought better of it and mutely shook his head and muttered something unintelligible about not feeling well. While Cormac was a nice enough guy, he was not exactly a kindred spirit. He did, however, find himself grateful for the intrusion as Cormac was a natural born problem solver and got himself and Gilbert to their boarding house in a quarter of the time it would have taken to walk by hailing a passing buggy.

Upon delivering his beloved captain to his dormitory, Cormac was rewarded by a clap on the shoulder and a gruff 'thanks' as a worn Gilbert stumbled wearily into his room. This was more than enough thanks for Cormac who, truthfully, held the older man in a bit of awe and was hoping that their interaction would allow him access to the company of one of the more coveted houses of ladies at Redmond. As he walked away from Gilbert's room he could not help but dream lazily about a certain crooked smile and easy laugh near a warm fire on a cold night.

The floor of the aforementioned room took a beating that night as one of the owners of the shared habitation paced back and forth, hazel curls becoming wilder and wilder as the night wore on. Passing the hanging mirror on the wall, the weary walker finally paused to address himself. Life moves on, Blythe, he glared at the very pale reflection looking back at him. You're not dying, you're fine and there are other girls (No there aren't! shrieked his heart) "you WILL be fine" he said out-loud in a growl, perceiving the uncertainty behind his normally warm hazel eyes. He was resolute in his return to normalcy but when Charlie Sloan returned a few hours later that night he was greeted by the view of a broad-shouldered back of a Gilbert pretending to be asleep.

It would be hours before his pretense became a reality – a sleepless night was the curse of every single one of Anne Shirley's rejected suitors.