Disclaimer: I don't own the game I'm writing about. Joke's on me. Ba-dum-tss.

This was for my own frustrations with a severe lack of inspiration and motivation. For when the words aren't coming when you want them to, and if they're even the words you're looking for. And Toby is such a sweet soul, so I'm glad I could finally write something for him.

Special thanks to Accidentally The Whole Fanfic who accidentally (haha username puns) helped me get my kick back with some kind, encouraging words and a handful of awesome fanfics. Go check out his stories – he's one of the funniest authors around here, and he's got a little bit of everything. His writing got me back on my feet, so I couldn't be more grateful. Inspiration is a wonderful thing. Thanks again!

This is a three-shot! Because I've never done one of those before. It was fun. :)

Thanks for reading!

Someone Loves You

It wasn't that he was lazy. Well, some would argue that laziness was precisely the only vice of Toby's. But he didn't like to think of it that way, and he thought quite a lot about it. Rest should be well-respected among the other various aspects of good health. What's the harm in a good nap? Or two? Or ten?

Maybe he was a bit over-zealous.

Whatever the case, Toby was feeling quite out of his element. He was the guy anyone could count on for a nice, carefree chat. Or just some good, silent company in the afternoon. The let-loose-and-unwind guy. The lean-on-my-shoulder type. So for him to be working so furiously on something in a clear attitude of 'I-don't-want-to-be-bothered' was strange indeed.

Though he thought he should be – what with his easygoing, observant outlook on life – Toby was not in any way, shape, or form a scribe. But, oh, how he needed to be!

Toby rolled his shoulders, trying to get comfortable against the old birch trunk. He peered over at his motionless fishing rod sticking straight up out of the grass where he had planted it. The bobber for the freshwater fishing he was doing on the side remained motionless in the still part of the river. With a sigh for the lack of event, Toby was forced to stare back down at his empty notebook page.

The idea had come from out of the blue, like an elusive shadow under the surface of the water. Toby had been struggling since one particular Tuesday when the farmer from the Clarinet District didn't just bring him some of the usual, extra rice.

Toby had been fishing – typical of him – down by the seashore on the outskirts of town. He was hunkered down in the sand, feeling quite content with the warm sun and scent of the salty sea. The fish weren't biting, but that hardly mattered. It was almost nine anyways.

He furtively glanced over his shoulder and found himself disappointed. Maybe there wasn't any extra today. It's not like he was waiting to be fed like the rest of her livestock, good gracious. He wasn't desperate for a meal even though he had stopped bringing his box of onigiri around with him just in case she'd show up. But there was no mistaking it was something Toby had begun to look forward to.

Molly's thumping foot falls echoed against the hard-packed path behind him. Yes! She's here!

Toby played it off casually, rising to his feet and dusting the sand from his clothes. He waited in anticipation, hoping he wasn't looking like too much of a space cadet. He had a nasty habit of drifting that he needed to get in control of or else he'd look like an idiot in front of her. Again.

Steeling himself, Toby turned as suavely as he could with an approachable smile. "Hey, Mo—uh…"

Hayden's gruff beard was where the top of Molly's head should have been. In Toby's imagination anyways. He quickly gripped his rod with both hands, looking back out at the ocean. "Er… morning!"

"G'mornin,'" Hayden greeted in his low baritone, side stepping him to go further down the beach. He held a burlap bag and a trowel, collecting clams for the Brass Bar's Tuesday special.

Well, that was embarrassing… At least Toby hadn't called him 'Molly' outright. So it could have been worse, he supposed.

"Hey, Toby!"

Toby's heart jumped so severely he almost threw his pole. Quickly turning, he found the object of his thought ramblings wearing her usual, sunny smile. She was holding a neatly-tied kerchief in her little hands. He fumbled for a greeting as he tried to smile naturally back at her. "Hello, Molly!"

Molly was still staring at him expectantly. "What's kickin?'"

"Er, uh…" Toby scratched at his head. Quick, say something cool! "Um, not the fish? Haven't had a bite… all… morning. Good morning! By the way."

That's exactly what he was going for. Tripping over his tongue like a fish out of water. He deserved it if Molly laughed in his face. There's a special place in the realm of stupid for people as thick as you.

"Aw, shame to hear that," she sympathized, rocking on her heels. She seemed to be completely oblivious to his awkwardness, which Toby was incredibly grateful for. She sent a jolt through him as she happily slapped him on the back for support. "But, hey, you're not all out of luck! I made too much rice again, and I know how much you like sashimi…"

"Sashimi?" His eyebrows shot up in surprise. Toby watched as she pulled the knot loose and opened the box, presenting it to him. Along with two rice balls sat a completed bento with sashimi and soy sauce in a poor, yet carefully arranged display. So cute…

"Ta-da!" Molly cheered, slamming the lid back down. She bunched the fabric instead of re-tying it and set it on the sand next to Toby's sandals. She popped back up, winding her hands behind her back with the wind catching her soft locks of hair. "There's plenty to go around today, so promise you'll take a lunch break super soon! Gotta keep up your strength wrestling in all those monster hauls!"

"I… promise…" was all Toby could manage to say.

"Cool! Catch ya later!" She gave him a merry salute and was on her way. Molly made sure to say a quick hello to Hayden as well before she disappeared up the path towards town.

Much like Toby wasn't a writer, Molly was not a chef. Even so, Toby loved when she made him food. She had been on Castanet for a few years now; there was no way she was still making too much for herself. Molly was going out of her way to bring Toby a lunch, and he appreciated it. It was the nicest thing anyone had ever done for him, and she did it rather consistently. His only worry at this point was that if Molly thought he was completely helpless and was in need of her charity. Someday, he'd have to give her something just as nice in return.

And there it began.

If it wasn't obvious enough, Toby was unequivocally smitten with a girl who couldn't shape a rice ball. But she was so much more than that to him. She was cheery and optimistic and driven like nobody else. She was a laugh on cloudy days and sweet sunshine when it rained. When she was mad, he got angry for her. When she was feeling blue, he was glum, too. He wanted to just sit with her and enjoy her presence. She was outgoing and radiant and just… so wonderful. And so totally out of reach.

Of course, Molly was popular. She was familiar with all of the townsfolk, having a schedule packed with socializing. She went to the bar, knocking 'em back with the guys. She'd spend her busy days hopping between the various shops to visit with the families and lend a helping hand. All of the girls said she was the sweetest friend they had, and all of the guys were desperate to get her attention.

Toby knew he'd lose in the end to the real Casanovas. The guys like Owen with the impressive muscles and kind spirit to match. Or Calvin who was dashing and mysterious in every way imaginable. Molly had even befriended the surliest of his peers, keeping inside jokes with Chase and getting on Gill's good side. With so many superior choices, it sounded ludicrous that Molly would ever go for the boy who smelled like tuna.

Which forced Toby to think differently. He had to do something special to set himself apart, but he had to save his own skin when it all inevitably went south. Something memorable but not scarring. Something meaningful but safe.

So Toby spent his pocket change at the General Store, getting a weird look from Barbara when he selected a red spiral notebook and a box of cheap pens. "Are you sure that's all you need, honey?"

"This is it," he happily replied, feeling confident in his plan as he handed her the coins.

"Alrighty, then!" She sang, cashing it into the register with a merry trill. Barbara offered him a bag, which he declined as he tucked his purchases into his lunch basket. "Have some thoughts you need to scribble down?"

"Something like that. You take care!" Toby bowed to her in farewell and escaped her shop.

He snuck by the quiet house on the hill on his way to a good spot by the river, peering around like he was going to be caught red-handed. Why he felt so skittish, he wasn't so sure other than it being his go-to feeling whenever he was around Molly. And her house was just as chipper as she always was. So well-rounded and well-kept. His feet paused on the path as he appreciated the farm in full from the gables of her little home to the impressive barn and her sweeping fields. To think that Molly could work so hard to make this place look the way it did and still have time to visit him with extra rice made his heart swell.

A cow made eye contact with him and loudly mooed, swishing its tail at the flies. Toby quickly hurried along.

Down the hill, across the river, and into the woods Toby walked until he was in a quiet, shady niche. It was the perfect spot to cast out his rod and get to work on writing Molly a poem.

Toby had decided a poem was just the thing he wanted to write. It'd get his feelings across to her, and Molly would see how pensive and sophisticated and all of that important romance stuff he could be. And he always had a fondness for snail mail. There was something special about opening a mailbox and finding an envelope sent from a friend. This would set him apart!

He sat himself down in front of an old birch tree, testing that the grass wasn't too wet as he plopped down and got comfy. Toby propped up his knees, took out his new notebook, and uncapped a fresh pen. He settled in, waiting for the magic of inspiration to happen.

It wasn't long before Toby began fidgeting. He casted his fishing rod again and again, never happy with where the bobber sat. When he finally stopped fiddling with it, his hand found the grass to tug. And the clouds in the sky were so clean and white, just like pillows for daydreamers like him.

"Too distracting…" he muttered, shaking his head. "Focus! Poem. For Molly…"

Before he could begin to wonder at the prose of verse, Toby found his penmanship had become atrocious over the years. He hadn't properly written anything since his school days, and it showed in his crooked lines and sloppy curves of text. So he tediously practiced his letters, remembering his cursive little by little like riding a bicycle again. The first few pages of his notebook were soon filled with the alphabet. Then it was on to the phrases.

Toby was at a loss. He wrote the classic things that came to mind like 'beauty' and 'roses' and 'heart' and all of that, but he felt like he wasn't getting Molly down as well as he was channeling his inner Julius. This didn't suit Molly at all. It was all wrong.

He flipped to a new page and rested his head back against the tree, staring up at the gaps where he could see sky through the leaves.

The image was similar to a time when he was napping under a tree. In the late afternoon when the sun was cozy, but the bugs were still few. And an acorn had tumbled into his lap.

Toby looked down at the seed in curiosity, staring up and half-expecting to find an angry squirrel with a whole arsenal of nuts to chuck at his head. Instead, he found the upside down face of a brunette. "Hey, Toby!"

His eyes grew wide, wondering how long she had been there. Was he drooling in his sleep?! "Molly? What are you doing up there?"

"Oh, you know… just hanging around," she slyly said, dangling her arms down. Her legs were wrapped around a thick branch, making the blood rush to her head for her bat-like maneuver.

"Be careful; you're up there pretty high!" Toby scrambled to stand to catch her if need be.

But Molly just swung herself upright with a chuckle. "Yeah, yeah, you worrywart…"

What was she to him? What was… Molly…?

Toby jumped with a start, the notebook falling from his lap. His pole had been roughly yanked forward while he wasn't paying attention, but the bobber was floating in waves of ripples on its side in the water. Toby went and collected his rod from the shore and reeled in the empty line, thinking he was grateful the fish wasn't big enough to steal his trusty rod, just the bait.

He remembered when something similar happened to Molly. She was fishing with him on a steep slope after a hard rain the previous day. She got a bite on her line, but she wasn't expecting to put up such a fight to keep it. The fish jerked her forward, and she shot down the grass like a penguin on ice. Toby dropped his rod and ran to help her, but Molly pulled herself up on her own, covered head to toe in mud, but in her hand was the end of the line with her first huchen wriggling on the hook.

By the time his line was cast out into the reeds and Toby was sat down yet again after a search for his discarded pen, he felt like he was back to square one. He paged through his work and found nothing he could salvage. But at least he wasn't writing like a troll now.

Think! If you could tell her anything, what would you say?

Toby racked his brains for something, anything. To impress. To really wow. But he couldn't think of a way to amaze Molly when he was so floored by her himself. What could he possibly do for her?

He found himself humming 'my Molly sails over the ocean, my Molly sails over the sea' before he was sure he was going to lose his mind to this. Toby could fill the page with how she was just so great and pretty and kind, but they were all empty compliments unless he could find a way to make her believe them. To prove it.

Forget about alliterations and rhyme scheme and all the rest! Just… write what she is. Write Molly.

"Write… Molly," he whispered aloud.

Instead of trying to pin himself down, he let his head go to the clouds, and he began.

You are… the most important person in my life.

Toby paused, suddenly realizing the truth. Her goofy grins and her casual shrugs with her hands in her pockets. When she'd tromp around in her farm boots or energetically wave like they were being reunited after years and years even though it was the span of a few hours. Deep in his heart, he understood what he needed to tell her.

But I don't know who you are.
I don't know what's behind your radiant smiles.
I don't know if you like being busy or if you just wound up that way.
I don't know what makes your stomach turn or makes your heart jump.
I don't know you at all.
But I want to.
I want to know everything about you.
I want to understand what it's like to walk in your shoes.
You're the strongest person I've never known.
You're the most beautiful person I've never seen.
I want to be your behind the scenes.
And I want to make you feel as special and amazing and lucky as you make me feel every time you look at me.
Even if I never can, I just wanted you to know that…
Someone loves you.

It turned out more like a letter than a poem, but that was just fine with him. A letter was safer than dabbling in poetry and embarrassing himself any more than he needed to.

Toby rewrote it once, twice, and then three times on a clean sheet towards the middle of the notebook for good measure. He meticulously tore it from the binding, careful not to leave any bumpy edges. He closed his book and stared down at the finished product, finding more space left over than he expected to see.

Chewing on his lip, Toby signed his name at the bottom and folded the paper into thirds. Slapping it under the cover of his notebook, he hid it all away in his lunch basket and stared out at the water feeling queasy. Now he just had to put it in her mailbox and never talk to her again.

Sounds like a plan.