It had happened suddenly. One moment he was crossing the road, the next, he had awoken in hospital. His brother had been stood in front him, his face baring slightly more emotion than usual. "B-Bro?" He'd choked out weakly, vision distorted despite his dry eyes. "Everything's gone blurry dude."

They'd called for the doctor and he'd appeared immediately, shining the ophthalmoscope into his glossy eyes and looking up with pity at the boy's brother, wondering if he'd noticed the absolute lack of response from his younger sibling.

"Dave? You okay little man?" His brother had spoken firmly, his deep voice wavering slightly.

"I feel fine Bro. I just can't see anything."

Ten years later and not much had changed for Dave and his brother. They both still wore shades almost permanently so it looked more like a fashion statement if anything, and he made sure he still looked cool, even if he couldn't look into a mirror and see this for himself.

Dave had remained almost the same as before as well, the same weak, half-smile, the same hobbies of playing video games and listening to loud rap music, the same dislike of puppets, and swords that fell out of the fridge when he went to get a drink. Perhaps he had become slightly more cynical than before, but that came naturally with growing up, and his childhood had been much harder than others, although he would always be the last to admit it.

Change was something he'd had to adapt to suddenly, messily, with no plan or desire for the experience. He'd felt his life had been dull and devoid of meaning before the accident, but with the loss of his sight he'd gained a new vision of the world, a darker,more sinister life had been handed to him, by a person he knew he'd never even get to see.

But when the letter came through the door that damp grey morning, he picked it up with shaking hands and knew instantly it was for him. The smell of rain lingered on the smooth paper envelope, and he knew it must of been hand delivered as no dryness remained about it. The postman had not been the one to deliver this mysterious package, that much was clear. He knew it was for him, the braille on the front told him as much, and so he walked carefully up to his room with it, silent and thoughtful.

A slight anger filled him as his first thoughts came up with the idea that his Bro had sent this letter, to somehow make him feel better about himself. Or perhaps one of his lame 'friends', as part of some practical jape, a pointless letter reading "you suck" or something of the same comedic level. He very rarely received letters and when he did they would be addressed to his brother, and were often just letters from the school or hospital, things he really couldn't care less about.

With slight embarrassment he attempted to open the package, this was not something he had experience with, but with a quiet tear he had succeeded in removing the thin paper from it's encasing and was holding in his damp hands something written entirely in braille, and for the first time in his life he was unsure about what next to do.

He weighed out his options. The letter could only be from someone who knew his full name and address, knew he was blind, and, due to the lack of stamp and the hand delivery, must either live nearby or, as bizarre as the idea sounded to him, did not want anyone else to come into contact with the letter barre himself.

The idea that either his Bro or a friend had written this letter seemed more and more likely, but he decided against ignoring the letter and knew he had to read on, even if it had just been written for a cheap laugh at his expense.

Dear David... The letter began.

You don't know me, but I know you. Okay, so maybe I don't exactly know you, but I do know enough about you to write with the knowledge that you will read and, hopefully, respond to this letter.

My name is John. And ten years ago my father hit you with his car. His wife, (not my mother, however) had just died and he was on the way to the hospital. He never actually admitted to me that it was he who hit you but I worked it out for myself. I'm pretty smart like that, heh. He has this private study, see, and well...he's kind of become a bit obsessed with the case. He has all these newspaper clippings and...wait, no, I shouldn't say all this now. I can tell you more in person, if you agree to meet me that is, which is basically what this whole letter was meant to be about.

But it appears I've gone slightly off track. Oops. Anyway, I'll be at the Starbucks on the corner of Oak Street at 1PM tomorrow if you wanna meet. I have a lot of stuff to tell you that you may just find interesting. But please, don't come all angry and shit. You may of noticed I have not yet apologised for my father's actions. That is because I believe he is the only one who can offer any sort of meaningful apology for what he has done to you. But however, it's any consolation, I hate him just as much as you do, if not more. It's a long story. A really long one. Almost as long as this crappy letter has ended up being.

So, uh, yeah. Yours truly and stuff, John.

Dave stared at the letter, reading it over and over with more difficulty each time. What was this? Some sort of sick prank? Would his friends really stoop this low? It didn't seem like it was written by any of them but he couldn't be sure. It could of been Terezi, an ex-girlfriend of his but a person with whom he remained close friends with. She was also blind and so had slight experience with Braille. No. Not even she would do such a lame thing.

He ran through names in his head. Karkat? Sollux? They were both douchebags that he spent most of recess and lunch with but he doubted they'd be smart enough to deliver such a well executed prank. Jade? Rose? Kanaya? Nah, those chicks were too nice and also probably had better things to do with their time. He also doubted this was the work of his Bro because these days he was rarely even around anymore, plus he knew Dave hated him so he doubted he'd want him to dislike him anymore.

So the letter was real. Wow. So this John person was telling the truth. Shit. He hadn't heard anything from the driver in ten years and then suddenly on one random day in July he ends up with a letter from the guys son? He hadn't even mentioned what age he was, or even his second name, so looking him up was out of the question. He saw no other option than to meet this mysterious person who seemed extremely lame and dorky, if not slightly well-spoken, and see what he really had to say.

And if it so happened that John never turned up, or he was greeted with one of his snickering friends instead, then so be it.

It's not like he had anything to lose.