Her name was Amy Sloan; a Scottish-American redheaded girl with dreams of becoming a writer.

She was the serious type, with her hair tied up in a bun that was tighter than her pursed rosy lips.

At first, Stefan felt that she wasn't his type; or, at least, she wasn't the kind of girl he usually went for.

He first met her when he went to a small diner for breakfast. And he could remember how she looked in the morning

sun's rays; fiery red hair with spirited green eyes that stood out louder than her yellow waitress uniform as she

served him bacon and eggs.

For the life of him, he couldn't understand why but he was hooked.

He started going to the diner every morning before he had to go to the academy for his basic training.

Stefan thought that Amy either didn't like men much or she might've just been a bit shy.

Either way, that smile that cracked her monotonous features had him curious and he started sitting closer to the front

register and made small talk.

After a few weeks, finding out that she was working at that tiny hole in the wall to save up for a good school, her

favorite color was purple, and Hemmingway was her favorite writer, he even managed to make her giggle with some

of his old jokes.

Finally, Stefan got up the courage to invite her out for drinks one night.

Amy, surprisingly, wasn't much of a drinker, yet she kept slamming down those fruit cocktails to keep her throat

from getting dry as they chatted.

After they both were a feeling a bit warmer than usual, Stefan walked her home.

Amy had felt safe enough around him to start humming and he joined her sweet tune by whistling as they strolled

down the street. And when they got to her house, she pecked him on the cheek and said she'll see him tomorrow; it

was cherry pie day, his favorite.

After that, they started spending even more time together. And some of Stefan's best memories are of them pushing

each other on the swings at the park, him helping her cook in the diner on his days off, and them even getting into a

playful argument over whether books or movies were better.

Everything was going great.

But, one day, Stefan had finally gotten word about his promotion to officer and he would be starting the following

week; and it was customary to go out drinking with fellow graduates.

Stefan was understandably plastered and he went home to sleep it off.

There will never come a day when he doesn't regret refusing those drinks and heading to the diner to see Amy, the

wonder that maybe his presence could've changed everything that happened that night.

While Stefan slept safely in his bed, Amy was working late and serving leftovers and what remained of that day's

cake. Some boys stumbled in, drunk, the smell of alcohol seemingly seeping from their pores by the stench that

emanated from them.

A couple of them wanted coffee and Amy gave them what they requested.

That was, until one of them grabbed her rear end and she backhanded him across the face.

That resulted, as Amy had told him, the coffee pitcher getting knocked out of her hand as she was shoved hard

enough for her back to hit the countertop.

Stefan groggily woke up and opened his apartment door to see his girlfriend with a black eye, the buttons on her

uniform ripped, and mascara running down her cheeks.

Thankfully, a torn uniform and a black eye were as far as those bastards got before the head cook heard the

commotion and scared them off with a kitchen knife.

Stefan did his best to comfort Amy, icing her sore face and telling her it was all over.

But, something inside him just told him to shut his mouth, unable to say much more, anyways, with the younger

woman shivering in his arms.

He hated it when she cried, he felt helpless and he really did believe, for awhile, that it was his fault that he wasn't

there to stop it.

After taking a few days off from work, Amy had decided that it would be better if she moved up to Washington.

She thought it would be safer up there, and she could still find a nice college to attend once she saved up enough

money.

Stefan tried to talk her out of it, promising that what happened was just one time, he would never let anything

happen to her again.

But her mind was made up.

Amy easily forgave him for his choice to stay behind in Los Angeles.

After all, his life was here, he seemed to belong here more than her, anyway.

On the day that she and her family were about to pull out of their driveway for the last time, Stefan gave Amy a ring

from a crackerjack box; it was all he could afford at the time, at least until he had enough to buy her a proper ring.

She smiled and gave him an envelope that had a poem she wrote for him, about their time together, and a small lock

of her hair to remember her by.

He promised that he would see her again someday, and she said she believed him as she kissed him goodbye.

But maybe it was just wishful thinking…

Stefan was heartbroken.

Sure, he had been with enough women - and an equal amount of breakups - but she was the one where he actually

felt the pain of a breakup.

The guys tried to help him get back on his feet, a little drinking here, a little dancing there.

He didn't know when, but he suddenly found himself being okay with the decision of putting the envelope in his

drawer and forgetting about it.

He still thinks about her sometimes, and he wonders if he'll walk by a bookstore and see her name written on a

cover someday.

+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.+.

Hey, everyone, long time no see! (Er, write!)

I've been a bit busy with some cosplay plans for this summer, but, since it's May – the 5th anniversary for Alan

Wake and 4th anniversary for L.A. Noire, two of my favorite games – I hope to sit down and catch up on my writing.

I wrote this back on February 28th on my role-play page, and I wasn't sure if I should post it…

But, I did add the noir prompt stories, after all, so I figured I should post this one as well.

I wrote this as part of a Valentine's Day prompt and I was inspired by some of Stefan's dialogue in the game.

I remembered how enthusiastic he sounded when he talked to Cole about redheads, and made another comment

about how he detested crying; so I used those two pieces of dialogue as motifs for the prompt!

At any rate, I'll do my best to write more, but it'll probably be a bit of a crawl for the next while.

((Believe me, I have a long list of ideas for both L.A. Noire and Deadly Premonition, it's just a matter of time and

patience! On top of that, I'd like to write something for Alan Wake, because it's very sentimental for me, but more

on that another time.))

Until next time!

Lin