Or Wait

In fact, a good few minutes after they'd left Freya's and Fauna's, Lucha broke down and told him the whole thing.

Crying for Lyla, crying for himself and his awkwardness, or crying for those stupid skinny jeans? Well no matter. He was bawling, and that was that.

Deli traces a finger along his soft brown cheek, over the bridge of his nose, swirling about his other one. He's looking out the window of his simple brown home, elbows digging into the sill. It's dark out now... flowers still brushing about the horizon, so careless, so free.

His hand drops to the latch, squeezes up the glass, and in a heavenly scent waves. Must be those peach trees... psh, he always wondered why they had a couple. Like, what? Some apple, okay, Wherford was originally an apple farm or whatever it was, he can't remember, but peach trees: hookay. It's just been one of those weird silly things. He pointed it out to Lucha once, who took this big double take and quietly asked him, "And I was supposed to react to this how?"

It's hard being the best friend of a once-hermit. Harder than being friends with a hermit, because at least you're used to the fact that they know nothing. Now it's a bit annoying going on walks with that derp. He wishes Midge came back and picked on him some more. She'll surely be around again... but maybe not that soon.

She probably shouldn't be around, if all of a sudden it changed to spring. Like... what the heck is that supposed to mean? Maybe there's a light switch around here somewhere, and it got stuck on gloomy late autumn, broken and dark and steamy, and now it's... well, it's not fixed, fixed would be... like, august or something. At least, that's what it was in Marsh before it all happened.

Well. If Marsh is gonna go missing, he supposes he doesn't need to go out anymore. That was the only place he went anyways. Heh... that kinda sounds like a sad way to live, doesn't it? He'd get some slack if it wasn't here he was just fine staying in... but it is. Whether or not it changed to spring... whether or not Wherford always stayed the same, gloomy and dark and annoying, well, he'd be fine. Fine enough... sure, it wouldn't be perfect, but he'd live with it.

Deli didn't know what to say when his best friend told him someone else couldn't sleep either. It was... surprising, to say the least. Psh, maybe now someone else will make an effort—intentional or no—to understand him. Oh, gosh, that's a weird thought. Pahahaha...

Then again, everything's been weird since that morning Lucha wobbled up on his highly underused legs and stumbled all the way to Deli's house. Honestly. Ever since his friend started acting strangely... like, since when has the guy looked forward to anything other than those silly anime showtimes of his? N-No, seriously... since when has he cried that much since before his hermiting... hoo.

Man, is Deli gonna go through all that too? He... doesn't think so. Naw. Deli's too worn down, too run in his ways—like an old man—to escape. He's been around living so easily and simply for so long... a best friend who spent more time with screens than faces, a big family and the life of a middle child, older parents more keen on answering the television than their son's questions... hah. It's not that it was their fault, though... he doesn't even know what family he came from. Just one big group of monkeys... he doesn't look like his so-called parents.

It's funny. He thinks it's funny.

Either way, he likes Lucha's family more than his own. Practically their adopted son instead. The adopted son chooses a second adopted family... man, there might be some rotten symbolism clouded in there.

No, he's fine. He's fine. He's not all emotional like that... besides, it takes a lot out of you to stay up all night and sleep when everyone else is awake. He tries but... he loses consciousness a lot too.

Yawning, the monkey lifts from his window, and, turning, places his fingers upon the handle of his front door. His amethyst orbs twinkle somewhat as he turns and leaves.

Hey, he doesn't have to listen to her. He'll go on walks all alone at night if he feels like it. He'll play by the rules when they're watching closely, but everything else is reasonably fair game. Lucha came with him once but it gave him nightmares, so. Lucha's not a night owl. They learned something that day.

Well that's sad. Lucha's such a big piece of his life; meanwhile his birdy best friend is complaining about that crazy girl stealing and wearing all his skinny jeans. Deli chuckles, long and slow, to nobody but himself in the great darkness. There's a few stars, although never a moon... he usually finds his way back home alright, and when he doesn't, eh, no big.

Lights off in his humble bamboo home, and he might as well be huddled under the blankets inside.

Deli's nose twitches. Where was that peach tree again? Somewhere over here... a little south, some west—ah, that's bark under his hands. He quietly clambers up the tree—bark shattering about him—and plucks a couple fuzzy fruits from above. Then stays in the tree. He's not picky; plus, if you shift around a little, toy with the branches, you get a good sight of the stars.

Also being shrouded in the leaves makes him feel alone. It's not a scary feeling, more peaceful than anything.

How many children were in his family again? It was seven or nine, something outrageously big—and odd—he was the direct middle child. You can only imagine how loud it was there. And oh, the teasing, the roughhousing, the pranks. Oh, the pranks. Man that was the best part about being the middle child: no one blamed it on you. It was almost always him, let's be honest. Something he can know and keep all to himself. It feels warm, holding secrets.

Deli's not scared of very many things. Losing a core relationship—yeah, he'd rather not—and maybe the occasional hurricane, but... that's about it.

He takes a big bite out of one of his peaches. Gurrrumph. Chews slowly, eyes closed. He loves peaches. So sweet, so soft. Mmm... Makes quick work of the peach, drops the pit, but he saves the second.

Leaving his shrouding of leaves—it kinda sucks being this unnoticed—ah well—he's accepted it—Deli hops down and strolls around some more. There's a little pond up north of here he sometimes swims in, sometimes just chills by. It's good for washing off peach juice. Oh, so sticky. He licks at his lips, rubs his sticky fingers together. Everywhere, too. Maybe he will swim.

Well, then he'd better get finished up soon.

Deli darts off to that little area—between the pond, river, and before the cobblestone plaza. He digs off into the earth, tears up the peach, and plops the little pit into the soft, loamy soil.

Oh! His bucket!

He makes a stop at his house, grabs a little plastic kid's bucket well-worn and primary-colored, washes himself off, and goes back to his seed. Patting the soil over it carefully, putting the peach bits in there in hopes of good nutrients, he pours water down upon the earth. Once it is finished, he murmurs, "Let it work this time, please let it work this time... Naw, what am I saying." There is a sorrow in his face.

"It's not gonna work this time either. I know this by now... but I hope, for some reason, that this time I'll have a use... that this time something will exist that only I created... something that only I could do. Hah."

But he accepts it. He accepts that while his mind may be rather sharp, this dumb body is so useless. His small smile strengthens as he steps back toward the little pond, pulling off his sweater and jumping into the chilly waters.