First came sense. The strange coldness against the cheek. The splitting pain in the back of the head. Then came vision. The blurred, gradually focusing, image of the leg of the cupboard unusually on its side. Memory came last.

Johnathan blinked, slightly wrinkling his forehead. Slowly understanding where he was, Johnathan carefully tensed his arm muscles and raised up to a sit. Resting his hands on his knees, he blankly stared into the space before him, waiting while his thoughts clear up. His throat was extremely dry, not to mention the immense desire to sleep. All were adverse effects of taking fentanyl. Not that it helped anyway. Sighing, Johnathan grabbed the edge of the table and slowly stood up. The world went swimming again before his eyes, and he grasped the edge to keep himself from falling. The simple walk to the door took a good fifteen minutes. Hesitating next to it, Johnathan leaned his head on the cold metal, deeply breathing and vainly trying to regain his composure. His mind seemed to have lost all control of his muscles, not trembling like tight strings. Johnathan gripped his teeth together and walked out. He was lucky; the corridor was mostly empty due to the prevalence of psychological wards. Johnathan was constantly telling himself to focus, but his confusion kept on slowly chipping away on his consciousness, especially noticeable when he was signing himself out on the reception desk.

"Mr. Crane?" Johnathan jerked, pen twitching in his hand and questioningly looked at Clarke. She answered with the same interrogating look. Damn. It seemed she said something that he didn't hear.

"Did you say something, Evangeline?" Johnathan tiredly rubbed his face with his hand, before looking at her again.

"Yes, sir...I was asking if you were feeling alright," Clarke quietly repeated.

"Yes, yes I'm well," Johnathan wearily answered, writing the time of his departure and placing the pen down.

"Good night, Miss Clarke."

"Good night, Mr. Crane."

He didn't remember his walk home very well. All he could tell were the dark haze of the dark trees around him, then the tiresome walk upstairs, and the irritating fumbling with the keys, who didn't get into the keyhole from the first time. When Johnathan stepped inside his apartment, he tumbled into the first armchair in his reach and collapsed into a restless dream.

Our lovely Freddie,

Don't judge. In some aspect, I did lose the bet. It's horrible without you here. I went to the lectures yesterday.

I ran away right after.

We've been playing nonstop for the past two day. I won again. Wasn't bluffing this time. Actually. I also found myself a job. You won't like it.

I'm sure Johnathan sends his regards inside himself. Somewhere deep. Somewhere very very deep. You know, he has a scientific approach to everything, even to our friendship, assuming that it's a friendship and not a fucking knows what. As for me, you know, I'm an open book. I always want my Freddie back.

Your disobedient friend,

Heath

Heath critically looked at his work, judging if it was nonsense or not. It seemed alright. And yet he was dissatisfied because he couldn't express this suicidal boredom that was eating him day and night, this apathy before the storm which would break out if Freddie wouldn't be here, right this moment. Sighing, Heath lightly blew on the letter, drying away the ink, and, rereading if as he went, placed it on a special shelf he made on the mill's wall. It will have it's debut.

Winnifred critically looked around, lips tightly pressed together. The square was a bonny little place, large fountains plopped in the center. Small boutiques and cafes embroidered it on the edge. Winnifred sighed and, quickly glancing around, dragged over two chairs from the closest cafe and positioned them across each other next to the fountain. Sitting on one of them, stretching the legs on the other, Winnifred, looking around for the final time, sighed and opened her book she took just in case. The light water drops from the fountain strays frosted her back, blown by the small breeze. Her pages ruffled from underneath her fingers. Winnifred uncomfortably shifted in her seat. She couldn't focus.

"Miss Lewly?" Winnifred raised her eyes from the book. Jack was standing next to her, a warm smile painted on his face. Winnifred smiled and closed her book, cover uncomfortably pressing on her fingers between the pages.

"Good day, Mr. Browning," she amiably said, taking her feet off from the chair.

"Take a seat," Jack eagerly took her offer.

"What are you reading?" He inquired, nodding towards her little volume.

"This is," Winnifred quickly glanced on the cover. "Shakespeare. Macbeth. Late Horner has a great library, so I'm taking the chance while I'm still here. So," she stared expectantly at Jack. "Why did you want me to come?"

"Well," Jack leaned back on the metal chair, folding his hands before him.

"I would like to know what's going on in our home town. I haven't been there for five years after all."

Winnifred wrinkled her forehead, looking down on her book and uneasily rubbed its cover with her thumb.

"Nothing much. They tried to fix the roads three years ago, but they never really finished it. Otherwise it stayed pretty much the same as it was. Next question?"

Jack slightly chuckled at her last two words.

"What about moving to a cafe?" He proposed, examining her with his dark eyes.

"Before you get your entire back wet." Winnifred waved him off, scrunching her face, but anyways stood up. They went to the cafe where she rented her chairs, and, now properly sitting, still outside, at a table resumed their conversation.

"You finished college by now right?" Jack confirmed, taking a sip of his lemonade.

"What do you do now?"

Winnifred preferred to take a gulp of coke before answering to his question.

"I have a Bachelors in accounting," she carefully said, trying to catch the smug, knowing grin on Jack's face. It didn't appear.

"Charlotte's becoming an accountant as well. Billy and Sammy will probably go to the black market," Jack's brows slightly rose up. Winnifred hid the smile by taking another sip of her coke. Well that came as a surprise.

"Jacob is going to the editorial office. Mark and Riley'll go working at a local bank, even though I have never met such lazy bankers. And Johnathan is, obviously, a medic."

"Johnathan?" Jack repeated, frowning in confusion.

"You don't remember Johnathan?" Winnifred asked in amusement, stopping making circles with her straw.

"No, I remember everyone else," he hastened to clarify, taking a quick sip of his lemonade.

"But I don't remember...what's his name? Johnathan? Did he come after I left?"

"Never mind," Winnifred waved off. Of course he wouldn't remember Johnathan. They hardly interacted even when he was there. Only by slight encounters in the hospital, not that Browning even had lunatics in his family. Jack carefully studied her face as she slowly lowered into thought.

"And what about Heath?" He cautiously asked, trying to sound indifferent.

"I believe you still interact with him, right?"

Winnifred smirked, leaning back on her chair. The breeze swatted the hair into her face, and she made no attempt to fix it.

"I...I don't know," she carefully said, looking at the straw in her fingers.

"He hasn't told me yet."

Jack's lips slightly twitched. Winnifred quickly glanced up at him, but he already leaned back, calm expression taking over his features. Winnifred felt foreboding pulse in her thumb.

"And how is he?" Jack finally asked. His voice was slightly strained, but otherwise friendly. Winnifred shrugged.

"Well."

They sat for awhile in silence.

"What about you, Jack?" Winnifred finally brushed her hair from her eyes and sighing with a smile. Jack's face scrunched in unconcern, waving her question off with his hand.

"Nothing, really. I entered a prestige college, and now I took over my father's company."

The mention of his father made Winnifred's fingers slightly tense around her glass. Ronald Jim Browning. Jack's protector and financier. One of the reasons why he didn't get into the juvenile along with Heath.

"Is your father well?" Winnifred carefully inquired. Jack's eyes quickly scanned her over.

"Yes, quite." The answer was curt and dry. Winnifred bit the corner of her lip and straightened up in her seat, looking down into her glass. The conversation was suddenly drained of its initial propeller, curiosity, leaving an awkward void. Winnifred sighed, looking to her sides, then abruptly stood up.

"It was a pleasure to see you, Jack," she politely nodded to him. He hastily stood up as well.

"You're leaving?"

Winnifred gave a small smile and shrugged at friendly loss.

"But there's nothing more talk about," she amiably noticed.

"I told you everything that interested you, and now we part as people who had their quarrels with each other, made amends, and now walk away with a satisfied conscience."

This wasn't the exact phrase she had thought up last night while preparing herself for this conversation, but it works as well. But oh, how Jack looks at loss!

"But...can I at least accompany you home?" He a little awkwardly offered, trying to hide his confusion. Winnifred shook her head.

"I'm sorry, but..." The words halted in her throat. Damn it. Damn it all. Winnifred quickly sat back down in her chair, ignoring Jack's confused stare. Her features froze as she gripped the chair's handle. The bubble of darkness and pain burst inside her mind, blackening her out of conscious for a moment, but she jerked the second after. Shaking her head from the abyss, Winnifred raised her gaze back at Browning. He looked pale and his mouth was somewhat parted, as if in an attempt to call someone. He slowly closed it.

"They still continue?" He softly asked. Winnifred sniffed, smelling the blood.

"It's alright actually." She stood up again, gripping her Shakespeare at her side.

"Good day, then, Jack." Jack nodded, following her with his eyes as she left. The expression on his face was something mixed with amusement, trouble, and confusion.

Margaret was sitting on the bed and writing in her diary when Winnifred entered into their room.

"How did it go?" She curiously asked, watching how her cousin throws her sneakers across the room, as well as the jacket and book. Winnifred then fell next face first next to Margaret. Chuckling, the latter passed her fingers through her cousin's locks.

"Well?" She repeated. There was a muffled sigh, and Winnifred rolled over on her back, almost crushing Margaret's fingers in the process.

"Well, I was very polite and careful in what I was saying," Winnifred slightly tilted her head back to see Margaret's face.

"Just like you told me to."

"And he?" Margaret pressed on. Winnifred shrugged.

"And he was polite and careful too. When I mentioned Heath, he got a little tense, but otherwise his composure was even better than mine." Margaret sighed and continued to stroke her hair. Winnifred squeezed her eyes, tired and confused.

"Tell me," she said, without opening her eyes,"Can he really be so..." she stopped, trying to find the right word.

"Nice given your shared history?" Margaret finished with a sigh. Her fingers got caught in one of the hair clumps, and she roughly tore it. Ignoring Winnifred's small cry of pain, she dropped her notebook and pen on the floor, thoughtfully crossing her arms on her chest.

"Maybe?" Margaret finally said, tilting her head to the side in thought.

"But considering his character when you were kids..."

"You knew his character?" Winnifred interrupted in amusement.

"How come? You were a year older than us!" Margaret smiled.

"That didn't stop me from being up to date with your daily concerns."

Winnifred lowered back down.

"Oh."

"As I was saying," Margaret continued,"A person can't change so much, at least I don't think so. After all, nothing significant happened in his life to completely upturn his personality. I mean, none of his close relatives died, he finished a prestige college, owns a very profitable company, I would even say that he could even be more pompous than before. He's just not showing it."

"Why not?" Winnifred frowned, crossing her arms on her chest as well. The rain lightly pattered on the window pane.

"He's careful," Margaret shrugged, eyeing the starting rain. "Not sure how to act around you I guess. C'mon, look at yourself, you didn't even show half of your dumbness around him."

"Margie!" Winnifred jokingly punched her into the arm, raising her offended eyes. Margaret broadly grinned and, grabbing the pillow from under Winnifred's head, smashed it right onto her cousin's face. Laughing, Winnifred threw the pillow into the air from her face. It landed onto her stomach, and she crunched it in her grasp.

"So what should I do?" She asked, calming down. Margaret sighed, straightening her legs.

"I don't know," she confessed. "You don't have to do anything. On the other hand, you can spend more time in his company. Maybe his traits will show up."

"Spend time in Jack's company?" Winnifred grimaced at the idea.

"But it's so boring! I never noticed this because we were too busy thinking up death traps for each other, but if you take him just as a person, he's bloody dull!"

Margaret knowingly patted her hand.

"You don't have to spend a lot of time. Maybe he'll reveal himself quicker than we think."

"And should I?"

Margaret sighed, staring into space. The sound of the clock ticking filled the room.

"No. No, you shouldn't."

A/N FINALLY! The letters! I took the idea from late Heath Ledger's diary, the one where he wrote down the Joker's thoughts. In this fanfic, the letters function more as a way to communicate with Winnifred without her actually there. To be explored...

Again, thanks for reading!