𝑅𝑢𝑖𝑛 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 || 𝑂𝑃81
𝐎𝐬𝐜𝐚𝐫 𝐏𝐢𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐫𝐢 𝐱 𝐅𝐞𝐦!𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐝𝐞𝐫
ꜱᴜᴍᴍᴀʀʏ: For the first time in his life, Oscar regrets something he didn't do.
ᴡᴀʀɴɪɴɢ: Mostly Fluff . Angst. There's a lot of angst at the end (those who know the song will understand). Strangers to friends to ? Little Spoiler: Death. The death of the main character. Blood. Tears.
ɴᴏᴛᴇꜱ: I written the ending of this story first, because that was my intention in writing it, but as I wrote more about Oscar and reader, I became so sad about the ending they would get—because I truly fell in love with their bond—that I decided to create an alternative ending. I hope you read and enjoy both. 💛
[𝑅𝑢𝑖𝑛 𝑇ℎ𝑒 𝐹𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑛𝑑𝑠ℎ𝑖𝑝 𝐴𝑙𝑡𝑒𝑟𝑛𝑎𝑡𝑒 𝐸𝑛𝑑𝑖𝑛𝑔]
Oscar was 16 when he first saw you.
This small and sweet town, where he came to visit his grandmother during the summer holidays, gave him peace and happiness.
It was a charming little seaside town where everyone knew each other, and the neighborly relationships were as warm as those in TV series.
Ever since Oscar became a child, every year he came here he made it a habit to fish by the lake, swim in the azure sea, cycle along the beach, buy ice cream from the little shop at the end of the neighborhood, and have breakfast with his grandmother in their small garden in the mornings.
Just like they were now. The small table in the garden of their white house was laden with breakfast items. While he talked about what he had been doing at school and in the big city where he lived, his grandmother was talking about the new neighbor who had moved into the house across the street.
This pink-shuttered house, which had once been the home of Mr. Watson but was put up for sale by his children after his death, was purchased by Mrs. Devis.
According to his grandmother, Mrs. Devis was a retired teacher, about the same age as his grandmother. After his children got married and his husband died, he wanted to spend the rest of his life peacefully in this beautiful town.
As soon as they moved in, his grandmother and Mrs. Devis became friends. When Oscar woke up and went downstairs, he would usually find Mrs. Devis and his grandmother chatting on the balcony, or sometimes a note saying his grandmother had gone to the neighbor's house.
Or, as was the case today, Mrs. Devis would bring one of the little pies she'd baked that morning and hand it to him at the door.
Apparently, today's apple pie was made for her granddaughter, who, according to her, was coming to visit with her daughter.
Oscar devoured the pie with relish. He didn't care much about the guests.
They had just finished their breakfast and were engrossed in conversation when a yellow Volkswagen Beetle approached Mrs. Devis's house. The vehicle pulled up to the garden gate. After stopping, the passenger door opened.
And everything happened in slow motion, like something out of a movie.
A girl, whom Oscar guesses is around his age, gets out of the car. The wind is blowing her long, shiny hair and the hem of her checkered blue summer dress. The sun is shining on her skin.
Oscar is watching you walk through the garden and hug your grandmother. He's completely forgotten to clear the table, standing there with a plate in one hand and a fork in his mouth, just watching you. He can't move, he can't take his eyes off you.
Your grandmother hugs you lovingly, and you laugh at something she says. Seeing your smile makes his heart race. Oscar feels like he's going to faint just watching you. He's experiencing unnecessarily intense emotions.
Definitely not love. Maybe admiration?
As you listen to your grandmother, your gaze drifts to the garden across the way. Your eyes meet Oscar's. You smile gently.
He drops the fork from his mouth. He stumbles, losing his balance. To avoid dropping the plate, he grips it tightly with both hands and bends down under the table to pick up the fork.
He can hear his grandmother calling him from the kitchen.
"Nothing, I just dropped my fork." He picks up the fork from under the table and stands up. For a split second, his eyes glance at you again.
You giggle, covering your mouth with one hand, and turn back.
Oscar, with flushed cheeks, quickly goes inside the house.
Even though he never spoke to you or met you in person that summer, he senses you're beginning to develop a familiarity with each other's presence.
In the mornings, when Oscar goes to check the mailbox, you're watering the flowers in the garden.
When he goes to the market with his grandmother, he sees you walking arm-in-arm with Mrs. Devis on the opposite sidewalk.
When the neighborhood fair is held, Oscar is handing out lemonade at one stall while you're serving pastries at the next.
And in moments like these, you often make eye contact. You always have that sweet smile on your face that makes him blush.
Oscar usually looks at you for just two seconds, breathless, trying to smile—probably with a strange expression on his face—giving a small nod and quickly turning away.
He wonders if you find him rude. He's not very outgoing, and this often leads people to misunderstand him. But you look at him kindly every time.
Two weeks before the end of summer vacation, Oscar is packing his suitcase, ready to leave in a few days.
Hearing sounds from the garden across the street, he gets out of bed and goes to the window.
The yellow Volkswagen is waiting, ready and running. Oscar watches as you and your mother put your suitcases in the trunk.
Once everything is ready, you kiss your grandmother goodbye and get into the car.
As if you've noticed his presence, your eyes drift to the window of the house across the street.
You make eye contact again.
You smile and wave. His eyes widen. His hand automatically goes up. He tries to smile and waves back slightly.
You giggle at the response and put on your headphones, close your eyes, and lean your head back against the seat.
Oscar watches you until the car turns the corner at the end of the neighborhood and disappears from sight. Then he closes the curtain, leans against the wall, and takes a deep breath.
His hand involuntarily goes to his chest, right in the middle of his heart.
When he returns home, his mother greets him and asks how his vacation went.
That summer, all he could think about was you.
Oscar was 17 when he became friends with you.
When he returned to town the following year, his eyes involuntarily drifted to the house across the street.
The yellow Volkswagen was parked in the garage. He found himself grinning involuntarily.
You're here again. He'll be able to see you again.
Shortly after he settled in, the doorbell rang. His grandmother told him to answer it. He walked slowly towards the door. When he opened it, he saw you.
You were both startled, caught off guard by the sight. There you were. Standing in front of his door.
"Hello, Grandma asked me to bring you some of her strawberry cake," you said nervously, holding the cake plate tightly in both hands and swaying slightly back and forth.
Meanwhile, Oscar had the opportunity to examine you more closely. The freckles on your cheek, the small yellow spots in your irises, the tiny mole on your neck.
Your hair was a little shorter. The yellow plaid bandana on your head matched your dress. He was involuntarily drawn to you. He took a step closer. And another.
He tried to open his mouth to avoid standing there like an idiot and to say something.
As you extend the plate, he reaches out to take it at the same time. A very light, almost imperceptible touch; your fingertips brush against each other.
Oscar, involuntarily gripping the plate tighter at this barely perceptible touch, you pull your hands back as if struck by lightning. You step back, clasp your hands together, and nervously fiddle with your fingers.
"I have to go. Enjoy your meal."
His voice is harsher and louder than you expected. Neither of you anticipated this. You slowly turn to him. This time you truly look at him. You examine him.
He takes a deep breath, trying to control his voice.
"You didn't tell me your name."
He knows your name. It would be impossible not to, since Mrs. Devis was always talking about you when she was here. But he wants to keep talking to you.
Your name slips out of your mouth. Beautiful, gentle, sweet, just like you. You turn back and take a step towards him. You seem to have lost some of your nervousness.
You knew his name. You'd heard it countless times when his grandmother called him. But you wanted to hear it from him.
He smiles slightly. His cheeks and ears are slightly flushed. He's quite a sweet boy.
"Nice to meet you." You turn around and walk towards the opposite garden.
You just said you were pleased to meet him, you said his name. Hearing his name from your mouth made his face burn.
Was that a theoretical sentence?
Were you implying that you'd run into each other out of neighborly relations, or were you flirting?
You walk in and close the door. And he didn't answer you.
Oh god, he didn't answer you.
He feel like a complete idiot. He just stand there, staring at the door that's already closed.
A few days later, Oscar finds you in the wooded area right next to the lake.
As he approaches the lake on his bicycle, he sees you lying in a hammock tied to two trees a few meters away. You're engrossed in a book. You look beautiful with your braided hair and green sunglasses that match your t-shirt.
Next to the hammock, on the grass, is a picnic blanket with a small basket on it. Apparently, you've created a lovely spot for yourselves for the day.
He hesitates between coming over to say hello and passing by without disturbing you. Luckily, you help him with this dilemma.
It seems you have a special ability to know where he is, because the moment you look up from your book, you make eye contact.
He freezes, as if caught red-handed. He doesn't know what to do and fiddles with the handlebars of his bicycle.
You sit down, placing one of the flowers you've gathered to dry between the pages of your book.
"Are you enjoying standing there, or have you forgotten how to ride your bike?" You joke with him, laughing.
He smiles, embarrassed at being caught.
He leans his bike against the tree trunk and approaches you.
"I didn't mean to spoil your fun."
You quickly get up from the hammock, leave your book there, and approach him.
"Actually, I was quite bored. This town is sometimes unbearable without someone to keep you company." You weigh the words in your mind for a few seconds, hesitating whether to say it or not.
"Actually, I was hoping you'd come back here this year."
"Really?" He asks in a tone mixed with surprise and joy.
He was afraid you'd think of him as some freakish town kid who never took his eyes off you. He's glad that's not the case.
"Yes." As your conversation continues, your tension eases.
"I realized there aren't many people my age here, and last year I really wanted to be friends with you, but I didn't want to bother you."
"Wow, I—I really didn't expect that."
Your trust seems a little broken by his words. You misunderstood him.
"I mean—" he continues, panicking. "I didn't think you'd want to be friends with me. I thought you found me weird. I'm glad it's not like that." He tries to smooth things over.
"So, I guess we're friends now? Is that how it works?"
How exactly do people start a friendship?
You laugh at his reaction.
"I guess we can have a meeting about this while we eat my grandma's cookies."
You pull him towards the red and white checkered picnic blanket.
The rest of the day is spent exchanging sandwiches and cookies, talking about random topics that come to mind. Your laughter echoes in the air. Then Oscar takes you to the lake to fish.
Note: You're terrible at it.
"Shut up." You try to hide your embarrassed smile, muttering as you struggle to get rid of the fishing hook caught on the hem of your shirt.
Oscar's jaw aches from laughing. He comes over to you in a few steps and takes care of the situation. His hands gently grasp your shirt.
"At least you didn't drop your sunglasses this time."
Hours pass without you realizing it, and you're riding home on the back of Oscar's bicycle, one hand holding your picnic basket with the fish, the other wrapped around Oscar's waist, your cheek resting against his broad back.
That evening, your grandmothers and you cook the fish you caught and spend dinner together. Furtive glances and little smiles in the middle of the meal.
You unknowingly warm each other's hearts.
At the end of the night, you exchange phone numbers and head home. You're lying in bed reading a book when your phone vibrates.
Osc: Would you like to cycle around the town with me tomorrow?
You: I'd love to, but unfortunately I don't have a bike :(
Osc: You'll see tomorrow, just trust me.
You: Okay, whatever you want. Good night, Osc.
Osc: Osc? I like that. Good night.
The next morning you're having breakfast with your grandmother. Just as you're about to take the last sip of your orange juice, you hear a bicycle bell outside.
The bell keeps ringing insistently. Curious, you look out the window. Oscar is ringing the bell of a yellow bicycle standing next to his own blue bicycle.
After seeing him, you ignore your grandmother, who is shouting after you for leaving your breakfast, and run to the door. You open the door, cross the garden, and reach Oscar.
"Oscar, where did you find this? It's beautiful."
You admire the yellow bicycle with its large basket in front. He seems pleased that you like it.
"Actually, this belonged to my sister, but she doesn't come here as often as she used to. It was just sitting in the backyard. With a little work, I managed to make it usable again. Now it's yours, if you want it."
"Are you kidding? It's amazing!" You quickly tiptoe and plant a friendly kiss on his cheek.
While you're already examining the bicycle, he's trying to recover from the effect of that little kiss. If your backs weren't turned to him, you could see his hands going to his cheeks. He was blushing all the way to his ears.
That day you go to the town center. You enter a shop with vintage items and collectibles.
While he tries on a few cowboy hats and an old-fashioned suit, you put on a red dress from the 1950s, grab a red lipstick you saw in the makeup section, and apply it to your lips.
Oscar compares you to the female characters in old Hollywood movies.
You pick up an old camera from the shelves and take a picture together. After a while, the shop owner yells at you for using the camera without permission, and before you can change your clothes, Oscar grabs your hand and runs out of the shop.
Your laughter echoes in the street as you run, accompanied by the man's shouting.
"Oscar, the clothes!" you say breathlessly.
"We'll take them back tomorrow, now let's pedal!"
For lunch, you go to a small cafe that serves home-cooked meals. Some people give you strange looks because of your old-fashioned clothes, but you don't care.
"They probably think we're crazy or something."
Oscar takes a bite of his sandwich.
"Maybe we're a time-traveling spy couple."
You say this casually and laugh as you sip your strawberry milkshake.
Oscar has to slow down so he doesn't choke. He's really in pain because you're so unaware of the effect you're having on him.
After finishing your meal, you cycle along the beach during sunset.
"Hey, did you know they're showing black and white movies at the cinema today? We absolutely have to go!"
Who would refuse your request?
After getting the tickets, you're waiting in line for popcorn. A woman hands one to Oscar.
"Here you go, and this one's for your beautiful girlfriend."
Oscar freezes, while you, blushing, murmur a thank you and pull him towards the movie theater.
You watch the romantic movie projected on the screen with great attention, while eagerly eating your popcorn. You're unaware of the glances Oscar gives you.
Oscar glances at the film occasionally, but mostly he's watching your beautiful face, illuminated by the film. You look so sweet.
When you turn your face to him, you find him looking at you. You smile sweetly.
"For being with me, for everything we did today, I'll remember this day for the rest of my life." You slowly reach out and take his hand.
"Thank you for being my friend, Oscar."
The word 'friend' both warms and burns his heart. He questions whether the feelings he has for you, the things he can't quite define, have gone beyond friendship.
But whatever you want to call it, he's ready to accept it happily. He responds to your touch. The feeling of your hand makes his heart tremble.
"I will always, always be your friend, don't forget that."
That summer, a special bond forms between the two of you.
Oscar was 18 when he fell in love with you.
Finally overjoyed to have his driver's license, Oscar sets off alone this time, arriving in town much earlier than expected—though you arrive even earlier.
As he slowly parks the car in front of his grandmother's house, the door of the house opposite opens.
"Oh my God, Oscar!" your sound echoes through the street.
As soon as he gets out of the car, he is greeted by your warm embrace. Without hesitation, he wraps his arms around your waist and returns your hug.
Absolutely a wonderful way to start the summer.
"Wow, I wasn't expecting such a warm welcome," his voice sounds delightful.
When you pull away, your cheeks flush as you tuck your hair behind your ear.
"I was just excited, I missed you," you murmur softly.
You look like you want to sink into the ground with embarrassment. With a sudden burst of courage, Oscar cups your cheeks. As his gentle hands caress your soft cheeks, you both feel a slight tingling sensation on each other's skin.
"I missed you too," he says softly, stroking your cheeks.
His eyes involuntarily drift to your lips. He lingers for a few seconds, then looks into your eyes. When you stare back at him with wide eyes, he finally realizes what he's doing.
You're both frozen in shock at this unexpected closeness. His hands had moved on their own. He hadn't intended it.
And then, when Oscar's grandmother comes out to greet him, she breaks the moment between you, causing you to pull away.
After you quickly muttering a 'goodbye,' he watches helplessly as you turn and run away.
The sun is brighter than ever that day. You and Oscar grab your beach towels and head down to the sand.
Amidst a few couples and a large group of friends, you find a comfortable spot, leave your belongings, and run towards the sea.
Your scream echoes as the cold waves hit your body. Oscar, tossing his wet hair back, laughs at your predicament. You splash him with water, and he splashes back.
You shiver from the cold while simultaneously trying to get rid of the hair clinging to your face.
The waves hit harder than you expected, throwing you off balance. Neither of you realizes it, but you're going a little deeper than you anticipated.
Unlike him, you weren't that tall, and when you confidently extended your leg and realized it wasn't touching the bottom, panic seized you as you understood the water was deeper than you expected.
Hearing the panic in your voice, Oscar immediately reaches out and grabs your arm. You reach for him desperately.
The initial amusement disappears from both of you. You quickly wrap your arms around him, your legs around his waist, one hand on your waist, the other in your hair. You're breathing rapidly.
His voice is quite gentle, stroking your waist, and he hears you let out a shaky breath.
You speak in a tearful voice. Your head rests on his shoulder.
"For a moment my feet didn't touch the ground, I panicked, I don't feel comfortable."
He can tell from your voice that you're trying hard not to cry.
"Hey, it's okay, I'm here, I'm holding you."
He murmurs gently, slowly moving towards the shore until the water reaches your waist.
"It's okay, shh," he comforts you, stroking the back of your head.
He involuntarily leans down and kisses the top of your head. His lips linger there for a few seconds. Oscar feels your body relax a little.
Then he places a kiss a little further down on your forehead. Finally, you lower your legs and look at him.
You're in a position that would normally make you feel embarrassed, and it's incredibly intimate, but your need for security and his desire to fulfill that need outweigh everything else.
"Thank you," and you kiss him.
This kiss isn't like the first one, a spontaneous kiss born of happiness.
You lean in slowly. Your soft lips meet his cheek. They linger there for a few seconds. It's very intimate and full of emotion.
When you finally pull away and your eyes meet, you both feel that intensity.
The two of you spend the following week repairing the little treehouse in Oscar's backyard.
This involves a lot of nails, some paint, and quite a bit of effort. But your desire to relive the nostalgia outweighs all of that.
Finally, after making sure the treehouse is sturdy enough to support both of you, you climb up with your homemade lemonade and some snacks.
It's definitely much smaller than Oscar remembers. He has to bend his neck to avoid hitting his head. You two barely fit in there, but thankfully there's a little room to move around.
Along with Oscar, you find a few dirty dolls—thanks to Hattie, most of them have their eyes gouged out and their hair cut short—a couple of toy cars with wheels missing, and a half-finished watercolor set.
It's only been fifteen minutes, and both of you are covered in paint. The walls, the small table in the middle, are all covered in it.
"What is this?" you ask, tilting your head and looking at Oscar's drawing.
"What do you think it looks like?"
In return, you get a look from him as if you've insulted him.
"A dinosaur? That's a dog, you don't know anything about drawing."
He pulls the paper away and looks at your drawing.
A beautiful, yellow butterfly.
"Isn't it cute? I always wanted to be a butterfly when I was little."
You say it sweetly, but there's still a teasing tone in your voice.
"A butterfly? If you were one, you'd be a pig."
He tries to be sarcastic, but when he looks at your faces, all his grumpiness gives way to a smile.
But you laugh at him without caring. Oscar notices the yellow paint on your cheekbone.
His hand finds your cheek, and he tries to wipe the paint off by pressing his thumb against your soft skin. Some of it disappears, but it spreads faintly around.
You're quite close because he's leaning towards you.
The sunlight reflecting off your face through the glass behind him makes you look like a portrait. You'd probably be his favorite work of art.
His eyes drift back to your lips. They're beautiful. He's not interpreting this in a lewd way, but as a realistic, potential art critic. He involuntarily licks his lips. And then his eyes meet yours.
When Oscar gives you his attention, he sees that you've stopped smiling and are looking at him intently. He quickly pulls his hand away from you.
"There was paint on your cheek—I," he points, his hand trembling, "was trying to wipe it off."
"Ah," your hand goes to your cheek, "is it gone?"
"A little," he swallows nervously.
"You can wash it off when we go downstairs."
"Yes," you look at him with a strange expression,"I will."
A strange tension arises between you.
You two are sitting in your backyard chatting on the last night of your vacation.
"Are you excited for graduation?" he asks, taking a sip of juice.
"Yes and no," you reply, enjoying the backyard breeze.
"Yes to what and no to what?" Oscar asks, curious.
"I'm feeling a little sad about leaving my friends, but I'm also very excited about going to college, and of course, there's the dancing." You pop a slice of apple from your plate into your mouth.
"Yes, graduation dance is pretty important."
"I never thought you'd care about dancing," he says, but regrets it when you give him a look.
"I'm not judging," he lies.
"You are judging," you know he's lying.
"Okay, I am judging, but constructively." He admits his guilt.
"Why do you care so much about dancing?" he asks, genuinely curious.
"Because it's important, it's supposed to be romantic and sweet, and you have to choose the right person so you can tell your future children about your first dance without shame."
"Wow. I never thought of it that way." He understands a little.
"Of course you wouldn't, you're probably the type who thinks dancing is silly and stands in the corner all party watching couples go crazy."
That's true, but he won't accept it.
"What if you can't find the right person?" He asks theoretically.
"Oscar, why are you making me nervous for no reason?"
You glare at him without swallowing the fruit in your mouth.
"I'm just curious what you want."
"I don't know... I want someone who cares about me, someone who really wants to spend time with me and enjoys it. Is that too much to ask?" You murmur the last sentence quietly.
A few seconds of silence follow. Oscar weighs something in his head.
"Go and put on that purple dress you wore the other day." Oscar says confidently.
You find his hasty attitude strange.
"Just do as I say, put on the dress and come down in 15 minutes, okay?"
Oscar gets up and walks towards his own house.
"Okay." You murmur as you watch him hurry away.
You're wearing your purple sundress with small flowers on it. After brushing your wind-blown hair, you wait for the time to pass and go downstairs.
As you enter the backyard, the scene before you freezes you in your tracks. The table you're sitting at is set, with a sweet little vase full of roses on it.
And Oscar, wearing a grey suit that's probably two sizes too big for him, is using a ladder to quickly hang small lamps among the trees in the backyard.
Your delicate voice interrupts him. He grabs onto the ladder to avoid falling. You quickly run to help him regain his balance and hold the ladder for him. You look up.
"What are you doing?" you ask curiously.
After hanging the last lamp, he comes down and stands right in front of you.
"I'm organizing your first dance."
He says it as if what he's doing is obvious.
You look at him in surprise, examining your surroundings once more.
"Well—" he purses his lips and mumbles something.
"I know it's not exactly the ideal setting, and I look a little ridiculous in my grandfather's suit, but the thought of whether you gave your first dance to someone who really cared about you was driving me crazy—"
Tears stream down your face. This makes him a little worried. Didn't you like it?
But when you reach out and wrap your arms around his neck, holding him tightly, his worries vanish.
"Oscar, this is the sweetest thing ever done for me," you murmur in a muffled voice, your face buried in his neck.
He can feel you sobbing. Your tears fall onto his neck. He wraps his arms tightly around you. He buries his nose in your hair, inhaling your scent.
Your head is still resting on his chest; you lift your head and look at him.
When he sees your tear-stained eyes, something breaks inside Oscar. He feels inexplicably overly emotional. His nose stings.
"You're one of the best things that's ever happened to me, Oscar."
You look at him and say these innocent words, setting him ablaze without realizing it.
"I'm so lucky to know you, to have you in my life, to have met you, I love you."
And he burns to ashes. With every sentence, every word, you rekindle him, creating him from nothing.
"What kind of person are you?" he murmurs with admiration, gently wiping away your tears, watching you bury your face in his eyes again.
You like the nickname he gave you.
He takes your face and turns it towards him.
"Every second I've spent with you is the most beautiful moment of my life. It always will be."
"No matter who comes into your life, find someone who will love you like this, okay?"
You nod as he wipes away your tears.
"And I love you too," he says, giving you a small kiss on the head.
It's shocking that all this display of affection between you two is platonic. But it's also so genuine. Oscar Piastri is in love with you, yes. He admits it. And he has been for a long time. But no matter what, his first priority will always be your friend.
This brings both happiness and pain to Oscar, but he's content with every second of it. Finally, as he begins to compose himself, you see a tear roll down his cheek. You quickly wipe it away.
"We're being unnecessarily dramatic, God."
You both burst into laughter. Oscar pulls his phone out of his pocket.
With your hand trembling slightly and your teary eyes making it a little difficult, you choose a song. As the melody fills the backyard, you turn the phone up to full volume and place it on the table.
Oscar pulls you closer. Your hands are on his shoulders, his on your waist. You're in a slightly awkward position, unsure of what to do, but it's not uncomfortable; on the contrary, it feels intimate and warm.
That's quite an accurate description for the two of you.
Your movements aren't delicate, but you find a rhythm within yourselves. Forward, backward, sideways. Oscar takes your hand and spins you around. You laugh as the hem of your dress flutters. Then he gently pulls you back to him. Your delicate hands rest on his shoulder again. This time your foreheads are touching. You never break eye contact.
There's something strange binding you together tonight. You can't put a name to it, you can't let go. It's as if fate is pushing you towards each other, saying 'you can't be separated.'
He feels the same way. He feels as if you'll slip away if he lets go of you. It makes it hard for him to swallow. The thought alone is terrifying.
"Oscar... I don't want to go," you sigh.
"This is the best moment of my life, I don't want to leave."
"Then don't leave," he pulls you closer.
"The whole night is ours. You're with me all night."
"I'm with you all night," you repeat softly.
And something stirs within him.
But he doesn't dare. He plants another kiss on your forehead.
"I'm yours all night." He responds.
And you dance for hours until your feet ache.
That's how your last day together passes.
Oscar was 19 when he lost you.
Quite harsh, sudden, and merciless.
Your car isn't in the yard.
As he scans the surroundings, he makes eye contact with the old woman in the yard. Your grandmother seems to know he's looking for you.
"She's on her way, she'll be here soon."
Hours pass. Evening comes. It gets dark.
You don't come. He calls you.
Your phone rings. You don't answer.
There's a strange change in the air, an unsettling change. Oscar can't breathe in his room, even though the windows are open. He paces nervously around his room. And finally, exhausted, he falls asleep.
The phone he holds is still dialed, your number on the screen, the light on.
Oscar wakes up in the early morning, still dark, to a noise. It's like someone is screaming. He jumps out of bed, his sleepy eyes looking around.
Red and blue lights reflect into his room from outside.
He goes to the window and looks outside. There's a huge crowd in front of your grandmother's house.
Your grandmother is slumped on the pavement, crying. His own grandmother was there, trying to comfort his friend who had gotten involved in the matter.
Everyone in the street was whispering to each other. And a police car was waiting in front of the house. A man in uniform was trying to say something to the old woman with a document in his hand.
Oscar, in a panic, ran straight downstairs. He crossed the street, entered the garden, and went to his grandmother.
"What happened? Why is everyone here?" he asked, curious but also afraid of getting an answer.
It was as if they were avoiding looking at him. Oscar went to the police officer next to him.
"Can I get some information about what happened?"
The man sighs sadly, even though it's his job. It's as if putting his words into words would cause him personal harm.
"There's been an accident on the mountain road connecting the city to the town, I'm here to inform to relatives, son."
The man says with pain in his voice.
"Who—what kind of accident?"
Please, not be you, please, not be you.
"A yellow Volkswagen Beetle collided with a jeep coming from the opposite direction and went off the road. Unfortunately, due to the severity of the collision, it couldn't stop and hit the barriers and rolled down the rocky slope."
His legs begin to tremble.
"How are the people in the car—which hospital are they in? I need to see my friend!"
Oscar asks the question so innocently that the police officer's eyes fill with tears. He slowly approaches Oscar and, with a fatherly gesture, puts his hand in his shoulders.
"I'm sorry, son," the man tries hard to choose his words carefully and avoid hurting him, but those cursed words still spill out.
"The crew reported that they recovered the body of a 19-year-old girl from the vehicle. My condolences."
Oscar can't understand what's happening around him.
Why does the world still spin, how does life go on?
How can those around him breathe?
Shouldn't everything end? He can't understand it. Losing you is hard for him.
What? Are you really gone?
Are you not breathing anymore?
Were you really under the ground now?
Oscar doesn't believe it.
That's why every night he lies in bed and dials your number on his phone.
The phone rings. You don't answer.
'It was a quick death,' the man who explained the autopsy said. As if that should have hurt him less.
'Her ribs were broken in eight places, piercing her heart and causing her to die on the spot.'
As if he were describing something ordinary, but he didn't know that every word he said was breaking his ribs and piercing his heart with the same force.
Yes, his fractures weren't visible, the bleeding wasn't noticeable. But they were there.
Your departure was opening a deeper wound in him each day, making it bleed.
He hadn't imagined it like this.
He had thought about you and himself so many times.
About confessing his love to you.
How would you have reacted?
Would you have jumped into his arms with joy? Were your feelings mutual? Perhaps you would have gone to the same university and started life together.
Or you would have maintained a long-distance relationship despite all the difficulties.
Or perhaps you wouldn't have reciprocated. He would have been content with that, continuing to love you, be your friend, and support you. As long as your friendship didn't break.
Or perhaps he wouldn't have been able to confess his feelings to you for many years.
Years later, when you both returned here to escape the different lives fate had taken you both on, you would find each other married to other people.
You would have started families with different people.
Perhaps you would have experienced your second spring together as two divorced, single parents.
Yes, Oscar had many future plans for the two of you, but this is definitely not it.
You were so young, you had dreams.
And your eyes… the eyes that shone when you looked at him.
Now they are closed forever.
Seeing your names on your tombstone feels foreign to him. It's as if you were actually alive and someone had forcibly confined you there, and he wants to dig you out with his own hands.
His throat tightens. His chest constricts. His heart burns with regret. His soul is constricted by the regret of something he never did.
He takes a few steps closer to the grave. Kneeling, he gently places the bouquet of flowers on top of the grave. He fears he will hurt you if he is not gentle. He doesn't want that.
He slowly places his palm on the gravestone. His fingertips trace the indentations of your name, as if waiting for a sign from you.
Only one thought crosses his mind.
Something he needs to say.
Something you need to know. He leans down and whispers something he wants only the two of you to know.
"I should have kissed you that night."
And then he leans down and places a kiss on your gravestone.
A few seconds later, a small yellow butterfly lands on the gravestone.
Oscar struggles to hold back tears at the sight of the butterfly.
He carefully extends his finger towards the butterfly, waiting for it to land on his finger.
When the butterfly flaps its wings and lands on his finger, a bittersweet smile appears on Oscar's face.
'Did you send him a message from the other side?'
