(TW: Scene that can be interpreted as a panic attack)

  A pink paper boat glides along the water, sending ripples and small waves in its wake. It rides the gust of wind, floating to whichever destination it may, until it bumps into a red paper boat. The boats drift away from each other, like a long, hesitant goodbye.

  The sight makes Flyswat almost melancholic. That boat, created only a few moments ago, just needed a little boost to get out into the pond. And when it finally found another, they were forced apart. There's a pit in his stomach, and an unspoken weight on his chest as he gazes at the drifting boat, halfway between the shore and the other group of boats.

  Those boats stick together. They always have their friends and are a pretty bright bunch, lighting the world wherever they went, and leaving waves in their wake. Waves that the little pink boat could only hope to simply feel, because he's too slow and shy to say anything.

  So he watches from a distance, with only the effects of happiness, as the waves push him farther away. They're way out of his league anyway, so he couldn't possibly bother them. 

  The red boat gave him a chance. It was so coincidental, a miracle, almost. A simple meeting, maybe even organized by the cosmos themselves, but he didn't really believe in that. It was pure, incredible chance. Chance that he met someone as friendly, outgoing, and goofy as him.

  Of course, as he returns to the shore, he really didn't deserve someone as amazing as him. He can't bring himself to do anything, he's too much of a coward. A scaredy-cat. It's his fault everything fell apart and honestly wouldn't put it past him if he forgot.

  And so he's alone like he always has been, except there's so much more to lose. And yet he still does nothing, with that pit of empty in his stomach and the strangling strain in his heart. It's like all his heartache concentrated into this poison that leaves a person hollow, and he's suffocating in it. Drowning, in his own loneliness, and self-loathing, and insecurity, and-

  "Flyswat! Answer me!"

  Flyswat remembers how to breathe again. He's shaking, and...there are tears, stinging his eyes and clinging onto his wire mesh. He's curled up on the wet grass and gripping his head so tightly, he can't tell if the pounding is from the death grip or his massive headache. The incessant beating of his heart blasts in his ears and aching chest. 

  His eyes snap up too quickly. Paper Airplane blurs and his headache grips him tighter. He can hardly tell the difference when it goes away, but Paper Airplane is shouting his name from the abyss and he comes back down to reality. There's terror in Paper Airplane's eyes, scrunched up with high eyebrows.

  "Dude, are you okay? You just started breathing super heavily out of nowhere, a-and then you curled up into a ball and started crying- I- I had no idea what to do! Are you-"

  "I'm okay," Flyswat deflects, "I just...had a moment. Sorry."

  "You sure you're okay? Do you need anything?"

  Flyswat shakes his head. "I'm fine."

  Paper Airplane hums with uncertainty, and turns back to his unfinished boat. "If you...say so?" He makes a few more precise folds, and holds the finished boat up to Flyswat. "You wanna put this one in?"

  Despite his trembling, Flyswat manages to scoop up the yellow boat in his hands. Its edges are sharp and well-defined, made with the craftsmanship of a master origami folder. The paper is still crisp.

  Flyswat gets on his stomach and lowers his hands into the water. Goosebumps seize him at its coolness. The boat bobs, and Flyswat blows on the boat, sending it on its way.

  He sighs and sits back. "I feel better now, don't worry about me."

  Paper Airplane cracks a small smile, a bit more trusting of those words. "Okay...but if you need to get something off your chest, you can tell me."

  "Of course. Thanks, PA."

  There's so much to talk about. He wants to ask if he remembers anything from childhood. More specifically, if he remembers a small, awkward boy who stuttered over his words and apologized for everything.

  He wants to ask about the boy who followed Paper Airplane around like a clingy puppy, because he had no other friends. He wants to ask about teaching that boy how to get out of his comfort zone. He wants to ask about the boy who became friends with him, moved, and despite promising to, never talked to him again.

  Most importantly, he wants to ask how he felt about that boy. How he felt when that boy stuck to him like his life depended on it. How he felt when that boy smiled or laughed. How he felt when that boy didn't call or text or write.

  He wants to know if he loved him. If Paper Airplane...loves him. If he means as much to Paper Airplane as Paper Airplane means to him.

  But he can never bring it up. The thought of it makes his muscles seize and his heart pound. Maybe in the future, when he's more confident in himself, because Paper Airplane doesn't deserve someone as pathetic as him.

  So he'll just watch as Paper Airplane folds his boats, with the amount of precision and care of someone with a life on the line. And he'll watch as the boats drift into the water, mingling with other patterned or colorful boats.

  And he'll watch his little pink boat, still too shy to join the rest. In his own time, he'll find some way to speak up.