This Was Never Gonna Be Simple

Sean again

His eyes widened to a size that I wouldn't have even thought possible, and for a moment, I was worried that they were going to pop out of his head. Oh, no. I knew I should've just played it cool and ignored him. Now what have I done?

"I - uh, Sean?" he stammered, his mouth agape.

I nodded, gulping. This shouldn't be happening. I don't know what's going on. Why is he even back?

"You... You..." he shook his head, giving up on his previous attempt at speaking. "I think we need to talk..."

---

Ian tugged on my hand lightly, but with enough force for me to deduce what he wanted. He led me into the cafe, taking a vacant seat by the window and watching expectantly for me to do the same. I mirrored his actions, still puzzled. I couldn't quite fathom why, after all these years of contentment, knowing I didn't have to deal with this any longer, he had just shown up to send me back into my neverending confusion.

I sat drumming my fingers on the table top impatiently whilst Ian attempted to flag down a waitress. To my disbelief, she whirled round, craning her neck to see who had attracted her attention. She nodded when she spied him, holding up a finger to signal that she'd be over in a minute. She saw him. How did she see him?

But... Jay saw him earlier, didn't he? And this waitress, she could see him there now. But if they can see him...that means... He's real. This guy is real.

---

Iaaaaan

One of the waitresses - one who for some reason thought that plastering her face tangerine orange was a good idea, while the rest of her body remained milk bottle white - turned around, smiling when she saw me, and held up one finger to tell me to wait a minute while she dealt with the guy she was with. He was an older fellow, probably just ordering a cup of tea and a toastie so he could sit and read his newspaper. Y'know, old people stuff. We're probably lucky he's out of the house at all. God, I need to stop stereotyping. I don't know the guy. He could be an Olympic gold medalist with that disease that makes you look like an old man. Does that even exist? I heard of it on the Simpsons once, but I'm not sure if it's actually a real ailment. Either way, I should really stop judging people I don't know.

The young woman didn't take long to bring her conversation to an end. I could see her silently willing the man to shut up. I want to say 'she drifted over to our table, chewing on the wad of gum in her mouth absentmindedly, clearly not too bothered with her speed', but I can't. She darted over to our table, taking barely three seconds to cross the room, although she was still chewing on that wretched gum. I don't blame her for wanting to get over sharpish. No one can resist me. Oh, wait, was that Ian's ego bursting out again? Oh, no, sorry, it's always on show.

I, of course, tried to chat her up before she took my order. That's just the way I roll! (Note to self: never say that again). I ended up ordering a cup of coffee. I'm not the biggest fan of coffee, but I am pretty fond of the odd mug.

She smiled sweetly at me, and I don't suppose she'd be the worst person to talk to. She did seem nice, regardless of her outer appearence. See, this is why I shouldn't be so quick to judge people.

Once she'd finished with me, she swiveled round to Sean, who I had honestly forgotten was there. She began asking him what he would desire, and I could feel my jaw drop. I must have looked a right wally sitting there with my mouth wide open. How were people able to see him? He isn't real, for God's sake!

The waitress - her badge said she was called Amber - straightened up and gathered the couple of menus that were scattered on the table, before scurrying off.

When she was gone, my attention immediately shifted back to Sean. He was sat fidding with the cords on his hoodie, looking down at his lap and biting his lip. A collection of nervous habits, I see.

"Listen, mate," I hissed, noticing him shrink back a little. "I don't know what sort of funny shit is going on, but I know one thing. You. Don't. Exist. So what's happening? Why are people talking to you? Why are they acting as if you're real? You better give me a good fucking explanation."

He sat back even further this time. He looked scared out of his wits. Something I should be used to, I guess.

"W-what?" he asked, clueless. "Listen, I don't know what's going on, okay? I've got about as much of an idea as you have. But I can try to explain my story, and you can share yours, and we can try to work out what the fuck is going on."

He sighed, shaking his head and taking another sip of his coffee. "This might take a while..."

---

I told him everything. Absolutely everything. I told him how as a child I was an outsider, always the one left at the side when we played team games, always the last to be chosen for sports. I told him how I came up with my own entertainment, and how, most importantly, my brain fabricated a new friend for me. An imaginary one. Him. I knew it was strange having an imaginary friend at that age - how many sixteen year olds do you see talking to thin air? - but I didn't care. I desperately needed someone to talk to. My parents were always too busy for me, and Jay was hopeless.

He listened to me, not interrupting once, but his expression got more and more surprised with everything I said. Eventually, there was nothing left for me to share, and he took this opportunity to tell me his version of events.

He seemed to have been through an almost matching experience, although his was a tad more extreme, with his parents sending him to a mental hospital for four years. That couldn't have been fun.

It was a lot to take in, but given the right amount of time, it wouldn't be impossible. Who'd have guessed that the kid I made up years ago to help with my pathetic loneliness actually existed?