Firey's Reign

execute

Lollipop POV:

Fries and I sat on the bench, waiting for a new topic to come to mind.

"So," Fries started, breaking the silence, "were you ever close with anyone here?"

"Well, there's always Taco," I replied.

"Oh yeah? Tell me more about her."

"We used to be close, I guess. We would hang out sometimes, back when Four was here. But back then, she used to be bullied by Book a lot, so I would try to defend her. Eventually, we got jobs and Book wasn't the boss of her, so she could do whatever she wanted."

"And did she?"

I chuckled: "Yes, she absolutely did. She would break the rules whenever and wherever. I would try to warn her that she could get into trouble, but she never really listened. So, eventually, Dora got tired of the BS and she fired Taco. We then lost touch, and I had to work in such boring conditions, but here I am now at least," I said, attempting to smile.

All this was true; I missed Taco. She was the only one who I ever talked to. Though we weren't close, it was fun to listen to her make fun of the cranky dictionary.

"Exactly, you're here now. And you have a new friend too!" He grinned, pointing to himself.

I couldn't help but laugh. It had been a long time since I last laughed.

But still, something felt off. I suddenly stopped smiling.

"What's wrong?" He asked, concerned.

Honestly, I had no clue why I was suddenly upset, but my mouth had a mind of its own: "Why are you being so nice to me?"

He tilted his head. "What do you mean?"

"We literally just started talking almost a day ago, and you practically know nothing about me. Is this all pity? Because I don't need it. I'm perfectly fine on my own-" I started to stand up, getting ready to leave, but he grabbed my hand.

"No, that's not it," he said calmly.

I sat back down hesitantly. "Then what is it? Because, clearly, someone or something is making you talk to me."

"No it has nothing to do with pity or anyone here. I'm lonely. I just don't have many friends anymore."

"Anymore...?"

He turned his back away from me.

"I-it's nothing..." he whispered.

What would a friend do in this moment? Oh, I know; a friend would ask what happened. "You can always tell me, if you are comfortable sharing."

He sighed and turned his body so he faced me again. I can't believe that actually worked.

"So, you know Puffball right?" He said.

"Yes, of course." Puffball was the pink, high-pitched, cotton pad who wouldn't stop bleeding in Roy G. Biv.

"We used to be close. And by close I mean REALLY close. We would share all of our problems with each other and she helped me think positively in tough times."

"That's nice," I responded. But what did this have to do with him?

He continued: "One day, I woke up and she was just gone. She had left without me. You probably remember all the commotion over finding her, right?"