Okay, I'm seriously now so addicted to movies and books..like what even? (I just rewatched Tangled, I know, so mature.  I swear I need a Eugene!)

ILYSM.  you guys make my day so much brighter and I seriously love you guys so muchhhhhhh.

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*Edited*

Logan's POV:

I twitch the curtains shut and lean against the wall of my bedroom, my breath coming out heavily.  I hear my phone ringing but I ignore it.  It's like my senses are enhanced right now. I can smell her in my room, the scent of cinnamon, coffee and books.  I can feel the smooth wall behind me, my fingers pressed against it.   I close my eyes and lean my head back so it touches the wall.  I can feel my mouth being pressed down at the corners, my brows furrowing.

She was the best thing.

She was so innocent, so free, so new to everything around her.  I needed that.  Needed something that separated me from the other bad boys.  Something, no, someone that kept me grounded.  She was going to be that person. I would gladly just listen to her talk on and on about books.  I would read to her, hell, if she wanted it.  I would compile mixtapes of all her favourite bands I haven't gotten to know yet.  I would quote The Great Gatsby to her on will.  I would do everything.

I didn't care about the person before that.  Even if she was that person I didn't care.  Whatever she was like all I wanted was her.  I didn't care what came with it. 

I suddenly hear a crashing sound and I startle out of my thinking.  Was she okay? What happened? I rush to the window, pull the curtains aside and look over.  I can see her grim face through her window, her hair falling in front of her face as she locks the window.  So what broke?  She looks up suddenly, feeling my eyes on her and in one moment I can see everything giving away on her face.  I can see the tear stains on her cheeks.  The papers scattered behind her in her room, her eyes, wide and sad staring back but in a moment everything closed up and she turned away, the curtains falling shut behind her.  I glance at the floor, the wooden pieces that resemble the bridge that I had made to cross over to her window.  I feel a pain on my heart.  A sudden dampening pain.  I leave my curtains open and go to the bed.  I reach under it and bring out a small box.  It's plain and simple, with several flowers curling around and a ribbon.  I slide the ribbon off and open the top of the box.  There's a necklace lying on top of a book.   I take out the necklace and dangle it on my fingers.  It's charm is an outline of a heart, intertwined with a star. 

I bought it for her.  She was the star in my heart, the only bright thing in my stupid life. I let it fall back in the box and bring out the book.  I thought she might've liked it.  It's my own copy of Twelfth Night by Shakespeare.  My favourite book.  She doesn't have it but I do have The Great Gatsby.  I've written a note on the back of the peeling front cover.  A note I thought she would've read someday.

I place it back in the box and wrap it back up in ribbon. I take it up and move to the window, opening it up and jumping to land on the tree between our houses safely.  I take the box and carefully balance it on the window ledge.  I go back to my room, take up a marker and a piece of torn notepaper from my notebook and start writing.

This was what I was going to give you.  There wasn't a chance for that.  Take this as a last present from me to you.  I promised myself that I would deliver this to you no matter what you would say about my confession and what happened. 

I never break my promises,

Logan.

I go over again and tuck it under the ribbon, folded up as neat as I could.  I then rap on her window and duck back into my room.  I leave the curtains up and look at her.  Her hair's tied up in a messy braid now, strands sticking up here and there.  She's changed into a long sleeved light grey shirt and I can see faintly some leggings.  She stares at the box, risks a quick glance at me and then lifts up the top of the box which is resting in her hands.  I see her mouth opening a bit, her lips curved in the slightest of smiles before it disappears.  She takes out the necklace, the book, a note I wrote for her explaining about the meaning of the presents and the notebook paper tucked under the ribbon.  I look at her carefully as she reads both of the notes, her eyes scanning the paper.  I see her face slowly crumpling up and I want to leap over to her and hug the living daylights out of her but I can't so I stay still at the window.  I see her settling the necklace carefully on her neck where it rests perfectly on her collarbone but tucks it under her shirt.  She scans the back of the book, examines my note on the front cover, traces her fingers over the tear on the cover and carefully sets it down next to The Great Gatsby on her shelf.  She takes the box and I see her setting it on the ground.  She gathers up the notes and puts it on her desk as well.

Then she smiles, as if to say thank you and to tell me that she was sorry, that the damage is irreplaceable before she pulls down her window and put the curtains back into place. I sink down to the floor.

I release a breath I never knew I was holding and put my head in my hands.

She was the light that I could never have.