The two of them were seated on a set of swings that was at the park. A few kids ran about, giggling, and playing with one another. They seemed carefree, like they didn't have a trouble in this world. And they probably didn't. Poppy shot a glance at Ronny who was swinging slowly, his head hung downwards to look at his dirty Converse.

"Ronny?"

"Yes?" He looked up to see Poppy already looking at him. He noticed how dark her eyes were, they were always like that since the day he had met her. He always thought she had special eyes, her brown eyes didn't lighten up in the sun or warm up when she was happy. They stayed the same dark color, a beautiful color, in Ronny's opinion.

Just because it's not unique doesn't mean it isn't beautiful.

"Will you tell me something about yourself?" asked Poppy.

The group of kids erupted into loud fits of giggles when they all went down the slide together, bumping into each other at the end. The mothers were all watching, to keep a close eye for their child's safety, and all of them had a faint smile on their faces.

Poppy and Ronny both secretly wished that they had had something like that when they were younger; better, more loving, and protective parents.

Neither of them said their thoughts aloud, though.

"You know I don't like talking about myself," muttered Ronny as he kicked a rock with his shoe, it skidding across the ground and stopped a few feet away from them.

"I just want to get to know you better," she whispered so lowly he almost didn't hear her over the children who were yelling as one of them chased the others. It wasn't like that didn't know each other well, because they did and didn't. They'd talk about things that they were comfortable with, only the things they felt the other ought to know. If one didn't want to tell the other something about themselves, so be it. Neither would get upset.

That's how much they understood each other.

It was quiet for a couple heartbeats between them. The only sound passed between them was their breathing, the creaking of the swing, and the kids playing not far away.

"I used to be very happy," said Ronny. He felt a little... flower (it was the closest thing he could describe to what he was feeling) had been settled in his fragile chest, and slowly began expanding, growing, within him. It clearly meant he was opening up to someone, who was Poppy, his one and only friend who understood him when he barely even had to explain things.

Ever meet someone like that? You meet and talk and connect with like - really connect, an inseparable, powerful bond more sacred and precious than anything ever before. It's quite a beautiful, rare thing.

Poppy chewed on her bottom lip, eager to hear what he had to say about himself.

"And, uh, I stopped being happy when my parents left me at the age eleven. Resulting with their absence, I had to live with my aunt and uncle. Once I came to terms of the absence of my parents, I started to be more calm at the fact they'd never come back." Ronny took a deep breath in, and kept talking, "I wasn't really ever that happy so. Then... at the age thirteen - which was the year I accepted that my parents were really gone - my uncle and I got into an argument, over what I cannot remember, but I remember that was the first time he raised a hand to me, beat me."

Poppy inhaled a sharp intake of breath. Over all the things she thought he might tell her, she did not expect him to tell her something so personal and emotional. She stared at Ronny, but he wouldn't look at her. No, he was looking far away, reliving the memories inside his head.

"The next day I didn't go go school - I had bruises, bad ones, and they were obviously intentional not accidental. So I stayed home which was just as bad because my Uncle stayed home. He uncle slept half of the day, luckily. He woke up eventually, and I remember being so scared, so nervous I'd do something wrong and he'd hit me again. Every day was a nightmare, Poppy. I was so scared of him, of what he'd do you me again.. God, I was so pathetic then." Ronny let out a humorless, empty chuckle that made goosebumps rise on Poppy's pale skin.

She was starting to regret ever opening her mouth.

"Anyways, you wanted to know something about me? Well, he kept beating me until I finally stood up go him in eighth grade. Man, I hit the living shit out of him with the lamp in the living room. I swore I'd killed him, but he just passed out and had a mild concussion. Long story short, he and my aunt aren't together anymore. Now he spends his days drinking away his sorrows and living in a cheap motel an hour away from the house. I guess when I hit him I must've knocked some sense into him."

Poppy bit her lip, an old habit of hers. "Why didn't your aunt stop him from hitting you before?" She didn't understand this part, how his aunt didn't even stop her husband. How could someone do that, not even try to stop it when she knew it was going on?

Ronny stood up abruptly and stood I'm front of Poppy. She saw how lifeless his eyes looked, how utterly sad and tired he truly was. She had to look up at him since she was still seated on the swing. He put both hands on the chains of the swing, their hands not that far apart. "I'm tired of talking. Let's go get drunk, yeah?"