Ever since they were children no one had actually heard (Y/N) speak.

No one heard her talk, except a couple of ' ouches' or ' ughs'. She never really spoke, or felt the need to.

She wasn't as smart as Norman, as cunning as Ray or as athletic as Emma. She was more artistic and perceptive. She trusted her gut feeling.

Children tried making her talk and even made bets to see who could get her to speak.

One day a couple of kids agreed that it would be fun to try and make (Y/N) speak. The one who could get her to talk would get everyone's piece of cake, and the deal was on.

(Y/N) was walking beside Norman, making her way towards her table. Those kids tied tablecloth into a rope and ran around with it, trying to annoy (Y/N) in hopes of her telling them off.

But (Y/N) seem unfazed. Not until one of the kids tripped (Y/N) over and she feel face first, slamming on the floor. Everyone gasped and the room went silent. Norman picked her up, searching her face for some wounds.

" Are you okay?" he asked, worried.

But no response, she just nodded her head, moving her (H/C) locks out of her face. Norman sighed and helped her stand.

" Now guys, that was really mean. If you wanted her to talk you could've asked her." Norman tried not to glare at the kids.

One of them started a fuss about how (Y/N) never talks.

" Please stop." Norman pleaded.

" What? Is she mute so she can't talk?" the kids pursed it's lips.

" That's not- "

" Are you mute (Y/N)? " the kid asked, not really expecting an answer.

(Y/N) stood there, fiddling with her hands. She put a hand on Norman's shoulder and smiled, waving him off. Hell she was going to leave the room. If she doesn't want to speak no one should pressure her.

Later that day (Y/N) was nowhere to be seen and Norman started worrying. He hasn't seen her too long for his liking, even though she liked being alone, Norman liked the feeling of protecting her.

" Hey, Ray. Did you see (Y/N)?"

Norman approached him and Ray almost immediately shrugged.
Norman sighed and decided to leave her be. When she's ready she'll come back.

For the most of the day Norman watched kids play and wondered where (Y/N) went.

He didn't really know what feelings are, taking in account his age, but he knew that (Y/N) was the highlight of his day. Her presence and her eyes were something he enjoyed.

Not only her exterior but also her undeniable talent for painting and her paintings. She'd often paint with dark colors but add shimmering hues to the flowers. Flowers were something she was most comfortable painting and so were Norman's eyes. She'd paint his eyes, adding in the most mesmerizing blue colors she could mix. He just loved her soul.

But the thing is, she never really spoke to him, and he could hardly read her.

He remembers one time when he was watching her paint flowers that she said beautiful. It wasn't really loud, it was more of a whisper and suddenly the word beautiful become his favorite word. The way she said it was like the soft wind in the warm summer night.

Comforting and gentle.

As the night fell, (Y/N) still wasn't coming back. Norman now was full on searching for her. Mama let him go search for her since he was the best at picking up small tracks. He searched and searched until he saw a small figure by the bush holding a pallette and a brush.

As he approached the figure it looked like someone was painting.

(Y/N).

He carefully made his was towards her, making sure not to make any sounds. He admired her talent. Even though she wasn't best at math she was still pretty good at measuring how many paint she needed to use.

When he was behind her, he could finally see what she was painting.

Starry night in the garden with some whimsical blue flowers. The flowers glowed under the moonlight and the boy was speechless.

" Blue moonflowers."

Was that... what...

Did (Y/N) just speak?

Norman was more than speechless now. He opened his mouth to say something but the girl interrupted him.

" By the day they are invisible but when the night comes they bloom in their full glory. Showing off their beauty, as they're illuminated by moonlight. They're the symbol of hope."

Norman looked at the flowers and smiled. Her voice was just like he remembers. Soft and gentle.

" Do you know why I always paint them? " she asked, averting her gaze to the dumbstruck boy.

" Because you're my moonflower. "

xx