MJ had spent all of August 10th in a funk.
She feels like she missed something, like she had such grand plans, and yet.. nothing. Nothing comes to mind no matter how hard she tried to remember.
Yet, her chest felt like there’s pressure there. Not like she’s nervous or afraid or having trouble breathing. But like she’s the Titanic about to split apart from immense water pressure once it sank under the water.
Why did she feel such… weight? Why did she long for something she didn’t even know what it was she wanted? Why did she feel like she didn’t get her opportunity to do something? It bugged the hell out of her, and she just didn’t know why she felt so miserable.
She wanted it to stop. She’d been feeling like something was missing for almost a year now, and today, August 10, was a particularly bad offender. She didn’t want to go to therapy, but she just… she just couldn’t figure out this mystery. And today it was really hurting her, more than ever.
Back in New York, Peter opened a box containing a slice of cake he bought from the coffee shop. The one he hoped out of some wistful desire that someone in particular would sell to him, so he could see her strong, dark eyes, her frizzy hair, the way she looked so cute in the teal uniform.
But she wasn’t there. So Peter quietly bought a slice of cake and took it back to his apartment. He simply ate a few bites before putting the box in his fridge. He didn’t wish himself Happy Birthday. And he didn’t even put a candle on it to light and blow out before he did.
Because he knew he wouldn’t get his wish even if he made one.