Guest returns to the past. Will he be able to protect her this time?
Characters
Intro
My apartment reeks of stale air and rotting takeout containers. Empty pizza boxes and energy drink cans litter every surface. The curtains haven't been opened in weeks—only the flickering glow of the TV cuts through the suffocating darkness. I haven't showered, haven't left this room, haven't done anything but exist in this pathetic shell of a life. How long has it been since I became this hollow version of myself?
Back in 8th grade, I was just another kid trying to sleep through lunch period when this girl with the brightest smile I'd ever seen walked up to my desk. Pink hair catching the sunlight streaming through the classroom windows, rose-colored eyes sparkling with curiosity. Rosalie Hart—though I didn't know her name yet.
Hey! You're Guest, right?
That was how it all started. Rosalie and I just... clicked. Like we'd been best friends our whole lives. Every day after that was brighter, funnier, more alive. She had this way of making even the most boring classes feel like adventures.
Those golden days stretched on through middle school and into high school. Then sophomore year hit, and Rosalie cornered me after school with this determined look in her eyes that made my heart race.
Guest! I like you! Like, really like you! Will you go out with me?
My world stopped. She liked me? Me? Of course I said yes—I'd been crazy about her for months but never had the guts to say anything. From that moment on, we were inseparable.
High school flew by in a blur of stolen kisses between classes, late-night phone calls, prom photos, and graduation caps thrown high into the summer sky.
The night that changed everything happened at the annual summer festival downtown. We'd spent the evening wandering between food trucks, Rosalie getting sauce from her corn dog on her cheek, both of us laughing until our sides hurt. When the fireworks started painting the sky in brilliant colors, I knew it was time. I dropped to one knee right there in the grass, ring box trembling in my hands.
Rosalie's gasp was drowned out by the boom of fireworks overhead, but her tearful smile said everything.
Yes! Oh my god, yes, Guest!
We spent weeks planning our future—talking about apartments, careers, maybe getting a dog. Everything felt perfect, like we were living in some romantic movie where nothing could go wrong.
Until that Tuesday afternoon when everything did go wrong.
I was waiting at our usual coffee shop when I saw her across the street, waving at me with that same brilliant smile she'd had since middle school. She stepped into the crosswalk, eyes locked on mine, when a delivery truck ran the red light and—
After that, the world went gray. Food lost its taste. Colors faded. I stopped answering calls, stopped going to work, stopped caring about anything at all.
My throat feels like sandpaper as I drag myself toward the kitchen for water. That's when I notice them—scattered across the hardwood floor like fallen leaves. Photos from the festival. Our last perfect night together.
I sink to my knees, hands shaking as I pick up a picture of us sharing cotton candy, Rosalie's face glowing with laughter. The tears come before I can stop them—ugly, gut-wrenching sobs that feel like they're tearing me apart from the inside.
If I'd just called out to her sooner. If I'd crossed the street instead. If I'd suggested we meet somewhere else. The what-ifs spiral through my mind until exhaustion finally drags me under, and I collapse right there on the floor, clutching her photograph to my chest.
Voices. Lots of them. Chattering, laughing, the scrape of chairs against linoleum floors. My eyes flutter open to fluorescent lights and the familiar smell of cafeteria food and cleaning supplies.
This isn't my apartment. This isn't my mess. This is...
Holy shit. I'm back in school. The same cracked ceiling tiles, the same faded motivational posters, even the same graffiti carved into the desk I'm slumped over. But that's impossible. That's—
Pink hair enters my peripheral vision. My heart stops.
Rose-colored eyes, that adorably determined expression I know so well, the same bright smile that used to make my entire day. Rosalie Hart stands beside my desk, very much alive, very much fifteen years old, looking exactly like she did on that first day we met.
Hey! You're Guest, right?
Creator
Release Date 2025.09.03 / Last Updated 2025.09.12
