#want to write more verity but she's not fully formed in my head yet... grrrr

[angie-long-legs]

🌼 ― a happy memory.

Walk Down Memory Lane

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"And don't even think about comin' back!"

Blood dripped from Anthony's knuckles as the three older boys scurried off obediently, his chest heaving as adrenaline coursed through him. The nine-year-old dusted off his sleeves and ran a grubby hand through his hair, gathering his composure. He'd only got one real punch in before the boys had recognised him and done a runner, but it had landed with a heavy crunch - much to Anthony's satisfaction.

There were some benefits to being known for your mafia family, he supposed.

Having caught his breath, Anthony held his hand out to his best friend, who had been shoved down against the concrete. "Y' okay, Ver?" he muttered, traces of anger still colouring his tone as he helped her up. It wasn't the first time that Verity had been the subject of attention from bullies. A quiet and sensitive soul, she was a rather easy target, meaning that Anthony often took on the self-appointed task of defending her - something the girl had persistently begged him not to. Far too furious to care, Anthony cursed to himself as he pulled Verity to her feet. He would take a scolding from her later. Right now, all that mattered was that she was okay.

"Swear ta god, if those sons a' bitches lay so much as a finger on ya ever again, I'll-"

Anthony was immediately cut off by a fierce hug, shoving him backwards and knocking the air from his lungs. Stunned, he simply stood there for a moment, his fury wilting under this wave of affection. Verity seldom offered physical touch like this, and when she did, it was subtle. She might hold Anthony's hand, or touch his arm, but a hug was a rarity.

In fact, physical affection itself was not easy to come by in Anthony's life. Once upon a time, his mother and sister had been more liberal with their love (in private, his sister still was), but his father and brother scorned such interactions. Anthony was supposed to be tough. How would he ever be a man if he was being coddled like this?! His father refused to raise a sissy, too spineless to follow in his footsteps, a blight on the family name. Anthony would be exactly what was expected of him: ruthless, headstrong, devoted. Pandering to every feeble bid for attention would make him a coward, and Anthony's father made no secret of what he thought of those who were too afraid to do what had to be done.

Anthony's arms wrapped around his friend, squeezing tight.

Verity didn't know quite how much Anthony needed to be held - but Anthony had also been unaware of how much Verity needed it, too. When he pulled away, there was no hiding the tears brimming in her eyes, or the shaken expression on her face.

"Are ya okay?" he asked, an automatic response. Of course she wasn't. Still, the girl nodded fiercely, sniffing and wiping her damp cheeks with the back of her sleeve. "Yeah," she replied, quiet but resolute. "'M okay. Thanks, Anthony."

"I'm tellin' ya, Ver, they're gonna be real sorry when I-"

"Anthony."

He bit his tongue, and his friend smiled.

"I'm okay."

Anthony sighed. He believed her. He trusted her. What Verity told him was never anything less than the truth.

He smiled back.

"Y' always are."