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Sometimes, rarely, Smith has days where he does everything slowly. Methodically. He is pushed so far that he goes back to the beginning. This means slow. Methodical.He doesn’t quite know how to describe the feeling he has on these days. Describing it as ‘inner peace’ feels too cliché— but it almost feels like peace. It’s too melancholy to be peace, though. It’s tinged with such sadness that it stains the edges of Smith’s being the faintest shade of blue. It’s weird, these days he has. They’re oddly humbling, too, though. They remind Smith that he is just skin and bones and blood, burning hot lava through his veins. It’s a reminder that he isn’t just Smith. Instead, he is a force to be reckoned with.On these days, Smith thinks of Trott. He thinks of Trott every other day, anyway, but it’s different on his slow days. Usually, it’s as if Trott is tucked into every crevice Smith has, into the creases of his brain and the sloping curve at the back of his knee. Trott slides around like oil on Smith’s skin, there, constantly, but never going any further. Never moving. Sometimes Smith wants to drown in it and other times it suffocates him.On his off days— his slow days— he is able to wrangle Trott away. He can separate Trott from himself and remember they are actually two separate beings. They are not one. Instead, they are two. They were always two, but Trott had slipped into his eye sockets and blocked Smith’s vision.Trott himself is a duplicate. There are two of him. There is the one in Smith’s head and there is the one who exists; the one Smith can touch and feel. Sometimes they align perfectly. Other times they could not be more different. Smith’s Trott constantly flicks his fringe out of his eyes, but Real Trott cuts his fringe off entirely. Smith’s Trott is quiet and only speaks to Smith. Real Trott talks to everyone, quietly. Real Trott has a crush on the girl that sits in front of him in science. Smith’s Trott looks at Smith the way he wishes Real Trott would.On Smith’s slow days, he sees this. He can pry away the fingers covering his eyes and see. He can see that Trott does not feel the same way. He can see that they are friends and they will be nothing more. He can see that Trott still loves Smith, still cherishes him in his own way, despite all this. Trott himself is also skin and bones and burning hot blood. He is also finding his way through the world, the same way Smith is. They are different, endlessly different, but they are also one in the same.It’s on these days that Smith remembers to forgive himself. It is okay to feel this way, he tells himself. It’s okay to think these things. Thoughts do not define him, surely, only actions do that. It is okay to think himself into circles. It’s okay. Sometimes, Smith feels like climbing up the tallest building he can find and screaming that it’s okay. It’s okay, it’s okay, it’s okay, he screams. It was, it is and it will be okay.It’s on these days, too, that Smith thinks to motivate himself. Trott may not love him, but that does not mean Smith cannot love himself. It’s okay, he tells himself, as he picks up the fragmented pieces of himself that he left dusted everywhere. He finds them in Trott’s bedroom, buried in the years of memories there. They’re in school, too, in science tests marked in red pen, with points deducted for doodling on the exam paper. Smith even finds them on the way home, sprinkled along like fairy dust. He picks them up, collecting them. In his own time, he will start putting them together like jigsaw pieces. In time, he will fit them back into himself so once more, he can be whole.