Naomi -

I sigh, sliding down the wall, out of the way of the dozens of bodies passing by me.

Fuck overpopulation, man.

“So, what are you in for?” A low voice jests, and I feel a large body heat move down beside me.

“Does being stupid count?” I groan, lowering my head into my knees as I fold myself up.

“I think so. That’s exactly why I’M here, so… But anyway, what’s a pretty girl like yourself doing in a place like this?” He jokes, and I try to focus on his aura.

Sad, desolate, heartbroken. Yeesh, I should be asking him what’s wrong instead of the other way around.

“I… got slapped by a stranger and then totally lost in the hallway, losing my new friend Yuki along the way.” I squirm in my crumpled position, trying to shake the weird feeling I had gotten.

“A friend of Yuki’s? No way! That’s my best friend. Did she talk about me? The names Rileys, Will Rileys.” He states, and suddenly everything clicks into place.

Will Rileys, Yuki’s best friend. Monique’s now ex.

Hrm, this is odd.

“Oh. Will? Yeah uhm, she did mention you.” I say, trying to hide the pity in sadness that was causing my happiness to waiver.

“Uh oh. Nothing too good, huh? Did she tell you about the uh…” He leans in close, whispering the last bit of his sentence.

“... the fair ride?”

“Fair ride? Uh, no. What happened on the fair ride?” I ask, and he pulls back before looping his hand casually into mine, playing with my fingers.

“We don’t talk about that. But, what did she say?”

“Oh, well it wasn’t her that really brought you up. It was your, uhm, ex?” I feel his fingers freeze, and he tries to smoothly pull off the quick choke with a swift cough; as if he didn’t just gulp loudly.

“And w-what did s-she say?” He stutters, and I quickly pull back from it, knowing what stuttering might mean.

“Just some rude stuff, and how you were cheating on her with Yuki.” I murmur, tracing the palms of his hands in an attempt to calm him down.

“Personally, I don’t see it. All the stuff she said. You’re very nice and soft.” I continue and feel him nod against my shoulder, tucking himself casually onto my side, safely.

“Thank you… That’s really nice.” He whispers, and I smile to myself, before sighing as the crowd around us disperses.

“So, how come you’re here with me instead of in class?” I ask, stretching slightly to keep my thighs from sticking to the cold tile floor.

“I just- I don’t really feel like facing anyone right now, and you were sitting against the wall alone and I couldn’t help but think- I just, I couldn’t help but think you were the type of person to have an interesting story to tell.” I smile once more to myself, trying to fully grasp who this guy was.

“You’re a writer.” I say, squeezing his hand tightly before continuing, “I’ve never met a writer before.”

“H-how’d you know?” He replies, quite obviously shocked.

“You went looking for a story because you love to write. Instead of going to your class, you stayed here by me, maybe as a distraction or maybe to use me for future reference- but as a story either way. I think it’s quite wonderful actually.” I admit, wishing myself I had a physically artistic ability.

“You’re right actually. I can’t say I love to write, because writing is me. It's the same as breathing and eating. I just get this vivid story in my head and I absolutely need to write it down. To share it with someone who maybe can take a story and make their own. And so on, and so on. To the point where it's just this-” He stops, a little embarrassed.

“Continue. I get this way with my music, and I want to hear how you feel. It's nice to have someone to listen about it every once and a while.”

“It's this amazing scenario of expressive vivid ideas that interweb into the next generations’ imaginations, allowing them to have the same ideas and like-minded adventures spread to their imaginations. It's beautiful. It's… amazing and scary and simply wonderful.” He finishes, slightly flushed after moving his arms around in fluid motions to annunciate his words. (I only know so because my hand was still intertwined by his, being unwillingly jerked into these motions.)

“I… get it, actually. I enjoy playing different instruments, and I get exactly what you mean.” I say, kind of happy to have met someone that explores their creative works with the same. To inspire.

“A musician. I wish I could do stuff like that. If you wouldn’t mind me asking, what inspires your music?”

“The different frequencies and noises spiralling themselves into beats and tones fascinate me. It creates this invisible story that you really have to pay attention to in order to understand. I enjoy it.” I yawn slightly, before asking Will for the time.

“It's probably been a good ten minutes since we left class. Or, since you left class I guess? I didn’t go to my first period, heh…” He nervously laughs, and I smile in response.

“Oh, that’s okay. I mean, if I were to judge people based on class participation, I would definitely be hypocritical. I’ve never gone to school before.”

“You were homeschooled?? How? Why? Overprotective parents?” He asks, his questions making me fidget slightly.

“Yes, I was homeschooled. My mom didn’t mind teaching me, and I had online assignments as well. Because I can’t see. And parent, not parents. My mother is all I need thank you very much.” I respond, counting each question with my fingers, hoping I answered all of them.

“You’re- I- I’m so sorry I had no ide-” I roll my eyes and put my head in my knees.

“Please don’t. It's fine. It’s okay. Cheese and beans, I’m not angry.”

“In that case, can I ask something?”

“Yeah, I don’t mind.”

“Your dad… he left?”

“Something along those lines. My biological mom left too, though. My adoptive mother, my real mother, she stuck around. That's what really matters.”

“I get that.” He murmurs, fidgeting.

“C-can I just play with your hair for a bit?”

I nod and turn around to let him mess with it.

This was different. But a kind of nice different.