I set my backpack down on the bench. I was fed up with my friends. So I decided to ditch them today. Because I am just that friend. Besides, they could go have fun teasing someone else, I wanted to start my homework.
As I took my binder out of my bag, someone put their backpack down next to me. That emo kid, I thought as I glanced up and saw him. He was one of those who seemed to try and blend into the shadows during class and always sat alone during lunch. He played the part too. He glared at almost anyone who passed by him, almost like he thought anyone could be the enemy. I looked back at my homework, a math worksheet I had absolutely no clue on how to do. But I was curious. I glanced over again. He had pulled out a notebook. Part of it lay across one his legs, letting me see the inside cover. In black sharpie, he had written what I guessed was his name. 'Nico di Angelo', then a list of classes and rooms, what must have been his school schedule.
He looked up and found me staring; I felt my cheeks bloom a deep red. I was really shy. I don't even know how I managed the "hello" I found myself saying. He didn't respond. I got that. I was sure he was doing the same thing has me: trying to work on homework, wanting to be alone. But for some unknown reason I tried again.
"What are you doing?" I asked.
"Not your business. Could you leave me alone?" He mumbled.
"Ok." I barely uttered. I focused on my paper, trying to figure out the problem I was working on.
But I just couldn't get his image out of my head, I couldn't forget about him. He seemed like he wanted to be alone but at the same time didn't. He appeared to make himself seem unapproachable just so people wouldn't see how much he actually wanted, needed, the would be friends he deterred. Like me in some ways.
"I…uh…I like your shirt," I ventured. It was a band shirt; Imagine Dragons I think. He didn't respond.
"Do you listen to the band?" I asked.
"Yeah, that's why I wear their merchandise. Do you?" He replied not even looking up, still writing. He seemed to know there was no getting rid of me.
"Yeah. I love them. I listen to them all the time." I looked at him directly for the first time, as opposed to the hurried glances I had been giving him until then.
He had messy black hair, looking like he had just rolled out of bed. He was very pale, like a ghost almost. He was twisting a skull ring that sat on his ring finger. The ring was silver, but was tarnished around the sides, like it was worn down. The twisting must have been a habit. I realized it must have been the shadows under his eyes that made him look like a ghost more than the dark hair and outfit. He finally looked up and glanced at me. I met his eyes and was stunned.
His eyes, I don't know how to describe them. They had this guarded look, but if you looked deeper, they had so many emotions: pain, anger, despair, but mostly sadness. His eyes, they looked cracked. Like someone had smashed a plate and glued it back together, knowing it would never be the same.
"Let me ask you something, why are you talking to me. Because if you're here to mock me or tease me or whatever, just leave now," he said, pushing his hand into the bench, pressing his fingernails into the stone it was made of.
"What? No. I've never said a hurtful word in my life, not on purpose at least. I don't know… I just… I thought we could be friends."
"Why?" was the answer.
"Why? You seemed lonely. I thought you could use a friend," I said.
"I have enough friends."
I was about to give up when he started talking, "I didn't want to be at this school. At least I-I don't want to be at school without my sister. But she's gone. Forever. I have to remind myself that," he whispered, so quietly I had to lean in a little to hear. He seemed to be talking to himself, though, more than me.
"I'm sorry," I tried saying.
"See, that's the thing I'll never understand. What are you sorry for? That I've had such a crappy life? It doesn't make sense, to apologize for something you have no control over. Besides, I don't need your pity," he looked at his skull ring.
"I'll never need your pity," he said so quietly I was sure I imagined it.
What I did next, I have no explanation for. I don't know why I did it. I kissed him. I leaned closer, pulled him in by his shirt, and kissed a guy I had barely known five minutes. It was really just a quick peck on the lips, but still. I'm ridiculous. He just looked at me, surprised, not saying anything when I let him go.
"I-I am so sorry. I didn't know that was going to happen. I don't even know why I did thou-," I was cut off, saved from my rambling. Because he did the same thing I was apologizing for. He kissed me. It wasn't just a tiny peck, like the one I'd given him; it was an actual, no hands down, meant to happen kiss. It meant something.
When he drew back, there was another emotion in his eyes. Hope. There was still the pain, suffering and misery, but there was a little fire of hope too. I realize that I lighted that fire.
I gave his eyes the thing they so desperately needed.