A/N: This is about this girl that I've been infatuated with. She's been destroying me for weeks now. Also sort of based on 'The Tin Soldier' by Hans Christian Andersen. It really is strange; PwP - Prose without Plot. Anyways, enjoy.

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- There Is No Escape,

Calamity Now

He's been sitting in that same place for the three months that he's been there. She moves around the room, but she's always within his sight. He made sure of that, watching her movements, her smiles, her laughs. He wanted to know how it would feel to taste one of those -- but the moment he entered her society she would smile bitterly and excuse herself. That enraged him; all he wanted was a taste of what it was like to feel real, why wouldn't she consent to it?

Duncan didn't feel like a real person, on the contrary. At night after everyone went home he would sit outside and take his trusty razor blade to his skin, watching in fascination how the blood still flowed within him when he had been so sure that there wasn't a real heart beating inside of him.

It was almost childish the way that Duncan viewed the world, so convinced of the role everyone played as if it were all a game. He was the tin soldier with one leg as his friends were the soldiers with both. And she -- Bridgette, she played the paper ballerina as well as the goblin. Bittersweet.

At night he mouths that word silently as he cuts, just to feel what it would taste like on his lips.

Bittersweet

Tumbling down the labyrinth of his mind Duncan gasped for breath, trying to swim above the filth that society had spat at him. And as he opened his mouth the sullied water would overflow his mouth and pour down his throat, engulfing his body and state of mind. Filling it with the worst of thoughts and feelings.

She stares at him when he comes into the room, the jingling of his chains and heavy footfalls snap her out of the work she should be doing and stares with her funny coloured eyes, and in those moments Duncan could swear that she thought of him as much as he thinks of her.

Lifting his head he hears her laughter as she stands and descends from the room that they studied in. Almost mechanically Duncan stood as well, turning down the hall and staring at her teal hoodie and how much he hated the color.

She sees him; she noticed him the first that she came to that place. He was sitting in the back with his headphones blaring out the rest of the world in his strange corner. He wasn't anything special; a dime in a dozen -- and she didn't appreciate the way that he stared so blatantly. It was creepy obsessive, and even though she smiled and tried to make believe it was just too hard when he practically stalked her with his eyes.

She thinks about how he has that friend with him -- that fat boy with the blonde hair. Why had he even bothered to befriend the loser when it's so obvious that he hates him? Pity, or maybe sympathy. But when she thinks of those things she reflects back onto the situation she's in with him she sighs, and loses respect for herself. She was doing the exact same to Duncan as he did to that loser.

At night she tries to bring his smile out of his mind; not because she likes him but because she's nervous that soon he'll advance in his feelings towards her, and then what could she possibly do?

Her friends tell her it's a crush, but she feels that it's more than that. Though just in hope she makes herself look worse and worse each day, so maybe his attention will be focused elsehwere. She heard he was quite the catch a few months ago, and she briefly wonders what made him change and why he was acting that way. If he was different maybe there would be respect, maybe there could've been something real.

Something real. She muses to herself.

The reason why she stands is because she feels that if she sits there any longer his eyes will burn holes into the back of her favourite hoodie and then where will she be? Anyways, she needs fresh air and a break as well. Even if it's raining it doesn't matter to her, anything to get away from the lust in his eyes.

As she walks she doesn't dare look back at him, the churning in her stomach won't stop despite her efforts to slow it down. The very thought of him following her puts her teeth on edge, and she refuses to have a panic attack by looking back and seeing if he's there.

Opening the door she steps outside and embraces the cold biting wind and hard hitting rain.

She knows that he's followed her when she doesn't hear the door shut immediately after her, and slowly she forces her eyes to meet his intense gaze. His pupils are small and his eyebrows knotted.

She thinks she's so much better than him. He sneers at the thought because he knows that bitch could never do half of the shit that he's done. She couldn't even compare her scars to his he was so deep. So why the hell did he care? He didn't know, he didn't want to know either.

"You piss me off." Duncan says flatly and watches her face carefully for a response.

Slowly she nods her head and shrugs her shoulders, hands retreating to her front pockets.

"What do you want from me?" She asks slowly.

The truth is he doesn't know, and he doesn't want anything to betray his pride so he doesn't speak. Instead he walks towards her and presses her against the wall, pushing his weight against hers so she can't escape and leans his head forward, keeping his eyes open so he can see her reaction. To see if she closes her eyes or if there's only fear.

The tin soldier wants some feelings too.

He presses his lips against hers and gently sucks on her lower lip with surprising gentleness. Both their eyes are stare into one another as he moves his lips, trying to coax hers into kissing in rhythm. She doesn't, and it drives him insane. He wants to taste her smile, and her, laughter, and the kind words that they had spoken once. Instead he gets her frowns and and disapproval.

She doesn't know what to do so she just lets him; afterwards she can notify a teacher and they'll keep him away from her.

The kiss is surprisingly gentle to her when he portrayed himself as beyond insane, but it doesn't change her feelings and it doesn't make her kiss back. She doesn't love, him. Nor does she like him and he just has to accept that fact.

When he pulls away she stares at him still, eyes emotionless still and it makes him want to smack her, but instead he digs his nails into his hand until he draws blood and counts to four in his head. Then he steps aside and she walks inside, leaving him behind.

He feels like he's melting, just like the soldier in the oven. But the paper ballerina didn't burn, instead the goblin won. He thinks of that night and almost smiles as he thinks of his tin heart, and how this time he cuts there will be oil instead of blood.

This time he knows he's not real.