For Those Below
Co-Written by N. Ward/J. O'Connell.
Edited by: Nikki Ward
Paring: Nicholas Rush/Gloria Rush
Theme: Love/Hurt/Comfort
PG- 15

Oxford University, UK, 1979

The young man scratched his stubbled chin and pulled at the oversized, red beanie that covered his mop of unruly brown hair. A pair of deep brown eyes peered out across the ocean of registered students through thick framed, thick lensed glasses; noting the trappings of wealth that adorned them. It was a grounding exercise; a means of reminding himself of the disparity between them and himself. Unlike them, he had not attended the best private schools that Britain had to offer, but instead the hard stooled classrooms of the Glaswegian Boys Catholic School under the tuition of the Christian Brothers (with many a bloody palm as testament). There, from a very young age his prospects had been made clear to him; the Catholic poor remained the Catholic poor. Notions of escape were futile and sinful. Well, if he was to burn in hell, he would burn an educated man, if nothing else.

Nicholas Anthony Hue Rush was a docker's son, and the youngest of three; the problem child in a family reared on problems. His father hated him and his mother had died when he was just ten years old - not that she had ever shown him that much attention. A severe depression acerbated by an abusive husband was the cause of that. His siblings? His elder brother Diarmuid has been killed in a local shooting in 1973, and his sister Leslie was the poster-girl for teenage ASBOs. One would think that such a background would have made one bitter, but if anything it had only made him more determined to follow his dream of becoming a great mathematician.

Though many would have considered him an introverted and solitary individual, who lacked the basic social skills that were essential to function in society, very few knew the nature of his brilliant mind. Where words failed him, math spoke to him. It had always been his strong suit in school. When most children would have been struggling to master their times tables, Nicholas was solving problems of probability at a secondary school level - all in his head of course. Even now, as he listened to the portly Professor Saul drone on about the applications of 'differential equations', his mind was turning over the equation that was written on the board. It offended him. Not because he considered it below him (Nicholas was much too modest for that) but because of the glaring error in calculation. It was so blatantly obvious, yet he was the only one who seemed to notice it.

But he couldn't raise his hand. He couldn't expose this careless error because Nicholas Rush was not a student. Nicholas Rush was homeless, and therefore couldn't afford to be.

She was bored. That was her only reason for sitting in a class that wasn't one of her electives. Well actually the real reason she was sitting here was because of her friend. She sighed. This was a bad idea. She hadn't a clue what they were talking about, let alone what the complicated looking squiggles on the board below meant. Gloria Olivia Estare was of a proper upbringing; something that her mother never allowed her to forget. Her father was the head of a music company that sold and distributed instruments to big scale orchestras and the like. It was a profitable business and like many that attended Oxford University, she was wealthy. She, herself, was renowned throughout the school for her wealth and beauty and they were things that meant so little to her. She had pale skin and short dark hair that came just below her ears, and was of an almost worryingly slight build. Her intelligence wasn't anything to be marvelled at, but her true gift lay in music, something which she had inherited from her father. Her ability to hit the higher scales, and play the violin with skill beyond her years had been the key to her acceptance into the college's prestigious conservatoire. It was a wonder, therefore, why she was currently sitting in the middle of lecture on complex differential equations.

It had all been because of Clair, who actually was a student here. She had been intrigued by this notion of someone in her class who wasn't supposed to be here, and who she said had all the skills of someone who should. This alone had been enough to peak Gloria's inquisitive nature. She did enjoy the idea of a rebel; someone who was here, not because he was supposed to be, but because he wanted to.

It hadn't taken long to find him either. She saw him across the classroom, marvelling at his ability to sit amongst the elite with as much sore-thumbedness as ever he could have had. Flicking her hair behind her ear, she sighed a little, unable to pull her eyes away from him. He was curiously handsome for someone of his breed. Secretly, she longed to be like him, wild and free, not afraid to take risks, even if it meant getting yourself in trouble.

It was easy to tell that he was poor from his clothes, although she felt guilty for thinking it. She was beginning to sound like her mother; snobbish and judgmental to the point of ignorance.

She had to know more about him.

She shifted a little getting as close as she could to him without letting the teacher see her. She was now seated behind him and watched him working through with she imagined was the content of the board below. Being this close, she found herself studying his posture and body language. It had always been an interest of hers; observing the traits of those from other social castes. Eventually, she turned her gaze away, lest she be caught red handed for staring.

Nicholas hadn't ever been what one might have called observant; indeed, he would have been better described as oblivious, yet he noticed her. That said, it was hard not to. She was beautiful; her dark chestnut hair resting perfectly against her porcelain skin in a neat bob, that made her blue eyes sparkle. She moved almost silently to sit behind him, and he was momentarily distracted by the scent of expensive perfume that hung on the air as she passed. Glancing back for the briefest of moments, her gave her the tiniest of smiles then turned his attention back to the equation on the board, and tried to ignore the mistake there. It's right there! Just look! It's right in front of your damned eyes!

He didn't verbalise this, of course. To do so would only serve to expose him, and that was the very last thing he needed right now. Although he wasn't a registered student, he figured that he could ride on the coat tails of the British Education System for as long as humanly possible, learning as much as he could before they started to suspect him. What he wouldn't have given to be one of them; learning, making contributions to science and mathematics; making something of himself. Still, he supposed that things could be worse. Now if only that bampot of a professor would notice his own mistake.

He must have been tapping his pencil particularly loudly against the edge of his notebook, as the professor paused in his lecture and looked straight in his direction. It was like a scene from one of those terrible American schooldays films that his sister always watched, as row by row the students turned their heads to find the source of the disruption. Bollox.

"Is there a problem, Mr…er…". Saul furrowed his brow and squinted at the interloper with a furrowed brow. "What is your name, lad?"

Shit. Shit. SHIT.

"Uh… M'name…M'name is…" he stammered in his heavy Glaswegian brogue, his face turning redder than his beanie as the crease in the ageing professor's brow grew deeper by the second. "M'name's… R…Rush, sir. N..Nic'las Rush."

Saul held the young man's gaze steadfastly, as Nicholas gripped the notepad on the desk in front of him with a tight fist. His heart was ramming against his rib cage, and he suddenly began to feel very claustrophobic. This was it. This was the moment that all his dreams and aspirations came crashing down in a great big fireball, and he would be carted back to Glasgow on the next bus home. Except he wouldn't go home, because he couldn't. Not after… He swallowed hard and pushed that thought to the back of his mind as the distinctly American voice of the Professor rang in his ears again.

"And is something bothering you, Mr. Rush that you feel the need to disrupt my class?"

This was his chance to make it or break it. Show him! Show him his own mistake and redeem yourself! Do it NOW. Swallowing hard, he looked around the class again, meeting the eyes of his fellow peers with apprehension. For a split second he met the gaze of brunette behind him, and his breath caught in his throat, his heart lurching, whether out of fear or something else entirely he didn't know. He held her gaze for another few moments, seeking some sort of assurance in her eyes even though he had never spoken to her or wasn't even aware of her existence before this moment. She was just so... so...

He had looked at her. In that moment she felt as those the whole world had slowed down to a snail's pace and could have sworn she that felt her heart skip a beat. How did a complete stranger - a semi vagabond for that matter – manage to invoke such feelings in her? He had looked at her and smiled at her and she had to admit that it suited the straggly look he had going on. Solemnity only served to age him beyond his years. What was it that was so mysterious about this young man, that had had caught her attention from the very first moment she lay eyes on him? It was more than just a 'chalk and cheese' situation. It was something... more. Don't be daft Gloria! You only found out about this boy today. Surely you're just getting carried away with yourself!

She turned her attention back to the exchange between her subject of interest and Professor Saul, his peculiar accent making her smile. His name was Nicholas Rush – or that's what she could delineate at least. It was difficult to tell with his accent being as thick as it was. She was nervous for him. She didn't want to see him get in trouble, but curiosity at the outcome prevented her from intervening. And so she sat still and watched, her heart racing with anticipation.

"Mr. Rush!"

The sharpness in the Professor's tone made him snap his gaze back to the front of the class, as he gripped his notebook tighter. "It… It's just that…"

"Yes?! Out with it already! I don't have all day to stand here and listen to you think!"

He closed his eyes for a moment, a stream of numbers and calculations darting through his mind at an impossible pace. When he opened them again, he let out a slow breath and stood. "Yer equation's wrong, Sir. S'barely noticeable but the error in calculation makes the problem unsolvable. Ye… Ye state tha' to solve the equation one needs separate the variables bu' t'do so it needs t'be dny/ dxn := y(n) (x) = F (x,y,y', ..., y(n-1)) … n.. not Picard's Theorum as ye'd said previously…" He waited for the Professor to chew him out for his arrogance, but it didn't come. Instead, Saul turned his gaze to the board and studying it for a moment, he realised his mistake and turned back. "Oh. Very good… I was wondering when one of you might notice that. Submit your written calculations at the end of class." Nicholas shifted uneasily and looked to him sheepishly. "I… I can'ee sir."

"You can't? Why not?"

"Well uh… I didn'ee… write it down. I.. uhm. I worked it out in m'head…"

Gloria had to admit the math went over her head, but that didn't stop her from noting that she found his fierce intelligence attractive. Just knowing that he could go above a teacher and find the problem and fix it; it was unlike anything she had ever seen before. For someone to be that far ahead of everyone else... She was stunned, unable to stop the blush from crawling into her cheeks.

She wanted to cheer for him as he spoke about coming up with it in his head. If only all students in the university were here on their talent alone, rather than the inheritances passed onto them by their parents. It seemed unfair to her that someone so talented should be unable to afford to study what he loved; terribly unfair. She slowly started to clap for him, an action that sorted a sort of ripple effect throughout the classroom as one by one the other students began to join in. He deserved this.

The applause from his peers took a moment to register, as Nicholas looked about the room with silent bewilderment. Were they applauding him? But he was… nobody - a drifter without a penny to his name. Why would they even acknowledge his existence, let alone an achievement in something that came completely natural to him?

Looking to the professor, he was met with a gentle nod of approval, and something else in the older man's eyes; something he couldn't quite put his finger on. Was that... acknowledgement? It was a few moments before he was allowed to sit back down again, as Saul ushered them into silence.

"Well now… I'm more than a little disappointed that only one of you noticed that deliberate mistake, and hope in future that the rest of you will come to class with just a smidge more enthusiasm?"

The professor's words were drowned out as Nicholas sat forward and tried to comprehend what had just happened. It had been a very dangerous move, and still had the potential to be dangerous, if Professor Saul took it upon himself to search for him in the college records. In doing so he would find that there never was a Nicholas Rush in attendance at Oxford University, and Nicholas's chances at a future would be thrown to the wind. Still, the recognition from his peers had been a mollifying experience. Never in his life had he known such appraisal from anyone. His attempts to excel in school had always been met with swift reproach and dismissal. There was no place for 'know-it-alls' in Catholic schools.

Gripping his notebook tightly to his chest, he was suddenly overcome by a terrible sense of being closed in, as the usual dread begin to set in. What if this is it? I can't go back. I can't go home. Not now. Not ever. Standing, he took hold of his satchel and made for the exit, unnoticed by the rest of the class who were now listening intently to the lecture. Stumbling out the door as he went, he felt as though the ground was beginning to give way beneath his feet. He knew this feeling. It was as familiar to him as breathing. He was having what the doctor's in his youth had dubbed an 'hysterical episode'. The bastard's never cared to ask why.

Falling against a row of lockers adjacent to the lecture hall, he began to fumble in his pockets for something, eventually managing to pull out a worn looking packet of tobacco, and a strip of matches. He lit the match with trembling hands, swearing as it fell from his fingers and was extinguished on the cold tiles at his feet. Leaning his back against the lockers, he began to hyperventilate and sunk into a seated position, burying his face in his knees.

Oh God. No no no. Not here. Not now. Please not now.

Gloria was the only one who seemed to witness his adverse reaction. She could see by his face that something had turned dark in his mind, and she frowned. It was written all over his face. As he left, she too got to her feet, and gesturing to friend to notify her leaving, she followed suit. She exited the classroom just in time to see him collapse against the locker. Gasping, she rushed to his side and kneeled down in front of him. He was breathing very heavily, and seemed to be starting at something beyond their line of vision. "Sir? Mister Rush? Can you hear me? Do you need help?" She kept her voice low, trying hard not to startle him further. "Please tell me you are alright".

Usually when Nick had panicked like this in the past, he had been alone in his bedroom, locked away from the world where no one could see him cry. No one ever came to him in those moments, although occasionally one of his siblings would come to check that he hadn't 'topped himself'. They had been that bit considerate at least. Still, when her hand touched his shoulder, his natural reaction was to shield his face. Too many times, he had been backhanded for crying in front of him while he was in the middle of one of his drunken rages. But the anticipated blow never came. Lowering his arms, he was hit with the brilliant blue of those eyes that had caught his attention in class. That girl again…

Trying to compose himself, he wiped hastily at his tears and rose to his feet, mumbling his apologies. "M'sorry… M'okay." Liar. He hadn't been okay for a very long time. Still, he wasn't inclined towards letting others see him cry. It meant that he was weak and he couldn't afford to be weak. Not anymore. Fumbling for another match, he looking to her ashen-faced as he made a second attempt to light a cigarette. He found himself calming at her presence. She had a friendly face, the kind you didn't often see in this dog-eat-dog world. In fact, she was… beautiful now that he was looking at her head on. Finally managing to light the cigarette, he steadied his breathing enough to form a few words, and offer her the smallest of smiles. "But uh, Call me Nick. Mister Rush's me Da."

She breathed out, and laughed a little embarrassed that she had allowed herself to get so concerned. He was obviously fine. Or was he? Something about his eyes told her, differently. She had to admit that the accent took some getting used to and he seemed so nervous, the poor thing. What must he have gone through in his past to end up like this. She flustered then and let her arms drop by her side. Your name! Tell him your name! "My name! I'm such a dither head! I'm Gloria. Gloria Estare". He was still nervous. That much was obvious by the way that he was glancing about. Soon these halls would be teeming with transient students. "It's nearly time for classes to change. We won't be able to move. How about we get out of here and go outside for a bit? You look like you could do with the fresh air"

He found himself staring at her as she talked, smiling at her attempt to get every word out in a single breath. She was a little flighty, perhaps a wee bit awkward, but there was something about her face that instantly set him at ease. Nodding to her silently, he took the roll-up from his mouth, and smiled. "Yeah… I'd.. That'd be nice. Although… I have t'ask. Why're ye e'en talkin' t'me? No offence 'r nothin' bu' m'no exactly in yer league, am I? M'kinda a bottom-feeder…" He looks away shyly, and clutched the worn satchel at his side. He didn't know anything about this girl and yet somehow he felt completely at ease with her, as if he had known her his entire life. She seemed to him, like the perfect representation of everything he would never have; beauty, wealth, prestige. She was in every way a model of the upper class, and yet here she was, walking with him. showing him kindness. Maybe I passed out and this is some sort of unusually pleasant dream?

Walking down the steps of the college with her, he squinted a little at the sunlight that hit his eyes, and took another drag of his cigarette. Bright. They found a spot near a small fountain, and he sat, leaning his elbows on his knees as he tried to steady his breathing. He felt like an idiot for allowing such a thing to overwhelm him. In his rational mind, he knew that the attacks wouldn't kill him and yet when he was in the middle of one, all he could think about was the fact that he couldn't breathe. It was the vicious cycle of anxiety, and he hated it.

After a few moments of sitting in silence, he looked to her and afforded her a small side smirk. "Ye must think m'a right wally, eh? Gettin' all weak in the knees like tha'… Ye wouldn'ee be wrong neither. I am. The biggest." She noticed his staring and blushed; not used to this much attention from a stranger. He had such a strong accent, which she had to really focus on if she intended on understanding anything that he was saying. Still, she liked it. It was unique, and a breath of fresh air from the usual Queen's English that she had to listen to.

"Well because after living so long in the world of the elite, it's nice to talk to someone... normal. Not that you're mundane or anything! I just mean well…how do I put this without offending you? I... I have never talked with someone of a lower class before, not because I'm some sort of uppity bitch. I just ... never had the opportunity. I'm sorry if that's offensives" She blushed and hated having to admit that secretly, she preferred the company of those outside her social circle. "I want to talk to you because I wanted to show you that we're not all the same. I mean, I'm not perfect either. I have my blemishes"

As he begun to berate himself, she frowned and gave him a look "You're not a wally! Whatever or... whoever that is". Great. He is going to think I am a complete moron! And then she started to hiccup, swearing under her breath as she tried control her breathing. This always happened when she was overstimulated or nervous, or as in this case, both.

Nicholas smirked. She was adorable. Her excitability and overall demeanour was a breath of fresh air from the usual people that he was accustomed to dealing with. He occasionally repaired electronics and appliances for people to earn a small amount of cash, which often found him mingling with some of the more unsavoury characters of downtown Oxford. It might have surprised anyone to know that even the home of the most prestigious university in Britain had it's own downtown. It was cleaner than what Nicholas had been used to back in Glasgow, but it still had it's unsavoury characters. He looked to her and she began to hiccup and laughed a little. "Yanno they say if ye hang yerself upsid'down s'stops the hiccups, though I always favoured the ol' fashioned glass of water m'self"

He could see that she was getting embarrassed by this, and only smiled, reaching into his pocket to pull out a scrunched up and tatty looking handkerchief. He thought about giving it to her, but... well, it wasn't exactly in any proper state for a lady of her standing. "S'alright. I can'ee slag ye anyway. No' after wha' jus' happened t'me in there. I'd be a right arsehole if I did an' ye've been so nice to me." He looked to her then and tried to discern some reason behind why she was giving him so much attention. The action was futile of course. Nicholas had about as much skill in reading people's faces as a blind man. He was close enough too. "Can I ask ye somethin'? Why're ye bein' so nice t'me? Honestly, I mean?"

She listened to him explaining things and tried to calm herself down again. She witnessed him taking out the handkerchief and reached across, taking it gently; her hand grazing across his ever so softly as she did so. "Thank you. That's very sweet of you. As for why I'm being so nice. Do I need a reason to be? I mean I could ask you the same question. Why are you here; right now at this very second? If anyone has a right to be bitter towards my kind, it's you. We're not exactly the most giving of people. You could have called me every rude name under the sun, and walked away as so many do, and yet here you are. Why?"

The young Scot took a moment to consider her question, looking to his hands as he did so. He wasn't quite sure how to respond. He didn't know why he remained next to this stranger; why he didn't feel the need to shy away from her like everybody else. Though he felt a little anxious still, there was something about her that made him feel completely at ease, as if he had known her his entire life. Indeed, there were people he had known his entire life, around whom he still didn't feel so much at ease. "Well… " he started, glancing to her through his thick framed glasses, which he pushed up the bridge of his nose out of habit. "I don'ee believe in bein' mean t'someone tha' don'ee deserve it. Upper class ye may be bu'… y'aint wronged me in any way, so, there's no reason fer me to treat ye bad. Like m'aunt always used t'say; ye can'ee paint all people wi' the same brush. "

For many centuries, there had been disparity between the upper and lower classes; two very different worlds at polar opposites in the social scale; one always thinking ill of the other. To those at the top, the lower class were gutter scum, the dirt on the heel of their boot, the layman who did the menial tasks judged too rough and ready for those of a more softer nature. To those on the bottom, the upper class were leeches, who coveted all the best resources for themselves; buying their way into the best medical care, the best schools and luxuries, while poorer children were dying on the streets with a dirty needle hanging out of their arm. This new age of Thatcherism had done nothing to remedy these issues either.

He had to admit, that there had been times when he had thought bitterly about the more privileged of those in society; wondering how the government could allow those people to have so much, while his family could barely afford to eat from day-to-day. Still, separation and time had made him come to terms with his lot and accept it. There was no point in being resentful anymore. It could be an awful lot worse. "Besides, resentment only burns energy I can'ee afford t'use up, yanno?" He looked ahead of him taking another slow drag of his roll-up. "I was born into this life penniless, and I'll surely die penniless, so wha's the point in tryin' t'fight it? Guess I'm just committed t'me lot; some might e'en call me complacent."

Gloria leaned back so that she was looking up at the sky and reached one hand upwards. "I don't see you quite like that. If that were true you wouldn't be sneaking into classes in a school you can't afford to attend. You shouldn't be so pessimistic!" she added pointedly. "There have been times when I would have given anything to shed my skin and become someone else. I have watched people less well off as I come and go as they please every day for as long as I can remember and prayed that maybe one day I could be like them…" She couldn't hide the shred of resentment in her tone. "Everyone else has free reign to follow the path they want to in life, except for me. I'm like this rare, wild bird in a gilded cage from which I can never escape!." She teared up, almost forgetting that she was talking to a complete stranger. She had been bottling these feelings for so long. She needed to vent before it swallowed her whole. She trembled and drew her outstretched hand back, as it began to hurt.

"I must sound insane to you." She wiped her eyes hastily. "You would think that someone with as much as I have, would want for nothing and yet..." She lowered her gaze, her shoulders trembling a little as she fought not to cry. She couldn't allow anyone to see her weaken. Regaining some of her composure, she apologised and looked to him then. God, he looks so concerned. "I ... I hope I didn't scare you. I can get wrapped up in my own thoughts sometimes." She forced a smile for his benefit.

Nicholas felt a heaviness in his heart when he got a momentary glance at the sadness that seemed to surround this girl. Somehow, like him, she had known pain in her life; had known the sting of feeling less than your worth. He didn't know her story but in that instant wanted to; needed to know more about this girl who had the whole world and yet seemed to grieve for it. When he spoke, his voice was low. "Yeah, I know tha' feelin' n' all…"

He lowered his gaze then, thinking back to his own troubled childhood in Glasgow; about the numerous times that he had wanted to start running and never look back, but never had the courage or the strength to break away. It was only that faithful day when he was sixteen years old that was the breaking point; that gave him the drive he needed to leave. He had had so many aspirations; so many hopes then. He had it all planned out in his head. Now, his biggest concern was where he was going to get his next meal.

"But ye didn't scare me… Takes a lot more'n tha' t'scare a Glaswegian off, yanno?"

She stared at him when he said he knew, and reached out for his hand, stopping herself as her sleeve rolled back, revealing rows of little red lines across the pale flesh of her arm. She gasped, pulling her hand back rapidly. She didn't want him to see, she didn't want anyone to see. These weren't scratches. Her wrist had been cut, and the way in which the marks were, they looked as though they were done by someone else. Her blouse was dark coloured so until that moment, it had covered them over. He noticed the them before she had a chance to cover them up, but knew better than to question them. Scars were personal things, loaded with ample amounts of traumatic shit and the stories attached to them. Some people thought to they were cool; others the marks of someone too weak to fight back. To him, they were just another bloody reminder of all he had been through, and of the many scars that littered his own body. He couldn't help but wonder what her story was. Clearly, she wasn't the sort to self-harm and yet he had lived rough long enough to recognise a knife wound when he saw one. If he was honest, he was surprised that anyone from her class set would even have been exposed to such domestic violence. Surely it couldn't be her parents who'd inflicted the damage, but then… wonders never ceased in this day and age.

"You…I…" she faltered. "It's nice to talk to a Scotsman. I have never had the honour" She would have said anything to draw the attention away from herself, even it was a stupid observation. He laughed a little, and looked to his hands; a bad habit he would really have to check. "Well, uh.. I have spoken t'English lasses m'self but well… Ne'er held a conversation as long as this one… or wanted to." Probably because of the fact that young English woman that he had dared speak to, had been those passing him on the street as he had begged for their spare change. It was something he hated doing but sometimes he just got so damned hungry. Gloria pulled at her sleeves, subconsciously, the pointed silence between them now, making her feel uneasy. If he had seen the marks, he didn't seem fazed, as if they were something he had seen on a regular basis. I wonder if he knows what it's like to feel alone in a crowded room; to feel closed in by the very people who are supposed to make you feel safe.

She took note of his appearance then, trying to banish the darker thoughts that were beginning to take hold in her mind. He looked so malnourished, as if he hadn't had a good mean in days. She wished she could help. Getting an idea, she smiled then and turned to rummage in her bag. "Hang on a just a second!". She pulled out a packed lunch and turned back to him "Here you are! You look like you need a meal" Was that offensive? That was probably offensive. She placed it beside him with a sheepish smile. "I made these myself. I always pack too much. They're chicken and onion with butter. It's a personal favourite." She blushed, admitting this. She didn't know why she had felt compelled to do that. Perhaps it was the good Samaritan in her.

He was surprised when the neatly wrapped sandwich fell into his lap and looked to her with quiet confusion. Had his stomach growled? It was almost as if she had read his bloody mind. Looking to her with a mixture of bewilderment and gratitude, he quickly unwrapped the sandwich and ate it, hungrily, taking little pause to chew. Realising the social faux pas, he paused in his doggish devouring, and looked to her with a sheepish smile as he swallowed his food. "Sorry… S'been a while…"

She laughed a little at how he ate, but understood why. Lord only knew how long it had been since his last meal. He needed it. "If you are wondering I volunteer with Porchlight on weekends. They help the homeless, and those who are less well off than others." If he had asked her why she did it, she couldn't have given him a straight answer. Perhaps it was some sort of altruism, perhaps she just enjoyed helping others. Whatever it was, it felt right. "I can tell by how you dress and how much personal belongings you have with you, that you are one of them, aren't you? I wasn't going to mention it before but the way you wolfed down that sandwich was the determiner for me." She couldn't help the apologetic look in her eyes, as she continued. "Also, uhm…my friend Clair saw you on the streets a while back and told me about you…" She felt ashamed now. She didn't want him to think that she was some sort of stalker. I want to help him so badly. Why? Is it for self satisfaction? To clear my conscience; make myself feel better about myself. No…It's something more than that…

She allowed him time to digest his food, as she spoke."I am sorry if this is a subject you would rather I not talk about but.. well, I just thought…maybe, if you like…I could help you?" Her heart lurched when she asked this, and she blushed. It was beginning to sound more like she needed him, than vice versa. Picking up a piece of fruit she had packed, she began to eat it quietly; anything to occupy her hands while she awaited his answer. She was worried that she had offended him. She paused in her eating to look to him, wondering if maybe she could discern something from his expression.

If he had been a proud man, Nicholas might have been offended, but time, humility, and one too many nights in a sewage filled back alley, had mollified him. He was long past the point of refusing help. If only other people cared enough to offer it. Looking to the young woman, he smiled a little, looking down as he felt his cheeks colour a little. "Tha' obvious, eh?" He had always made a point of keeping himself as clean as humanly possible, washing himself in public bathrooms whenever he had the opportunity, but there was only so much he could do to maintain himself. Clothes got worn and irrevocably stained; personal hygiene occasionally suffered from lack of facilities; entropy at its very best.

Stuffing the end of the sandwich into his mouth, he mulled over her offer. He could accept her help, and yet he didn't want to seem like too much of a loafer. When he had left home, he had been so determined to be self-sufficient; to never depend on another human being again. On the other hand, he could not accept offer and starve. Amenities for the homeless were becoming more and more scarce by the day; most public places closing their doors against them to avoid the social stigma that came with accepting waifs into your establishment. He could see in the young girl's eyes that she genuinely wanted to help, and yet he couldn't help the sliver of doubt that creeped into his heart. Nothing in life came free anymore. Did it?

Squinting against the sunlight that was piercing through the trees now, he took a moment to study her face before answering. She's so beautiful; too beautiful almost to be real. "I'd like that", he finally replied with a small side smirk, but added. "Can… Can I jus' ask ye one thing though. Why d'ye wanna help me? M'nobody special. Ye don'ee owe me anythin', so why would ye e'en give me a second's thought?"

She got up and directly facing him, she bent down onto her knees, her eyes meeting his as she smiled. "The answer isn't this profound equation or complex symphony, Nicholas!" She gave him the biggest smile she could have possibly mustered. "The answer to your question is 'because I care'. Simply, because I, honest to God, do care about you and your well being!" She paused then as she stared into his eyes, unable to look away from them. There were such an intense, deep brown that emanated that fierce intelligence of his. You said far more then you needed to! That sounded like a confession of love, not the words of a streetwise Samaritan. I must be insane! What am I thinking!

She stepped back then, rising to her feet and concealing her embarrassment with a cough. Even now as she was standing there she could not take her eyes off him. I just want to help him; as any good charity worker would; nothing more. If that was the truth then what was making her feel this way; and rendering her incapable of looking away. She played with the sleeve of her blouse as she was wont to do when she felt uneasy. "I honestly do care for you… For everyone really." She emphasized the point of including everyone, as a means of diverting the attention from her obvious infatuation. More than you know. She stopped herself saying anything further lest her mind betray her and make a further holy show of her. She had stopped mid sentence and this time it had sounded like a proper confession, although of what, she was wholly uncertain.

Nicholas watched her with an expression of mild astonishment, blinking slowly. Had she just confessed to caring about him? This beautiful, accomplished, upper class girl cared about him; a nobody, a backstreet lad from the slums of Glasgow? Stunned into silence, he felt something tug within himself, and he breathed in sharply as he broke her gaze, jumping to his feet. What the bloody hell was that about? It had felt as though someone had kicked him in the chest. Now that he was standing, he had no real idea what to do next or how to even address what she had just confessed to him. Well this is awkward. Looking to her, he tried to discern some sort of explanation in her features, but she was looking away from him now, probably frightened by his sudden outburst. "I.. M'sorry.. 'bout tha'… M'no'… really sure.. what that was…" He laughed a little sheepishly, and scratched the back of his head, with a dorky grin. Stop smiling, ye big numpty! She's gonna think you're spare or something.

She watched him, chuckling a little. He was so sweet and easy going. She reacted accordingly and giggled a little with him; his sheepish laughter infectious. She witnessed him coming towards her and she wanted to smile forever.

Pocketing the remainder of the sandwich, he was about to speak again when the shrill sound of the bell for next period, interrupted him. Making a face, he waited for it to end in its ear piercing declaration. When it had finally stopped, he pushed his glasses up his nose and slung his satchel over his shoulder, stepping up to her just a little. "Guess uh… Guess, that'll be you then, eh?"

She cursed inwardly turning back to look at Nicholas. She wanted to stay here and talk to him more. She hated having so many lectures in the one day, especially now that she had something better to focus on. As he stepped towards her, she took the opportunity to get a better look at him. He didn't get any less handsome up close. "What I said before was true, you know? I do care about you." She smiled then whimsically, a mischievous look in her eyes. "Consider this a parting gift from I to you, Nicholas. Hopefully you won't forget it."

As she stepped closer to him, it took every shred of his willpower for him not to jerk away. It wasn't that he found her repulsive (anything but!). It was that Nicholas Rush didn't like to be touched. In fact, he reacted violently to it. So when the young girl leaned up, and placed the chaste kiss upon his brow, it was both a terrifying and surreal moment for him. Usually, in such a situation, he would have turned tail and run from her, recoiling with such a vehemence that she might have thought him some sort of wild animal. Except he didn't recoil, but instead screwed his eyes shut with a shuddering breath as he felt her warm lips against his clammy brow.

"Take care of yourself, Nicholas Rush. I do hope we cross paths again!" She smiled brilliantly, and turned running away from him in the direction of the college.

How could he describe such a sensation to someone who had never experienced such a thing as utter isolation? Before he could even walk, he had learned to associate human contact with pain, and so the only way by which to avoid this pain was avoid all contact. If he was quiet, if he made himself small and unnoticeable, then he wouldn't get hit. If they don't touch me, they can't hurt me. Unlike other children, Nicholas had never learned the basic fundamentals of maternal love. His mother had never held him. Not once. No matter how much he'd cried, or pleaded with her; she never went to him. He was her invisible child; the one she just failed to notice. He was the child that had never been kissed; not even by his own mother, and so, that kiss; so simple and fleeting as it was, was the first time that Nicholas Rush had ever experienced the genuine affection of another human being.

He could say nothing as she pulled away from him; his words utterly failing him as a single tear ran down his pallid, stubbled cheek. She didn't know the significance of what she had just done. How could she? To her it was just a simple gesture of innocent affection, but to him…? To him, it was the greatest gift that anyone could have ever given him. He was lost then of course. From that moment, he was utterly and irrevocably hers.

Not that he had a problem with that.