Harder to Breathe-

When you first see her your breath automatically stops. It suddenly seems as if breathing is not something you can control. It is foreign and unfamiliar and you would go the rest of your life without breathing again even if that time were only a few more moments—just to keep her in your line of sight. When she makes her way over to you, you discover that you can, in fact, inhale and exhale again. She had taken the air right out of your throat but then returned it with just as much grace. She became your reason for breathing.

Are you Nathan Scott? She asks, her mouth moving in fluent smooth motions. Your name has never looked more beautiful then on her lips. You nod and she smiles. It's a bright smile that seems to light up the room and you almost let yourself smile back. Is it okay if I just talk? She asks, her smile faltering a little. You nod quickly, desperate to return the tilt of her lips back to her face but she only looks at you and frowns a little. Are you sure? This time she signs it to you, her hands moving slowly, clumsily while forming the words.

You almost roll your eyes, but manage to resist the urge. Of course you're sure. She looks awkward and uncomfortable while making the motions with her hands, and anyways, you're more then happy to be able to watch the perfect pink lips form words only for you. In any case, you can read her lips perfectly and you know that it will take much longer to communicate if she keeps trying to do sign language. I'm sure.

She smiles again and you give her a small grin in return. It's a slightly crooked smile—you know this from looking in the mirror when you were younger and wondering why you were born like this—but it makes her eyes shine a little brighter.

I'm Haley, she says, holding out a hand for you to shake. You stretch out one arm and when your fingers graze hers, fire leaps between your skins. It flares and burns and she looks surprised when you pull your hand away. Are you okay?

There's a question you easily get sick of. Everyone is always asking you if you're okay. Just because you can't hear them talking, doesn't mean that you're somehow dying. You're not diseased or ill or weak and the question frays your nerves to no end.

I'm fine. The expression on your face is equivalent to snapping at her and you scowl as her eyes move frantically to catch your words. You always were prone to mood swings. The physiatrists said it was common in people with hearing defects but that never made you feel any better. And maybe this Haley was just like them. Even though you didn't want her to be, maybe she was just another pitying person who had come to help you feel "normal" before giving up on you in a few days and leaving again. Didn't they understand that this was normal for you? You had never been able to hear, you didn't know what it was like, so you couldn't really miss it, could you? And all these people came along, trying to tell you that you needed to move on with your life. That you can still be useful and do things and function like a normal person.

Well how were you supposed to feel like an average person with them fretting all over you all of the time asking if you were okay?! It was a stupid question really. You were fine. Well, in varying degrees you were fine. You didn't see the point in dwelling on the fact that you were deaf but everyone else seemed unable to avoid it. And they all persisted in treating you like some delicate little baby, not to be hurt or broken, only to find that you didn't particularly want their concern. You didn't need them. You didn't need to hear. You didn't really need anything.

I'm sorry, Haley mouths quickly, clearly searching her memory for what she did wrong. Did I say something to offend you? She looks so sincere that the anger mysteriously melts right out of you.

It's nothing, you sign, sighing to yourself.

It's because I asked you if you were okay, isn't it? Haley asks, and your eyes widen in surprise. She looks a little defensive now. Well you'll just have to get used to it. She snaps, leaning down to grab her bag from under her chair. It's the polite thing to do and if we're going to be spending time with each other from now on you'd best get used to the fact that I'm going to be polite.

A small smile tugs at the corner of your lips. You don't have to be polite, you sign, shrugging and moving slower this time so she catches everything you're trying to say. You can just be yourself.

And she is. She talks and laughs and explains things to you talking quickly all the time and never seeming to worry about weather she's talking to fast for you to read her lips or not. Sometimes she gives you a pad of paper and you write down your thoughts for her and she sits and stares at them for a while before replying back. It takes you a while to realize she really cares. It seems strange really, that someone like her could care about someone like you. But then again, that's what always used to get you so riled up in the first place. Really, you're both just human. There isn't that great of a difference. Except for the fact that you can't hear her talking. But that's fine with you. As long as you can see her lips move and watch her eyes twinkle you don't need to hear anything. It's enough.

She's more beautiful then anything you've ever seen and you're content to just sit and watch her for hours. Slowly she gets better at sign language and you start to have long conversations about everything you can think of.

What's your favorite thing to do? You ask her one day—just because you've never asked her before and you're unsure of why.

Besides you? She signs back, and you send her a small smirk. She sits for a moment, her cheeks getting slightly redder, and your head tilts to the side.

Are you embarrassed? You ask, wondering what it could be. Your mind fills itself with thousands of things that she could love doing in the privacy of her own room, but she just shakes her head and looks up at you. Her eyes search yours for a while, and you stare back at her curiously.

The she smiles a bittersweet smile and answers you. I love singing.

It's the first time in your life you've ever wished you could hear.