A/N: I understand that I have not written on this site for over a year, but I am going to try to befin ipdating things again. I have been without computer access for a few months now, so I am writing on a sub-standard tablet at the moment. Anyway, I am going to start this off with a bang! I am making a drabble series, for homestuck, starting with PBJ! Forgive grammatical errors, the reasons are explained above.

0o0

The first thing you notice is that his eyes are too wide. Round, alert, yet tired. They are so blue, so unfamiliar, yet recognizable all the same. He is looking over paints in the art aisle, picking up a bright blue bottle, turning it to read the label. His wrists are like bird-bones, skin white. Paint is nestled in the space between his thumb and forefinger in a bright red. His hair, blacker than it had been even on Alternia, makes him look pale and and severe under the flourescent lights.
His ears are red, you presume from the chilly air.

Red.

You still haven't gotten used to the unorthodox blood color gushing through your own veins this very second.

You remeber when Nepeta had broken one of her cute teacups that she used at the new cafe, and you had reached down to help her pick up the pieces. Your ring finger was pricked, and the red, red red had rushed to the porous surface, billowing red and unnatural and God, you can feel that past panic right now-

He's looking at you. Not staring, but every few seconds he will glance at you with his too-wide, too-blue (or should you say lavender?) eyes, appearing startled with all of those dark lashes.

Should you say something?

You feel like an idiot, standing here with your can of creamed corn cradled in your palm, looking blankly down at it. You don't even like creamed corn, but you study it like it's glued to your eyes, because the thought of saying something terrifies you.

He's still looking, but at least he's switched to another paint bottle, unlike your dumb-ass self.

Couldn't you say "Hello?"

Something? Anything?

You want to so badly, but to be fair he hasn't said anything either.

"Suck ot up Nitram," you think to ypurself, looking down at your tan palms, which are shaking.

Jesus Christ. This isn't an ordeal, it's just saying hi. You could nod your head if you wanted to! Nod, smile, and make a beeline for the register.

You turn your head to look at Gamzee, and cringe when a crick in your neck twinges painfully. In the process, you drop the cursed can of creamed corn, and it clangs loudly, drowning out the corny elevator music blaring overhead. Gamzee starts, nearly losing his basket of art supplies, but steadies himself before glancing at the can, then you.

You can feel your face, hot enough to steam the freckles off your nose. And so, you both stand, Gamzee staring at you and you staring at the can, avoiding his eyes. You're two idiots in an aisle in a grocery store, possibly having one of the most awkward interactions you've ever experienced in your new life.

After what seems like an eternity, you see a pale hand stretch down to the checked tile, picking up the now dented can. You can see the blue veins spiral up his pale arm. The hand stretches out towards you, can facing up.

"Uh, here bro. "

You take it probably a little faster than you meant to, and you almost drop the damn can again. Eye contact is not something that you can even fathom doing at the moment. Your face is bright red, you know it.

"Careful." He mumbles, and you glance quickly at him. He's smiling, cheeks pink and dimpled, and it makes you flush a little more, if possible.

"Thanks..." You mumble, and look away again. Nearly tripping on your shoelaces, you, planning to abscond the fastest you know how.

"Wait, Tav."

Fuck.

You look up again, more steady than before, and relish in the lopsided grin he gives you.

"Nice seein' ya."

And with that, he lopes away, before your dumb, stupid brain can produce a reply.