I've got a lot of projects going on all at once _ but here's a thing inspired by a post I saw recently re: Transistor's source code, which suggested Boxer's name is "Auden," meaning "Old Friend" :'D


Old Friends

He avoided her because no one had ever heard her say anything and he doubted that she would start with him. If he had to make a friend, he figured it should at least be someone he could talk with, not some person with a glitchy voicebox.

Finally, though, she was the last one left.

He shuffled toward the music room, where it was generally known that she could be found, spending recreational hours sketching by herself. He remembered her pronouns from class introductions, but not much else. He approached the music stand that she was perched beside, and cleared his throat.

Here goes.

"Hi there, what's your name?"

That line had gotten him somewhere with everyone else in their class. But she just turned and stared at him. In the lengthening silence, he began to shuffle his weight from foot to foot.

"You hear me?" he demanded, nervously. "What's your name?"

She turned her head back down to her papers. He felt warmth boil up across his face.

"I know you can hear me! Come on, Red," he said, tugging on a distinctively-colored curl.

As soon as he touched her, her head turned so fast he was sure he heard her neck crack. She glared and stood, and for a second he thought she'd actually yell at him — but, no. She just huffed; and then sat, and picked up her pencil again.

What?

This was not what he was expecting. Everyone else had always answered when he spoke to them, even if they just pissed him off or ran away afterward. He'd never been flat-out ignored.

And ignored for a bunch of paper. She was sketching something on her lap and he stepped around, head tilted as he surveyed what she was drawing. Thus far she'd made a bunch of prisms and cubes on a grid, and seemed set on making as many more as possible.

"Are you making a city?" he asked, and her pencil stopped. She glanced up at him. Hesitated. Nodded.

"It looks pretty awful," he told her, and yelled when she threw her pencil right against his nose. Pulse boiling, he shoved up the sleeve of his right arm, and bunched up his fist. After a brief reel back, he threw a punch at her.

She hissed when it connected with her side — and then his vision burst with white, and he jumped backward, and fell on his butt. She'd — she'd hit him back!

She'd hit him back with — with a music stand?!

And she was standing over him, still clenching it, eyes fierce as her papers fluttered to the ground, forgotten. She looked like she was ready to pummel him into the ground with the squeaky wireframe of it. And then she'd stuff him into an instrument case, probably. No one would even bother looking for him.

"Truce," he gasped, "truce, truce, truce," and she eyed him. Then she set the music stand down, and he retreated.

Well, so much for that. It'd been a new low for him, to let his temper get him to swing at the mute person who was fairly smaller than him. But, she'd scratched up his nose good enough to make it bleed, so.

He pinched the cut on his nose, and tried to sneak back into a bathroom to clean up, but the Instructor caught him in the hall.

"Who did you get into a fight with this time?" they cried, and when he didn't answer, they called an impromptu class assembly.

"Fighting is not permitted in Cloudbank!" they reminded everyone furiously. "It serves no purpose, and helps no one! Remember, 'There is no problem that can't be solved with discussion and clear communication of what it is that all parties want!'"

The last line the Instructor recited perfectly from what he knew was Cloudbank's constitution. Uh, or maybe it was just a list of common sense rules? Whatever.

"Now," the Instructor continued, "which one of you was fighting?"

No one answered. The Instructor sighed, and dismissed them all, except for him, who they dragged off into another meeting with the principal and some related administrative officials, all of whom sighed as soon as they spotted him.

He fidgeted while they all discussed. Without a supposed opponent or victim, though, there wasn't much anyone could conclude.

Good thing she doesn't say much.

Finally, the majority went to letting him go with a stern lecture, and his Instructor did the honors, waggling their finger in his face.

"This is not how you make friends and valuable connections with your peers, young man," they warned him, and he rolled his eyes and nodded and made his getaway as soon as possible.

There were still a couple classes left in the day, which passed by in the usual haze. Afterward, he trudged his way out of the school. Classes, valuable peer connections — he'd never grasped any of it. He wasn't good at any of it, and none of it had ever done him any good. He kicked the pavement, grimly satisfied with the dent he made in it. It immediately began emitting buzzy sparks, though, and half a second later, the stone was regenerated, as if he hadn't been there at all.

He was so sick of this. Now that the mute girl had beat him up, his friendship options were completely exhausted. Between that, and having absolutely no interest in any of his classes…well, what the point? After he graduated, living in Cloudbank at large would probably just have more of the same. Maybe he should just try his luck in the Country.

He was almost out the gate when he felt someone tug his arm. He whirled around, hands fisting impulsively.

It was her.

Great.

"What?" he demanded.

She frowned.

"What?" he repeated. "Wanna have round two? I'm game. Go get your music stand."

She shook her head, then pushed her hair behind one ear, and reached into her pocket to withdraw something.

A bandaid, he realized. She peeled off the backing and pressed the adhesive ends to either side of his nose, gently. The cotton rested perfectly on the scraped-up bridge of it, and he raised one hand and patted himself in surprise. No one had ever done something like this for him before.

He found himself grinning. Alright, maybe she wasn't so bad. He cleared his throat.

"Hey, about earlier…when I get worked up I kinda stop thinking and…well, I don't have an excuse, really. What I mean is, sorry."

He hesitated, then reached out and punched her shoulder — this time, lightly.

"And, thanks. Red."

She rubbed her shoulder, and then looked up, meeting his gaze. She tucked that hair of hers behind one ear again. Smiled slow.

"I'm sorry too," she said, very quietly. "And…you're welcome, Boxer."

He sputtered out a laugh. "Boxer?" he echoed, and she shrugged and gave an embarrassed cough.

"Nah, it's fine," he assured her. "I guess it kinda suits me."

Friends, he thought. Valuable connections with peers.

His hands fisted again, this time for an entirely different reason.

"Hey…um…you wanna walk home?" he asked. "Together, I mean."

She pursed her lips, looking down at the ground.

For a second it looked like she might say what everyone else did: No thanks. He braced himself.

But then, finally, she nodded.