He wears leather and anger like they're a suit of armor.
I've seen him before. My high school is large but I have an almost photographic memory, and though he isn't in any of my classes there isn't anyone here whose face I don't recognize. I don't know his name, though, and for whatever reason that bothers me.
He leans back against the brick wall, cigarette in one hand and a lighter in the other. When he takes a drag his head falls back against the wall, eyes closed like it's bliss. I wouldn't know; I've never smoked and don't intend to.
"Hey," he says, without opening his eyes. "Erestor, right? Sophomore."
I swallow. Suddenly the boy in front of me is very intimidating as I notice he's around ten inches taller than I am. Even if we don't count the boots, I only come up to his chin. "Yes."
He opens his eyes now. They're the brightest blue I've ever seen. "Never pegged you for the type to ditch class."
Normally I'm not, but we've had the same sub in English for the last three days and she's the worst teacher I've ever had, including that one in third grade who considered "turned it in" to be grounds for an A. But I don't tell him that.
Instead I laugh it off and say, "We don't know each other very well." It's technically true, with the added bonus that I don't look like a dork to this person who practically radiates Cool. "I don't even know your name."
He laughs too, but it's more bitter than happy. "Glorfindel," he says, "but call me Fin, everyone does." He takes another drag off the cigarette and his eyes slip shut again.
He's beautiful. I wish I didn't notice that as much as I do, but he is. "Fin," I repeat. I like Glorfindel better, but I don't say that. "Nice to meet you."
Fin nods. "Yeah."
And I walk away.
/
I swear to God, that kid is everywhere.
I never really noticed him. He's a wallpaper person; no one sees he's there until he speaks. Makes sense, he's one of those quiet geeky kids who reads at breaks. Bet he sits in the back row and none of his classmates know his voice — or maybe a know-it-all up in front whose hand is never down, that'd fit too.
I shake my head to clear it. Why am I even thinking about him? He's hardly worth tracking, just another inconsequential part of this hellhole.
Pretty, though. Pale and dark-eyed, long black hair, high cheekbones, very high-contrast, very femme. He'd have half the girls in this school hanging off him if he spent half as much time socialising as he does with his books.
But. Anyway. Now that I'm noticing him, he's everywhere. Curled into himself, feet up on the bleachers, during a rally (holding a copy of what looks like The Lord of the Rings); eating lunch on the stairs to the science building with a brown-haired boy who's even smaller than him; staring absently out the window as I walk by the main building — he's got Paulsen for German, it seems, so I don't blame him.
I don't know why the hell I'm even thinking about him. But I am.
/
I saw Fin around before, but he seems to be everywhere now that we've spoken. Perched on the railing of the fire escape at break; blatantly not paying attention when I walk by his math class; sitting alone in the yellowing leaves by the computer lab at lunch.
Fin's expression seems to only have two settings, anger and apathy. Three if you count the wry bitter smile as a separate emotion rather than classifying it as anger. Is he ever happy? I don't think so.
Beat-up combat boots, leather jacket. Modern day armor, a punk-rock façade to keep people out. I'm not sure how deep it goes, but he's covered in black and scuffed leather and shining metal, and everything about him seems like it's trying to push people away.
Lindir is watching me. "Are you okay?" he asks, and moves closer to me. I can feel his body heat, and the October air seems colder by comparison.
I nod but don't mean it, and he doesn't press me further. Lindir nearly always knows when it's better to be quiet. He's good that way.
I don't know why I care so much about this blond boy I've barely interacted with, but I do.
/
I don't speak with Erestor again until all the leaves are dead. The ground's covered with them, and in some places they're all crushed down already but where I'm sitting you can't walk without crunching at every step.
He's wearing glasses today, small and square with wire rims, and I can't believe I think this but he's adorable.
"Hello again," he says, and sits down next to me. "How are you?"
I just look at him for a moment, trying to figure out what he's hoping to gain. "Hello."
He doesn't say anything more until I do. "What are you here for?"
He looks around, like he's searching for an answer. "You," he finally admits. Apparently he couldn't come up with one.
What the fuck kind of ulterior motive is that? It takes me a second to get what he probably means, if he's anything like everyone else at this school. "I'll hook up, if that's what you're asking." No reason to beat around the bush, and he's definitely attractive. Part of me wishes he didn't just want sex, but hey — I'm hardly picky.
He blushes at that. "No, that wasn't what I meant."
Really? That's weird. But then, is anything about this kid normal? "What did you mean, then?"
It takes him a moment to respond, which I would take to mean that he's lying if it was anyone else. For Erestor, though, it feels more thoughtful than anything else.
"I wanted to get to know you better." He speaks quietly, like he thinks I'm going to laugh.
I almost do, it's been so long since anyone's told me that. But I hold it back, because if I laugh now he'll leave.
Why do I care? No idea. But I do.
"Yeah, sure," I say, and hope it sounds flippant enough but doesn't sound too sarcastic. "Ask away."
I don't think he expected to get this far. "Why do you wear armor?" he asks, but he's hesitant.
Again: what the fuck?
I look down at myself. Huh. I guess it is kinda like armor.
"I like it," I say. True, and doesn't require much thought. "Looks cool, and it's comfortable." It is, actually, more so than you'd expect.
Erestor nods. "Okay. Why have I never seen you talking to anyone?"
For a moment I wonder how long the kid's been watching me.
"No one to talk to," I say, like it doesn't matter.
He frowns. Clearly my answer this time was unsatisfactory.
"But why?" When he sees I don't know what he's asking, he elaborates. "Do you push people away for a reason? Does everyone hate you? I can't imagine that. Maybe it's you who hates everyone, but I don't think that's it either. Or do you just not care?"
Seriously. That's what he says. I cannot figure him out.
"Don't know, don't really care either. I have no pressing need for chatter." And then I wait for him to take the hint and leave.
He doesn't. Well, he takes the hint, for sure, but he doesn't leave. "That's what you want everyone to think. But I doubt it's true."
Fuck.
What am I getting myself into with him?
What the hell was I thinking, agreeing to this?
"Conversation over," I say, and I stand and I walk away.
/
I watch him go, a tall dark figure with a blond ponytail striding through the crowd of students, and I wonder.