Dwicky swallowed thickly, the chocolate milk coolly sliding down his heated throat. It hadn't been very smart to wander in the rain like that, but it was the only thing that didn't send his mind reeling with memories. Memories of him.

The drink became bitter as his image came to view. Yes, that familiar pale skin, lazy eyes and slick black hair. Belted black boots clacked on linoleum as the figure approached.
A bowl of stale jellybeans sat solemnly beside a light blue astray which was occupied by numerous cigarette butts. He tried not to smoke around the students.

"Hand me a smoke," a lazy voice demanded, accompanied by a pale hand lying palm up on the worn oak desk. Dwicky placed the desired item in the soft hand while lighting his own. "Thanks."

The teenager plopped down in the chair across from him, his jet black trench coat billowing around him momentarily until it settled lazily on the floor. Amber eyes behind thick rimmed glasses wandered over the cracked and peeling lavender paint on the walls of the small room.

"Aren't you going to tell me how bad smoking is for me…?" the boy asked after ten minutes of jellybeans, smoking and silence. Dwicky gave him a half-lidded side glance before blankly staring at a particularly large crack in the wall.

"Won't you just tell me how you don't care?" came Dwicky's good humored response. Many of their sessions went like this. Smoking, staring, light chit-chat, stale jellybeans…the only difference there had been as of late was the sadistic visions that tormented Dwicky. A small 'heh' escaped the boy's thin lips.

"I s'ppose…" He was supposed to be counseling the boy, but the teenager rarely let anyone in. The small conversation they just had was, in itself, an improvement. Nothing about the teenager's image said 'talk to me, I'll care.' The thought brought a small smirk to the man's weary face, the goatee he wore animated for all of a few seconds.

Amber eyes settled on worn wood; the red tint of the oak was dim and lacked luster. The cracked glass of the ashtray reflected his empty stare and he quickly averted his gaze to the closed dusty blinds. Sunlight gently sifted through the slits, illuminating the heavy smoke as it became stagnate in the already stale air. The teenager could not stand these 'sessions' he allowed the school to send him to, he had gotten over his feuds with a former student years ago and no longer chased the illusions of the 'paranormal'. This was pointless.

And yet he still found himself in the same rickety wood chair, sitting in the same dinky room, staring at the same depressing counselor. Nothing changed anymore. Nothing excited him, nothing interested him, nothing angered him, nothing saddened him…nothing roused any feeling in him anymore. Many of the crackpot teachers there feared nothing ever would. Except for counselor Dwicky.

"Soo…" Amber eyes avoided brown as he spoke the soft word. "Why exactly are you still counseling 'problem children'?" That quoting motion of the fingers that the teenager favored so much made a grand appearance with his right hand as his left brought the cigarette to his thin lips. Dwicky stared at the ceiling before taking a drag off of his own smoke and sticking a pencil in the foam above him with a swift toss. He found himself reeling again. Little boy eyes staring up at him questioningly. Little mind running rampant about aliens. Little hands clutched at his side with frustration. Little understanding as to why no one listens…

Memories that had been long buried moments ago dug themselves back up. It was unfair how he wanted the boy so, and yet the teen was oblivious to such feelings. Oblivious to the man's need to be recognized by the teen; to be acknowledged by the teen; accepted by the teen. . . .Words built at the tip of his tongue, threatening to cascade out in a torrent of emotions. But cemented they stayed as he fully processed the boy's question.

"Well…that's hard to say now." His brown eyes never left the ceiling, and amber gaze followed the line of sight to the collection of pencils stuck in the foam of the ceiling. The teen reached out gently with lithe arm, slender fingers clutching the eraser of a pencil from his coffee can. Dwicky's eyes watched him the entire time out of the corner of his eye, and watched on as the boy expertly stuck the pencil next to his owns in the abused surface.

"It isn't 'to help the children'…?" The boy's questioning gaze watched him from a half-lidded glance, that quoting motion of fingers appearing again. Dwicky snorted, a smirk coming to his features. That excuse had left him like the middle skool had. Like all those troubled kids had. Like that little boy with large dreams had…

"I don't think so, somehow." Dwicky turned his head lazily to face the student, a half-empty look in his eyes. "At some point I stopped caring," he dead-panned, reaching into the bowl of jellybeans, his horrible sweet-tooth acting up again. Thin teenage lips peeled back in an amused and almost sadistic grin.

"You? Not caring? That's hard to believe." The boy laced his fingers and reclined in his uncomfortable chair, closing those accusing eyes. Long eyelashes stood out against such pale skin and Dwicky found himself staring shamelessly at the boy's soft face. When those eyes fluttered open, the counselor averted his gaze, instead focusing it on the clock on the wall. Time had somehow managed to slip into an hour and a half over the allotted length of time he had with the teen and he stood to usher the boy out of the room.

"Well, Dib. Seems our time has run short." A pleasant smile crossed his face as the teenager stood, putting out his cigarette and walking out the door. "I look forward to our next little meeting." Dib raised a hand to cut the man off and left without a word.

Dwicky, exhausted and far more drained than he needed to be, closed the creaky door and sat down in his office chair, his face hiding in his hands. His somber gaze stared at the chocolate milk that sat on his desk for a while before reaching out with long arm to grasp the handle of the ceramic cup. He brought the glass to his lips, sipping at the warm liquid and stared at the bowl of stale jellybeans, his mind reeling with memories. Memories of him.