[I stumble.]

It is in the cafe. Slender fingers around a coffee cup, biting your lip, I can see the blood. You wear long sleeves even if it is warm outside, the fabric not tight nor baggy. It is an odd fit. As odd as the coffee you hold in your jittery hands despite the beverage being the cause of a worsened case of your paranoia. The mug sometimes slips, spilling on the napkins you already had spread on the table. It is almost as if you know that you will spill the coffee. The brownish stain spreads, and it is right then you looked up. You notice me, emerald mountains paralysing me on the spot.

It is only when you got up to say something do I run.

[I trip.]

I see you at school the next day. You are walking around with your coffee thermos, those same jittery fingers drumming along the thermos as you laugh with friends who seem to really care. Friends who like you for more than looks or something as ridiculously banal as shoes. Friends who actually enjoy your company despite your handicaps.

The laughter tickles a feeling that is akin to jealously. For a moment I wish I am you, but my girlfriend of the week tugs on my arm and pulls me away from jumbled thoughts. Blonde hair and breasts that are natural despite their size press against me as we enter a bathroom stall. She puckers her lips, but my eyes stare not to meet hers. The kiss I give her is passive and quickly broken as I pull apart.

Is that a coffee stain?

[I fall.]

It is unnatural, the way I cry. A stifled wail and big tears that usually forget their reason after only a few moments. I blame my own bitter loathing for sports. Then again, I cannot do anything else much better. I cling onto them for recognition, but I no longer want to be recognised for just that. I want someone to see the me not covered with a jockey's jacket.

Your hand on my shoulder is the last thing I need right now. A hand that attempts to pull me out of self-pity with comfort. You shake me lightly in a pace that matches your own slight shaking, and a voice that tries to sooth me with a strand of words I am not really absorbing. My voice replies with an edge of bitterness I do not really mean as I tell you to go away.

I just want to be left alone. A desperate desire that deepens as my hand blocks the beg that nearly escapes.

Please...

[Falling faster, harder.]

You do not listen to me. Your hand tightens on my shoulder no matter how hard I attempt to push it away. You are shaking, I had thought it is from your regular nerves, but I somewhat notice it has heightened. The increase is brought on by emotions you feel for me. A sympathy I am so unused to, and that is passed on without your mouth.

An absent thought passes through my mind. One that believes you must be as bad with words as I am.

I must have said the thought out loud because the next thing I know you are smiling. Then a small laugh pours from your lips as smooth as the creamer you put in your coffee. Your laugh is pittering and jittery to match the rest of you. It hits my ears like the rain dropping on the pavement around us. A music that I have never heard before created with the harmonising pair.

It shocks me. That smile and that laugh seem to be too much bear. I get up on feet that tangle with my own thoughts.

I am such a great athlete.

I end up falling on the ground, taking you with me, on top of me. Instead of escaping, I have only brought you closer.

Emeralds from the caves of dark mountains and laughter in my ears to follow the rain. Suddenly I desperately want all those years back, the years I turnt you away. I want you to love me, like me, anything but be afraid of me and my stupid jock friends, the ones who are just as dumb as me.

"Friends?"

The words are small when I ask them, and I am so afraid you'll say no.

You just laugh again a smile on your face as you pull us both up.

"I never stopped being yours."