Hi dudes. I haven't wrote anything in a really long time and I don't know how active this website is anymore, but I started writing this and I thought I'd share. Anyway, leave a review if you'd like to tell me how it is, and follow it or whatever. I haven't wrote on here since like 2016 haha.

-Michi

"Hey pal, the mental hospital called. They need you back in your cell."

This was the first thing that was said to Thomas Bangalter that cold, windy October morning. He was at the bakery, picking up some freshly baked muffins that he could eat for breakfast. He was doing something completely harmless, and he was already being mistreated. He hadn't even spoke to the cashier. He took one look at the tall Frenchman and decided in his immature teenage mind that this man was strange and wasn't worth respecting. This deeply saddened Thomas; not only because of his response to how he looked, but because he didn't even take a minute to get to know him. It was like a flip of a switch for the teenager.

Thomas chose to get strange looks and mean responses from strangers. Every day, he left the house dressed as a silver robot. He would wear a shiny gray helmet that had a long black lense that lay horizontally across his eyes. Below the lense was a flat line, which he liked to think was his mouth. He wore jet black gloves that were covered in silver plastic to match his helmet. Dressing up as a robot made Thomas more comfortable in public, usually. That way, nobody would be able to see his face and judge him based off his real face. He felt deep down in his heart that he would much rather people judge him as a robot than who he really was.

Nobody in the small town of Triomphe knew what Thomas's real face looked like. He moved in one day in the small rundown shack on the outskirts of town, located near the base of the mountains. He fixed up the outside, put all new olive green siding around the outside, and even fixed up the windows and replaced the door. But he never left the house without being dressed like a robot. He also didn't own a car or a bicycle. He preferred to walk to each of his destinations, which his destinations usually consisted of to the store and back. The kids in town actually liked him, and would run up to him asking about what space was like, or what the future was going to be like for them. As if Thomas was a spaceman who walked into a time machine and ended up in the small French town known for its beautiful, peaceful scenery.

Indeed, Triomphe was a beautiful town. It was set up more like a village, with a signature Main Street lined with family owned businesses. It even had its own movie theater that had been there since the 1930s. There were a few side streets within the town lined with small, Victorian style houses all painted in bright, pastel colors. Once their yards adorned with flowers and picket fences were passed, the roads leading out of town all led into a vast space of nothing minus some trees and worn roads that sloped downwards out of sight. The roads to the north and west, however, headed towards the mountains.

Thomas felt his face burn from underneath the mask. He handed the boy behind the register a few crumpled up bills. He tried to not notice the prying stares of some old ladies behind him who were there to buy some cakes and lie about them being homemade to their family members. He saw the boy, maybe no older than sixteen, suck some snot up his nose and hand him his change. Thomas hoped he hadn't blown his nose into his hands before he came to the register. The bag of blueberry muffins was handed to him and just like that, he was off. He opened up the door to the outside of the bakery, hearing a bell alert the owners that he was leaving. He saw some cars whisk by on the street in front of him. He looked down at the black combat boots on his feet as he made the three mile walk home. He pulled his thick red jacket around him tighter and licked his dry lips from underneath the helmet. It was getting colder and colder out, it seemed. He reminded himself to put some logs in the fireplace when he got home.

Soon, he saw the green sign proclaiming that he was leaving town and headed down a sharply inclined hill until his feet hit a dirt road. He stomped down the dirt road until he saw his house in the distance. Relief washed over him like a tidal wave when he saw the familiar sight of the small olive green house sitting before a backdrop of mountains and fields of lavender. He headed towards it and opened the tan colored gate and headed into the perimeter of his yard, closing the door behind him with a swift kick. The garden of scarlet roses needed some tending to, but the words that the teenager said flashed in his mind and made his heart heavy. He sauntered up the steps to the door and unlocked it, closing the door and locking it. He set the bag of muffins down on the kitchen table and let out a long drawn out sigh.

Living alone wasn't something he particularly liked. Many times he thought about adopting a dog or a cat from the animal shelter, but he never got around to it. Besides, taking care of an animal was a lot of responsibility. So he sat indoors by himself, occasionally turning on the television or practicing guitar. Thomas adored music. He wrote his own songs and sang and performed them himself. He played in front of the large gold mirror in the living room, performing for any spirits that were roaming or for the ever present dust bunnies. But he wanted more than anything to have somebody share the house with him. More than anything, he wanted a friend. The dark quiet space of his house got lonely very fast. He thought the space might become less lonely if someone lived there too.

But, everyone in Triomphe thought he was a freak.

Thomas walked into the living room and sat down on his blue plaid sofa with a loud thud. His thin frame was sucked into the softness, and he thought about staying there forever until somebody found him. He kicked his legs up onto the wooden coffee table and crossed his legs. He leaned back and closed his eyes. He was about to drift off to sleep until he heard a strange noise.

Someone was knocking on the front door.

Alarmed, he leapt up and grabbed a nearby TV remote as a makeshift weapon. He wasn't sure if the teenagers who had tried to TP'ed his trees were back. In case they were, he needed to make sure he could chase them away. Cautiously, he approached the front door slowly. He pressed himself up against the wall and gazed through the peephole of the tall, dark brown door.

Standing there was a man around his age (twenty-one). His hair was dark brown and trimmed to his shoulders. The long locks were parted to the side so they fell in an elegant, effortless way. His eyes were the color of the ocean; a crystal blue. He was pale, and it seemed like he was cold and sick. He certainly was underdressed for the weather. He was wearing a short sleeved white shirt and baggy black pants. On his feet were tan dress shoes. On his back was an orange backpack that was stuffed so full that it was ripping at the seams. His thick brows were furrowed and his eyes were darting back and forth nervously as he reached out to knock again.

Thomas, trying to regain his composure, opened the door a crack.

"Who are you?" He whispered hoarsely.

Hope lit up the man's face, "Hi, um… do you have any food to spare?"

"Food?" Thomas asked, dumbfounded.

"I know it's a strange question, but I ran out. Please. I've walked for miles and miles, and I need some food for the rest of the trip." He pleaded, "I'll pay you, if you want me to. Just please give me something to eat." Thomas felt sorry for the man. He seemed hungry, tired, and desperate.

"I-I have some food. Come on in, please." He said quietly, opening the door all the way. He towered over the brunette. He saw his eyes widen in shock at his appearance. He staggered backwards a bit, his pale mouth parted. Fear rose up inside Thomas when he saw the look on his face, but then he saw his lips curl up into a smile before he let out an amused chuckle.

"Are you going to a costume party? It is October." He inquired.

"No, this is just how I look." He answered.

He followed Thomas inside and they went into the messy kitchen. He had his back faced to the hungry stranger as he dug into the cupboards for something to give him.

"You're kidding." The man scoffed, taking a can of soda from Thomas's gloved hands.

"No. Really. I-I wear this all the time." He insisted, feeling his stomach being tied up into knots. He saw the man open up the can with a loud pop and he raised a brow.

"You're dead serious?"

"Yes."

"But, why?"

"I don't like it when people see my face."

"Why? Is there something wrong with it?"

"I don't know."

The man took a sip and set the can down on the counter. He closed his eyes, and Thomas could see how long his black eyelashes were. If it weren't for his deep, alluring voice, he could easily be mistaken for a girl. When he opened his eyes again, he looked up at him with a small smile.

"It's a little strange." Was his frank reply, "But, if it makes you feel better, then who cares what other people think. It's not hurting them." Thomas felt his heart swell. His mouth formed a smile, which hadn't appeared on his face for a very long time.

"Thank you." He said.

"It's no problem." The man told him, brushing some stray strands of hair away from his face. He grabbed the can of soda and took a plastic bag full of food from Thomas's shaky hands. He turned to face the doorway to the bare hallway leading to the front door and looked over his shoulder at Thomas. "Thanks for the food. I have to head off now."

"Where are you going?" He asked, feeling himself move forward as if he was going to follow him. He skidded to a halt and started to straighten up his tall frame, feeling awkward as always.

"I'm going nowhere, really. Just away from where I was." He told him, looking down at his pale hands. He saw his eyes lose their amused luster. They became painted with a painful look. Thomas could see that wherever he had come from wasn't a place that made him happy. He didn't want to pry with questions about it, so he folded his hands in front of him and tilted his head.

"You could come back here if you'd like." He offered, his voice stilted.

"That's very nice of you, but I would just end up bothering you." He admitted, not meeting his gaze.

"You won't be a bother to me. I actually…" Thomas looked away and began to look out the window above the kitchen sink that overlooked the petite fountain in the garden, "I actually get kinda lonely here. I'd like the company."

"You would?" He asked, hope laced within his voice. Thomas turned back to him and nodded and the man started to smile slightly again.

"Yes, in fact, you could stay if you'd really like." He told him, feeling his face heat up. He wasn't sure if the man would reject his offer because of who he was. The thought of him turning his nose up at him and running out of the house with the bag frightened him. He began to shake violently, like he was suffering from the flu.

But the man's smile turned into a grin as he nodded, "If you wouldn't mind, then I'd love to."