Rebirth
(AN: going back cleaning up old fics. My god this had a crap load of spelling errors, it was hideous.)

When I was a child I loved the water. I remember sitting in my bathtub after it was full and shutting off the tap just barely so there would be a continuous stream of dripping water throughout my bath. It fascinated me. I could sit there for hours dipping my hands in the water and watching each drop trickle down my bare arms. Often I would lie on my back and relax my body so I would float to the top of the bathtub and I was flying, soaring in the air. It was beautiful, cleansing, and pure.

At the end of my seventh grade school year, as per custom, my parents and I relocated to our beach house in the Hampton. I looked forward to it every year. All the grueling assignments, snide remarks of my peers and thoughtless actions of my parents would be forgotten. I'd be left alone in my own little paradise, there wasn't much more I could ask for. That first night after we arrived and settled in I asked my mother if I could go swimming. It was fine with her. Her reply was flippant enough for me to understand it didn't matter what I did so long as I stayed out of her hair. She was getting ready to go to a dinner party thrown by one of her high society friends. I took a moment to watch her, transfixed at the glittering jewels that were dripping from her throat as she picked up the brush to retouch her hair.

"Yes Paris. You may go." She said distractedly as she shooed me out of her room.

"Are you sure?"

"It's fine, just go."

I walked outside and from the light of the pale moon I could make out the strong ripples in the ocean. Flinging my towel in the air, mindless of where it landed, I joyfully ran to the water and dove into a giant wave that crashed into the sand. Since birth I have been bred to thrive alone and as such swimming at night held for me great appeal. I swam farther and farther out, adrenaline strengthening the kicks the propelled me away from shore. The joy I felt when in the water was a secret, a precious moment for me to keep and hide for myself. I have never been comfortable in the presence of others. I did best by myself. I still do.

The waves grew stronger as the night grew darker but I wasn't afraid. I was an excellent swimmer and young enough to believe that the water would always be a friend. I didn't expect the waves to grow so strong as to drag me down and choke me but it did. I began to struggle, the salty water burning my throat as I opened my mouth to scream. I was flailing, desperate, and the ocean was unforgivably cold. There was nothing I could do, no one to save me. I nearly drowned that night.

Somehow I made it back to land. I was hacking up water and my eyes were burning as I crawled higher on to the sand to get away from the deceitfully silent waves. I heard the sound of an engine and managed to raise my head up enough to see my mom's dark car pulling out of the driveway.

Drained of all my energy, my face fell back into the sand. Seconds, minutes, hours, enough time passed where I could work the muscles that pushed my body up, enough to drag myself to the house. The lights inside were dark and the door was locked. I didn't have a key.

Alive yet defeated, I curled up next to the door and cried. In the morning when the maid came, she silently unlocked the door and prodded me with her hand. Getting up I followed and walked upstairs to my room. I lay in my bed and fell asleep. I've been asleep ever since.

Every horrible truth of my life I had contained ran wild that day. I had no friends, I had no family and there had never been a rainbow waiting for me at the end of the tunnel. God had sent me no savior. All I could expect from life was whatever I took from it. Knowing that, something in me broke that day.

I didn't leave my room for the rest of the summer.

It was the second week of eighth grade when Tristan kissed me. I knew it was a dare but that point seemed moot. Tristan, Tristan might have been a friend… perhaps ally is a better word. You see, I've know him since the beginning. He was a fellow student, with parents as dysfunctional as mine. He was the guy I saw every year in the same class for all of my life.

I've heard the rumors. Even if only half of it was true he'd still managed to make out with a third of the females in our prep school. Yet somehow the kiss I got was a child's kiss. Awkward, hesitant and shy. The kiss might have been a dare, but I understood the sentiment behind it was honest.

I loved him for that moment. For that brief ripple in a heart I had believed frozen. I clung to him desperately. Whatever it was he did, however he did it, I wanted it once more.

In the mean time my heart hardened against my parents. The unreturned love I had harbored for them finally reached expiration.

I know people thought I was cold and frigid. I am, but I wasn't born that way. I was in an environment that didn't allow me to be warm and loving. I was tired of putting my heart out on the line, waiting for my parents to pick it up. The only feelings I ever got for my efforts were disappointment and heart break. I wasn't cold. I was frightened. Tristan was a solution. A certainty. He would always be there like he had always been. It was okay to love him, even if he didn't return the affection. His presence was the one thing that had never let me down. I had something to count on.

As the years went by it didn't matter that Tristan grew to hold me in disdain, or that he got with half the sophomore class of Chilton. I knew he didn't care about any of them. He was like me, holding everyone a shoulder's length away, too afraid to let anyone get close. I wasn't the only disillusioned one. I wasn't the only cold one. He used pretty words and prettier smiles but he was just as closed off from other people as I was. He didn't mix emotions with his relationships with people. That was another thing I had to count on and he had never let me down until Rory.

I didn't blame him. Who could. In a throng of snobby, superficial, disillusioned children she stood out like a beacon of light. She was the one that was loved. She had a glow and smile that said to the world, "Look at me. Someone loves me." She was happy, real god honest happy. To someone like Tristan and me, who had been closed off from all affection, she was so good to look at. It almost hurt the eyes to see how happy another person my age could be. I didn't hate her because Tristan was drawn to her. How could I when there were times I found myself drawn to her. I hated her because she was loved. Because she had everything that I didn't have. Because she was the antithesis for all I stood for. For everything I didn't want to stand for. Because I wanted to be her, and I wasn't.

So I continued my life, angry, bitter. I had money. That was something Rory didn't have. I had lots and lots of money. My parents bought everything I could possibly need. But make no mistake, everything was earned. What I gave them because of the debt I felt towards them was worth so much more then their dollars in the bank. I was a model daughter. I didn't drink, swear, slouch, shout, talk back, or anything else kids my age do. I wore what my mother wanted me to wear, I ate what she wanted me to eat, I tied my hair back neatly the way she wanted me to. I was a proper young lady. A smart lady. Their goals somehow became mine.

I was Gellar. I would go to Chilton because it was the best, and Gellar's are only allowed to be the best. And I was. But let me tell you something about being at the top, it's lonely. I'm alone looking down at everyone I am better than, and I wanted someone else to be the best so I could step down and join the rest of humanity. I never could. I owed them and they made sure to remind me every chance I could get. Every step I took in Chilton was because of their money, their influence. Nothing was given, only tallied up in their minds for future use.

No liberation, no freedom. No one to pull me out of the deep end. No one but myself. I had done it once, I didn't think I had the will to do it again.

"...the Prince then leaned down and kissed the princess, who awoke from her 100 years of slumber."

He kissed me. And I felt nothing. No redemption, no rainbow, not even one tiny flutter. I finally saw Tristan and I was looking at a completely different person. Calmly I collected my things and walked out of the room.

Later that day, in my empty house, I went to the bathroom with the biggest bathtub and drew a bath. I climbed into the enormous tub with the faucet barely off and let the water trickle on my hands. It was the first time I was fully immersed in water since that day I lost myself in the ocean. I laughed, I cried, I died and I was reborn. As the anger and resentment leaked out of my eyes into the water that gently lapped against my sides, something inside me began to heal.

"Alright, if everyone would please hand in their papers, we can get started with our next assignment." The professor instructed, walking around as he collected a paper from each student. Everyone looked up when the door opened, all wondering who it was that dared to defile the sacred Chilton laws by arriving late. It was Paris and I began to gawk. It was strange enough for her to be late and to make matter stranger, her hair was loose and slightly awry, and she wasn't wearing her stiff confining jacket.

"Miss Gellar. I was wondering where you were." Staring straight at the teacher she shrugged her shoulders. "I hope you were able to articulate yourself clearer in your paper Miss Gellar." The professor dryly responded as he held out his hand expectantly.

"I don't have it."

Everyone looked up at her in astonishment. My eyes just grew bigger. Paris has never- ever- missed an assignment. Ever. Period. I've known her since kindergarten and even then she always turned in every single picture or math sheet.

"And where is it?" The professor asked, his eyebrow lifted in disbelief.

"I didn't finish it."

This was getting stranger and I began to wonder who it was that stood up there and how she managed to catch the real Paris off guard.

"Why didn't you finish it Miss Gellar?" asked an equally astonished Professor.

"I was busy," she replied. And that was it.

Those of us who weren't shocked began to snicker as Paris walked past the gaping professor and took her seat. The teacher recovered and continued on with the class, trying to capture the attention of the class but I was a lost cause. For the rest of my school day I found myself staring at Paris. She seemed different. Less uptight, but still closed off from the rest of the world. She almost reminded me of the child she had once been. Looking back at the professor my mind began to drift back to earlier times. To our childhood.

It was our childhood because they were intertwined. There was no use denying that. I had grown up with her constantly around. Not annoying as of eighth grade. Just there. I went to her birthday parties, she came to mine. Every year she would be in the same class as me. The one familiar face I would find every time I scanned the room in the beginning of the year. I began to search for that face in fourth grade. Just to make sure. She was happier then. She smiled more.

Eighth grade came and around and she came back changed, sullen, angry and bossy. I was a kid and I didn't know what happened. I still don't. So one day I had went up to her and kissed her. I'm not sure why I did it. I think I just wanted her to go back to the way she was. To erase the dead look in her eyes and give it back the life that had once resided there. It didn't work. Instead of her going back to the way she was, she began to cling to me and it scared me. So I began to push her buttons. To see what she would let me get away with. I copied from her, got her to do some assignments, whatever. I tried to push her so she would push back but she never did. She put up with everything, so I quit. I stopped asking for things because I knew she would willingly part with them, and that wasn't what I really wanted. Gradually I forgot what it was I wanted, and just held the crush she had on me over her head with contempt. I didn't think she would like me for so long.

Yesterday I kissed her. I was bored and I found it fun to rile her. I thought I'd play with her head a bit, so I kissed her in an empty classroom while we were reviewing our notes. I thought it would be something I could laugh at later on but I didn't get any response from her. She just left without saying anything. She hasn't looked at me adoringly once today. I doubt she was avoiding me. She knew I was staring at her. She even turned to around to stare straight back at me for a minute before she turned back around to continue her work. She doesn't seem to care.

When I look at her, I think I might be catching glimpses of the girl I once knew. And I realize that something changed for her. Like something changed for her before she came back to eighth grade. She's not the same anymore. Not completely what she had once been, not completely what she was. I don't recognize her anymore. She's moving on without me and I don't know how to feel about that.

It's raining outside now and I feel a slow smile grow on my face. All day everyone had been given me curious looks or making snide comments when I walked into their hearing range. It didn't matter. Not that it ever did. The whole day was like some sort of dream I hadn't waken up from yet. I couldn't wait to walk in the rain and clear my mind. Grabbing my books and folders in my arm I take my first step outside of the school. The rain is pouring down heavily and students are scrambling around, trying to get to their cars without getting to wet. Why go against the flow? Slowly I began to make my way outside, ignoring the eyes that follow me as I continued to walk away from the parking lot.

The leaves from the trees slowed down the rain drops but I was still drenched within the time it took me to walk ten yards. I had been walking for thirty minutes oblivious to the world around me when a car slowed down and stopped next to me. I would have continued without noticing if the window hadn't rolled done and a person called my name incessantly over and over.

"Paris!"

I walked to the passenger's window and there sat Tristan.

"Jesus Christ Paris, what are you doing?"

I gave him a look. "I'm walking home." I answered, stating the obvious.

"You live three miles away," he said in disbelief.

I shrugged my shoulders. "I'm one third the way there."

Leaning over he pulled on the lever that opened the passenger's door. I continued to stare at him wondering if he was serious.

"Paris, get in the car."

I stared at him.

"Paris, get in," he ordered.

I didn't know how to respond to that. So I looked at him, smiled so he knew I was alright and continued on my merry way. Slowly his car crept next to me and he called out my name again. He was a parasite.

"If you don't get in the car Paris I'm going to get out and carry you in."

I stood there and waited to see if it was an empty threat. I swear I thought it was. Who would think that Tristan would get all wet for me? It turns out he would and as soon as I saw him open his door and step into the fat raindrops, I grinned. I don't know why I did it. Really, I don't. But the next thing I did was fling my books at him and toss my backpack off, going off into a full sprint. What do you know he actually chased me.

When I ran I felt like I was soaring. The water continued to pour on me and I didn't even remember I was running away from someone until my foot slipped on a patch of wet grass and I fell on my ass. Tristan had been right behind me and was now hovering over me.

"Are you insane?" he shouted as he looked down at me like I belonged in a ward, yet I was feeling saner then I've felt in the past three years. Three years I've spent loving him and when I look at him now all I can think of is how unfair it is that he could still look immaculate while drenched in the rain. Discretely one of my hands dug in the ground and closed on the mud in my palm. I stood up. Walking towards him I pulled that hand back and threw it at his chest. His jaw dropped and his eyes grew comically large. Looking at him I burst out in laughter. Wiping some of the hair in my face away, I ignored the mud I smudged on myself and ignored the fact there was probably much more mud on me then him. I just laughed harder. His eyes narrowed, and without any warning he grabbed me around the waist and threw me over his shoulder. I was the one who was in shock now.

"I told you I'd drag you to the car if I had to," he gloated. I knew him well enough to imagine the look on his face, the one that matched with the tone of his voice. I knew there was a self satisfied smirk on his face as he continued to walk to his car, carrying me casually over his shoulder like a cave man. I couldn't verify that because I was dangling over his back so I inwardly shrugged and used my muddy finger to draw a happy face on his back. I started laughing again to the indignation of Tristan, tears of mirth streaming down my face.

When he reached his car he opened his passenger door wide open and flung me in. Childproofing the door so I couldn't open it, he walked to the other side and got in.

The car smelled like the woods because of my wet clothes, I liked it. I looked down, I was getting his car dirty but Tristan didn't seem to notice the muddy clothes ruining his leather upholstery. Rich kids are like that. We don't care about the material possessions we destroy or dirty. We figure there's always someone else that will clean it up or replace it, and there is. The downside of that, we have no privacy. No chance to make anything ours. The moment the color from a shirt wears out or a pile of CDs lay awry on the floor, someone is there to put it back the way it should be. As if our daily routines in life are dirty and need to be cleaned or reorganized.

"Is your mother home?"

I looked up at him wondering where this was going. "I don't know."

"Look, we'll go to my house and get you cleaned up. The maid will wash your clothes and when you get home, no one will have to know."

I stared at him. He was busy concentrating on the road and the tension in him could be cut with a knife. Know what, I wondered to myself. Know that her daughter was liberated, dirty, and something close to happy? I didn't care anymore.

The rest of the car ride was silent. I don't think Tristan really knew what to say and I wasn't going to volunteer any conversation. I was tired of trying to start conversations with him only to be rebuffed. I looked outside the window and watched the trees thin. We would be at his house soon I thought as I saw a bunch of tall stern looking houses come into view. I remembered where he lived. I've been there every year for the obligatory birthday party. Not that I complained. Not after seventh grade anyways.

He pulled into his stone driveway and parked outside, not bothering to put his car in the garage. Opening his door and getting out, he walked to her side and opened the door for her.

"Are you coming or do I have to carry you?"

Tempted as I was, I mustered my dignity, and stepped out onto the pavement like a princess, ignoring the hand he offered.

"Let's go." Closing the car door shut he walked towards his house. Silently I followed him. He was right, I didn't want to go home and face my mother like this. She would somehow find a way to suck all the happiness out of this moment. So I followed, and watched him walk to the massive door and ring the doorbell. A maid opened the door and looked curiously at me, but silently stepped aside without a word to let Tristan and his friend inside. He walked across the floor in his muddy shoes, not bothering to take the time to take them off. He knew his feet marks would be gone before his parents came home tonight. Assuming his parents came home tonight.

Opening a door we walked into a room that I assumed was his. It was nicely decorated. Kind of looked like my room. Tasteful wood furniture, decorator pillows in a harmonious color scheme all neatly ordered on his decorator sheets. No personal touches. It definitely looked like my room. Any personal touches that he could have made would have been cleaned by the maid. It was the story of our lives. Anything that went against the decor just disappeared.

I watched Tristan quietly from the foot of his door as he walked towards a drawer and rummaged through his clothes. He grabbed the first shirt and shorts he touched and walked towards another door in his room, turning around to motion me to follow him. The door opened to reveal a bathroom. He tossed the clothes on a towel rack.

"Here, wear these after you take a shower and leave your dirty clothes in the hamper. I'll tell the maid to wash them."

I nodded. A shower sounded good right now. I stepped inside his bathroom and was about to close the door when I heard him silently call my name. I looked up to look at him and stood still as he studied my face.

"What changed?" He asked his face unreadable yet comforting just the same. I smiled and shut the door.

I lay on my bed and listened to the splattering sounds of the shower and rain. I was at a loss for words to describe what happened today. Contrary to popular belief I am a good student. I have to be if I want to get anywhere in the future. I wasn't going to be some washed up spoiled brat dependent on a trust fund. I stayed after class to review an assignment that was due the next day. By the time I left the classroom the school was pretty empty. Most kids are in and out within ten minutes. The end of school is the end of school, and teenagers have places to go, people to meet, things to do.

Driving home in the thick rain I saw a lone bedraggled figure walking on the side of the road. Normally I wouldn't care or think to stop but this girl was wearing a Chilton uniform. Curiosity steered the wheel and I pulled over. Lo and behold there was Paris Gellar herself walking to god knows where.

Earlier I might have left her there, sped off without giving a damn but something about the way she walked made me want to drag her in the car and force her to explain herself. I wanted her to explain how a day or a kiss could change so much. I called her name and she stopped after I honked my horn. She looked relaxed. Like a load had been lifted off of her. It didn't surprise me that she didn't want a ride. It wasn't as though she didn't have her own car to drive home in. But I couldn't let her continue. I needed to know.

I don't know when I was more surprised. When she threw all her books to the ground without a care and ran, or when she threw mud at me, or when she drew that happy face on my back. I felt it. I knew what it was, and I heard her snickering.

I wasn't as mad as I should have been when I looked down to see the mud trailing down in big thick clumps down my uniform. Normally I might have been but these circumstances were far from normal and then she started laughing and I was in too much awe to remember that I should be angry.

I've know Paris for a long time, for as long as I could remember, but I have never ever seen her laugh like that before. I've seen her smile, a real smile, and I'm one of a few who can claim to have seen that elusive sight. But laugh, with joy? It was incomprehensible. Gone was the bitter angry girl that had an annoying crush on me. In her place was a girl who could laugh. And that in itself was the most startling thing I have ever seen.

She was drenched, dirty, mud on her face, and standing there in front of me laughing like she was a friend of the world. Her clothes clung to her and her hair hung in loose strands in front of her face. I'd never seen her so beautiful and for a moment I was transformed into that lonely boy who was in love with a girl that was completely alone. I wanted her.

My thoughts were getting so uncharacteristically muddled I just threw her over my shoulder and dragged her to the car, trying not to look at her legs. I child locked her in the car. I didn't want her to get away, not until I found out everything I needed to know. I brought her to my house because I wanted to decipher her. I wanted to pull at the layers until I saw her soul.

What changed I asked her and the only answer I had was an elusive smile. What did that mean? I wanted to know. I needed to know.

I was so immersed in my thoughts I didn't realize the shower had been turned off and Paris now stood at the bathroom's door, lost in my t-shirt which was oversized on her small frame.

"My clothes are in the hamper."

He kept staring at me, and I didn't know how to make him stop. I stared back at him for awhile, but after it seemed like he no one was going to break the silence I mindlessly began to finger the edge of his shirt. The fabric screamed imported and was perfectly pressed, perfectly clean. I didn't like it. I began to poke at it with my finger, trying to see how much the thin fabric could take before it would give out and rip. After several seconds it gave way and there was now a small hole in his shirt the size of my finger. I looked up and smiled, empowered by my small act of destruction.

"I like it better this way." He didn't respond. He just kept staring. I didn't think he would care. Like I said, we're rich kids. He probably had a dozen shirts just like this one stashed in that drawer. His maid would probably vanquish this one as soon as it was spotted, and he wouldn't notice the difference, so what did it matter to him. I looked down at my hole again. The fabric around the hole was stretched and hung lower then the other side. It was now flawed. Like me. I looked up at Tristan. Like him.

"Wait here," Tristan stated. "I'll take your clothes to the maid."

I nodded. "Sure, yeah." I watched as he walked out of the room with my soggy clothes. He was so unnervingly quiet, I didn't know if he was mad at me, curious. Looking around I climbed on his bed and made myself comfortable. It was cold, sterile, just like home. I tossed the pillows on the floor, breaking the formation and lifted his bedcovers. I was tired and wanted to sleep. Slipping into his bed, I closed my eyes and drifted.

I took Paris's dripping clothes and deposited on the counter next to the maid, telling her to bring it up in three hours. There was no rush. With that done I climbed the stairs again and walked in the hallways stopping when I reached my door. I didn't know what I was going to say when I walked inside. So I stood there, afraid to go inside of my own room.

When I finally walked inside I looked around and realized she was lying in my bed. Under my covers. Slowly I walked to her and carefully studied her face. She frowns when she sleeps. Her brow is furrowed in concentration and I wonder what it is that plagues her sleep and disturbs her so. She looked more like the Paris I've known for the past three years. Somehow, when I look at her face, I can't help but think she has a face that was structurally built for frowning.

The house is quiet. It always is. I realize I'm still in my wet uniform so I began to strip and change into dry clothing. Throwing my clothes in a corner of my room I lift the covers to my bed and climb in next to Paris.

I turn to my side so I can study her while she sleeps. A strand of wet hair clings to her cheek and carefully, without touching her skin I brush it out of her face. I lay there for some time staring at her while she slept, reminiscing about times past. I had a crush on her in fourth grade. I even considered asking her to be my girlfriend, but felt too stupid to force those words out of my mouth. It was different then. She didn't like me. She didn't hate me, but I started off no more then one boy in a group of over twenty. I used to harass her and pull her pony tail when she wasn't expecting it. One time I made her cry, but I always did it to hold her attention.

By sixth grade I was over my puppy love. I viewed her as I would view a relative. Someone who's not quite your friend, yet still connected to you in some invisible, indefinable way. She came over for a project once. It was for the science fair and the teacher had allowed us to pick our own partners. She looked expectantly at her best friend to find her off with the new girl. I watched her face fall and in a selfless act that surprised myself, I marched to her desk and plopped down next to her, sardonically proclaiming her as my partner because she was a brain. She looked at me in surprise but graced me with a grateful smile. At my house she dutifully followed me to playroom and sat down next to me, rattling off what we should do for our project. Even then she was a control freak but like now I didn't mind. It meant there would be less for me to do.

We had been at it for several hours when the yelling started. Not between me and her, but my parents. As soon as I heard the high pitched voice and the tinkle of glass breaking I froze. I looked down embarrassed. I didn't want her to see my life for what it really was. Sitting down close next to me she took her hand in mine and told me her house was the same. I looked at her and she smiled again. I smiled back. I may have played cruelly with Paris's feelings, but I never forgot that moment. And I never stopped caring about her.

In a way I was hurt when she started looking at me with the same puppy eyes the other girls had started viewing me through in prep school. She was supposed to know what I was really like. Supposed to know where I came from. It would have been different if she had really liked me, liked me because we were friends and she knew me. But it wasn't like that. I kissed her once because I cared and I wanted her to become the Paris I knew and suddenly she was staring at me like I was a god or an idol, someone other then me. In my world full of superficial people, she had been a grounding life line and with that fake crush she had on me she turned into one of them. That made me lash out on her and I've use the offending feelings she had for me against her. If she had been a real friend she wouldn't have done my work when I asked her to. She would have told me she was busy and to get my sorry ass in gear and do it myself. It became a game, the less I paid attention to her, the more she paid to me. The meaner I was to her, the nicer she was to me. After several years I forgot why I was playing and just went with the motions that I was so familiar with.

I averted my attention back to her. Something told me that Paris would no longer put up with my bull shit. That if I pushed her she would push me right back. The less attention I gave her, the less she would care. This was disturbing me because I wanted her to care. Not as some mindless groupie, but as I always wanted her to. As Paris, the girl that once saw me.

I laid there pretending to be asleep. You see, I could feel Tristan's eyes on me. He was staring at me again and I didn't want to open my eyes yet. I didn't feel like explaining myself. I was tired of having to explain everything I did.

"I know you're awake."

Crap I thought to myself as I slowly opened my eyes, to find myself staring directly at Tristan. "How did you know?"

"Your breathing changed."

"Oh." Tristan kept his eyes on mine, without giving me a hint of emotion. It was slightly unnerving, to be in the same bed with a person who had his face less then a foot away from yours, a face that refused to stop staring. My mother would call that rude behavior. You were never supposed to stare at anyone for prolonged periods of time. It was supposed to make them feel uncomfortable. She was right. But that nagging voice I heard in my head just strengthened my resolve to stare right back at him. So we lay there. And the time went by, the clock kept ticking.

"It's rude to stare at people." I told him. There was nothing else I could think of to say and the silence with pointless. He didn't reply and kept staring. I guess he didn't know that rule.

"You're creeping me out?" I offered, trying to evoke something out of his blank face. I was rewarded with a grin. Not the seducers grin he used on most girls but an amused grin. I haven't received a smile like that from him for awhile. The most I usually got was a cocky smirk that said, "You like me, and I know it." I think we both knew I wouldn't be getting that smirk anymore.

Unexpectedly Tristan scooted closer and used his arm to pull me close to him and give me a hug. It was purely platonic. Sometimes everyone needs a hug that has nothing to do with sex. I was sure physical contact of a nonsexual kind was lacking in Tristan's life so I hugged him back. This was about comfort, a shared history. About finding a long lost friend you never knew was gone. There were things we had done to each other in the past that had been cruel, almost unforgivable, but in that hug we let go of the past. There was no need to apologize. None of it mattered anymore. Once again we were two sad children that needed some one to hold. It was the end and the beginning of an old and new friendship.

That night changed things. Everything was different, and nothing would go back to what it had once been.