Orange and brown leaves floated gently in the air, traveling down slowly as they departed from their homes. It was melancholy sight that warned winter was near. The ones that had made their way to the ground below crunched underneath Tony and Clara's feet. From the cover of her hair, Clara side peeked at the man walking next to her. Not that she could particularly catch his glance as his eyes hid under those trademarked shaded glasses. He was as cool as the air around him, marching with a single hand in his pocket.

"What are you in the mood for?"

Clara played with a loose string on the shoulder of her bag, "Anything really."

Now that he had mentioned it, she was quite hungry. Usually, Clara starved all day, too busy with work and school to pay any mind. It was often on her way home her stomach would gurgle unpleasantly, and she'd end up stuffing her face with street food near an open garbage.

"Great. I know a perfect spot, right around here actually."

As Clara opened her mouth to respond, a hurried passerby, too busy yelling on their phone to notice, collided shoulders with her. By force, she slammed into Tony, who caught Clara by her elbows. She landed into him with an ungainly 'oomph.' The impact caused her bag to fall to the ground, and with that, her papers tumbled onto the dirty pavement.

"Oh god," Clara gasped as she scrambled to pick them up, to prevent feet from stomping over them.

"Watch where you're going, jack-ass!"

Tony called out to the walker, but they were long gone, lost in the ever-busy crowd. He squatted down to assist Clara gathering her many pages, handing over a pile of now already dirty white sheets.

Clara groaned at the sight of them, "Perfect," she'd probably have to rewrite more than few of them.

Tony gave her a half sympathetic look, "Gotta stand up for yourself more than that, kid."

Clara winced at his nickname; did she really seem like such a child to him? Probably, she answered herself.

Clara simply shrugged, "What can you do?"

"Should've told him to fuck off."

"Yeah right."

They continued their way, but Tony remained facing her.

"I mean it, start asserting your ground. You're literally letting people walk all over you."

"I am not," Clara replied to his ridiculous notion.

Tony pointed a finger at her, condescendingly, "You are. You didn't even tell that guy off."

Clara shrugged, "What was I gonna say?"

"How about 'go fuck yourself ass-hole?"

"Definitely not."

Tony waved his arms in a grand gesture, "Here, look, just try it. Go fuck yourself, ass-hole."

Clara gave him a blank stare, "No."

"No, really, you'll feel much better."

Clara waited a few steps, then muttered the profanity under her breath, "Go fuck yourself."

"Asshole," he added.

Clara mumbled all the string of words back to him.

Tony shook his head, "No, no, with confidence."

Clara sighed, then a few beats louder, repeated the same sentence.

Tony clapped, laughing, "Could use some work, but do you feel better?"

Clara tried to hide the playful smile that came to her lips, nodding her head, left to right in a so-so fashion,

"A little."

"There you go!"

Clara enjoyed this flamboyant character. It was a jarring contrast to her usual self-deprecation. She certainly wasn't on her way to dominating the world like Tony, but she didn't mind the push. Frankly, maybe she needed the push. A little shove in the right direction. Clara liked hiding from the limelight, attributing it to a need for peace. But she had been living that way for so long, living in the shadows, standing in the corner; maybe it was time to step out of her comfort zone. The mere thought sent waves of anxiety up the back of her neck. Baby steps, she decided.

The pair had arrived at a small, but beautiful, French bistro situated neatly on the corner of the street. Modern wicker chairs with small circular tables were planted out front, allowing patrons to enjoy their time outside. This late in the year, heated lamps covered the area to keep customers warm, something Clara thought was so New York.

Tony graciously held the door open for her, which she thanked in return. Inside was even more stunning. Mint green walls surrounded the dining room, with racks of bottled wine in lit up cabinets. Large, round bulbs hung from the ceiling and the floor was covered in black and white tiles. It was like stepping into the French country, although Clara couldn't say so herself. She had never even left the country, nonetheless the East coast.

A pretty hostess welcomed Tony, not sparing a glimpse at Clara, and led them to a red, leather booth by the large window. She offered sparkling or still water once they had sat, and provided them menus, mentioning that a server would be over shortly. Clara relaxed in her seat, happy to be relieved of homework duties for the time being.

"So, Clara, what's the plan after college," Tony asked before sipping at the sparkling glass in a Waterford glass.

Clara twiddled her fingers, hands clasped together, "I don't know, I was kind of hoping to go to medical school for psychiatry after graduating."

"Hoping?"

The variance between the two had never been more obvious. Two people from very different walks of life. A silver spoon player and a girl from the wrong side of the tracks. This man had never had the weight of worry on his shoulders, slowing him at every stop. He probably waltzed into college, having it paid in full before he was even born. Never had to count pennies for rent or food. How could she possibly explain such a notion to someone so far out of reach? He lived at the top while she was scrounging around the sewers like a street rat.

"Well, I still need to apply for scholarships and stuff like that."

Warm bread had been given to the table and Tony dug in, swiping a few dollops of butter on top.

"Do you have good grades?"

"I have 4.0," Clara said adamantly. Her grades were her testament to the world that she deserved a seat at the table. She didn't have much, but she would be damned if she wasn't a good student. Clara was desperate to leave that small town life behind, she wished to do something with her life. Clara wanted to break free from the mold as best she could, and she knew the only way to do that was education. She came from nothing and so the world saw her as that. If she ever wanted that to change, she would have to prove herself.

Tony's eyebrows raised, "Well, well, little miss smarty pants."

He chewed away at the last end of a piece of baguette, "What school are you looking at?"

"I would like to stay at University of New York."

"And mom and dad won't help pay for that?"

God, that felt like a blow to the chest. Clara bit down disgust. Did he think everyone's parents carried around a spare few hundred thousand dollars? Just how out of touch was this man? This was a pointless conversation.

"They're not around."

"Not around to help their daughter achieve a degree?"

She really wished he'd stop talking.

"They're dead," Clara spit out, revealing her bitterness.

Although she had immediately regretted her words, it did get him to stop talking. Tony looked at her, stunned. She half hoped he felt guilty for pushing.

"Clara I'm sorry."

She hated this exchange after telling anyone her sad, orphan story, which is why she heavily avoided it. That pitiful gander, offering up an apology because there wasn't anything else to say. Why did everyone apologize? What were they apologizing for? They didn't kill her parents. It was just awkward and useless and always made her extremely uncomfortable.

But doing this same dance with Tony somehow made it much, much worse. She had already felt so inferior to him and now him looking at her like that, she could feel her throat choking up. The walls of the restaurant closed in on her and air, she needed air.

"Honestly, it's fine. Don't worry about."

She meant it; she just wanted the subject dropped.

Tony went to reach across the table, "No really I'm sorry."

That was too much. Clara pulled back.

"Please don't be sorry. I promise, it's ok, truly, but there's this paper that I'm already behind in writing and I should probably be working on that right now."

Clara hastily shoved her arms through her jacket and slid out of the booth.

"Wait, Clara, I didn't- "

She faked the biggest smile she could muster, "Thanks for lunch!"

Their stomachs were still empty, so she wasn't sure what she was thanking him for, but she wanted to salvage a somewhat happy departure. Clara sped out the restaurant, bag flying behind her. She couldn't gulp down the fresh air from outside into her lungs fast enough. All previous emotions to release her inhibitions ran away from her. Clara wished she had never stepped outside of her box and promised she never would again. She had swum too far from shore and got caught up in the tide.

Spinning her head around, she tried to gather her bearings and calculate what direction she needed to go to make it back home. Clara had been so preoccupied with Tony; she hadn't paid attention to where they were. With her thoughts all tangled on each other, Clara couldn't seem to think straight.

"Clara!"

She could hear Tony but kept walking, hoping to be covered by the hordes of people.

"Clara," she heard a stern voice, this time directly behind her.

On her left, Tony had jogged to fall into pace with her. He put himself a few steps ahead of her, to try to catch her eye.

"I get it, look, I get it. The whole dead dad/mom thing. Nobody gets it more than me, trust me."

That caught her attention and she finally looked up.

This seemed to ease his fret and his expression softened. Clara slowed to a stop.

"I'm sorry. I just did everything I hate that people do to me. I just ramble on sometimes. I don't know when to quit."

Tony looked honest which made Clara wonder if she shouldn't have been so quick to run like a startled deer in the woods. Clara believed him and let out a sigh,

"No, I'm sorry," she pointed in the direction they came from, "I don't even know what that just was."

"No, let's just blame me. I'm good at taking the heat."

In defeat, Clara rubbed her forehead and half smiled at his willingness to remedy his overstepping. Any exasperation she had felt washed away, it was difficult to stay mad at Tony. Even though he must have been twice her age, he still had this contagious boyish charm.

Tony's tense shoulders loosened, "Did I ruin lunch?"

"No, I think I did."

Tony gave her a sweet smile, "I have an idea."

Tony's idea was a perfect fix. He had found a hot chocolate stand and got them each one, along with warm croissants. They drank and nibbled on their pastries as they roamed through the quite paths of Central Park. This, Clara much preferred.

"I commend you."

Clara gulped down her last bite, "For what?"

"You're out here, doing all this on your own."

Clara shrugged, having never really thought about it before, "Guess I don't really have a choice."

"But you're doing it."

Clara pondered on that. At times, it felt like she was barely making it, but in a way she was powering through. Even with little sleep, hardly any money, she was doing it. No one had stopped to notice, not even her. It was nice to be noticed, and she smiled at Tony.

"Thanks."

Tony winked, "Don't mention it. Ya know, if you're really interested in the Psychiatry program at NYU, I could introduce you to some of the professors on the board. I may or may not be one of the top donors to that school, I'm sure they'd make time for me."

Clara's eyebrows raised, "Really?"

"Really, really."

Clara mulled it over, "I don't know, doesn't that feel like cheating?"

How many other students could get a billionaire to pull strings for them? Was this an unfair advantage? She felt the need to do this on her own, like everything else in her life. Maybe she just wasn't used to help and didn't know how to accept it.

"Not at all. Oh, I know! Come with me to the donor award gala this weekend! Yours truly is getting recognized."

Clara ripped off a bit of her croissant and threw it at a family of ducks swimming a few feet away from her. The group flustered over the pieces of bread.

"Maybe."

"Maybe? Don't maybe me, just say yes. It's just talking, nothing major."

Clara looked down at her feet, "Isn't a bunch of fancy people? What would I even wear?"

"Pshhh, that's easy. Let me worry about that."

Clara would most definitely be worrying about that, regardless of whatever Tony said.

"So is that a yes," Tony looked, glaring emphatically at her.

Clara sighed, giving in, "Ok, sure."

Tony clapped. Tony may have been satisfied, but Clara's stomach only twisted in knots.