SLAM. Ben's hand came down hard on his alarm clock and knocked it onto the floor. "Fuuuuuuuck." He threw his legs over the side of his bed one at a time and bent down to pick up the object of his frustration.

5:00 AM stared back at him in angry red as he took a deep breath and ran his fingers through his mop of hair. When Ben was given more shifts at work, he was appreciative, even with the realization that it would affect the rest of his schedule. He knew that meant his daily runs after school would need to become morning runs. But at this moment, he debated whether the euphoria of routine and the fuller bank account was worth the bloodshot feeling behind his eyes.

Ben forced himself to his feet and shuffled his way out to the living room, picking up a stray hoodie and his sneakers along the way. Now if only he could find his iPod. Ben looked around and saw it tucked into the couch cushions. He took a seat and wished aloud, "Please be charged, please be charged". After seeing a half-full icon in the upper corner, Ben threw it into his pocket and continued getting ready.

His eyes darted between his bathroom and the kitchen area. He knew he should brush his teeth, or at least wash his face - but ultimately decided the effort wasn't worth it. Instead, he traveled the few long strides it took from couch to fridge and reached in. A carton of orange juice hid in the back corner and he pulled it out to search for an expiration date. October 20th. "Ehh, a week won't kill me." Still hesitant, he unscrewed the top and cautiously smelled the beverage. "Fuck it." He shrugged and raised the carton to his face for a few swigs.

Ben opened the door and took a final glance back into his apartment. He quickly locked up before he lost his nerve and headed down the stairs to begin his run into the cold.

The sky was still dark, but Ben liked it better this way. All his life, Ben had struggled to be seen by those around him. Eventually, he gave up and found it easier to blend in with the silence. Longing for connections meant holding out hope, and hope was something he could no longer afford to keep losing. Let the past die, Ben. He picked up his pace as memories and heartbreak threatened to fill his mind. Soon, he ran fast enough to avoid focusing on anything but the pounding of his heart against his chest and the harsh air filling his lungs.

An hour later, Ben returned back to his place. He quickly hopped into the shower to rinse off the physical evidence of his own personal form of meditation. Dressing for school, Ben pulled on a black thermal and black jeans, the first things he found in a pile covering the chair beside his closet. He followed up with his trusty black Doc Martens. Even if he had tried to actively put a look together, it wasn't likely his outfit would have looked much different. Ben didn't care about appearances and he just really, really, liked black. It was simple, understated, and lent itself well to his introverted nature.

After throwing his used cereal bowl into the sink, now clear of his routine meal of Corn Flakes, Ben grabbed his backpack and began the 2-mile walk to school. Most other teens would have likely taken the bus or called a friend for a ride. But Ben's long legs helped make the walk seem shorter than it actually was - and he certainly didn't have any friends to call.

About ten minutes into his walk, he saw a flashy white Hummer waiting outside a small single-family home. He immediately recognized it as belonging to Finn, another senior at his school and a grade-A, free-range, grass-fed, dick.

He paused his iPod and slowed his walking, wondering what Finn was doing on this side of town. Ben had been walking this route for over a year now but had never seen his boisterous classmate here before. He got his answer when he saw a brunette rush out of the house, bag still unzipped and threatening to spill its contents all over the sidewalk.

"Shit, I'm sooo sorry, Finn! Electric bill wasn't paid. Again. So took me a while longer to get ready."

Ben's ears tuned into the girl's accent right away and he paused to stand and study the stranger. He quickly realized that she must be the new transfer student from England. Earlier in the school year, he had overheard the school receptionist and one of the counselors deep in conversation about the girl from England who was now living with Unkar Plutt, the town's resident drunk and apparently, her distant uncle. However, this was the first time he had seen her or heard the girl speak. It was easy to avoid meeting new people when you were Ben and avoided any socialization that wasn't absolutely mandatory.

He took in her soft features, messy bun, and athletic build. Her style was definitely unique, with a flowy, white tank top half-tucked into high-waisted, olive, cargo pants. A cream cardigan was draped over her bag, and he wondered how she wasn't freezing. A small smile reached his lips when his eyes finally reached her shoes. She was wearing brown Docs that matched his in every way but color.

"Yeah, alright. But get in will you? I don't wanna have to fight any asshole juniors who think they can take my parking spot."

"Excuse you. I happen to be a junior. And I'd argue that some might consider you the asshole in that situation, given that the school doesn't have any assigned parking."

Oh, if her outward appearance hadn't already piqued Ben's interest, her feisty personality sure did. He took one last glance at her before resuming his walk. Getting caught staring by Finn and this mystery girl was not a confrontation he wanted to take on.

It was 3:52 PM as Ben dropped his backpack onto the metal shelving unit in the employee lounge of Resistance Records, the record shop he'd been working at for the past four months. He considered pouring himself a quick cup of coffee but opted for a Diet Coke once he saw the burner was no longer on. Nothing he hated more than stale coffee. He still had about five minutes until his shift started, but walked over to the front counter anyway. It's not like he had anything to do in the short amount of time. There certainly wasn't anyone trying to talk to him or make plans for later. Maybe a stray text from his mom to say she missed him, but in that case - it was even more excuse to start work earlier.

Ben enjoyed working at the record shop. He found that most of the people who wandered in were hardcore fans of music just like him. And by that, it meant that these people actually preferred he leave them alone to browse in peace - which coincidentally matched up with Ben's deepest desire to avoid as much customer interaction as possible. Save for the minute of transactional exchange whenever someone made a purchase, Ben was free to enjoy solitude up at the counter. Most days, he could get away with sorting and pricing the incoming shipments and recently purchased used vinyls without speaking for more than 30 minutes total. He was grateful to his boss for the position, knowing he could never last a day in a regular retail job like the movies or supermarket.

So far, his shift had gone by fairly status quo. His co-worker and manager Poe had excitedly pointed to a wall full of milk crates when he got in, explaining how this guy had passed away and his nephew came by to sell a garage worth of old records. "He said he would take $50 flat because he had to catch a flight back to New York and was over the hassle of cleaning out his uncle's garage. $50 bucks, Ben. You believe that shit?"

"Pretty fucking cool, Poe. You mind if I get first dibs on looking through it? Or at least test them out on the store's stereo system?"

"Yeah, Bro. Take whatever you like! Dead guy's nephew's loss is our gain!"

Poe was only a few years older than Ben but ran the shop since his dad, Ben's actual boss and owner of Resistance Records was always traveling. While Ben was the quiet, moody, fixture in the store, Poe was the confident and assured people person. Ben wouldn't necessarily classify them as friends, but he liked that Poe never had any expectations of Ben to be anything but himself.

Ben pulled a crate off the top of its tower and walked over to the counter. He felt like a kid in a candy store and was excited to begin digging through.

The small bell rang over the front door and Ben sighed. Hopefully, it was just the mail.

He looked up and froze. It was the girl from this morning. The spunky girl that was hanging out with Finn.

She looked right at him and smiled, greeting him with a simple "Hi".

Ben smiled back, or at least hoped he had. In all honesty, he was a little out of practice.

"Um, bag," he sputtered, clearing his throat.

"Sorry?" the girl questioned.

"Your, uh, bag. I need to check it in." He turned to look at the sign behind the counter to break the awkwardness of staring at her for too long.

"Oh right! I'm sorry. I - I've never been here. I'm new to town. "

"Yeah that's alright," he said as he dropped a plastic number on the counter and waited for her to do the same with her bag. That would've been the perfect opportunity to ask her about why and when she moved here, dumbass. Ben ignored his conscience and attempted to burn a hole through the number he had just placed down.

Her smile was smaller this time as she exchanged the number for her bag and began her slow browsing of the store.

The next thirty minutes were excruciating for Ben. Every turn of her head, small exclamation of excitement, and intake of breath triggered a response of his own. He cursed his internal systems for suddenly setting themselves to a frequency that only she occupied. What had he done to deserve this? Despite many attempts at ignoring the girl and getting back to his business, the milk crate still sat in front of him and a box of new releases remained untagged.

When she finally walked up to the counter with an impressive stack of records, Ben was all too happy to know this awkward encounter was coming to a close. So happy that he heard himself ask, "So, do you actually like records or are you just doing it for the hipster credit?"

Shit. That was a dick move.

The girl didn't seem shaken though. "I love anything that provides a good hunt. Digging through records, thrifting for clothes. I consider myself a bit of a scavenger."

"A scavenger. That's... different. You still didn't answer the question though - do you actually enjoy it or are you secretly a hipster?"

"Well...let's see. Do you just really hate your job or is the judginess a natural character flaw?"

Ouch. And THIS is why he didn't talk to people.

Ben was struck silent, so she continued on.

"Sorry. Yes, I actually enjoy scavenging. No, I don't consider myself a hipster. I think foster kid is probably a better term for it all. As in, really good at getting on in situations that others can't. And also, being constantly on the defensive." She gestured to the space between them before adding, "Obviously."

"I'm... I'm sorry. To be transparent, I don't normally talk to anyone for this long. I'm used to being judged by pretty much everyone. And even those that are nice enough to try usually sense my lack of conversation skills and leave pretty quickly."

"REY. LET'S GOOOOO." Finn popped his head into the shop and looked from the girl to Ben and back. "God it smells like old shit in here. I'm gonna wait outside. You better not get any dust in my car, Rey!"

"Ahh, well that's my ride. I've gotta go. And from the sounds of it, I better not buy these. I know it's a lot to ask, but any chance you could hold onto them for me? Just for one day? I swear I'll come back tomorrow."

"Yeah, that's fine. Not that you have much competition here," noting the empty store.

"I appreciate you being so chilled about it. Oh, and - uh, what's your name?"

"Ben."

"Quick tip, Ben. Why don't you let everyone decide for themselves whether or not they want to stick around and talk to you? Some conversations are like records - not meant for mass appeal, but so worth the extra digging. Cheers."

Rey ran out and Ben let out a breath that had been caught in his throat from the moment she walked in.

What the hell had just happened?

A/N: Pumped this puppy out overnight after stopping in to my favorite record shop yesterday. Love it? Hate it? Let me know your thoughts. Who's got two thumbs and hasn't written in a minute (or like...10 years) and is just happy to be getting back into the groove of things? This gal. So please feed my insecurities with words of...actually, any words will do. I'm easy.