Disclaimer: I think you get the point that I own nothing….right?

{A/N}: Kinda eh about this chapter, but this is better than my first attempt at it. I think the beginning is nice though. /flops away.

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3. - Questions and Names -

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"Can you, ya know,…be still?"

"No."

"Please?"

He glanced at her, golden eyes narrowed in subtle agitation. "Not until I am done. Now be quiet."

"….…..Pretty, pretty please?"

"I said no."

"…..Just for ten seconds?"

With an irritated sigh he stilled, for exactly ten seconds, holding her gaze as her drawing hand barely twitch above her sketchbook, then continued on with his inspection of the small living room area, passing by her for the fifth time. Tossing her pencil back into its case and flipping her sketchbook shut, she repressed a groan of frustration and settled to glower at the male. He simply ignored her.

She sighed, glancing at the old grandfather clock ticking away at far left of the room. Three hours, he said. That's all you have, he said. She figured that meant he would cooperate at least, and he even agreed to come back to her house with her! Which alone had ended up wasting nearly twenty minutes of walking filled with the most awkward silence she'd ever experienced. She paled at the memory of it; things hadn't been that awkward around her since that time she cried over a dead frog in biology class. And now ten more minutes were gone, due to his persistent pacing and wandering about.

The kettle steaming away in the kitchen keened and whistled, and she stood to go attend to it. She paused between the archway leading to the kitchen and dining space, cocking her head in a way that made her dark hair shift across her shoulders.

"Uh…Would you like some tea? All I have is the blackberry-vanilla mix, but its good."

Her guest, now posted in front of a birch bookshelf, muttered another 'no' as he brushed his fingers along the spines of the books placed there.

With a another sigh and shaking her head, she left to prepare her tea. As she let it steep, she watched him curiously, violet eyes taking in pale blond hair that darkened at the ends; was it naturally like that? His skin was even paler, though in certain lightening looked to match his hair, accentuating his dark lips and the shadows around his eyes; which were vibrant against all the cold colors that he was made up of. And people thought her eyes were strange. Though, his were…slightly intimidating, but she mostly blamed that on the stern, stay-away-from-me-before-I-jab-you-with-my-spear look he always seemed to have. Was his face always so tense? And where did he get all those scars from…? Absentmindedly, she scratched at the bandage on her neck, a motion that distracted her from the near burning desire to scramble for her sketchbook and pencils. Simply staring at him set her muse on fire.

As if reading her thoughts, he suddenly looked up in her direction, causing the woman to release a very weird snort-gasp sound, and turn abruptly, getting a gut full of a pointy counter corner.

"Smooth, Jojo,… real discrete too…" She grumbled, hunched over and gripping the counter as the pain subsided. She stayed that way for a minute, thinking he would ask why she was staring, but figured after a while of silence he just didn't care. Rubbing her side and straightening up, she grabbed a mug from the cabinet and poured herself some tea. She was in the middle of adding a crap-load of sugar when he said something again.

"Girl," He called, and she hastily set down the sugar bag, brows raised as she turned at the distracted tone in his voice. He was holding a book, one of which she couldn't see the cover of to identify, and motioned for her to follow him back into the living room.

For a moment, she stood there like an idiot.

Then as fast as possible, with a steaming cup of tea no less, she hurried after him. He was sitting in the chair opposite of her couch, thumbing through the book. Other than that, he was completely still, his eyes and hands the only things moving.

Opportunity!, A voiced squealed in her head, and enthusiasm jolted through her. She nearly squealed. She was about to ask if she could now draw when she thought better of it.

Wait! If I talk, I might annoy him again…then he'll leave, then I can't draw him, then-

Quietly, she sat down her mug, and slowly seated herself upon the couch. Her movements where extremely careful, as if she was scared of frightening off an animal, as she grabbed her sketchbook and pencils. She cringed when the pencils rolled around in their tin container. But he didn't take notice. Sighing softly, she opened the book to a blank page and selected a pencil, never taking her eyes off him.

As soon as the lead touched the paper, her wrist flicked, and her hand was dancing across the paper. Each stroke was hastily done; short, but joined together lines that formed the frame and shape of his face, shoulders, and chair he was seated in. As the minutes past, she added more and more detail, saving his eyes for last.

Again, she mentally remarked on how pretty she thought he was.

In all actuality, she hadn't been lying when she called him pretty. Though her cheeks heated up in memory of her outburst, and she was just trying to stop him from leaving, she had really meant it. But mainly from an artist's perspective; well, her perspective at least. She loved drawing long hair-his went down his shoulders. She always wanted to use darker tones in a portrait-he was nearly perfect for them. She could make a list out of all the reasons she found him artistically 'pretty' or 'beautiful'. And…he wasn't all that bad looking either.

When she was alone, she was sure saying that, calling him beautiful, had actually ruined her chances of seeing him again. Cause…guys liked to be called handsome, right…not pretty? He looked so determined to prove he wouldn't return with the way he left, giving her nothing. No name, no "See you later, maybe.' Just straight out , Okay, I'm leaving, bye. And for a little while, she was starting to believe he was a figment of her imagination after all. That she just scratched herself on some random object; which she was prone to doing anyways.

But he wasn't. He came back, and she was overjoyed, though had to contain it due to him nearly leaving again. And he agreed to let her draw him. He had muttered something about compromises, but didn't dwell into telling her.

She didn't care though, as long as he didn't leave and let her sketch away. And…she was really use to him being around now. And as stiff as he may seem, she appreciated his presence; she was beginning to get lonely.

When she did get around to his eyes, shading in the shadows overcastting them, she noticed he was staring at her. The look in his eyes suggested he was questioning something.

"What is it..?" She mumbled absently, pausing to erase a few extra guidelines away.

"…Do you...know who I am?"

Blinking, she focused more on him now, but continued drawing. "Erm…You're the guy sitting in my house…that I'm using as a model?"

He sighed. "That's not what I meant. Why is it that you've haven't asked my name? And find my appearance…'likeable'? Do you not think me strange looking? "

"…You really ask a lot of questions, ya know…Out of the blue, too."

"And you talk entirely too much at times. Besides, you were muttering to yourself about my 'prettiness', thus making me…curious. Now, answer me."

Blushing and clamping her lips together, she looked down at her hand holding the sketchbook, taking a moment to think. A normal person would behave entirely different in her situation, wouldn't they? They wouldn't ask some weird looking guy they caught spying on them if they could draw him. And they most certainly would not invite him into their house. Oddly enough though, she didn't have it in her to care this time about her strange line of thinking.

"Well, I did asked for your name…but I figured you forgot or just wanted to tell me whenever you felt like it. And, you haven't asked for mine. And I guess I just got used to seeing you every day and whatnot. Clearly you're…um, different, I'll admit that. But who am I to judge how someone looks if I know nothing about what they might be. Its just plain rude when ya think about it."

He didn't saying anything, not even about her rambling that all out. Maybe because she didn't use so many um's and well's this time around. His silence made her feel edgy, she could tell he was staring at her again and she fought to not fidget in her seat. She kept her eyes on her drawing of him, but had even became intimidated by his stare there, so she settled to gaze at a blank area on the paper.

"What is your name?" He asked suddenly, making her jump. For once, he actually was lacking a bit of that harshness in his voice.

"Uh….My name?…. I-It's kinda weird."

"A name is a name….in exchange for yours, I will tell you mine."

She bit her lip, swearing she felt her pencil creak under her tightening grip on it. Her curiosity was peaked now at the sudden chance of learning his name while he seemed to be willing to share it. She just had to give him hers…? She peeked up at him, expecting to find that same tense brow and slight frown. But was surprised to see that he almost looked to be…more lax. His eyes were a bit more softer as he nodded to her. She swallowed.

"Promise?", she asked, nearly pouting.

His lip twitched. "Is there a point in me lying?"

"…Fjóla." She rushed out quickly, her usually hidden accent rolling out with the revealing of her name. Thinking that she might have spoke it too quickly, she elaborated, " F...J, O, L, A. The 'J' is pronounced like a 'Y', so- "

His cut her off, eyes gleaming as an amused smirk spread across his face. "Fa-yo-lah." He repeated her name, accentuating its pronunciation better than anyone else she ever knew learning it for the first time. "Icelandic."

Fjóla could only stare at him, and nodded her head with a dumbfounded look. That was a first. An odd sensation fluttering in her chest. "Y-Yes, that's right. It means-"

"Violet flower, I know. It's quite fitting."

Smiling sheepishly, she touched a hand to her left cheek, just below her eye.

"Alright. I've told you my name!" She practically sang, wiggling a finger at him. "And as promised, now you have to-"

Just then, the grandfather clocked chimed, a faded yellow canary popping out of the clock face as its Coco, coco! rang about the room. Fjóla, like always, jumped and clutched at her chest, releasing a peep at the sudden loud noise. She didn't realize they were speaking so lowly to one another. She was too busy glaring at the clock to notice her guest standing.

She noticed when he made to step out the opened front door though.And at her surprised and horribly hidden saddened expression, he nodded towards the clock.

"Its been three hours, I'm afraid."

"Oh…"

Had time really sped by like that? She hadn't even heard the clock chime the second time around signaling the end of the second hour. He stood at the door a moment more before finally stepping outside. She scrambled up as he left her line of sight, to see him off, she told herself. He was still on her porch, arms crossed as the wind blew his hair across his broad shoulders; and his face stern again as he watched the setting sun. She caught the faint outline of a slightly pointed ear in the orange light. Her hand twitched; why didn't she bring her sketchbook?

He muttered something in a language she didn't understand.

He glanced back at her. "That book I was reading, I left it in the chair. There is a page I've folded down at the start of a chapter. You'll find my name there. And if you've read it before….then you know more about me than you believe."

Fjóla nodded slowly and hummed her understanding, though she was confused as to why he was in a book. He nodded in return and stepped off the porch, striding off towards the forest.

"W-Wait!" She called after him, much like she did the day before, and took a small step forward. He turned, not looking surprised at all that she halted him again.

"Will you, I mean if you can, a-and if you want to…um, well, will you come back again? You're welcomed to come back anytime, seriously. Maybe I'll have something you like to drink too, snacks even. I mean, I'd have to stop by town and that's like a two hour drive, and my car-"

"Fjóla."

She shut right up.

He sighed, his jaw clenching. She waited as he looked to be contemplating and weighing his options, tilting his head as he looked back at her. "…..You'll have three hours again."

Then he left.

She stayed at the door, watching at he blended and disappeared into the thickest parts of the woods surrounding her lone standing home, then stayed longer still to watched the sun slip under the horizon. When she was sure he was totally gone and no stray beams of sunlight tricked her into thinking her was still there, Fjóla finally smiled.

She was singing, 'He'll be back, He'll be back tomorrow~' when she skipped back into her house, locking the door behind her, and rushing right over to the book.