I was in front of Warren's apartment. House. Crappy thing.

Mean, yes?

I was in front of Warren Peace's dwelling place. It was shabby, it was covered in grafitti, it might be falling apart.

I was in front of Warren Peace's home.

It took me awhile to find this place. I called Layla first, but she said that she didn't know his phone number and she only visited him at the restaurant he worked at. Then she told me to try one of the other people she hung out with and proceeded to give me all their phone numbers. For some reason, maybe her scary mother nature voice, I added all of the Dream Team into my phone book.

Then I called Magenta, cause she's cool. She was weirded out by how I knew her phone number, but then I asked her if she knew where Warren lived and she had this weird knowing tone of voice. It was annoying. Then she casually asked what was going on between us. As in me and Warren.

I growled.

Then she told me that she had been to Warren's house before, but she didn't know the address and couldn't remember the directions. Or his phone number. Or anyone's contact information, in fact. She just walked places and got there.

Then, god forbid, I called Patriotic Boy, talked to Will's dad about how I needed to ask him something important, he chuckled, called me Layla, and gave Will the phone.

"I am not Layla."

"Okay, then who are you?"

"Emily Perkins."

"Oh." What was that 'oh'? That was the oh of mild resentment and major awkward feelings.

"Yes?"

"Shouldn't I be the one saying that, since you're the one who called me?"

"Tell me where Sparky lives and I won't hate you for the rest of my life."

"Why would you hate me?" That means 'why should I care?'

"Because I need to talk to him and I know voodoo magic! You do not want do be on the receiving end of my wrath!" What can I say? If kids can fly, voodoo can work.

He then followed my every command.

I knocked on the door.

Oh crap! What did I do that for!? Run! Wait, no, you came here to talk to him.

An aged Asian woman with pretty brown eyes opened the door, looking at me with a tired happy expression. The obvious result of hidden depression. Hey, I can rhyme!

"Yes?"

"Um, does Warren live here?" I asked hopefully as she took up a guarded expression.

"And who are you?"

"I'm Emily Perkins, from his school. I was wondering if I could talk to him..?" Her eyes immediately lit up.

I knew what that look meant.

A girl, asking about my son! I'll have grandkids before I die! Yes!

Warren apparently wasn't the social butterfly made himself out to be.

"Yes, yes, he's in his room, doing his homework or something like that. Sure you can talk to him! First door to the right." She shooed me in the house and down a hallway past a neat and homey living room.

I knocked. He said come in, so don't blame me if I squeaked when I opened the door after not announcing that I wasn't his mother.

Whoa. Six pack. Shirtless six pack. He's a junior and he has a six pack?

Half naked boy on bed is not "homework or something"!

He raised an eyebrow, his face more of an emotionless stone then before.

"Um... hi." I said with a blush. Darn blushing.

"What are you doing here?" Words that could be inquisitive and rude at the same time. And yet, and this really hurt deep, he was impassive.

So I took a deep breath, holding back the tears that came out of nowhere (am I PMSing?), and closed the door. His mother didn't seem like the type to listen in on conversations, but it didn't hurt to be careful. He made no move to beckon me further into the room and make his unwanted guest comfortable, but like I said, I was unwanted. He didn't want me forced in on his territory any more than I already was.

"I... wanted to counter-apologize your apology."

".. What?" Yeah, that sounded stupid, I know.

"I.. I think I have this disease, other than my pyrophobia, where when people try and force me to do the things they want me to do, in your case wanting me to not go to the dance with Lash, I get overly defensive and the anger stays with me awhile no matter what." Oh great, bad memories. Suck it in, Perkins, you're already about to explode in salty water.

"Sit down." He said in a gentle way for him and motioned beside him on the red and black bed he was on. Did I mention he was shirtless? Wearing just black jeans. His hair was wet, the signs of a shower.

I smiled gratefully and sat down next to him. And immediately felt awkward.

"I think you're a philosophobia." I blurted out, hating silences when things were awkward.

"I'm a person afraid of philosophy?" Smirk. Good sign.

"Oh, sorry, I meant to say philophobia."

"Did you make that up?"

"No, I got it off the phobia list online, genius. A fear of falling in love or being in love. Explains your growling tendencies, right?" Smile, make sure your voice has a teasing edge to it. Are my eyes shining? Of course they are, I'm about to cry. Maybe he'll think that I'm really really happy and that my eyes are... twinkling. "I found it when I was looking up the term of my condition." Oh great, fire, bad memories. Suck it in, suck it in.

"Condition? You make it sound like you're crazy."

"Not crazy, just a person afraid of fire." Suck it in, suck it in. Oh god, a tear is going to fall out. What am I going to do?

I turned around and... sucked it in.

I stayed silent for awhile with him staring at me in shock and all those other things, wiping away my tears, until I finally had to breathe. You can't cry if you can't breathe. But, you can't live if you can't breathe either. So I breathed in, which sounded like some gasping croak with a feminine touch to it, a sound everyone makes, even men, when they cry.

"Um.. there there?" Stupid Peace. He sucked at comforting.

A Brief Look Into Warren's Mind

Shit, is that girl hugging me? Shit, shit, shit. Should I burn her? It's a tradition to burn the people who touch me. Except for those related to me. Wait, never mind, except for those I like who are related to me. No, she's crying and she's a friend. Oh shit, she's my friend. Shit, shit, shit. When the hell did that happen? Shit. And she's crying. What do I do? And what the hell is she crying about?

Back to Emily

When did I turn around and hug him? He feels nice. Oh crap, shirtless.

Blushing now.

Yet crying. Oh, the waterworks are still coming. This has been coming for awhile. But why did it have to be in front of the hot Junior? Wait, not hot. He is friend. Barely a friend. That I'm crying on.

Is my nose plugged? More importantly, is my snot on his shoulder? I breathed through my nose. Good, my nose is clear of phlegm and will not drip on him. But his shoulders are all wet from my tears now. And his arms are just limp on either side of him. Wait, his arms are moving. Just because my hands are clinging to your neck, not in the choking way of course, doesn't mean that you get to touch me, buster!

Did I just call him buster in my mind?

Oh. My. God. His arms are freaking loaded with muscle.

I sound like a ditzy teenager.

But his muscled arms are around me and stroking my back! Hey, I'm not crying anymore.

Did I just purr?

"Did you just purr?"

"Don't steal my thoughts." I said dazedly, hugging him tighter, "I'm sleepy now."