I'll give a big, beautiful cookie to anyone who sees my chapter title theme...

Flaky was sitting in a extremely comfy, ludicrously cushion-y, easy chair.

oXoXoXo

"Um, come on, kiddo. Please calm down. Um, let's go to my place." Completely floored by her ability to, well to put it nicely, to flood her face with a steady stream of tears. Going to his place seemed like a good idea. Especially since from her reaction to her "home" was so drastic. Maybe she would calm down if she felt welcome? He didn't have any other ideas.

The shock on Flaky's face made him realize how bad that sounded out of context.

"I mean, let's go to my place, sit you down in a nice chair. So you and I can talk. Nice and calm. How's that sound?"

Gently. She spooked, easy goes it. Gently now.

"That, sniff, that sounds g-good, sniff." Attempting to dry her eyes. A sight that doesn't usually inspire laughter, a small lost-looking girl, tears streaming, trying to tame her sorrows. However, Flippy was hard-pressed to keep straight face as she was drying her eyes with his handkerchief. Which she had already soaked through. She was so . . . endearing.

Turning to put his arm around her shoulder, partly to steer her towards his house, and partly to keep her from seeing a small smile he couldn't quite repress, Flippy said "I'll make you something to eat if you want."

The rest of the walk consisted Flippy's calm words and soft, comforting suggestions concerning trivial things that were so important at that time. Things like his furniture, something he called The Chair, and Flaky's quiet consent.

oXoXoXo

At first she was afraid it would've eaten her whole. It was an odd chair. When she sat down, she sank, then buoyed back up from it's fluffy abyss. . . and stayed up.

?

Flippy seeing her shock, feared another bout of waterworks. He didn't think he could handle another one of those just yet, even though it seemed she simply one to tear up easily. It was his first time dealing with someone with such a . . . shakable constitution.

"Um, excuse me?"

Lost in thought about his new friend(?), Flippy, ironically overlooked her when she tried to get his attention.

Severely discouraged, she tried again, "Excuse me?"

Still no response. Though this could have been due the fact that when she spoke, she spoke to the floor and in her mumble-y way. Which would've been okay for the most part, except that she did it even quieter than her already soft tone.

. . . . . .

"Excuse Me!"

"Hmm? Oh! I'm sorry! What is it?" he said in a embarrassedly.

"Um, I was going to say…" she paused uncomfortably. She seemed embarrassed as well?

"Yes?"

"I, um. . . you have a very nice chair here." She continued with a little more confidence when she saw his eyes gleaming with pride, "I think it's lovely. And such a beautiful color."

"That, my new found friend," anyone who liked The Chair, was instantly a okay in Flippy's book, "was a gift. From a very good buddy of mine." He continued solemnly, "He's gone now."

"I'm sorry." was the equally solemn response.

A silence, neither comfortable or awkward, followed. In which they had a wordless conversation of the eyes. He searched hers not for falsehood, but for whatever was behind the sincerity. Was it empathy? It saddened him to know that such fragile creature had known such great sorrow. The depth of her eyes amazed him. He mused about the idea of her endless reserve of tears simply being emotion overflowing from the rim.

She searched his for acceptance. Not of herself, but of her condolences. She wanted to know if he really understood the depth, the meaning of her previous words, however overused the were. Flaky found it. Among the regret in his troubled eyes was his acceptance. Of more than she ever would've thought anyone could accept anything about her.

Which made her just uncomfortable enough to end their nonverbal chat.

"Um, may I use your restroom?" was all Flaky could come up with after racking her brain for something profound to say.

"Yeah, yeah. Sure. . ." he trailed off. It was unclear, even to himself if he was trying clear his head and think straight, or trying to coax more information from her eyes.

"Um. Um, where is it?" she chanced.

". . .Where's what?" He figured it out what he wanted. He wanted to talk to her eyes again. He needed to know if happiness could be found in those grave ruby shaded orbs.