I'm back? Gee, I finally got something going for me! I really needed to think ahead to where this was heading... *le sigh*

Chapter 9: Thinking about You and What It Means

"Good Morning, Good Morning~ It's great to stay up late! Good Morning, Good Morning to you~!"

What is that wiggling?

"Good Morning, Good Morning~"

This is a terrible way to have to wake up. I could appreciate the attempt...though I don't. And appreciative or not, I opened my eyes nonetheless. Creole sat beside the nest I had created via nighttime subliminal nest-building impulses. I never have gotten around to figuring out as to why I woke up the same way every morning. I digress. She was here because I agreed in a previous encounter. To "play". Such a opaque suggestion...I can't fathom what it really means.

"Hello," I managed to say in the typical way of greeting.

Creole bopped her head along with the song she sang, "Good Morning, Good Mooooorning~!"

The bed rocked back and fourth, consequence of her wiggling, and my nest was falling apart. It was certain the end would not come unless I acted to her wishes. I curled upright, leaning into her as I struggled to untangle my legs from the sheets. A thought was spontaneously and briefly addressed in that blend of nothing and something: I don't mind this warmth. That also segued into the last time I didn't complain about the warmth. One thing always leading into another. An average contact with a over-zealous girl bouncing on my bed—straight to frozen fingers clutching a surprisingly mellow, blonde boy in the rain. Then and now, I don't mind it much. Not bad. Maybe nice.

I finally freeing myself, I created a more courteous distance. Others prefer their personal space just as I used to. Still do? Maybe it's more of a situational case, I'm starting to question myself in these matters.

Creole smiled, kicking her feet out in a playful way, "Nous allons sortir pour s'amuser~! We're going out to have fun!"

Fun? It's hard to not be overly doubtful at that. Though the time together in the forest...it was not unpleasant up until the point Mello interrupted. The "study group" wasn't exactly terrible either...until Mello interrupted. A lot of things are fine until Mello interrupts. I looked at the stars etched in the window. They were nearly erased with a new coat of frost donning the glass. Expression is such a complicated thing...

Folded neatly on the dresser was the sweatshirt I'd used exactly twice that was Creole's. I grabbed the powder blue fabric, remembering that it wasn't actually mine. I turned back, holding it out sightly. "This is yours."

Creole looked at it, head tilted a fraction more than usual. Then smiled. "You keep it."

"Why? Are we going outside?"

Creole shook her head, "Nope. I just think I'd like you to keep it."

I didn't understand. Though lack of understanding did not deter me from putting the outerwear back on the dresser.

Creole made herself upright, smiling gleefully as she swung open the door. "Today we will make art! Fun, non?"

Art. I was lead very hastily through the hallways, and at the very end, lead right into the storage room for art supplies. Already there were papers arranged and different mediums of art supplies lined up.

"Please, choose to use whatever you'd like to use!" Creole already sat herself neatly before different colored pencils, picking out colors with a careful hand.

I stood at the doorway, at a loss. I couldn't create anything with these. Art? Something that required thought and patience. Emotion. Feeling, and motivation. I struggle with nearly the most simple interactions other humans can do subconsciously. I can't create art. I can't create anything. A static character cannot be the protagonist. A puppet cannot dance without strings.

Creole pats a spot next to her, "Sit and enjoy the peace that comes with smelling the stale air—the hum of quiet—the paper beneath your fingers!"

I did sit. I sat and stared at the blank sheet of paper she was ever so eager to set up. What do I do now? Creole hums another tune as she picks around a few different shades of yellow. One is too bright. It almost glows on the paper. Another is too dark, like mustard. How does she know what she wants? I look at the paper in front of me. How do I know what I want?

"What are you doing? Can't think of anything you want to draw?"

I only shake my head. Of course I don't.

Creole purses her lips, tapping the ground. It's a fruitless effort. Even if she tells me what to make, it will hardly be anything special. Her bronze hands dance over to a dusty box beside her. She slides it open to check the contents before passing it to me. "Chalk."

I take it, not positive in what she was getting at. I was to draw with chalk?

"When I was little, I played with chalk. And when you have chalk—you don't really need to know what you're drawing! You only need to start," she gently nudged with her elbow, then when back to her yellow pencils.

Only need to start? I slid open the box to look at the colors not arranged in any order. I didn't even know how to do that much. Starting seems like the hardest part. What color do you pick? What line do you start with? What direction will it go? Straight? Curved? "What color do I use?"

"Leave black for last. Other than that..." her voice thinned into nothing as she focused now on shades of green.

I looked back into the dusty box in my hands. There was blue. Light and dark. I picked up the lightest, scratching it across the blank surface. That was a start, right there. A single bold, blue line across the paper. Now to finish. I covered the entire surface in the one, solid blue. For some reason I must have thought all colors are separate. Yellow is yellow. Blue is blue. But, there are shades of all colors. And there is another blue. Starting at the edges, I filled it in until the light blue made up only a circle in the middle. Though, the colors were still too separated. Too cleanly side-by-side. Slowly I brought in more of the dark blue. Fraying the edges of the perfect light blue circle. Darkness jutting in towards the center. Black last. A black circle in the middle of it all.

"Like, the light is fighting against the darkness. With the darkness gaining ground."

"Hm?" Creole looks over at my creation and gives a petite nod, "I see."

I create another. More circles. More blue. Blue is such an intriguing color. Representing the human emotion sadness...then can also represent happiness and optimism. Clear skies. Water. Ice. Then winter. Calm and faith. Over and over, I continue with the two colored blues. More light being consumed by darkness. The light becoming more sparse with each new creation. More, until there was no light left. Only dark blue, and that too began to be taken over by the black. And finally, the black covered the whole page. Nothing left.

Creole was still entertained by her own project, and I began to neatly put my creations in order. At the shuffling of papers, my neighbor was finally removed from her stooped concentration. Eyes flitting to me, she held out a hand.

"S'il vous plaît? Can I see?"

I didn't understand her interest, but handed them over anyway. I tried to read her emotion. To see what she thought. There was not an inch of wavering though. Each page was studied with a neutral expression, then flipped face-down beside her. It had taken a surprisingly large bit of time for her to finally get to the last, all-black, page.

"I like this one the most," and she nodded with finality at the black page.

"Why?"

"Because there is still a little bit of light left," she points out a dab of light blue, "As each one of your pictures moved on, they became darker and darker. I'm just glad that in the end, some light survived."

I didn't do that intentionally. I didn't have those feelings when putting them together. It was only my wishing to use blue.

"Want to see what I've done?" Creole holds up a basket of fruit.

A basket of fruit, huh. "What's it supposed to mean?"

I received a strange look as she went between me and her artwork, "Mean?"

"Mine meant something to you, what did yours mean to you?"

There was a pause for thinking before the reply, "I made it without much meaning or motivation behind it. I wanted to color a pear, and it escalated from there."

"Why a pear?"

"It's my favorite fruit. Mémé liked them too..."

Creole stood up, sighing heavily before holding a hand out. "You're bored by now, non? We'll go look for friends!"

I wish to approach. Maybe he has changed his mind? Maybe he will be already reverted back to his old self. Though, he didn't even care to look over as we came in the common room. Creole was very insured to get both his and Matt's attention though.

"Ah! We have arrived to see you!"

Matt was reclined in a plush chair, across from Mello who held a black rook in his hand. The chess piece was set down with a soft click, then he took to reclining in his chair as well. Matt shifted his position so he was more facing us. He grinned, raising his eyebrows in an expressive way.

"You were looking for us?"

Creole boldly sat herself on the arm of his seat, arching her body across the back like a melting snow man does as the season moves on to warmer days. She fiddled with her ringlets, pointing and unpointing her toes. "We were looking for friends, yes."

"Where were you two earlier?"

"Making art!"

The two continued their conversation without my attentiveness as I tried to think. After I stopped hating you, there was nothing left to care about. Mello had said this yesterday. And now, supposedly, there is a complete void of emotion from him when he must interact with me. Which I've realized, and which I've realized I find it...uncomfortable. My reasoning is that he was the most interesting human I've met. I've spent much time musing over his motivation for acting against my expectations. This is yet another time he's acting against expectations, though it's more frustrating because he's not done anything to see. Even now. Mello sits there. Eyes focused on the others conversation. Fingers tapping dully on the lush armrest. Legs crossed and arms spread across the back of the seat as if casually protecting his chair from anyone who might also try and lie across it. He makes a point of looking at me, but doesn't express any sign of acknowledgment. He goes back to staring at Matt and Creole.

"You don't care?"

I was finally returned a genuine look this time, from all three members of the small gathering. Mello grimaced.

"Why are you bringing this up again? Yeah, you fucking win and you're not worth the wasted breath. You wanted me to admit it in front of everyone? There. So everyone knows, I no longer care about anything Near does and will leave him to his all-knowing self."

Matt and Creole had the same face upheld. Sad? Worried? Confused? I don't know what it meant. I was too busy trying to figure out Mello.

"I am a human. And humans have feelings. And I also don't understand everything. And I try to understand. And things matter to me. And what matters to me is that you don't care. When you used to care, it was better than this," Is what I'm saying making sense? I must admit, my stream of thought is butchered. I never speak like this. I don't even know what I want to say, but I continue, "Hate is not exactly what I want though. If there was any way to have feelings that did not graduate to violence—that would be what I want. Friends."

The last word was hardest to pronounce. For some reason...it felt wrong to say it. It was what I wanted to say, but I was hesitant to say it? Like if I said it, I would automatically be rejected. It felt that way. Like there was no possible way. Like maybe I shouldn't even say it...

Mello's expression narrowed into something not at all amiable, "You want to be friends."

I nodded. Yes. That was the term tossed around the last few times I discussed things with Matt and Creole, who both watched without interruption.

His expression relaxed into something more...cynical, as he rolled his eyes up to the ceiling where they remained, "That's such a stupidly blunt question. Asking to be friends seems so, I'm the new kid and I don't know anyone, will you be my friend so I'm not an awkward social outcast and get beat up by the local bullies?"

Oh. So I was right then. I never should have asked. He considered it something foolish. This was a fruitless endeavor. I should forget it. From now on, we will forever 'not care' about each others existence...

"I'm not saying I'm going to suddenly be buddy-buddy with you—I might... stop with the cold shoulder. If it matters that much to you," He spoke as if suddenly all the one-sided emulation was never there. Eager to reconcile.

"We will be friends?"

"No," the answer snapped out without resistance, "I've always had my reasons to hate you. I don't have any reason to be friends with you."

What? "What do I have to do?"

Mello lolled his head back, "I don't know. Don't piss me off first. Then, work on making me like you. Do whatever it takes."

"You've changed your mind." I looked at Matt, whose face hardened. That wasn't just a statement. Almost an accusation.

Mello leaned forward, returning the gaze.

"Yes. Aren't you happy, Matt?'

Creole had felt a need for sleep, already left and gone to bed. Matt had been questioning Mello for the while after. I didn't follow. Something about forcing and suspicious motivation. I didn't really care for it. My goal had been to get Mello to feel towards me again. And yes, he did seem more lively.

"You feel like keeping me company for the rest of the night, Near?"

"Yes."

Matt raised a hand, stopping the transaction of words, "Mello..."

"How about we talk later?" Mello stood up, a fraction taller than the red-head. Matt looked from me back at Mello in a fluttery uncertainty.

Mello quirked an eyebrow, "Matt? Do you have a problem with something?"

"You're doing this so suddenly. And you've never—"

"What of it?" Mello's cool demeanor broke as he snatched me from around the other boy, "You don't know anything..."

"Mello—"

"You don't know what I want, so stop trying to prevent whatever you think is going to happen! I'm not gonna hurt him!"

It did hurt a little. The grip as I was, again, dragged through the hallways and to the rooms. I heard nothing but the breathy curses from the boy ahead of me until we were finally there. Stopped. In front of his room.

"I'll let you go," His hand touch the knob to his room. "If Matt scared you away, you don't have to come in. He thinks my change of heart is doubtful... Though he doesn't know how much I've been thinking about it."

That's a surprising confession in more than one way. I think he noticed too. He has hidden his face. He's been thinking about it. About me. Even when he had said he didn't care? And then, again strange that Matt did not know about it? If my long time observations were right, Matt should have known. Mello feels Matt is who he can trust most, correct? Why wouldn't Matt know?

Mello finally turned back around. He wanted an answer. Am I going to leave because I'm afraid? No. "I'm not afraid of you."

The door opened.

GUESS WHAT HAPPENS IN THAT ROOM!

Nothing special...unless you read the NEXT CHAPTER!