The Gap

spockjasperlokizukowriting

Eight- Days After

Art saved my day, by far. The teacher, with a warped perception of reality, but a genuine heart behind her drawing hand, was interesting to learn from. She let me draw in my sketchbook, which gained a part of the bonus points already awarded to Mr. Clark. Ms. Keaton was a sweet lady, a little bit off, but nice as she dismissed us ten minutes before lunch could even start. I took the time to wander, feeling at peace since I had gotten the apology out. I blushed as I strolled down the hallways, following my map, remembering how I had sprinted from that area to go hide somewhere else. The black-haired boy had stared at me the entire class, but it was easy to brush off. I felt free, elated- relishing not being bound by guilty feelings.

I paused, but started again with a smile, making my way down to the courtyard. The storm is over, I resigned, setting myself down in the middle of the courtyard, the exact bench the Asgards had occupied yesterday, and pulled out my sketchbook to draw. I was in the middle of a peaceful sketch of bouncing the ball on the black-haired boy's shoulder when the bell rung, the courtyard swarming with people navigating along the edges. I was left largely to myself, still enraptured in the mood created from Art, reflecting through sketching the events of PE.

Art seemed to be a more relaxing class than anything I'd had yet. Ms. Keaton, middle-aged widow, thought nothing of anything, not caring about whether we had general talent. It had made me nervous initially to be sat next to a freshmen with an undeniably good eye for color and shape, but Ms. Keaton had affirmed that it mattered not how good you were in the class, that it only mattered how willing you were to put in the effort, and let you inner critic go. I considered it a type of therapy, since I knew that I was my worst judge by far. I hadn't been scorned for my drawings in years.

I grinned to myself. It had been flattering when she had seen me drawing a picture of rose, craning over itself, wilting, a stray petal floating down towards the white surface. I had smudged the sketch by accident during the course of its creation, but according to Ms. Keaton, it had only added authenticity to the piece, and she hung it up on display on her board, giving it my own little artist's signature in the corner. The people in the class seemed to have a similar optimistic mindset to hers, and had congratulated me and offered kind words of encouragement. "Good job, Isla!" "Wow, I wish I could work like you, Isla!" I felt pink and bursting at those words, unable to properly express my gratitude as the praise was handed so freely. The boy next to me offered to collaborate on an upcoming project, one by which we would draw a powerful high school scene.

Ethan, as I later learned his name was, was delighted to see my sketchbook, something that I had been reluctant to share. He was flipping through it when he caught the drawing of yesterday's lunch, all of us laughing, at ease with the times, his light, sapphire eyes skimming the pages with delight. It became our decided model to work from, and he helped edit it, giving a raw emotion to the drawing as he copied it and colored it, breathing life into the page as I watched, dumbstruck, fascinated.

Lunch was progressing, but I didn't notice as Sif came and sat by me. She cleared her throat, speaking up and pulling me from a recording of the black-haired boy's calculating expression. She raised both eyebrows, perhaps a little insulted that I hadn't noticed her arrival otherwise.

"So..." she drawled, pulling out her salad and splitting aside her chopsticks. "How's life?"

"Interesting," I replied, returning my gaze back to my work as I shaded his midnight hair. "Art was definitely one of my better classes."

"Thought it would be. You can't be parted with that thing even if your life depended on it," she observed, forking down a few leaves of lettuce before her chopsticks dropped in shock. "Oh... No way..."

I quickly looked up, erasing a stray mark as I asked, "What? What happened?"

Sif nodded over my shoulder, and I turned around to see Jane walking by Tom's side, a happy, earnest grin on her face while Tom walked plainly, less impressed, but smiled when he saw me nonetheless. I snapped my sketchbook shut and waved, throwing it into my backpack and jumping from the bench to go greet them. I sprinted to Jane's side, grateful to see her smiling at me again as I threw my arms around her shoulders and gave her a tight squeeze.

"Jane!" I breathed in relief, pulling back and smiling at her overwhelmed expression, feeling nearly teary that I was in the sweet girl's company again. "It's unbelievably good to see you!"

Tom laughed. "And I don't get a hug, too?" he asked teasingly, prodding me with a playful gesture in the ribs.

I giggled and nodded, being mindful of Jane as I declared, "Group hug!" I pulled Tom and Jane into a wide embrace, Jane obliging and Tom a little bit stunned, Sif laughing in amusement out of the corner of my eye. Tom tightened a hand around mine, still staying loyally at Jane's side while he lead us back to the table, sitting next to me, leaving Sif alone with Jane on the other side.

Sif's brown eyes sparkled like gems, gazing between us as she asked, "So, Tom... What calls for the guest in our group?"

"Ah, well, we had room, and I know for a fact that Isla's partial to Jane," he explained, squeezing my hand before letting it go, setting his large hands on the table. "The added company couldn't hurt. Plus, I accidentally knocked her over this morning."

My eyebrows rose, my interest peaked. "Really?"

Jane laughed and nodded, seemingly at ease to be with people during her lunch period, books aside. "He wasn't paying attention to where he was going and walked right into me," she giggled. "Tom's making it up to me with a lunch."

Tom gave a faint smile and nodded. "Sincerely. But in some ways, it's my reward for guessing her name correctly," he smirked, pulling out a can of soda and popping the lid.

Jane looked aghast. "It took you long enough, though!"

Sif turned to Jane, trying to be interested. "Ooh, do tell! What were his guesses?"

Jane fidgeted but continued her warm smile. "There was Jackie, Jaimie, Jenelle, Janet, and Jean..."

I laughed. "Sounds like everything but Jane!"

Jane laughed and continued, but Tom remained largely silent, staring at his soda with a despondent look. Even Sif''s attention was caught, and she gradually warmed up to Jane, talking about the different things they both liked and discovering a shared interest in reading certain magazines.

I had begun to return my attentions elsewhere when Tom suddenly stole away one of my hands, gripping it tightly, as if trying to squeeze something out of it, his knuckles a few shades paler. I smiled up at him, drawing out of my sketchbook once more, but was feeling a little offset by Tom. I liked sharing a seat with him, my hand in his, but knowing that Jane was here made me somehow uncomfortable. I was grateful for my friends, but wanted to be considerate. However, a second glance at Tom while Sif babbled on told me that perhaps it wasn't the best idea to put Jane next to him: his eyes were darkened, brooding, seething like they had this morning. His grin wasn't easy- something was different, a certain spark in his attitude missing. In case he decided to be rude, I thought that it would be less awkward for poor Jane if I was sitting next to him to take the heat.

Is this still because of Arren? I thought, but quickly frowned and let the seniors talk, continuing to draw in my sketchbook while they chattered on. No, it couldn't be because of Arren just showing up. Something felt different about his distant expression- something personal had happened, and it was bothering him.

I decided to let it drop as lunch carried on, Tom politely talking with Jane. Sif was a little more than out of spirits to be sitting next to someone she deemed beneath her, but tolerated it because it made a moody Tom happy as she unleashed the full extent of .Jane's geeky, inner personality The conversation changed from class to sports to celebrities and so forth, but I never really participated. I was more keen on analyzing the morning. Events had definitively turned in a different direction, what with Arren and the apology, but I knew that things would settle down sooner or later. My heart thudded momentarily when I remembered that I had an off period and another class to go before the bus ride home, which I expected to share to some degree with the black-haired boy.

But then again, I always had Tom, and drawing, which seemed like the two outlets for my feelings at present.

Tom nudged me with a gentle hand, bringing me from my own little world as I looked up at him, his blue, topaz eyes grim as he forced a smile. "Time for class," he reminded as Jane packed up her bag and lunch. Sif had already vanished, heading to Choir, I supposed.

I smiled and shook my head. "Thanks, but you don't have to lead me anywhere today," I excused with a smile. "I have an off period!"

He looked a little taken back, but blinked in memory and nodded. "Oh, okay... What are you planning on doing, if I may inquire?"

"This," I answered, gesturing to my open sketchbook. Tom frowned at a few of the drawings, quickly grinning as he noticed the ones of him. "I expect that it'll make the time go by quicker than usual."

"It's a little chilly out here," Jane commented, shivering and pulling her jacket tighter over her shoulders. "Perhaps the library?" Her familiar awkwardness was strangely at ease, and that made me happy as I took in the suggestion. Library. A serene, quiet place. It seemed like the perfect place for drawing.

I nodded. "Sounds great!" I piped, placing my sketchbook back in my bag and letting Tom take me by the hand, leading me back through the courtyard and out into the hallways.

Jane followed us, both hands in her pockets, unaffected to a bewildering point that Tom was displaying a rude preference towards me. But then I frowned as the thought came to me- I didn't know Tom as well as I should've, but perhaps holding hands, like kissing them, was commonplace for him. He was a gentlemen in all other standards- perhaps it was just a sign of friendship, nothing more. I secretly hoped that this was true; Tom was a good friend, and I wanted to keep him that way. I hadn't ever had a boyfriend before (I blushed at the thought), but didn't feel ready for one at the moment. Small crushes aside, I had no romantic experience.

Besides, I thought to myself as we rounded a last corner. Jane and Tom make a cuter couple anyway.

Tom stopped at a grand, glass door fringed with detectors and smiled down at me, releasing my hand and walking to Jane's side. "Here we go," he announced. "The library."

"Thanks so much, you two," I said endearingly, grinning at them both. "You're great people, honestly."

"Much obliged," Tom replied with a grin.

"You're welcome," Jane added, smiling plainly and politely, quieter than her boastful counterpart.

I pursed my lips, the thought coming to me as I watched them stand side by side, resolving to put the cherry atop the sundae as I walked up to them, taking a hand of Tom's in mine and a hand of Jane's in the other and clasping them together. Tom went rigid as Jane blushed, staring at me in silent wonder as Tom's fingers reflexively tangled in hers. I patted their hands and grinned, nodding and dismissing, "There, that's more like it. Have a good day!"

I waved back and disappeared into the library, glancing over my shoulder to see the results of playing match-maker. Jane was dipping her head, flushing and embarrassed while Tom had a small smile on his face, walking her away and out of sight, the newly budding couple coming to life. My heart danced in my chest as I smiled, hoping that it would go in the direction it should. I waved to the librarian, letting her know of my presence as I took a table and began to draw once more.

My watch dinged once it hit the time I had set it to- five minutes before I had to pack up and leave for Economy. I sighed, lamenting the loss of precious drawing time as I shoveled my pencils into their pouch and packed it all away in my bag, filching out my schedule and map, preparing to guide myself as I tapped out into the hallway. I circled around, confused for a bit as I walked, but found my bearings quickly once I walked by Mr. Clark's classroom. I couldn't help as I looked inside, hoping to see my favorite teacher, but the classroom was still practically empty, only a few students sitting, but once I read the schedule of the class hours, I scolded life to learn that Mr. Clark wasn't here on these afternoons- this was when Chemistry class surfaced.

I sulked and trudged off, following the route to Economy, dismayed to learn that I couldn't see Mr. Clark until tomorrow. I had wanted to talk to him about my days, receive his friendly advice- just to talk with him would've been nice. As I approached the door to Economy class, the future just seemed all too far away.

The Economy teacher, a gruff, burly Russian with a heavy mustache and dark, beady eyes halted me, speaking thickly, "And who are you, little girl?"

I gulped eyes wide as I clutched my scarf and schedule to my chest, intimidated by how unnaturally large this man was, his stomach poking from beneath his thick jacket, his long, flowing black and gray beard reaching down to his chest. "Isla Selvig?" I stammered.

"Ah, Swedish girl, new girl," he answered, his accent almost making it hard to understand his words. "Still little girl."

"I'm not actually from Sweden..."

"You Swedish, come to country from Sweden," he interrupted, waving his hands. "You come to learn Economy, no?"

I nodded slowly. "Yes... Am I-"

"You in right place- you come in, and I give you papers," he ordered, turning around and bumbling back into the classroom. I hesitantly followed him, starting when he abruptly wheeled and gave me a hard look.

"One last thing," he stopped. "I Mr. Khodkevich. But please, call me K. Mister, K."

I raised both eyebrows at his name, thankful that I could call him otherwise as I timidly followed him through the growing classroom. He rummaged through some of the papers on his squalid desk before grabbing a few and handing them to me. "Now, you learn Economy," he nodded, grunting and heaving himself back towards the board, almost waddling underneath his weight. "Little girl sit with third table."

"I'm sorry?" I asked, following the finger he pointed towards the desk closest to the door. I paled when I saw a familiar figure sitting there- at first panicking that I had yet another class with the boy from the bus, but the auburn, cropped mess of hair told me otherwise. I strode over to the table and took the empty seat next to Arren Coulson, the teenager massaging a red cheek, a thin, notched cut edging down his cheekbone, bruising as if he had been struck.

I knitted my brow in concern, gazing at him with questions burning in my eyes. He looked up and smiled, wincing as his cheek pulled uncomfortably. "Hey Isla," he greeted, hazel eyes twinkling, a swirl of lapis lazuli and a pale brown. "Good to see you again."

"What happened...?" I asked, fading off and gesturing to his cheek, biting my lip as a stray curl of my own hair drifted forward, fraying from my bangs.

He chuckled and shrugged. "Oh, this?" He ran his fingers over the tender flesh. "I ran into a... bit of a scene, if I can call it that, with a rather...ah, temperamental senior."

I shook my head. "Goodness, who? Did he attack you first?"

"You can say that, sure," Arren supplied, grimacing in the middle of his attempted sly smile.

The horror shone in my expression as I took in the information. "Who was it? The culprit, I mean," I questioned.

"A friend you rather respect by the name of Tom," he explained in an acrid tone, the venom not directed towards me, but towards my blond friend, the one whom I had set with a pure-hearted young woman. He set his gaze forward as Mr. Khodkevich started a lecture, scraping against the chalkboard with his ruler, dimming the lights and setting on a powerpoint as he explained economical deflation.

I exhaled, shocked that Tom had hit Arren. "Tom? But... but he's-"

"A good kid, really, he tries," Arren interrupted, paralleling my hushed tone with his whispers. "But that reality of it was, he passed me in the hallway, and said hi to him, and he lost it. The crazy giant swung around and bang! Clipped me on the cheek."

"I...I..." I was in shock, unable to process my words, unbelieving at what I was hearing. Tom? Hit someone? "But- but why?..."

Arren shrugged, grinning at me through the dark. "He has a bit of temper- if he doesn't stand you, there's no limit to what he'll do at any unrestrained encounter. Probably the only reason that the fists weren't flying this morning at the bus-stop was because you were there, holding his hand."

I blushed and gazed down at my clasped hands, inhaling as I turned back to him and pursed my lips. "Are...are you going to report it?"

Arren chuckled and shook his head. "Not going to give him the satisfaction," he assured, clenching and unclenching his fists against the slate table. Blood and scratches ran along his knuckles, almost bruised as they hardened.

"Can...can I see your hand?" I asked uncertainly.

Arren turned to me and smiled. "Of course," he offered, sliding the uninjured hand towards me.

"No, the other one," I corrected, wrapping my fingers around his wrist as I brought the damaged hand towards me, observing the wounds closer as I frowned, glancing back up at him. "You didn't hit him back, did you?"

Arren grinned and shook his head. "No, not at all," he consoled. "When he punched me, I fell backwards, my hand scraping along the lockers and landing on the tile before I did. Those are mere flesh wounds- nothing directly caused by him."

He then retreated his hand back to his chest, hugging it as he pulled out a slip of paper and began writing down notes. I frowned, suspicious as I pulled out my binder and began doing the same. It didn't sound like Tom to hit without reason, but Arren had no reason to lie to me. But...his hand... It didn't look like the doing of a locker. I watched as Arren ground his teeth, his eyes cold but his smile pleasant, as impatient as I was for class to end.

The snow had started to fall heavily again, flecks of white dusting downwards as I ducked out of the front of the building. Class had ended all to slowly, Mr. Khodkevich's lecture dragging to no avail. The class wasn't hard- just boring. It was the low point of the day as I had shoved my binder back into my bag, pining after a glimpse of my sketchbook nestled between notebooks as I made my escape. Arren had been polite enough, saying good-bye when appropriate, still nursing the wound on his face.

Several people bumped me, a couple boys exclaiming, "Hey! Watch where you're going, gorgeous!" I curved in my shoulders, self conscious of the crowds.

"Sorry..." I mumbled to no one in particular. I shyly tucked a strand of hair behind my ear and continued on, the tips of my shoulders layering with snowflakes, my boots barely keeping a grip as they slid through the sidewalk. The buses were having an easier time in the dismal weather than I was, the occasional windscreen wiper shifting over the class to flush away a covering of wet sludge. I saw Tom waiting outside our bus, smiling as he saw me come into view. I smiled back, but still felt haunted by Arren's words. I strode to Tom's side, the easy senior grinning again, but the storm was still deep within his eyes, unsettled.

"Hey," I greeted, relaxing a little in his presence, Arren's claims nagging me from the deep reaches of my thoughts. Tom felt different now, like my trust was being tested.

"Hey," he returned, making to lead me onto the bus by the hand, but I shook my head and pulled back.

"No, Tom, I need to talk to you out here," I stated firmly, squeezing his fingers and keeping him at the bus's side.

His brow knitted in confusion as he halted, fingers suddenly unsure in mine, eyes wary. "What is it?" he asked.

"Arren Coulson," I remarked, glancing around to reassure myself that we could carry on unheard. "He has a brutal cut on his face, and he claims that he received it from you."

Tom blinked, face emotionless.

"So?" I persisted, anxious for an answer. "Did you or did you not attack him?"

"I did," he affirmed in a flat tone, eyes turning cold as his smile disappeared.

I exhaled, letting go of his hand to fold my arms across my chest, frowning up at him as Tom towered above me. "Tom- I... Why? Why would you do that? All he said was 'hi'! You had no right!"

Tom immediately bristled, clenching his fists as his jaw went rigid. "He lied to you, Isla!" he snapped angrily, grabbing my forearm and heaving me closer to him til our eyes met. "Coulson attacked first! He struck with a desire to harm!"

My eyes went wide as he clutched me, trembling as I forced out, "But-"

"No buts!" Tom barked, stunning me as he grabbed my upper-arms and shook me. "Isla, don't listen to him! Ever! Do you understand? Coulson is bad news and he'll hurt you when he gets the chance! You are nothing to him!"

"Why?" I stammered, frightened as he loomed over me, feeling insignificant in his shadow.

Tom's fingers dug into my skin, a brutal strength that made me yelp, his teeth grinding together as he snarled, "Because that's just the way he is! It's his nature! Trust the scorpion, Isla, and you will get stung! Do you understand?"

I nodded, my heart racing in my ears, practically dangling in his clenched grasp, quivering as he fumed in anger, no longer the Tom I had come to know. My eyes had started watering when Sif hopped down from the bus, appearing shaken as she snapped, "Tom!"

Tom started and instinctively released me, dropping me down the inch to the ground. I rubbed my arms as Sif walked over to me, wrapping a reassuring arm around my shoulders, scowling at her now flustered and embarrassed cousin as she scolded, "You thick, insolent brute! Control your temper before you do something you'll regret!"

Tom's breathing was hard as he whimpered, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to calm down, hiding his face in his hands. Still shaking, my upper-arms sore, Sif lead me onto the bus, pulling me to the back to sit at her side. The bus was less crowded as she consoled me with calming words, letting me have the window seat to section me from the other group, members Finley sitting behind me and peering over the seat with raised eyebrows. The initial shock over, I watched as Tom walked rigidly onto the bus, giving me a grossly apologetic look, nervously sitting down opposite Sif as he stammered, "Isla! Isla, I'm sorry... I... I didn't mean-"

"It's fine, Tom," I grinned weakly, forcing myself to breath as I shrugged. "We all have bad days."

Sif distracted him as I watched more students load onto the bus, partly hoping to see the black-haired boy, wondering what had become of my own apology. I sifted through the lines of students sorting themselves into seats, not paying attention to my surroundings, even glancing out my window to look for his familiar, thoughtful face and darkened green eyes. The bus lurched into gear, and my face fell- he hadn't come. The thought crossed my mind of the scenario that he was avoiding me, but I quickly shook it from my mind. I refused to believe that his sudden absence was because of me.

I hadn't messed up that badly, had I?

The seconds soon progress into minutes, then to hours, and before I knew it, I had finished bearing through another one of Tom's desperate pleas of apology at the bus and had walked home with Andrew, grinning and bearing through my mother's interrogations of my day and my father's lectures on science and teenagehood. Even Andrew had his share of dominating my attention, ranting about how unfair life was to him while I sat silently and did Economy homework. And when I wasn't filling in the hours with my family, I was sitting and drawing, lost in trying to capture the black-haired boy's face while I added in a sketching of Tom lifting me up, shaking me, enraged that I had been lied to. It only made the curiosity on their back-story worsen, but I ultimately decided that it wasn't my business. As long as I minimized interactions with Arren, I shouldn't have a problem.

I perfected the cut across Arren's cheek and smiled, inclined forward over my sketchbook as I sat on my bed, the night outside dark as it streamed in through my open curtains, a hazy moon hidden behind a thin fog of clouds. Well, I thought. There wasn't a lack of boredom without friends here.

I got up the next morning with a renewed determination- I would meet with the black-haired boy, at least see him in action, wondering whenever our paths crossed if he had accepted my apology and forgiven me, despite my plonking him with a basketball. I shoveled down my breakfast and opened the door to find Finley and Sif waiting for me, taking on the duty from Andrew of walking me to the bus. Andrew and Sif exchanged a glance while Finley lead me outside by the arm. The conversation pleasant, I couldn't help but be distracted as I watched Arren's house, seeing him come from his door with a hardened expression, the cheek wound cut across with two bandaids, gloves concealing his hands. Tom had continued his apologies at the bus stop while Arren kept his distance. It took awhile to reassure Tom that the worse he had done to me was scare me, but that hadn't been something to dwell on besides the mystery it had raised. The thing that had unnerved me at the bus-stop was, however, the continued absence of the black-haired boy. I didn't inquire Sif or Finley about it, but something seemed wrong. I kept glancing at the stop-sign, hoping that he would magically appear, but he never came. We walked onto the bus, strangely alone, and I pursed my lips, nervous at the hole in our group.

I otherwise went through my normal morning routine, conversing with a strangely enlightened and jovial Jane in the brief minutes before Physics. Mr. Clark hadn't changed at all, only his clothes different as he showed us several YouTube videos on crazy experiments performed by teenagers our age. I continued to sit in the back and draw, sometimes finding myself recording images from the videos, the occasional Mr. Clark standing off to the side, his dark glasses and young face highlighted in the projected screen, teased brown hair thick on his head. He dismissed me with a smile at the door and I cautiously ventured down the stairs, not tripping, not picking out a familiar face from the gaggles of students walking with me, the hallways devoid of my particular teenager.

I stayed confined to the Photography classroom, hoping to see him, but his seat went through the period empty. Darcy had been friendly, greeting me with a curt 'hello' before ducking out to take her own pictures. I wouldn't have minded that if it weren't for my hollow, aching chest. The bell rung, signaling time for lunch, and I packed my bag, walking out to greet a waiting Tom by the door.

A particularly bad storm of snow had rendered the courtyard unpleasant to eat in and our typical group was forced into the cafeteria. Jane joined us, sitting next to Tom and I while Tom's cousins squeezed into the opposite side. Jane seemed to fit in rather well, and managed the coax the words from Hayden that he wouldn't offer even to me. She was bright and smart, and made a poor Vlad feel rather unintelligent as she talked about particle sciences. Tom, however, listened, rapt by her words, most likely not comprehending their meaning, but silently grateful for Jane's presence.

The day continued without another sighting of the black-haired boy. I sat alone in English after gritting it through a wretched period of Trigonometry, Mr. Blake getting out his guitar to play us a song about Cloten, a spoiled prince, as we read more of Cymbeline. The vacant space next to me made me almost miss the black-haired boy, and I nervously drew the scene of sitting by myself in my sketchbook on the way home. Mr. Blake had assured me on my way out that my partner was feeling sick and couldn't attend school, and I prayed desperately that illness was the cause.

The events repeated the next day, the routine well and truly settled as Tom walked me to the bus-stop, lead me to lunch from Art, all other classes being something to silently sit through. The black-haired boy still hadn't shown up, and I walked around in PE, alone. Art made things slightly bearable, while Economy wore my patience on edge, Arren being a polite and simple partner, helping me when necessary and offering kind words of advice, his cheek still angrily raw and bruised, his knuckles minutely scraped.

Once at home, I buried myself in my sketchbook, saving homework for the weekend on the Thursday evening while I dressed blank pages in black and white sketches. I tried to draw the black-haired boy, but his face wouldn't come to mind, the horrid missing mystery of the drawings setting my tolerance on end. No matter how much I lined, shaped, shaded, and smudged, nothing would come out exactly like how I wanted it. His face was no longer in perfect memory, and the recordings kept getting worse and worse.

I finally gave up, throwing my sketchbook on the floor and shutting off my lamp, not looking forward to the morning as I shut my eyes, a flash of green splintering behind my lids. I shivered, the world overcome suddenly with a layer of black, and I was left to the mercy of my dreams and a longing to see the black-haired boy once more.

A/N: Thanks to Loki's Little Helper, bayumlikedayum, Leslie, LoveFromAlli01, and Anti-social for being constant reviewers, and great, supportive people. Check out Loki's Little Helper's story Grounded for some more Loki/OC action. In addition, I have drawn out Arren Coulson and Isla (I'm a horrible artist, unlike her), but if you're curious, the links are posted on my profile under the section labeled UPDATE- the Gap.