"Hi!" I could hear Nudge talking unnecessarily loud in her room.

"Hi." I could just barely make out the quiet greeting. My breathing had stopped entirely as soon as I had heard her beautiful voice. It was exactly how it was that fateful Tuesday afternoon; exactly how I dreamed of it every night. The shuffling of feet, Nudge's talking, and Angel's feeble attempts to make her way into the conversation in the next room were moving. Before I could exhale, I could hear them in my doorway.

"That's Gazzy, and Mr. Grimace over there is Iggy." Was I grimacing? Fang had told me my lips were usually not in a smile. She had probably waved or smiled to acknowledge us. "Iggy's blind. You have to vocalize." This time I could feel myself grimace. We always talked about my blindness so freely, as if it were nothing. And even if I was in love with her, she was an outsider. Shouldn't we be different around her?

"Oh, sorry," she muttered. "I'm Melanie." It was so tempting to say her name, to taste it on my tongue.

Nudge had been talking as I lost myself in my thoughts. "…gets back we're supposed to go and get her things." I had only heard the last part and quickly tuned the rest of Nudge's talking out as she lead Melanie back into they room they would share with Angel. I turned towards Gazzy.

"What does she look like?" I usually asked what something or someone looked like. It usually never helped. Colors were an enigma to me.

"She's a little taller than Nudge, really pale, pretty eyes, black hair. A little scary. " I stayed silent for a few seconds before I burst out in laughter.

"What?" I said between guffaws. Gazzy always tried to act grown up. Being laughed at was apparently not something adults had to deal with.

"She's wearing dark clothes and she has a bunch of black makeup on her eyes!" he defended himself quickly. I continued to laugh uncontrollably. How ironic: the stranger I had fallen in love with was a creepy "emo" chick. Perfect.

Nearly three hours filled with five trips from Melanie's old house to our apartment and cramming a bed and a mesh of odd items into a small room later, we sat in the living room eating our unhealthy dinners around the TV as if we were an average family. It was almost impossible to move the majority of a sixteen-year-old's belongings with a small Mercedes, though we had successfully achieved the task. I had followed the sound of Fang's footsteps up the driveway, through the garage, and along the short halls of Melanie's former house. The stairs had caught me off guard. I had noticed Fang's footsteps ascending, but I hadn't noticed that the first three steps were larger than the fourth. I clipped the stair with my foot and flung my arm around trying to grab onto Fang. My fingers clenched on the banister that I had found and I tried to find somewhere to put my foot as I began to fall. The air whooshing past my face suddenly stopped as callused fingers gripped firmly around my forearm. The size of the hand and the length of the nails pressing into my skin told me it was one of the girls. I wasn't surprising though when she was able to pull me up; because of my thin and lanky frame, I'm sure anyone could. Assuming it was Nudge, I thanked her in my usual nonchalant tone. Incidents like this happened quite frequently, it didn't surprise me that someone had to help me. It did surprise me, however, when a hollow, flowing voice greeted me. "No problem." My skin was on fire where she had touched me. "Do you need any more help? Or…"

"No," I responded quickly. Damn it; I sounded like a douche. "Thanks though," I added on. I heard her footsteps and nearly silent breathing ascend up the stairs, leaving me rooted to the soft carpet.

The move hadn't been too much work. All the things she planned to take had been stuffed into at least ten boxes. The challenge was fitting everything in the Mercedes. We had to completely disassemble her full sized bed and lay the frame across our laps in the back in two big pieces. The mattress had sufficiently been stuffed under the seats. Half of it was actually under the seats, the other half was folding up against them. Having unnaturally long legs had never been such a problem. The one upside was our cramped situation in the backseat. I myself was pressed against the cool plastic of the door. My left was constantly on fire. Melanie sat, sandwiched between Gazzy and me. Every turn, every twist, every episode of bad driving Max exhibited had her shoulder, her arm, her hand on me. It was glorious. She probably didn't think twice about what she was doing to me, she probably had no idea.

When all of her boxes were at the apartment, Nudge and Angel, who had had stayed home, helped her unpack. Her scent was everywhere. I felt like a dog, going crazy over such a simple smell. It wasn't a scent I could exactly identify. It was something like the sweet smell of burning sugar and apple-flavored gum. It was intoxicating.

I sat in my usual place on the recliner. It's cool leather pressed comfortingly against my arms. "We're going to Savemart tomorrow, guys," Max called from the kitchen. It was a good call. I had used the last of the food in the fridge for breakfast that morning. I really enjoyed cooking, but when we were out of supplies, I was perfectly fine with eating pretzels as a meal.

"Iggy!" I braced myself as a bag of salted crackers was thrown at me. I had a sodium problem. The TV was turned on and the click of the light switch in the kitchen told me that everyone had moved to the family room. Max and Fang were probably cuddled up in the corner of the couch, Nudge and Angel were most likely beside them, and Gazzy I knew was right in front of the TV when Fang told him to get out of the way. The sound of the carpet crinkling under feet stopped next to my seat. I felt her lean slightly against the side of the recliner after sitting down on the floor. I could smell each fruity exhale, hear each quiet chew of gum, feel each beat of her heart vibrating against me chair.

I reached into my pocket where I always kept my small Bic lighter. My thumbed flicked across the top over and over. It was a habit I had established a long time ago to distract myself. But no matter how many times the heat of the flame touched my fingers, I couldn't get her out of my mind. Just knowing that she was mere inches away from me was driving me crazy.

My eyes flew open. The small sound coming from the kitchen had woken me from a very horrible. It's quite possible that the sadness of the dream was what woke me up as opposed to whatever was in the kitchen. Still, my curiosity got the better of me, and I quietly slipped out of the room as not to wake up Gazzy. Of course, if a plane crashed into the apartment, Gazzy would continue to snore away. Without the door in my way, I could hear the noise quite clearly. It was still very quiet and it wasn't surprising that I was the only one who had heard it. Tentatively, I made my way around the couch to get closer.

I knew exactly what it was. She was playing oboe. Obviously she practiced everyday, anyone with ears could deduct that. I'm sure it would have been difficult for her to ask the flock if she could just step aside to practice. The perfect flowing of the notes, the subtle quarter notes thrown into a sea of sixteenths. I felt my knees go weak at the realization of what she was playing: Richard Strauss's Oboe Concerto. During my homeless days in San Francisco with Iggy, one of the places we found shelter in was a music shop. Headphones had been placed throughout the store playing many genres of music. He would search for one song in particular, knowing that they played it in the classical section. The first time I remember listening to it, Iggy had plopped the headphones on my head and told me to listen closely. Nearly everyday, we would come back just to listen. Once, when I asked why he liked the song so much, he responded with one quiet answer that had been begging to know more about the man who had raised me: "It holds many memories."

And every time the wonderful piece reached my ears, I was overwhelmed by sadness. The dream I had just woken from had had it playing over and over. It was almost frightening to wake up to it once again. Then, mid measure, the music stopped and a new sound broke into the air. And this sound was probably ten times as sad as the first. The muffled sobs and nearly silent plop as a few tears hit the tiled floor. She was crying. My whole body ached with want. I gave into my temptations and walked around the wall where I was hiding and into the kitchen.

I imagined her face was in her hands because she didn't make any acknowledgement to presence. Against my own will, I came closer. I was close enough by then to wrap my arms around her, which is exactly what I did. I felt her stiffen with surprise as I placed my lanky arms against her back and into pulled her into my chest. Her lack of response embarrassed me, and I began to pull away. As she felt me retreat, she linked her arms around me.

She rested her forehead the crook of my neck and seemed to be trying to pull me closer. This wouldn't have been a problem if her large breasts weren't pressing into my chest. Jesus Christ. I tried my best not to think about her boobs; now was definitely not the time to get a boner. Helplessly, I let myself imagine reaching my hands up to her chest. Damn it, Iggy! Focus, I thought. I closed my eyes averting my thoughts.

Her hands grabbed onto my shirt, clinging to me seemingly desperate. I never wanted it to end. The side of my face fell against the top of her head. Her damp hair felt cool against my flushed skin. I didn't know how long we had stood there, holding each other tightly. After a lifetime, she let her hands slide back to her sides. Reluctantly, I pulled back. I waited patiently, wondering if I should say something. Before I could speak the words forming on the tip of my tongue, she reached her hand up to cup my cheek gingerly. "Thank you. I really needed that." I couldn't respond, I couldn't move, I could barely breathe. The feeling of her callused fingers on my face was paradise. She took her hand back and I listened to her quiet footsteps travel back into her room.

I couldn't help touching my cheek where her hand had been seconds ago. Every feeling I had had for her before we had met seemed completely miniscule compared to how I felt at that moment. Slowly, a horrible ache spread across my chest and in my fingertips. Was love supposed to hurt like this?

AN: Yay! Ahahahaha. I'm sooooo sorry because that took me a decade and it's not even that long. :( I'll try to make the next one longer. Maybe some reviews would motivate me! :)

Thanks for Reading,

Melanie