Back again, and early as well because I must go out of town. Senior year is so expensive, and I'm also looking for a job, so time might get spread thin for writing, but I'll do my very best! Please enjoy this next chapter.

I worked the afternoon away. Other students came and went as I could see out the corner of my eye. My hand moved tirelessly in gentle lines as I outlined my subject, visualizing it in my mind through the tears in my eyes. Then, with the edges done, I picked up my brush. I reached for oil paint instead of the gentle watercolors. A thick brush glided against rough canvas, and even though my mind was no longer in the studio I could see every detail. It felt like I only breathed when I paused to change to another color.

By the time evening had come, my painting was almost completely finished. I stepped away from it to obtain a final color and thinner brush when I heard a crash on the other side of the room. I jerked my head sharply to look. The sight that awaited me was unexpected, to say the least.

The same doe-eyed girl from breakfast was stumbling to her feet, hastily picking up fallen easels and canvases. She noticed me watching and blushed furiously, stopping all her motion to finally stand up straight.

"I-I'm sorry!" she cried. "Sorry, I tripped, sorry…"

"It's…no problem," I wiped my cheek. The girl stepped away from the art supplies, still floundering with apologies. "I never caught your name, now that I think about it."

"O-oh, me? My name's…" she seemed to shrink in on herself, but answered shyly: "Emily."

"Emily, hm?" I tilted my head. It wasn't an extravagant name, but it was fitting. Emily tucked a strand of hair behind her head.

"Your painting…it's nice."

"Nice?" I looked to my easel and finally took in my work for what it was.

It was dark in scheme and mood. I'd formed a junkyard of dark green bags and silvery trash against rusty orange fence and stormy gray sky. On the right side of the frame sat a large black cat with sharp yellow eyes and fangs bared in a cunning grin. Beneath its paw was a small blackbird with red-stained feathers.

"It's really…sad, in a way," Emily continued. "And fanciful. I feel so bad for the poor little crow…"

"Thanks…" I shrugged. Emily looked up at me and made her mouth into a little "o". When I raised a brow at her, she donned a tiny smile.

"You've got a smudge of paint on your face," she touched her cheek. I did the same and felt a streak on my skin. I put my brush down and went over to the sinks.

"Um, I'm sorry if I'm being rude, but…are you feeling alright? You can talk about anything that's troubling you."

I stopped cleaning my face and looked over at her. Her gentle green eyes were steadily trained on me. We looked at each other, an air of suspicion settling over the room.

"…Everything's fine," I said. I glanced at the clock on the wall, and then did a startled double-take. "Shoot, I've got to go!"

I rushed to clean up all of my supplies. I pushed my easel to the far corner where it could dry in peace. It was fifteen past seven when I left the art building. I speed-walked my way to the dorms, avoiding as many other people as possible, and arrived at our room only slightly out of breath. Sandy was already there, once again drawing in his sketchbook. He looked up when I came in and smiled at me.

"Hey," was my awkward greeting. Sandy's smile widened and he traded the sketchbook for his notepad.

How was your day?

So he starts with small talk. I could tell he was nervous despite his calm expression. I sat down on the bed, next to him this time.

"It was fine. I didn't do much. You?"

Biology lessons, nothing much. He paused before writing more. So do you want to talk it out now?

"Right…Sandy, I…I do like you. Well, I…okay, honestly, I think I do. I mean, we've only known each other for a few days! But I feel like…I don't know…"

Do you feel like it would be too fast?

"Well…I've never…I-I guess so."

Do you think it wouldn't work?

"That's not what I mean."

That's exactly what you mean.

"No, that's…Sandy," I sighed wearily. Sandy's eyes were boring into my conscience.

"It's not you."

Playing this card now, are you?

"It's because I…" I swallowed, failing to get rid of the lump in my throat.

Because of what, Pitch? Because you can't keep me out of your mind? Because you can't bring yourself to let go of me?

Is there someone you're already seeing?

"No, it's not that…" I sniffed. "It's because I…I…"

I saw Sandy's brow furrow in alarm. Great, now he thought I was going to break down again. Though honestly I could feel my heart pounding with frustration, tears pressing against my eyes.

It's okay.

I wiped my eyes to see the message more clearly. Sandy nodded at me and wrote more down. I could hear him sniffling and it hurt to listen to.

We don't have to be anything. It's troubling you. We can just forget about it.

"Oh, don't cry, Sandy," I begged, watching him rub at his eyes and trying not to let me see. "I'm…damn…dammit, I'm sorry!"

I just really hadn't expected to feel like this again, he wrote. Sorry, you don't need to know all that.

Don't you dare.

For once, that mocking voice in my head was silenced by my own resolve. I took Sandy's pen hand and held it in my own.

"You listened to me, Sandy," I said. "And you…you didn't leave, so…I won't leave either. If you don't want to talk about it then don't, but if you want to get it off your chest…please tell me."

That's all I can produce today, sorry guys! But we're getting into the nitty-gritty of the backstory. This fic isn't nowhere near done, though! Hooray for ten chapters! Thanks for reading~