hey! Yeah. Sorry. I wrote this a while ago, so decided to update.

hey! This a re-upload! There was something seriously messed up the first time I tried to post this chapter. Like, half the story got deleted and the rest scrambled. So, yeah. It wont happen again. I didn't realize it was so messed until I'd up posed it!

An eight hour drive along the desolate countryside, and Rose was about ready to drop for exhaustion.

She had finally found a boarding house—the only one for miles, apparently. It was a rickety little place, set on a desolate strip of sandy soil at the side of a cracked, rutty road—but thank god they had two vacancies. She could stay here until she was ready to move on.

She irritatedly blew a persistent strand of hair out of her eyes as she lugged her suitcase through the door and dragged it over the uneven floor boards, grunting with the strain. By the time she made it to the foot of the stairs, her fingers aching horribly and she wanted to sob at the steep incline of the staircase. But she gritted her teeth and walked up one step, then dragged the luggage behind her cringe-worthy THUNK. Walked up another, pulled it up one more. She continued this agonizingly slow trek for about ten steps—suddenly, the warped wheels of the suitcase slipped back down the steps, nearly ripping her arm out of its socket and yanking her back with it. For a moment, she was falling as she was towed down and was sure she'd break her neck—

With a rather painful thunk that caused a supernova explosion in her eyes, the back of her head collided with something both hard and soft—definitely not the floor—and something wrapped around her waist so tightly it was hard to suck in the air that her spooked lungs needed. For an instant, she was bewildered and clueless—then she felt rather than heard a voice in her ear, sounding as alarmed as she felt.

"Good God—" It gasped, distinctly male, "Are you okay?"

With a burst heat in her cheeks, she pulled free of his grasp—he had caught her from behind— and turned to face him, trying not to blush—especially when she saw him.

He looked young—maybe about her age. His dark hair was somehow fluffy and shaggy at the same time—sticking up in every direction in the most adorable way possible to top off a peculiar face. He wasn't necessarily handsome—but he was good looking in a natural way. Not artificial or staged like a plastic Ken Doll. His bright green eyes are wide and honest—so sincere, so simple that it makes her head spin.

"Ah—um, yeah," she says far too quickly, fighting the heat that's rising in her neck when she realizes she's staring. She averts her eyes slightly, busying her vision with the zipper of his coat, but she can still see the happy smile he gives her—and honestly, there's no other word for it. It's isn't kind, like he pities her. It isn't a smirk, like he thinks she's dumb. It isn't seductive or flirting, like he's trying to woo her. It isn't bored, or sad, or frustrated...

Just happy, like he's pleased to see her.

He continues his own trek up the stairs—and to her surprise, she realizes he's carrying her suitcase up for her. Her heart leaps in her throat—and she opens her mouth to protest, reaching for the handle—

"No, it's fine," he assures her gently with a little half-smile that makes Rose's heart swoop in her chest. "I got it."

He carries it up the steep flight as if it's nothing with her trailing awkwardly behind. When he sets it down at the top of the steps, she takes the handle from him a bit too quickly, her fingers brushing his and he let's go and she grips it tightly, her knuckles turning white.

For a moment, they stand there in an uncomfortable silence.

"Um, thanks," is all she says, cursing her dumb tongue, and for some reason she makes eye contact again—and suddenly she is so awestruck by his vivid eyes, so overwhelmed by the simplicity in them and the niceness—and confusion wells in her gut and traps air in her lungs and she can't breathe because she's scared because there must be a motive—people don't just do nice things, especially for her. She's learned that the hard way.

So she abruptly turns on heel and leaves him standing there as she walks too quickly to her room, yanking the warped door open, slamming it shut, locking it firmly with rusting gears and flopping down on the musty, threadbare quilt of her borrowed bed, groaning lowly.

She knows exactly what's causing these butterflies in her stomach. She knows what's making her heart want to lift exuberantly out of her chest every time she sees him.

It's that look in his eyes.

All her life, Rose had been treated with, what—four different attitudes? To her, there were four different kinds of people in this god—forsaken world.

There were the pitiers—who could be anyone, from people her own age to parents who used her as an example to their children (You better get your A-levels, or you'll end up working class like her) to old ladies who overpaid or slipped an extra dollar in her bag or gave her a half hearted compliment. These were the people who instinctively looked at her and saw a poor child mistreated by life, the result of bad parenting of all things. And that wasn't it—the fact that someone would suggest Rose's parents incompetent made her blood boil. But they had died when she was ten—both in the same hit and run.

Then, there were the nosers. Yes, appropriately named for the facial feature that often accompanied the looks sent her way. These were the humans who saw her as a low life, a slacker, a consequence of her own laziness and incompetence. They scrutinized her flaws, exploited them, and used them to justify their attitude towards her. They treated her like she was a dumb, stupid animal with a negative IQ.

And she couldn't forget the perverts. Not all of them were exactly that, but these were the idiots who looked at her and saw someone desperate—so desperate, in fact, that she would do anything to get laid. They flirted with her, using anything from awfully cheesy pick up lines to straight up asking her if she wanted to. (And no, she didn't! She was a virgin, thanks very much!). These guys were actually easy to handle, and if they weren't...well, Rose had to credit her skill at self defense to somebody.

But the last group were the brains. To Rose, they were the most frightening. They saw her as an opportunity, a way to get something done. She was a pawn to them, a expendable slab. But they were smart, manipulative. They could fool you, and they were good at it. You could go an errand for your nice friend and get arrested on the way for drug possession.

So, whoever this boy was, he had to be one of them. He wasn't a noser, that was for sure. Those folks were very open about how they felt. He might be a pitier, or even a brain. Or perhaps a really tactical pervert. That would be new, though—a cross between a pervert and a brain. A brervert. A pain.

Maybe he was a pain.

But at the end, it just came down to that look in his eyes. In her years, Rose had become pretty good at reading people. But he didn't look imperious. He didn't look lustful. He didn't look pitious, and he didn't look calculating. He didn't even look kind. Just...nice, was that the word? Maybe. What about...sweet? No, those scraped the surface, but didn't quite fit.

No. He was ongoing.

Ongoing. Constant. Traversing, right? Maybe even undecided. But the point was, he was an open book. He had potential. He hadn't glued himself to a stereotype yet. He was unpredictable.

Why did that make her feel excited? What did that send hope swelling in the pit of her stomach like a water balloon—

No. No, he just couldn't be. Everyone had a reason. This guy, he may not be a noser...

He was probably a pain.

I will update my priority stories soon. Promise.

Review please!