I HAD A FAMILY ONCE [ASHER]

[MORGAN JANE FARREN]

-----------------------------------
TELL ME, DID THE WIND SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEET
did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day

[/size][/i]AND HEAD BACK TOWARD THE MILKY WAY
----------------------------------[/size]
[/center][/font]

It had taken far too long for Morgan to choose her clothing that morning. Usually she just pulled things out. Of course every drawer was organized. Her dorm room was incredibly organized in a sort of impersonal way. She had no posters or pictures or decorations of any kind. She preferred simplicity. Seeing the perfection, everything exactly where it belonged, made her feel in control. She was accustomed to waking up, showering, and crossing to her dresser. She would choose her intimates from the top drawer, a top from the middle drawer, and pants from the bottom drawer. Occasionally she strayed to the closet for a particular sweater or coat, and to slip on her shoes. But besides that, her routine was an exact pattern. Every morning it was the same, except for that morning. This particular morning, Morgan had found herself rummaging – which was something she rarely, if ever, did. She pulled out one sweater, before discarding it and pulling out another. All in all, it had taken her far too long to simply get dressed. That didn’t even include the time spent doing her hair and makeup. She kept telling herself it was just a “bad hair day” – but that would preclude the wearing of a ponytail, a hoody, maybe just not going out in public. But she had struggled and fought and here she was, still tugging uncomfortably at her clothes as the minutes ticked by. The hands of the clock seemed to move impossibly slow and fast at the same time – probably due to Morgan’s vacillation between desire for the hour to strike, and dread that it would come. She had been staring at her books, eyes scanning words but hearing entirely different ones in her mind. All in all, she had gotten a total of nothing done.

She slammed her latest tome closed in frustration, pushing it aside. A laptop stood quiet beside the book. An open word document stared blankly at her. The curser blipped on and off, just waiting for her to start typing away at some brilliant essay. Morgan frowned, drumming her fingers on the table. The assignment had been to write about power, as displayed in history. It was meant to be some sort of connection paper between the human world and the elemental world. Morgan thought it quite ridiculous. Power couldn’t be compared between two different species. Trying to compare the meaning of power between humans and elementals was like comparing the anatomy of dogs and fish. But for the basic organs, they were entirely different creatures with different lives – different functions. A dictator rose above his people, ruling them with an iron fist. Humans said that was power – brute force power. A college graduate elemental created a hurricane, handling it and flowing with it with calm superiority. That, in Morgan’s opinion, was the only true kind of power. The tiny constant breeze ruffled her bangs, a caress that reminded her of everything that ran in her veins. She tilted her head, her hair falling over one shoulder. She stared at the paper for another moment before beginning to type. She wrote a few words, paused, and wrote again. She continued this process on and on. Her professor had told the class that the best work came from experience, from the use of pathos. Morgan rested her cheek on her chin, her eyes scanning the few sentences she had typed out. She had come to a fork, a decision she wasn’t sure she knew how to make. Writing was so different than speaking. If you didn’t have to hear your voice, perhaps the thoughts had never existed.

That wasn’t true though. The thought existed the moment it formed in the subconscious. Speech, even writing, was simply making the thought public. What Morgan was left to decide was whether she would make her thoughts private – and if she did, what medium she would use. She couldn’t speak, she didn’t have the strength for that, nor an ear to speak to. The question came down to whether she would write, allow her thoughts to be read and considered. But repercussions always had to be kept in mind. Should she write, should she spill even an inkling of her thoughts, she would risk confrontation. Her paper would be shared, shown to other professors. That in turn created the possibility of that awkward “we’re here for you” speech. She hated when adults tried to be “friends” with teenagers. There was something so wrong, so fake about it all. Morgan slammed her finger onto the backspace button, watching her words vanish again. She had contented herself for years with denying her thoughts – or at least refraining from speaking them. Why did she even consider the possibility now. Because I have someone who might want to listen. She was surprised at the thought. It must have been lurking somewhere in the back of her mind, simply waiting for the moment to emerge. Thoughts were deceptive – they didn’t follow the rules of truth and lies. She placed her fingers on the keyboard once more, typing out a few words. “They say beauty lies in the eyes of the beholder…”

TAGGED: Asher Jonathan Rizzo
OUTFIT: right here.
WORDS: 862
NOTES: x
LYRICS: drops of jupiter by train.
CREDIT: mrs. robert downey jr of cv2 ,abbi, or mrs.sherlock holmes @ atf!

[/color]

[asher]

I memorized all the words for you
But if you only knew how much that's just not like me
I wait up late every night just to hear your voice
But you don't know that's nothing like me

OUTFIT.

The memory was as clear as day. Every time the family sat down in the same room and chattered about the week's events it was hard to ignore the images flashing through his mind. Some days were better than others, and some exceptionally greater than the rest, though those were in fewer numbers. Today, as dark brown eyes stared out over the kitchen table, Asher was reminded of the day he came home to find his father behind bars and his mother sobbing, Adam completely oblivious to the event. He was more like Collin than Asher cared to admit. "Ash! You burnt the toast again!?" A shrill cry came from the other side of the kitchen. Asher turned his sleep-induced stare onto the younger boy standing at the toaster with his lower lip jutted out as far as humanly possible. The older Rizzo brother merely laughed and leaned back in the kitchen chair as Molly entered the room dressed in her server's uniform. "You'll get over it Addy. It's just a piece of burnt toast." As Asher glanced at Molly, Adam took the liberty of lobbing said burnt food at his brother's head.

"Adam Rizzo!" Molly shrieked, her stare hard and reprimanding. Adam shrunk back and muttered an apology before quickly grabbing the other breakfast items and slinking into his seat at the table. Both boys avoided one another's gaze. Molly sighed. "Behave yourselves. Honestly. Adam, once you're done get ready to catch the bus. Asher, you have a good day at the academy. Don't forget that girl's sweater." She said sweetly, kissing each boy on the forehead in turn. Adam rubbed his forehead aggressively in false hopes of 'removing the kiss', Asher merely nodding to his mother as she left the house. Silence encompassed them. Adam ate his food, emitting angry grunts between each bite. Once the silence became a little too heated, Asher pushed away from the table and stood up, stretching. "Well, I'm off to school." Adam stopped mid-bite and glanced at his brother, a mischievous smirk on his face. "To see your girlfrieeeend?" Asher shook his head and went to the little laundry room to grab her sweater; ever since meeting up with Morgan that day, Adam was relentless about them dating. "She's not my girlfriend."

The boy neatly folded the sweater and tucked it gently into his book bag, settling atop his books and other items that could potentially wrinkle it. She would murder me. And that's not an exaggeration. He actually took her threats rather seriously, even if he did not display said concerns to her. He wanted desperately to bring her something from the coffee shop, but knew that acting upon his whims could result in lack of testicles. That was possibly quite painful and not worth bringing her some essay-writing fuel. Not worth it at all. Once set to go, Asher watched Adam off on the bus before starting the trek to school. Within half an hour--minus the time he spent stopping at Timmie's-- he found himself on the grounds. It was not time to meet Morgan, so the boy occupied himself on the grounds playing a little frisbee with some of his fellow winds and a few earths. It did not put too much pressure on his ankle and gave time a reason to pick up the pace. Once his comrades waved him off and left for the mess hall, he glanced at his phone; it read 1:45 PM. Perfect timing.

Shoving the phone back into his pocket, Asher made way for the library. Upon entering, the silence nearly slapped him in the face; it was not a silence he was readily accustomed to and felt like every step was like setting off fireworks. It was obvious Asher did not make a habit of frequenting the school library. Glancing around anxiously, he weaved through book cases and around tables encompassed with multiple students before coming to rest on the figure he had been searching for. A smile twitched on his lips as he steadily approached, clearing his throat a bit so as to avoid startling her. "Hey," Asher greeted rather quietly to match the tone of the room. Without awaiting an invitation, he sat down at the table, being sure to sit across from her to avoid any awkward confrontation for being too close. He smiled brightly at her as he rubbed the back of his neck anxiously. "I have your sweater. Good as new." He set the book bag on the floor and pulled it out, setting it next to her books and laptop as tenderly as possible, resting his Timmie's cup on the table. "How is your paper coming? Well I hope?"

I want to make sure everything is perfect for you
If you only knew that that's not like me to follow through
Maybe even give up on these dead end dreams just to be with you
But you don't know that's nothing like me

[MORGAN JANE FARREN]

-----------------------------------
TELL ME, DID THE WIND SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEET
did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day

[/size][/i]AND HEAD BACK TOWARD THE MILKY WAY
----------------------------------[/size]
[/center][/font]

Her fingers flashed over the keyboard as she typed. Her brows knitted together with concentration, she chewed her bottom lip slightly. She was engrossed in the writing, but not only the words that appeared on the screen but the pictures she couldn’t help but associate. Power was a fickle thing, and held entirely different definitions for the two species in question. Historically, the definition of human power would land on the shoulders of such cliché figures as Martin Luther King Jr. or Hitler or King Henry VIII. They were kings, dictators, civil leaders. In each case, they had emerged as figureheads of their people, been the sole controllers of the fate of their people. In ways, each had been indestructible – for a time at least. King Henry VIII was taken down by his health, Hitler by his own lunacy, Martin Luther King Jr. by ignorant anger. But for a time at least, they had possessed almost incomparable power. What sword could pierce them, when a hundred would gladly throw themselves between an attacker and their leader? Who would go against them, when the penalty could be death? No, none were so foolish and so power became absolute. It was even said that the United States president – whoever the current one happened to be – was the most powerful man on Earth. In Morgan’s opinion, this was debatable, but interesting all the same. In these cases – one thing was kept in common, one thing that made all of these men powerful – absolute control. There was nothing to disturb them, to threaten them until death was truly upon them. It was an intimidating idea, but on far too grand a scale. This kind of power was power over all, but failed to even consider where power began. Did it not start with simply power over one’s self?

Feverous writing paused, Morgan’s fingers poised over the keys. Her flashing cursor halted. Her train of thoughts and the words that had actually been written had taken entirely different courses. She leaned back, her gaze skimming the lines she had typed out. In all honesty, the words didn’t sound like her own. They were foreign to her, but all too familiar. She had written out a story, or at least a version of one dear to her. It was hers, but altered ever so slightly. She sighed, putting her face in her hands. There was no reason for this assignment to be mentally draining her the way it was. She was overthinking, she knew she was. It was a simple paper, short sweet and to the point. Yet here she sat, hour after hour, with nothing to say. She ran a hand threw her hair, frowning at the screen. A door opened somewhere behind her and she straightened, glancing over her shoulder. She had done as much every time the floorboards creaked. She was on edge as she waited for Asher to arrive. She was beginning to wonder if even meeting him was a good idea, or if she should just leave. But then he would still come – she knew he would – and he would arrive to an empty building. As hostile and aggressive as Morgan was, she wasn’t cruel. She turned back to her computer, scowling. It was nervousness really that pushed her to scowl, probably affected her work as well. It was ridiculous, but true all the same.

And there he was. She refused to turn and look at him as she heard his quiet even footsteps approach behind her. She concentrated on calming herself, even as his voice echoed in her ears. She stared resolutely at her computer screen as he sat down, producing both her sweater and a cup of coffee. She looked away from her screen, though still not to him as she reached out and took her sweater. Any signs of the blood that had splattered the fabric were gone. She stroked the fabric quickly before folding it and tucking it into her bag. She knew if she put the cloth to her face, it would smell like Asher – like his home and his friendliness. But such an action was not only socially ostracizing, but completely out of character for someone like Morgan. Sitting across from Asher, her sweater now returned, she was neither sure what to say or do. Every thought seemed somehow inadequate, every phrase quickly rejected. She glanced at her monitor. “Pretty awfully, actually.” She waved a hand to the block of words on her screen. “We’re discussing power, the advent of power and it’s lasting effects.” Her lips twitched slightly. She was babbling. She could feel it, but she couldn’t stop it. “But how can we discuss power if we don’t differentiate between the humans and the elementals? When taken into consideration, our sense of power is completely different.” She lowered her laptop screen. The story that had begun to come alive – a narrative focused solely on Sebastian – was hidden from view.


TAGGED: Asher Jonathan Rizzo
OUTFIT: right here.
WORDS: 832
NOTES: x
LYRICS: drops of jupiter by train.
CREDIT: mrs. robert downey jr of cv2 ,abbi, or mrs.sherlock holmes @ atf!

[/color]

[asher]

I memorized all the words for you
But if you only knew how much that's just not like me
I wait up late every night just to hear your voice
But you don't know that's nothing like me

OUTFIT.

Society over the past years was fast paced and quick to change. You could try to stop it, but no matter how hard you pushed against it there was always some force beating back everything you once thought was acceptable and right. Kids couldn't say "crap" or "heck" without getting a slap on the wrist, but as time progressed you cannot walk down the sidewalk without hearing some young boy or girl throwing out every foul word in the urban dictionary. The parents walked along and held their hand, oblivious to how awful it truly sounded. Society accepted it, and everyone had to learn to work with it to adapt and fit in. Asher was one of those who accepted what was. He knew that people were unpredictable, and yet he still expected them to retain some sense of routine or pattern. With Morgan, the boy expected hostility, or a snide comment, maybe even total silence. He would not have been offended nor surprised to receive any of the above because it was a constant in their 'relationship', if one could call it that. It's more of a...one sided friendship attempt.

However, at hearing Morgan's voice Asher was pushed into a state of shock. His eyes remained neutral and the smile on his face was as bright and vibrant as ever, but on the inside he could not stop the buzzing in his head. She was actually replying to his question? No sarcastic quips, no name calling, no silence? He blinked a few times to betray his surprise, but nothing more. His fingers toyed with the cup in his hands before taking a sip. There had to be a way to postpone replying right away so he would not sound so...excited. At that point, if he spoke up his voice might rise an octave and sound like an over eager female. That would be embarrassing. Just play it cool, Ash. He half frowned and tilted his head, watching her with a soft glow in his eyes. "I'm sorry, that sucks." Asher consoled, biting at his lip a little bit in thought. "Oh, I did something similar last year. It took me a while to come up with anything decent too. I think they like give assignments like this just to mess with us." He was not a diligent student by any means, but did what he needed to get things done. Asher was not against learning, but some of the homework they gave to the students was a bit ridiculous and did nothing to improve their power management. Maybe it would help in the long run, but he did not look that far ahead. Asher rested the side of his face in his hand and leaned a little, a thoughtful gleam in his eyes as he found random objects around the room to look at.

"They are very different, most definitely. But maybe I can help you brainstorm." Asher agreed, half nodding his head as his eyes found her face again. No smile, no brightness. It bothered him that she looked so...lonely, or sad. He wanted so bad to change that, but how could he? There was nothing he could aside from being himself, which was already happening at that very moment. If Morgan didn't like who he was then he stood no chance of making her smile--at least genuinely. After looking over Morgan's features silently he leaned back and took a drink of his hot chocolate, thinking. "Hmm...You could always approach it at a different angle. Don't focus on the power itself, but more the consequences of what happens when you abuse powers in general. Mass chaos, physical or emotional pain, probably a few enemies. When someone thinks they have the upper hand on someone, they use that strength against them. Pick on people they think are 'weaker' than they are. It can destroy quite a bit." Asher set his cup down after examining it critically as he spoke, as though the cup held some sort of insightful information that transferred to Asher's train of thought. It was scary, power. Any kind of power. All it has to do is fall into the wrong hands and the world goes up in flames.

The more Asher thought on the subject, the more his mind drifted back to that day in the empty classroom. The fear in her eyes as the wind twisted and twirled around them with little to no control.
It was not the lack of control that instilled concern in the boy's heart; it was how scared Morgan looked. It bothered him that she seemed so unsure of herself with her powers, when they should be something embraced and not feared. Maybe something happened to her...and she's scared to talk about it or... Asher rattled his brain, but nothing solid settled correctly with him. It didn't make sense, but forced himself not to dwell on it. That would mean nosing into her business and that was the last thing Asher wanted to do. "What did you have in mind for the paper? Like, any random strands of thought that you like but can't execute? I can help talk it out if you want." The grip on his cup tightened and Asher wished he had not offered. She spoke to him, yes, but what if she was not really looking for conversation? It was too late now, so instead of taking back the offer he shrugged and leaned back in his chair, glancing over at another table nearby. "Unless you want me to go? I don't want to be in the way or anything."

I want to make sure everything is perfect for you
If you only knew that that's not like me to follow through
Maybe even give up on these dead end dreams just to be with you
But you don't know that's nothing like me

[MORGAN JANE FARREN]

-----------------------------------
TELL ME, DID THE WIND SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEET
did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day

[/size][/i]AND HEAD BACK TOWARD THE MILKY WAY
----------------------------------[/size]
[/center][/font]

She almost liked him. Not in a romantic way, or even really in a friendship way. Honestly, not even in a very humanly logical way. It was more like…tolerance. She didn’t have a particularly overwhelming desire to be rid of his presence, or even disgust at his words. He made her uncomfortable, but not always in a way that made her want to wring his neck. He was like a child in so many ways. You can slap a child’s wrist as she reaches into the cookie jar, but in all likelihood as soon as you turn your back - she’ll reach right back in. It wasn’t that he didn’t know right from wrong – children knew that inherently. No, it was that in a way he seemed incorruptible, or perhaps more appropriately simply uncorrupted as of yet. She had lashed out at him. She had spat at him, taunted him, hurt him. But he just kept sticking his hand back in the cookie jar. It made her wonder how long it would take him to realize the fucking jar was empty. All the cookies had been eaten away years before. Maybe she kept slapping his wrist because she was afraid to let him find the emptiness of her little jar. But what did her reasons truly matter? They were well formed, over years of reinforcement. They wouldn’t be changing for some limping, coffee wielding, smiling boy with laughing eyes. But even as the thought crossed her mind, Morgan felt a twinge, a slight something she couldn’t name. It was gone moments after he spoke. Her gaze snapped to his, her eyes narrowing. Of course he had done the assignment last year. He was taunting her. She was a year older than him, but a grade below. He was being subtle, she would give him that, but he held it over her all the same. Was this power to him?

Morgan scowled. She was angry, but she didn’t have the energy to truly lash out. Instead she stood up quickly, pushing her chair back and gathering some of the books she had been studying in her arms. She pressed them against her chest, as seemed to be a habit of hers. She glared at him, in a decidedly poisonous manner. “That’s a good idea, why don’t you take a stab at the elephant in the room huh?” She whirled around and stalked to the bookshelves. “On the subject of power, your grade level gives you nothing. Don’t try and hide from your own weakness by pinning it on someone else.” She nearly spat the last words. She didn’t have the same fury as when they first met, the same uncontrollable anger. No, this was more like disgust. She didn’t spare a glance over her shoulder at Asher as she turned down the aisle. She returned the books violently, slamming them into their places among the rest. As she withdrew one, it gave her a gap, a view of Asher still sitting still at his place. In the time between his speech and hers, he had gone on to offer advice, even assistance. Morgan wouldn’t have accepted it, well maybe she would have. But she definitely wouldn’t now. “You know, there’s only one thing that comes of power –whether desired or feared. So go on and yearn for it, push all aside until you can grasp it. But know that I’ll be laughing when everything crumbles around you and you pay the price for power.” She placed the book back, sealing herself away from Asher, or at least the view of him.

Truthfully, Morgan knew exactly what she was writing her essay on. She had an outline, a plan, everything. That wasn’t the hard part. The hard part was actually writing it. After Morgan’s second year in the tenth grade, the professors had unanimously decided it would be best for her to get on the side counseling. So once a week, Morgan was forced to talk. It wasn’t that she disliked the counselor. The woman was a young psychiatrist, too new to have grown tired of withdrawn patients and too calm to actually pry. It was the psychiatrist who had recommended Morgan “integrate”. She had said it would help Morgan to put parts of her past into her present, in order to face it and become accustomed. Thus was the essay, centered on power yes, but more specifically on herself. She knew the adverse effects of power. She had never known of her abilities, never desired them as a power. Yet, she had paid the price. She intended to write about it too. Only the professors would read it, and they already suspected something had fucked her up. It was this very precedent that had set Morgan off. Whether Asher had intended to assert some sort of minor power he perceived he had (he hadn’t, unbeknownst to Morgan), Morgan had felt a surge of fear. As hostile and aggressive as she was, she could never wish her past on another. And as Asher had spoken so blithely about already completing this same assignment, she had had a flash of fear that perhaps he would seek for himself what she had always sought to distance herself from. It was ironic, in a way. Despite her aggressiveness, her sharp words and angry eyes, underneath it all she was throwing herself in front of a bullet that had never been aimed at him. She leaned against the bookcase, her arms folded across her chest – now empty of books. She stared at the ground, lost in thought for a few moments. Perhaps Asher had left, perhaps she had finally successfully driven him away. Or, as a glimmer of her secretly hoped, he was still sitting there sipping his coffee and ready to smile. She raised her eyes to the books lined in front of her. A single title caught her eye. She raised her hand, brushing her fingertips along the spine. Forgiveness: An Autobiography of One Who Never Desired It.

TAGGED: Asher Jonathan Rizzo
OUTFIT: right here.
WORDS: 1009
NOTES: x
LYRICS: drops of jupiter by train.
CREDIT: mrs. robert downey jr of cv2 ,abbi, or mrs.sherlock holmes @ atf!

[/color]

[asher]

I memorized all the words for you
But if you only knew how much that's just not like me
I wait up late every night just to hear your voice
But you don't know that's nothing like me

OUTFIT.

It never failed. Never once did it fail. No matter how helpful, friendly, polite, soft spoken and open Asher tried to be towards Morgan the only thing he ever received was hatred. His first question was simple and did not set her on edge in the least--she responded and let him know of her struggles with her paper. The second set of statements he tossed out at her were not meant to be aggressive, degrading or snobbish in any way, yet there he was completely stunned by the reaction she gave him. Am I ever gonna say something that doesn't piss her off? Why the fuck am I even trying? With hopeless eyes, Asher watched the girl snatch up the library books and pull them to her chest in the same defensive manner she always did, and lashed out at him with words he never expected to be a response. All he did was talk to her. Tried to make a conversation, and somehow every word that passed his lips was wrong. Always wrong.

"I...that's not what I was even trying to say.." Asher choked out, lifting a hand limply in hopes to get her to stop what she was doing. Too late. She whirled herself around and left him at the table to shove the books back onto the bookshelves. They made muted 'thuds' as they hit the back of the shelf, Asher flinching with every single one. His heart ached, his head was spinning and...dare he say it...was actually sad that this was where the day was going. Just two days ago, Morgan relented and let him meet her here at the library. He brought back her sweater in near mint condition, and she seemed willing to chat with him. Now it was flipped upside down and Asher had no idea how to respond to it. "I'm..sorry.." He apologized in a loud whisper before looking up to see her peering at him through a gap in the shelf, her words laced with a venom that only she could carry. Feeling his stomach twist up into a tight and painful knot, Asher ran a hand through his hair and set his fist on the table with little force. He was angry, but more so at himself than anyone else. "I fuck everything up. I try to make a conversation, and somehow it becomes this." He took a moment to think about what she said before finally responding to her, the last comments aimed at himself in an almost inaudible whisper. "You know, I don't even know what it is you were reading into with what I said, but I never said I craved power. Never said I wasn't weak. Never said you were weak. I never said anything. I was just...I don't even know now."

Exasperated, Asher ran a hand through his hair and stared at the table, the bright and relentless smile now tucked away behind the frown that etched his features. Had he been more emotionally sensitive, the boy might have let a tear fall down his face. I live for convenience. Why the fuck am I even here? She doesn't even want to try and be friendly towards me. He had no idea what her past was like, or any small details to make him understand where she was coming from, so automatically he assumed that this was all about wanting to hate someone. Asher must have been the perfect one to hate. He saved her from a falling desk and hurt his ankle, he had a rock chunked at his head, told he was ugly, accused of being some sort of power monger that only aimed to make himself better than others, and yet the boy still sat there and stared at the bookshelf, willing it to move so she wouldn't be able to hide.

Asher was done. That was it. He wanted to know what her problem was, and he was pretty sure there would be a little pain in trying to get her to tell him. If her answer was anything remotely close to 'fuck off' or 'I simply don't like you', then he would leave and never bother her again. He had gone way out of his comfort zone as it was just trying to see her smile or pass a friendly word, and nothing was coming of it. There were other things he could be doing than being emotionally abused by someone who he hardly knew. Exhaling slowly he stood up and grabbed his bag, slinging it over his shoulder before walking into the aisle and standing in front of her with a very deep frown on his face. "Look...I.." He started, dropping his gaze. His heart was aching, and he didn't know why. "Everything I've ever said was never meant to offend you. Never meant to make you feel small or insignificant. I never planned to tease, taunt, or poke fun at you. Ever. I just wanted to have conversation and be a friend." Asher swallowed back the lump of emotion lingering in the back of his throat. "I merely wanted to see you smile and talk to you. To make a friend. That's all." He found her face again after his small speech, eyes lifeless and lacking the luster they had a few minutes before. What was the point in trying to smile and be happy around her now? "Before I go...I'd like to know what it is that's made you hate me so much. Aside from my being ugly and my lame jokes."

The ever confident Asher was now as insecure and open as a turtle on its back; never had someone managed to beat him down so low to where he felt useless and worthless without even being an ass hole. A small smile flickered on his lips, but it was brief and rather sad. He tried as best he could to keep it there, but the pain he felt in his chest was enough to distract him. It made his heart palpitate. "If you really don't want me around, then I won't bother you anymore." Subconsciously Asher stepped back from her, book bag nudging the bookshelf behind him. It was difficult to look her in the eyes, but he couldn't manage to scan the books or watch other students pass by; her eyes were captivating, despite the anger lingering in them.

I want to make sure everything is perfect for you
If you only knew that that's not like me to follow through
Maybe even give up on these dead end dreams just to be with you
But you don't know that's nothing like me

[MORGAN JANE FARREN]

-----------------------------------
TELL ME, DID THE WIND SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEET
did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day

[/size][/i]AND HEAD BACK TOWARD THE MILKY WAY
----------------------------------[/size]
[/center][/font]

Despite it all, she didn’t hate him. She didn’t hate him for his words, or his actions. She didn’t hate him for his persistence, or his smile in the face of her hostility. She didn’t hate him for the way he made her feel, or her own desire for his presence. The only thing she really felt was frustration, frustration fueled by fear. As cliché as it all was, as it all sounded, Morgan was more complex than she appeared. She was known for aggression, for hostility and cruel words and coldness. It was said it was just her nature, that she should have been a Fire. The truth of it all, the truth no one bothered (or was permitted) to understand was simple. It was all driven by fear. Morgan lived her life in fear. She feared what she could do, and what she couldn’t. She feared what she had done, and what it had cost her. She feared the possibility of it returning. It plagued her day and night, always slinking in the back of her mind. It was poison that seeped in her veins, rotting her insides without ever actually killing her. And it was this poison, this fear, that made her so desperate to drive Asher away – like all the others. In turn, it was his persistence that drove her desperation, that made her fear in a way she hadn’t had to fear in years. Through no fault of Asher’s, through no knowledge of his or even inkling, he was slowly ensnaring Morgan. She was drawing her in, and she knew it. He was bringing her back to exactly what she had fled from. He had a different face, a new name, a new relationship – but it was the spirit that mattered. He was Sebastian, come to be the victim of her fear.

And yet, his words hurt. It had been too long since Morgan had really been hurt by words – usually because she genuinely hadn’t cared. Cutting words had come from those she had driven away too easily, and thus had little impact. But Asher, he made her think. He made her reconsider everything she knew, and the way she had built herself. He made her want to cling to him. She couldn’t even look him in the eye as he approached her, as he stood with his bag over his shoulder. She bit her lip. She didn’t want him to go. She didn’t care if he didn’t say a word, if he yelled or shouted or even told jokes. She just wanted him there. His words, every single syllable, echoed in her ears. He was never taunting her, and in a way she knew this. She had just made the assumption as a ground to attack. He didn’t want power, she had known that too. And he would leave, if she truly wanted him too. But that wasn’t it at all. He would leave if she told him too. And whether she wanted him or not (she did), she would inevitably send him away, because that was just what she did. She stared at her feet, taking each word he threw at her in silence. She deserved it all. She wanted to use them as a way to break herself from him. But through it all, he never said a word against her. All he did was apologize. All he did was try and care for her. And that was what made it so horrid. She reached her hands up as her eyes began to water. She didn’t remember the last time she had cried, or at least been moved to tears by another person.

The words were coming before she had time to truly consider them. But that was Morgan, wasn’t it? She always leapt before thinking, just as Sebastian had always thought and only rarely leapt. She covered her face with her hands as the tears began to come. She pawed angrily at the tears, desperate to wipe them away. His words had faded to silence, but for the ruffle of her clothing. “I don’t hate you! I wish I did, everything would be a hell of a lot easier. “ She sniffed, her eyes red now and her eyes narrowed, but with frustration in the place of anger. She wasn’t even sure now who the frustration was towards. “Why won’t you just let me drive you away? Why do you have to keep coming back, to keep smiling and doing this?” She was getting more emotional now. It was more like an onslaught, all her hurt and grief pouring into her words. “Was it a bet or something? That’s what I wanted to think. I could just imagine you and all your popular jock friends sitting around and having a good laugh. Look who can’t get past the tenth grade! Laughter. Have you heard why they call her Hurricane?” Her voice was normal pitch, though it broke between words. Maybe this was it, maybe this was the key. Would the truth really be the thing that drove him away? “I can see you all laughing, daring one another to get the truth from my lips. Risk moments in my presence for a laugh later.” She moved now, brushing past Asher and back to the table. She began stuffing her things in her bag haphazardly. The tears kept rolling, and she couldn’t swipe them away fast enough. She was still speaking, knowing he would follow if just out of curiosity. “I don’t want your pity or your fear or whatever it is you’re going to give me.” She turned, her own bag over her shoulder now. She was crying, but not the dainty cry of a lady, but the ugly sob of a mourner. “I come from the U.S.A. I was shipped here by my parents when they realized I had ‘developmental disabilities’. I skewered my twin, skewered him with a whole fucking tree. They spent our birthday extracting all the shards of wood from his skin and organs.” Her eyes were finally drying. Saying it all had given her some sort of strength, some new will to defy. “Enjoy your new story. Go tell it around a campfire. But leave me alone. This is how I function, because this is how I manage to keep the rest of you safe.” She turned her back on Asher then. She wasn’t sure if she could stand to see his face, or feel his arms reach for her. And despite her words, her frustration and grief, she wanted him to save her – in the way she had begun to dream he could.

TAGGED: Asher Jonathan Rizzo
OUTFIT: right here.
WORDS: 1119
NOTES: x
LYRICS: drops of jupiter by train.
CREDIT: mrs. robert downey jr of cv2 ,abbi, or mrs.sherlock holmes @ atf!

[/color]

[asher]

I memorized all the words for you
But if you only knew how much that's just not like me
I wait up late every night just to hear your voice
But you don't know that's nothing like me

OUTFIT.

As Asher stood there and watched her, his gaze went from self-pity to regret. He made her cry. Out of everything that could have happened after his mini-speech/apology, it had to be tears. So many tears. She did not scream, or yell, or curse, or insult him; the look on his face was that of sheer concern and worry for her. The pain he felt after her cutting words before completely dissipated into thin air, and was replaced with this urge to wrap her up in his arms and tell her that everything would be okay. However, Asher halted his inclination for fear of losing a limb. Morgan might have been crying but that did not mean she was incapable of hurting him. What she said next stunned him. She's been doing that a lot lately. I'm forever being surprised... Asher blinked a few times, swallowing hard as he watched her, trying to produce some coherent sentence. She did not hate him. Morgan, the girl who had battered him with harsh words and rocks didn't feel the way he thought she did. What was Asher supposed to do now? If she had merely stated her disdain, he could have walked away from the situation and left all of it behind, but how could he? I can't. I want to...but I can't. The drive he had before their incident a few moments ago returned, but the frown remained.

What was the girl going on about? Bets, and jock friends? Asher looked at her with utter confusion as he tried to process everything she said without speaking first. It was his impulsiveness to speak that got the boy in trouble, and now that she was actually asking him questions and giving him something reasonable to reply to Asher had to think. The words needed to come out right. However he wanted to wait for an opening so Morgan would not feel overwhelmed and, more importantly, interrupted. When there was a brief moment of silence, Asher lifted his eyes to meet hers; he took some time as she spoke to glance around the aisle in hopes that no one could hear their discussion and try to step in. That was the last thing they needed. "I kept coming back because I am intrigued by you. There were no bets, and I have no jock friends. Hell, I don't have a whole bunch of friends." He admitted, continuing to watch her, rubbing the back of his head anxiously. "Morgan...I didn't know any of this, honestly. I didn't know you were held back, I didn't know they even called you such a horrible thing. I would never laugh at you, I promise. You deserve better than that."

Seeing the girl cry broke Asher's heart. He hated to see people cry, especially a girl, and especially a girl who seemed to be tormented by something he did not realize was there until it was too late. She brushed by him and began to pack her things into her bag at a brisk pace. Asher followed silently behind her and stood nearby, his eyes clouded with concern. "I'm not going to give you pity, and I don't fear you. The only thing I want to give you is friendship. A smile. Someone you can lean on. That's all. No strings attached." The smile that seemed to bother Morgan returned, but it was considerably less bold than before. He wanted this discussion to remain rather serious because that was exactly what it was. When Morgan turned to look at him, his heart cracked even more; what he once thought to be a impenetrable wall of steel was crumbling right before him as the tears continued to roll down her face. Instinct drove him to want to wipe the tears away, but held back. He wanted to be exactly what he said he would be: someone to lean on. As she continued on, talking about her brother and the accident, Asher frowned. It was not out of pity or fear, but realization. This was why she wanted me to leave. She thinks she will hurt me too.

The urge to protect Morgan was overwhelming. It was like a tidal wave crashing down on top of his head, and Asher struggled to stay afloat. When she turned her back on him, the boy quickly stepped forward and moved around to stand in front of her once again. His gaze was soft, his smile faint but real, and the hands he placed on each of her shoulders were firm but gentle. "There's nothing to tell. It's not my past to tell." Asher spoke softly. He refused to use the word 'story', because it was very much real, especially to Morgan. "I'm not like the rest. I know you don't want to believe that, but I can prove it to you. Let me be an encouragement, a supporter, someone who believes in you. Even if you struggle with things, it's okay. I'm not here to judge. I'm not here to criticize. I want to be here as a friend." His eyes looked over her face intently, the smile still evident. Without even thinking, Asher pulled her into a hug, his arms nearly wrapping themselves around her body entirely. Even if Morgan fought against him or attempted to pull away that was okay, but it was too late to take the gesture back now without offending her. "Please, give me a chance..."

I want to make sure everything is perfect for you
If you only knew that that's not like me to follow through
Maybe even give up on these dead end dreams just to be with you
But you don't know that's nothing like me

[MORGAN JANE FARREN]

-----------------------------------
TELL ME, DID THE WIND SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEET
did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day

[/size][/i]AND HEAD BACK TOWARD THE MILKY WAY
----------------------------------[/size]
[/center][/font]

Honeyed words were often a kind of poison. They were delicious to the ear, enticing in a way no taste ever was. They wrapped themselves around the victim, echoing over and over again. They were tantalizing, seductive and irresistible. They were the words of a liar, of a manipulator. Traditionally, it was this key fact which gave one the power to resist. This knowledge of the danger, of the evil of the words, made them false, made them taste like burnt ash instead of dripping honey. Morgan wished his words would taste like ash. She wished they would singe her ears, provoke her anger, do anything but make her want to say yes to anything he suggested. Unlike the scenario with the puppet master, there was no devilish grin hiding behind Asher’s smile – no malice. His words dripped honey because they were exactly what they appeared, exactly what Morgan had perhaps been fleeing from the past four years. They were honest. They were, almost literally, a hand extended to bring her to her feet. The way he spoke made her look at herself and for the first time, she found herself feeling like a Moray Eel. She hid in her cave, low to the ground as if on her knees. She hissed and snapped at anything that got too close, all the while secluding herself in the darkness. She fed on the weak – those that literally got too close. She was a predator, but a coward. The sharp teeth and wide eyes of the eel made it look akin to the apex predator of the sea, but where was courage? All she did was hide in her hole, allowing others to see her own sharp teeth, all the while concealing the softness of her skin and her own fear of what lay outside her cave.

It was pathetic really, comparing one’s self to an eel. They were slimy, slippery, altogether unpleasant creatures. But wasn’t the same true of Morgan? The eel was born a certain way, in appearance and nature. Morgan had made something of herself, willingly become the eel. So what did that make Asher? A clownfish? He was brightly colored, energetic. Amongst all the other coral reef fish, he could almost blend into the background. But he was the one that stayed when the others fled. He swam circles right inside the safety zone and when she wasn’t looking, he snuck closer and closer until Morgan had become so accustomed to his presence that he ceased to be either a threat, or a meal. Morgan couldn’t look up at Asher or over her shoulder as he followed her out of the aisles. She tried to ignore his words, or tell herself she was. But she clung to them. She didn’t understand his intrigue, couldn’t fathom it. Perhaps he was a glutton for pain, as she had first suspected. And then came the clichés. “I’m not like the rest…” It was straight out of a movie, but Morgan didn’t feel the desire to sneer. She had stopped walking sometime between his short speeches, her head bowed. Her hair fell around her face, over both shoulders. The tears were drying, if gradually. “Have you even bothered to listen?” Her words weren’t angry, more tired than anything else. “I don’t want someone to lean on. I don’t want your friendship or anything else. When you can throw everything you have at me, every word or taunt or knife, and I can take it without knocking anything down, then maybe I’ll want to listen.” He wasn’t going to listen was he? Did she want him to?

She heard his steps before realizing what he intended to do. He was standing in front of her, looming over her. He hadn’t been this close since the incident in the classroom. And then she had moved as quickly as possible to distance herself. She couldn’t bring her eyes up to his face. They settled instead on his chest, slightly downcast. She was frozen, hanging on his words. He was warm, inviting in something much more than a physical way. She didn’t have time to react, her senses seemed dulled. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her close. She sucked in a breath. Morgan wasn’t one to be touched. All her muscles tensed. Her bag slipped from her shoulder and thudded onto the floor. Her face pressed into his chest. He was warm. She couldn’t bring herself to move, though slowly her muscles began to relax. She leaned into him, allowing herself a moment – a singular moment – of self-indulgence. The words of a song came floating through her mind, one by her favorite band. She hummed a few bars. After receiving her unfortunate nickname freshman year, the song by the same title had become her theme of sorts. “The way I do things is the only way I know how. It’s worked just fine for me these past four years.” She tugged away from his embrace. She wrapped her arms around herself, wishing she had a book or something to clutch. She finally looked up at him. “And you’ve seen me, how I operate. It’s too late to change things now.” She took another step back from Asher. Under any other circumstances, his touch would have sent her into a rage. But she was just too exhausted, too lost in it all to truly react. She ran a hand through her hair. A little breeze swirled around her, ruffling her hair and clothing in an almost affectionate way. “I just don’t know how to be a friend anymore. I left all that behind with Baz.”

TAGGED: Asher Jonathan Rizzo
OUTFIT: right here.
WORDS: 945
NOTES: x
LYRICS: drops of jupiter by train.
CREDIT: mrs. robert downey jr of cv2 ,abbi, or mrs.sherlock holmes @ atf!

[/color]

[asher]

I memorized all the words for you
But if you only knew how much that's just not like me
I wait up late every night just to hear your voice
But you don't know that's nothing like me

OUTFIT.

"Yes, I've been listening," Asher replied softly, continuing to watch her ardently. He wanted her to stop trying to push him away, and to accept that she had someone who wanted to be there for her. To protect her. Give her a person that did not fear her or give her a reason to hide behind the mask of intense anger she wore so heavily each and every day. At first he wanted to walk away and leave all of this behind, to let Morgan deal with her problem by herself and go about his daily life as though none of it existed. Morgan would get what she wanted, and Asher would not have to carry the weight of someone who did not even want his help. However, the boy was as stubborn as a mule and refused to let this go. No matter what Morgan told him, it was difficult to believe she did not want a friend or any sort of companionship from anyone. Who would want to live their life in total solitude? In fact, it was not exactly the healthiest of choices. It was bad for the mind. "But I have no taunts, or mean words, and especially no knives to throw at you. You may not want my friendship but...I'd like to have yours. You just...seem like you could use someone to cheer you on and encourage you. That's sometimes all people need, you know?" He rubbed the back of his head again, shaking it slightly. He hoped Morgan would not take offense to anything he was saying; Asher merely wanted her to understand that she did not have to be alone. "I know you're strong and you seem very independent but everyone could use at least one person who is there through everything, good and bad."

Convenience. How easy life was when you could walk away from conflicts, negative emotions, and people without regret. Asher's life was smooth and infinitely happier because of his ability to avoid the things he did not deem good for him. That was, until today. Oh, how he wished he could turn heel and leave her standing in the middle of the library and go work on his car without a care in the world, but that was not going to happen. Before today, all Asher could seem to think about was Morgan and their past encounters. Her hostility, her words, her defensiveness. As much as he hated to admit it, she reminded him strongly of himself but in a more aggressive manner. Asher was calm and happy and level headed, but on the inside kept a lot of problems to himself. No one knew of his past, and when they got too close he pushed away. Morgan was exactly the same, only she reacted to intrusion with anger instead of sheer avoidance or silence. Now, more than ever Asher wanted to be a kindred spirit, and let her understand she was not alone in the world.

As he stood there, arms wrapped around her, he felt...whole. Like he found a sense of purpose in the world. She did not fight back, or get upset--instead, Asher noticed Morgan's muscles release their tension. Her bag fell to the floor next to her, and for a moment Asher was completely lost in the embrace. He caught wind of a small hum before hearing Morgan's voice from his chest. Asher released a small sigh and nodded, his hand rubbing her back in a very small circle as a soothing gesture. "I understand. You feel it's a way to protect yourself and others." After a moment, and reluctantly Asher let Morgan back away from him. To see her wrap herself up in her arms made his heart twist up into a knot. She needs someone other than herself to do that for her... Asher wanted to hug her again, but did not want to push his luck. When Morgan looked at him again, he swallowed; there was something in her eyes that drew him in. An invisible lasso that she subconsciously tossed around his being. He smiled softly at her as he reached down to pick up her bag. "It's not too late, Morgan. I really do know what it's like to distance yourself, I do. But I'd like to be an exception. All that's needed is a chance for me to show you that not everyone is exactly the same." She stepped away again, Asher staying rooted to his spot. He offered her bag out to her with a warm smile and a tiny nod.

"Yes you do. I know you do. I don't know who Baz is...and I'm not going to pry but..." Asher ran a hand through his hair as he stepped up a little and continued to hold the bag for her, his gaze still soft and glowing and the smile still tacked on his face. "I want to have a chance. I know it's not easy because you like to keep to yourself but all I ask for is just conversation. We can talk about whatever you want, when you want, wherever you want. I'm a pretty good listener, contrary to popular belief." He chuckled slightly, glancing at his feet for a moment before finding her face again. Asher's dark brown eyes were happy but pleading. "And I'll refrain from making lame jokes, and I'll wear a bag over my head to make it easier." He let silence take over for a few moments as he thought, wondering how she was going to respond. Would Morgan walk away? Would she get angry at him for anything he said? Maybe it came out the wrong way and she would think Asher was being rude or mocking when in fact everything was sincere and honest. I've never strove this hard for a friendship before...but I think there's a reason for it. Everything happens for a reason. Tilting his head slightly, Asher allowed the smile to fade into a thoughtful glance.

I want to make sure everything is perfect for you
If you only knew that that's not like me to follow through
Maybe even give up on these dead end dreams just to be with you
But you don't know that's nothing like me

[MORGAN JANE FARREN]

-----------------------------------
TELL ME, DID THE WIND SWEEP YOU OFF YOUR FEET
did you finally get the chance to dance along the light of day

[/size][/i]AND HEAD BACK TOWARD THE MILKY WAY
----------------------------------[/size]
[/center][/font]

The tears had dried. Crying was no an infrequent occurrence for Morgan, as much as she would like it to be. However, being the case, they came and passed quickly in most circumstances. The only trace that now remained were slight black smudges under her eyes. She wiped the smeared make-up away with a light fingertip. Make-up in general was a nuisance she didn’t often bother with, but had today. She was tidying herself before Asher had even finished speaking. She tugged at her clothes, ran a hand through her hair – all of it. She wanted to wipe away the signs of her weakness, and of her frustration. She wasn’t sure what she had been thinking when she spoke, when her subconscious formed the words she had uttered. Perhaps she had thought that the truth would actually drive him away, would reset her life to the way she had organized it – careful and solitary. Or maybe, more likely, she had suspected that the truth would cement him to her. That somehow she could indulge in her guilty pleasure in him and if something went wrong – as it inevitably would – she could blame his stubbornness. But whatever the reason, she had spoken and she couldn’t take the words back, or do anything that would make him forget. The way he was looking at her now, the weight of his eyes on her face, conveyed his thoughts. Not that they needed to, he was spilling it all. She felt for a moment like some sort of queen, and Asher the brave knight kneeling and pledging his sword to her. He was so fierce, but not in an aggressive or threatening way, but instead with determination. She could see his arms itching to reach back out to her, but she couldn’t do that – not now. She had to take baby steps.

Her gaze finally rose to meet his as her name passed his lips. Her head jerked up in surprise. She wasn’t sure why it shocked her. He had used her name frequently, when they had first met, on the lawn, and here in this very situation (it wasn’t a true conversation, was it?). It struck her all the same. There was a power in names, in the knowledge of them. Some cultures even believed that knowledge of another’s name gave you power over that person. They would go great lengths to protect themselves, eventually taking on new identities that would hide their “true” names. But that wasn’t how Asher spoke, not with a desire to control her. Each uttering of her name was a cord he was flinging out at her, the ends sticking lightly to her skin and creating a tether, momentary or permanent. Morgan also realized with his words that she had never used his name. She called him Angus, or nothing at all. In the reverse way of Asher’s intentions, she avoided his name to avoid creating that relationship he so stubbornly forged. This revelation or whatever it was sunk Morgan into thought. Her two sides were arguing. There was the person she had created four years ago, the one that kept her safe, the version of herself that held her and protected her – the one that had been her family, friend and lover. Then there was the other her, the fourteen year old, the girl Morgan would have been, buried beneath it all. She was still there, begging for Morgan to just listen, that there was still hope. Morgan wavered. She was being swayed though, swayed by the life she had grown accustomed to. She was preparing to reach out, to take her bag and walk away, when Asher chuckled. It was a small sound, a soft sound.

Morgan paused. In the face of her grief, of her stubbornness and hostility and withdrawal, he found something worth smiling about. And the words that followed only reaffirmed her opinion. Morgan didn’t know what she was doing. She couldn’t just rip the fake skin away, discard her mask. It would take time, it would take patience and teaching and failures, but she could draw out the girl she had been. And it began with a smile, just a twitching of the lips into something that resembled acceptance. She reached out, plucking her bag from his fingers. “Don’t wear a bag over your face. I want to see the bitchy girls get all huffy when they see me walk around with you.” She smirked, but not unkindly. This was a smidge of the other Morgan – the teaser, the sarcastic, eye-rolling hot-headed girl. And unlike her other comments, thrown and flung with the hopes of tearing, others were meant for a knowing smile – a sign of affection in a naturally emotionally distant girl. In truth, there was only so much emotional heart-to-heart let’s be best friends stuff that Morgan could take – and she was pushing her limits here with Asher. He seemed to be touchy feely, all that supportive stuff. It was nice, but again – Morgan was a baby steps kind of girl. She slung her bag over her shoulder, looking Asher up and down. She crossed her arms over her chest, but not in a defensive way – more of something halfway between amusement and bafflement. “I swear you have some sort of martyr complex, but whatever. I’ll come lay flowers on your grave.” Her smile did stretch then, though it only partway reached her eyes. This was the sarcasm, the joking way that Morgan spoke. She could come out and say what she meant, so she ran around and around it. If Asher really did stick around, he’d be fluent in the ways of Morgan within weeks. And whether he knew it yet or not, what she was saying was “thank you”. She tilted her head to one side. “We’re going to go get ice cream, and chocolate. That’s what girls do when they cry, right? They go and eat?” She moved forward, giving him a friendly sort of propelling shove. “I don’t have a girl, but you’ll do for now. Let’s go talk about our feelings.” She started walking, confident that Asher would follow. That seemed to be his intention anyways. As she moved she threw a last comment over her shoulder, one that was clearly meant to close the topic – for now anyways. “Sebastian, he’s my brother. I always called him Baz.”

TAGGED: Asher Jonathan Rizzo
OUTFIT: right here.
WORDS: 1068
NOTES: x
LYRICS: drops of jupiter by train.
CREDIT: mrs. robert downey jr of cv2 ,abbi, or mrs.sherlock holmes @ atf!

[/color]

[asher]

I memorized all the words for you
But if you only knew how much that's just not like me
I wait up late every night just to hear your voice
But you don't know that's nothing like me

OUTFIT.

If you had told Asher that their encounter at the library would end on a happy note, he would not have believed you for a moment. From the first time he met Morgan it was as predictable as the lyrics to a love song; always the same content, but never sung the same way. No matter how Asher approached her the response was always bitter and hateful, and even if he spoke softly and with a kind smile the girl managed to find it to be aggressive or taunting. He almost gave up, almost walked away and let her win the fight that she decided to create. However stubbornness preceded convenience, and Asher pushed forward again and again in hopes of finding a different result. The first few meetings with Morgan were exactly the same; he smiled and tried to make conversation, and she threw rocks at his head and insulted him. However the tables turned when she...smiled. It was faint, but it was most definitely there. Just seeing the motion caused his heart to skip a beat, which bothered him more than he could have thought. "I'm gonna take that as a complement." Asher teased, passing Morgan a smirk of his own. His hand fell limply to his side after she took the bag, the other hand stuffed into his pocket.

Asher was astounded at how quickly the air in the room changed; one minute she was crying, angry and trying to push him away, the next she was smiling and teasing him as though none of it ever happened. A sense of accomplishment washed over the boy and it warmed him up from the core. Never had he strove so hard to make friends with anyone, let alone a person whose heart had a wall ten miles high. They did not exactly deem one another 'friends' yet, but Asher had hopes that the label would appear sooner or later. To him, Morgan was his friend. He did not waste time considering labels when it came to people he wanted to be around. "Maybe I do, but I don't think I'll by going anywhere any time soon," Asher replied, his smile widening as he watched her. "But when I die of old age, or falling off of a cliff while rock climbing, my favorite flower would probably be a daisy." Asher wanted Morgan to understand that he was not afraid of her, and any form of death Asher would experience would not be at her hands. The boy was an adrenaline junkie; if he died while bungee jumping or skydiving he would not be the least bit surprised.

"I could go for some ice cream and chocolate. I'm not a girl--at least so I've been told--but hey, I can enjoy some mint chocolate chip ice cream right?" Asher raised an eyebrow, chuckling as she shoved him forward in the direction which she started walking. The insults, the physical contact, all of it was gentler and more...affectionate than he first thought. It made him happy to see her talking to him and smiling as she did; there was something about her smile that released butterflies in his stomach. It's just knowing that I made her smile. That's all. He did not even realize that those two sentences recycled themselves over and over in his head. Hoisting the backpack up higher on his shoulder, Asher glanced back at the library before following her willingly. "So long as I don't have to wear a dress, I'm okay." He joked, the smile still tugging at his lips. Her last comment Asher acknowledged but did not press it further. They were on good terms and refused to fuck it up now.

I want to make sure everything is perfect for you
If you only knew that that's not like me to follow through
Maybe even give up on these dead end dreams just to be with you
But you don't know that's nothing like me