OOC: This thread is an unrelated response to Garrett's Muse touching...issue.


A gasping breath from the boy on his back, he sounded like a fish gasping for air after it is knocked from its tank by the cat. Van was lying on the floor where he'd fallen. The tile was cool against his bare back and he could feel the room temperature liquid from the (hopefully not broken) bottle that had fallen from his hand as it coursed across his also bare foot. After the first dramatic breath his eyes shot open and he spluttered, scrambling to sit up. The movement made him lightheaded but he managed to maneuver himself in a leaning position against the leg of the spindly kitchen table that he had only moment before been standing over, drinking a beer and making a sandwich.

His heart. Something had been wrong with his heart.

This Van knew instinctively as his hands came up to explore his left pectoral region. First their had been pain and then he'd felt something in his chest and then he had fainted. In the back of his mind he realized that if he had had a heart attack or something like it it would have occurred on his insides and he wouldn't have found mark of it on his outsides. Was it a heart attack? Mentally the boy tried to remember what his father had said it felt like when he--

"...We are all still reeling from the phenomenon that has occurred. Hospitals are overrun with cases of heart attacks and apparent strokes. There has been no word from officials whether this was a terrorist attack. Again, if you are just joining us, New York was just hit by what our sources are calling a 'neural bomb'. There seem to be hundreds, even thousands of casualties among the victims. It is another dark day in our nation's history. Our coverage will continue as the story develops."*

"Dad." He barely choked out. Any worrying about his own condition was quickly shoved aside and pockets were searched for a cell phone. Panic set in at the words from the television he had blaring in his bedroom. The young mutant wasn't totally sure what a 'neural bomb' was, but if there were people having heart attacks all across the city there was the possibility that his father was among the victims. When Van was twelve his father had had a heart attack, it ran in their family, what if it had happened again? What if he was in the hospital? What if he was de--

"My milkshake brings all the boys to the..." His familiar ring-tone sang merrily from the tile next to where his leg had been resting. Without looking at the screen the boy scooped it up and brought the Razor to his ear. "Van?" The gruffer and lower version of his own voice was choked more than usual through the tiny speaker. "Dad!?" He let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding. Despite all the fighting and the rough moments the tall man with the beer belly was still his father and the idea of loosing both parents...

"Are you alright?" They asked in unison and then "Where are you?" together. His father took the lead then, quickly cutting in. "I'm fine, I'm fine. Your Uncle and I were headed to Long Island today, remember? Are you okay? It's all over the radio--some kind of bomb thing went off and all these people near Manhattan are having heart problems and shit like that. Are you okay, Van?" The man's accent was thick as he got agitated and his voice was heavy with something akin to desperation. This startled the boy, he'd never hear his father talk like that.

Because of his surprise he took a moment to respond. "I'm fine, I'm fine. I passed out in the apartment, I'm fine." Van spoke quickly and he could hear the sudden burst of air expelling from his father's mouth as it hit the receiver. "Thank God, thank God. Jamie called your Aunt and everyone's fine--the kids, Grandma, everyone's fine. I was so worried about you, boy. I--I love you, son." Neither man nor boy spoke for a long moment, both of them shocked by the utterance. "I love you too, Dad." he meant it. His father meant it. They both meant it.

And then they realized that they meant it.

"Listen, I just needed to make sure you were okay. I'll be home before the bar opens--keep the house clean. See you tonight, kid." There was a click and the conversation ended.

Deep breaths. Van moved his foot and he felt a tiny but sharp stab of pain. Looking down he saw that his beer bottle had smashed all over the tile, just like he hoped it hadn't. Oh well, it was his third bottle since his father had left that morning--maybe this was a sign? The young mutant wasn't drunk, not really, just buzzed enough that the panic and the weird emotions stirred up by affection from his father caused him to feel a little crazy and a little like crying at the same time. That momentary insanity made him flip open his phone once again and look through his contacts for a number he'd only used one other time.

Some unfamiliar voice answered the phone at Xavier's Sister School. "Um, hi, can I talk to Etta,er, Henrietta Braun please?" Because he had to know if she was okay, even if she probably hated him and the last time they'd seen each other he'd made an ass of himself...again. He had to know. When he heard the receiver being picked up after he was switched over to some extension or whatever he blurted: "Are you okay?" before whoever was on the other end could respond.


*Quoted from Running from, running to.

Henrietta had been walking in the hallway outside her bedroom when a strange feeling had hit her. For a minute, she staggered and her eyes blinked rapidly. Falling onto the floor, the girl’s blue eyes fluttered shut. She had fainted. Henri lied on the floor for about ten minutes before she was able to sit up again. At first, it felt like she couldn’t get enough air, but her breathing eventually returned to normal. I..fainted? I’ve been drinking tons of water, I don’t know what it could be. Even though she was able to sit up, she didn’t feel quite ready to stand so she leaned against the wall.

The brunette let out a small sigh and glanced around the hall to check if anyone had seen her fall. Her face was a bit red from the lack of air momentarily and part of it may have been from the fact that she was embarrassed. Feeling strong enough, the girl stood up and went into her room. She perched on the edge of the bed as she tried to think of what could’ve caused it. Instantly an image of the woman who took her blood popped into her mind. Henri muttered nervously to herself. “What if she did something to me? What if they did?” She remembered the people who had actually kidnapped her. The teen shuddered and then hugged her self.

Henrietta sat like this for at least five minutes before someone informed her that she had a phone call. The girl furrowed her eyebrows together in puzzlement. Who’s calling me? She wondered if her mom had finally decided to call her or something. The brunette walked over to the phone in her room and picked up the receiver. She held it to her ear and before she could even say “hello”, a voice came on. “Are you okay?” Henri blinked and made an “uhhh” noise for a couple seconds. She was trying to figure out who it was before she said anything. The voice was so familiar.

She was about to ask, when it dawned on her. “Van!” The girl’s eyes got big and she felt them tear up a little. “It’s so good to hear from you. Yeah, I’m fine. Well…kind of. I just woke up from fainting. I’m not sure how it happened. I was wondering if it was from when I got kidnapped.” The last part was her thinking aloud, but she had still said it.

“Uh, are you okay? Did something happen to you too?” There was concern in the girl’s voice and a hint of fear. She was clutching the receiver with both hands and held onto it tightly. She was afraid he would hang up. Judging by their last encounter, she wasn’t sure what he would do or say.

Henrietta Braun was just afraid in general.

Her voice. She could talk. That was good. Very good.

Well, she could kinda talk--Etta only made a groaning noise for the first few moments of their phone conversation. After he noted the fact that she would make an adorable zombie with a vocal range like that, Van decided she was confused...he hoped she was just confused and that her brain hadn't turned to some kind of purple-pink mashed potato mess inside her head. That would suck. Even if she hated him and even if he was a jerk to her (mostly on accident) he really didn't like the idea of her brain being anything in the starch family, mashed or whole. Potato wasn't really a good mental state for anyone.

The next words barraged the young man's mind much like a steamroller in a cartoon picking up the poor talking duck character and rolling him over a million times in its wheel. Good to hear from him? Fine? Fainting? Kidnapped? Did something happen to him?

First thing first: it was so good to hear from him. The tiny bubbles of elation the had frothed instantaneously were soon popped by his more pointy cynical parts that argued that Etta was just a sweet, polite person and she probably said that on impulse or from habit. It was probably not so good to hear from him. In fact, she probably had a million and one things she'd rather do than talk to him. Ouch, it could be true.

Two things to deal with at once. She was fine but she fainted? He'd fainted. Maybe it wasn't serious. She sounded fine. It was really hard to tell over the phone--

Kidnapped? Etta had been kidnapped? That was...he wanted to...anger...panic...more anger...deep breaths. Reply.

Etta sounded like she was tweaking out, the feeling was mutual but Van managed to keep his voice even, although it was a little gruffer and lower than usual. Cradling the cell phone with his shoulder he picked a piece of glass from his foot. "I'm fine...I,er,fainted too. It's all over the news girl--someone set off some kind of 'neural bomb' thing. Like half the city was just suffering from heart attacks and shit like that or they still are or something." Suddenly he felt embarrassed about calling. "I just...I needed to make sure that you were okay. I just--" His words were choked off, he needed to stop talking now. That's what he did.

Silence. he could hear her breath in his ear.

Henrietta wasn’t exactly sure how she was supposed to feel about Van calling. She imagined Twyla yelling at her when she found out that she had spoken to him. The girl rolled her blue eyes at the thought. She knew how she felt about all of this. Henri was genuinely thrilled to hear from the funny, facial hair-hating, young man.

Before she had been kidnapped, thoughts of Van had traveled through her mind at random moments. After the kidnapping she had been a little preoccupied, but hearing his voice made the thoughts rush back. It reminded her of being hit by a tidal wave, or maybe a linebacker. She knew more about football than she did the ocean. There were so many things she wanted to say, but she waited to hear the rest of why he had called. When he trailed off and went silent, the girl opened her mouth to speak.

“I..” Which thing to say? Should she ask him how he’d been before all this or…”I’m sorry I threw French fries at you.” Huh, or that. Out of all the things to talk about, it had been about the fries. Henrietta was no longer thinking about what to say, but just started talking. “I missed you. I shouldn’t have thrown fries at you or assumed that you wanted to be more than friends. It was stupid and you know what assuming does—“ The girl cut herself off after a minute and took a deep breath. She hadn’t stopped to breathe before.

After a moment, Henrietta came back to the other topic. The neural bomb-y thing. She imagined so many people dying so suddenly. It was a bit overwhelming and a lot depressing. The brunette sat on the floor, the phone still to her ear. There was so much happening all at once and the teen wondered if it was all related. People kidnapping and taking blood, neural bombs..It was just so odd.

“So…” A pause. “Are you busy right now?”

He was probably being weird. No, he was decidedly being weird. That was a weird thing to say, given the circumstances. Oh well, no use crying over spilled milk,er,words or anything like that. No use crying at all really, Van had nothing to complain about other than his squishy parts deciding to talk and that was only for a moment, really. No complaints. If she hung up he'd totally understand and deal as he'd been dealing since fries had been thrown at him.

Speaking of fries...

Etta was talking about french fries--she was apologizing for french fries. What? Rewind. Go back to start and roll again. This didn't make any sense--why was she the sorry one? She hadn't blown her chances with a cute brunette at a friggen' McDonald's. A whole slew of more confusion washed over the boy on the diner tile floor of his kitchen. It was like every time the girl talked in this conversation she dropped some kind of heavy words.

Sorry? Missed him? Stupid? What?

There was silence on the other end this time and they both sat there--Etta doing whatever it was you did after saying all that stuff and Van blinking, waiting to see if she'd go on before he tried to sort out his response. A long moment of nothing, precarious and slippery and cold. Etta took out a hammer and broke the ice on their connection, taking the initiative and being the first to speak again.

"Um, no, I'm just kind of sitting here." In a puddle of beer, looking at the glass in my foot. He mentally added. His heart rate sped up. "I need to see you." Because this is too hard to do over the phone.

There, he'd said it--it was up to Etta to swing her hammer again.

Henrietta waited for Van to speak. Her cheeks were hot from a deep blush that had crawled onto her face. She was hoping he wouldn’t say something mean or say that he hadn’t missed her or that he didn’t accept her apology. The brunette had meant everything she said and even if she hadn’t until this moment, it was true now. There were butterflies in her stomach and they were freaking out, intensely. Still sitting on the floor, the girl squeezed her eyes shut, waiting for him to say something. To say anything.

Then he said something, something that made a smile stretch across her face. I need to see you? That’s good! That’s good, right? After a moment of thinking about what he had just said, the girl nodded. “Yeah, I can come to you, if you want. You told me the name of the bar you live above.” Huh, it sounded odd out loud, but it made sense considering the bar belonged to his father. She supposed it was big enough for..the two of them? Was it just him and his dad? He never mentioned his mother before, but that didn’t mean that she wasn’t around somewhere.

As soon as she said this, Henri hung up the phone, grabbed her purse, put on her shoes, and ran out the door towards the bus stop.
-----

Henrietta had caught a bus about five minutes after running to the stop. She told the fat, middle-aged man the name of the bar. He said he knew where it was, so she’d just have to trust him. The brunette knew the name, but not the location.

The bus pulled up in front of the bar and Henri gave the fat man her money. She hopped off the bus and looked up at the building that Van’s dad worked and where they lived. She walked up to the bar’s door and wondered if that’s how they got to their house too. The door had a ‘closed’ sign and the girl knocked on the door, wondering if he’d be able to hear it from upstairs.

"Well that was an abrupt way of getting out of a conversation..." Henri said she could come to him and then she hung up. Van sat there with the cell precariously dangling from his fingertips, threatening any moment to plummet to the tile and explode into back cover, battery, and rest-of-phone. He was a bit dazed. So is she coming here then? Oh sh--

Etta was coming to his apartment. His apartment that was currently a bit of a mess...

When his father said "Keep the house clean" he meant not to make more of a mess. The men that lived in the apartment had a very lax standard when it came to what was clean and what wasn't when it came to living space. Van doubted for some reason that Etta would appreciate it. Standing up quickly, much too quickly and it made him woozy, Van surveyed the tiny kitchen that bled into the living room as he steadied himself with a shoulder pressed to the off white fridge. The counters were covered in mismatched dishes all in differing states of food-stuck-ness, the table with the checkered table cloth was piled with all sorts of papers for the bar and newspapers along with his mess from making a sandwich, and the floor had a pile of dirty laundry in one corner that was waiting for its turn in the washer a few feet away.

Not too bad...

As soon as the wooziness passed the boy went to work piling dishes into the sink, organizing stacks, cleaning up sandwiches and glass, and kicking all the dirty laundry further into the corner. He then set himself to work in the living room collecting beer bottles (that got lined up on the kitchen counter), brushing off food crumbs, stacking magazines, and attempting to straighten out the cushions in the faded blue couch that were melded in a permanent outline of his father's large mass. The doors to his and his fathers bedrooms were closed without much fuss and the single tiny white bathroom was cleared of all the random junk it had collected (thankfully it was decently clean due to the efforts of his father one morning before work). As always, the door to his mothers art room was left half open--Van didn't even glance at is as he rushed around the hall.

He was about to make an actual attempt on doing some of the dishes in the unsightly pile in the sink when--a knock. "That's her." Without thinking Van shot out into the hall and then down the narrow staircase. His still bare feet padded across the gleaming exposed wood floor of the bar as he half jogged to open the door. SHE was standing out there and he suddenly felt a little nervous and unsure of himself. "Er, come in." He held it open for the brunette and felt a slight breeze on his chest that made the hairs on his arms stand up.

Oh yeah, a shirt, he'd forgotten socks and he'd forgotten a shirt.

Van came to the door, but he didn’t have a shirt on. Henrietta looked down at his bare chest and she felt her face start to turn red. He was saying something. His mouth was moving. The attractive, young man not wearing a shirt was proving to be a bit distracting. She glanced up at his face and processed the words that were coming from his mouth Come in? Yeah, I think that’s what he said. Henri smiled and took a step inside. “Thank you.”

Henrietta look at the bar. It was a normal bar, as far as she could tell. After a few minutes of awkwardly standing there, Van led her towards the stairs. They walked up and ended up in front of the door that was at the top stairs. He opened the door and they stepped inside his apartment.

Now inside, the brunette glanced around at where he lived. It was a bit messy here and there, but she thought it seemed more like people lived there. She liked it a lot better than the homes that appeared to not have any residents, just cleaners. Henri was still smiling as she turned back to Van. “You have a very nice home. I can definitely tell two guys live here. That’s good though. Houses should look like someone’s living in them, you know? My house back in Springfield looked like people didn’t live there. My mom’s bit of a neat-freak, but not in a good way.” She stopped and remembered all the times she had cleaned up random things. “It’s probably where I get it from.”

The girl looked at the young man for a moment and then she took a step forward. Wrapping her arms around his neck, she buried her face into the area near his shoulder. It felt like a sob was going to escape from her mouth. “It’s good to see you, Van.” Henrietta stood there for a few seconds before backing up once again so she could see his face. Her own face had a few tear stains streaking from her eyes. She wondered if the hug would make him nervous and would make him want to run away from her. She hoped not. Part of the reason she had done it was because of how scared she had been recently. Henri just wanted someone to hug her, but it would be a plus if it was Van.

It was awkward. More than awkward even simply because it was supposed to be awkward and they weren't supposed to go against nature and embrace the awkward. It was unhealthy and possibly unnatural to seek out such an awkward situation...but it was what Van and Etta had done. The young man basked in the awkward silence for a moment before deciding that it would be best to take any uncomfortable moments upstairs where it wasn't quite so drafty or open and vulnerable.

He didn't say anything, just sort of led the way--the only thing he could think of to say was "Wanna come up?" and that sounded like a line out of a cheesy sitcom or a romantic comedy. Gross.

At the top of the narrow stairs he maneuvered them into the door and didn't bother to close it as he followed the brunette girl into his home. He hadn't really thought about seeing her--he was seeing her now that she was at the bar but it hadn't hit him that any of it was real till he saw her look around the still messy apartment. A strange feeling was waking up in his chest and the young mutant fidgeted. Van wasn't so sure he liked this feeling, it made the hairs on the back of his neck stand up. And then Etta was turning to him and smiling and talking a lot and in a dance-around-then-make-a-good-point-way like she always did in a so very Etta-like-way and he could hear the familiar thoughts and instincts echoing in the back of his mind: she's bubbly and you want to know this person, she's nice so you should talk to her, she's pretty and you should make her smile. Van wasn't so sure how much he liked these thoughts either. It was all very disconcerting--like it was every time he saw her.

Before he could find the appropriate response there were arms around his neck and a cheek pressed against his shoulder. Instantaneously Van tensed up and took half a step back. What was this? This was strange and unhealthy and unnatural. This was not how people acted after they ruined their perceptions of each other. This was not what you did after some boy spewed something stupid at you and then showed up at your school for no good reason. Van was confused.

And then...

Maybe this was what you did when the city outside was falling to pieces over something that may or may not have been a terrorist attack? Maybe this is what you did if the closest thing to familiarity was a person and that person happened to be within arms reach? Maybe sometimes it didn't matter if you weren't sure how you wanted to react because there was a human way to react and that was the only decent option?

There was something warm and trickling in the space between his peck and shoulder--Etta was crying. This would certainly not do, awkward or no awkward. Hesitantly, very hesitantly, the boy wrapped lanky arms around the thin girl in front of him and one of his hands came to rest on the back of her head, thin fingers attempting a comforting motion in the thick hair. "Shhhh, Etta. No matter what's happening what matters is that you're still here, you're still surviving." So maybe it wasn't the most comforting thing he could have said--but it was the most honest one.

She was against him, crying. Henri felt stupid and afraid that he would reject her. Instead, his arms wrapped around her and one hand began to stroke her hair. The girl's eyes opened slightly and she sighed. "Thank you." What he said was a little scary, but true. She knew what he meant and that he was trying to help. Just the hug alone would've been of help. It was comforting and it made her feel less alone. A lot less alone. Even if the two of them had did and said stupid things, Van was still one of the only people she'd want to talk to. He was there and he seemed to care, otherwise he wouldn't have made the effort to ease her mind.

After being silent for a few more seconds, Henri lifted her head up slightly to look at Van. "I really am sorry about the fries." She laughed a little to break the tension. "I guess I was being a little childish. At least I didn't throw the shake at you though." The brunette gave him a small smile. "I think that may have been more of a mess to clean up. I've been thinking about it for a while, and I know that throwing anything is a bit uncalled for. I don't usually lose my temper like that." Unless it was with her mother, but that was a different story and mostly because she was a teenaged girl. She never threw things though. That wouldn't go over well.

Henrietta remembered telling the boy she had been kidnapped. She figured she should elaborate or something. "About me being kidnapped...I was with Twyla. We had gone out to eat and a man with a cat mutation walked in. He asked me which way to the bus stop or Mansion or something. I don't really remember, but Twyla had gone to the bathroom. I stepped outside and pointed the man in the direction. He stood in front of the door when I tried to go back in. He attacked me and I woke up in the back of a van and some woman with a ski mask on was driving it. I was crying and he threatened me so I'd stop, and I did. We got to this building and they made me get in a cage-type cell. I was there for a little while before this blond woman came and took some my blood. They dropped me off at a random street corner afterward. I was only gone a few hours, but it was really scary." She glanced at Van's face again, curious as to what he was going to say.

And there she was, apologizing. For throwing fries at him. Fries. It’s not like she was the one who messed whatever it was that they were doing up by saying: “I've hooked up with a lot of girls--you're not as blond as they were and you're certainly a lot smarter, but I've kissed other girls like we were kissing earlier. I do it for fun, it's fun, we're fun. I'm not sure exactly what I'm looking for here, I don't even know if I want anything long-term with anyone--including you, but can't we just say that it's fun and leave it at that?" Like a stupid jackass. The funny thing was--it was true, but only at the time. It’s funny how much time you get to think when you spend all your days off moping in your room, thinking. The young mutant realized something--he wanted to be with someone. He wanted a friend and the likeliest candidate for that was the girl he was attempting to comfort. And she was the one apologizing to him. That made NO SENSE.

And before he could collect his thoughts enough to say eloquently that he was a dead beat, jackass, dumb, loser-head Etta was going off about the kidnapping thing she’d mentioned on the phone. Van’s entire body went rigid--he’s almost forgotten. Etta being kidnapped...that was a horrible thing to think about. As she told him her story he could feel his teeth clench and his hands wrapped around her morphed themselves into fists. Why the hell would someone do that!? It didn’t make any sense--why on earth would someone kidnap sweet Etta and then take her blood. The fact that someone had used her like that...it was so...infuriating...Van could feel the anger bubble up inside of him--the familiar rush of blood through his limbs as his temper flared to life. The boy’s breathing got heavy and he could feel his arms an chest erupt in the familiar rubber feelings, he was clutching the girl too close--he might have been hurting her as his mind went red.

And then he pulled himself enough together enough to take a step back and let go of the brunette. “I’m sorry.” He managed to choke out through aching teeth. His arms dropped and hit the floor as his powers acted up, wanting to reach for her attackers and tear them limb from--these were neither healthy nor productive thoughts. What if he was scaring her? A slow, deep, laboured breath. He was in better control now. “Just tell me that you’re okay--that whatever they did to hurt you is a scar now.”

That’s all he needed and then he would be alright. She had to be okay. His voice was gruff and low when he spoke and as his mouth moved he looked hard at the girl that he was awkwardly clinging to with his thoughts and actions.

After telling Van what had happened, he said nothing. Gradually, she felt the young man’s grip tighten. She let a small breath out from the pressure he was exerting. Henrietta wasn’t sure what to say or what he was thinking. Her mind was blank as she stood there with his body becoming more like rubber. The brunette didn’t think that he would hurt her on purpose, but there was a bit of pain. His body was becoming rigid. She opened her mouth to tell him, but right at that moment he let go.

His stretched out arms hit the floor. Van looked angry. Henri had never seen him look like that before. Of course she knew he got mad sometimes, but she had never seen such a look on his face. The girl could see that he was trying to calm himself down. He was concentrating on it. She wondered if she had said something wrong or—Or he was upset about her being kidnapped.

The brunette bent over and picked one of his hands off the floor. She held it in her own as she looked at him. He was scared that she was permanently hurt. Henri squeezed his hand. “I’m fine now. I promise. No harm done.” She smiled slightly as she looked into his eyes. He was acting so intense and it was odd to her. The first few times she had hung out with him, he had seemed so joking and carefree, but he was obviously worried for her. It made her feel good to know that he cared for her. The brunette hugged him once more, though he could not return it with his arms as they were. “Thank you. I'm sorry that I made you so upset. I'm okay.”

Grey eyes searched the girl’s pale form for signs of a lie, as if it would be written on her skin or oozing from her pores. It wasn’t and the boy couldn’t tell if she was really fine or not. She seemed fine-ish. Not perfect...but neither was he, not after what had happened that day. It was normal to be not perfect after...whatever had happened--right? It was hard to tell since he didn’t even have a name for what actually happened. But she was alright, fine, and that was...fine. It didn’t make Van want to hunt down those creeps and--...any less, but it did cause him to loosen up a little bit, his jaw became less clenched and some of the tension in his shoulders disappeared.

It helped when Etta held onto his hand.

And there she was, apologizing again. What was it with girls and saying that they were sorry? It didn’t make any sense. Van hate[d/i] saying that he was sorry--it made him feel weak. Besides, they were just words--what did words do in the scheme of things? What did they make right? Nothing. They just eased a guilty conscience. Van apparently ignored his guilty conscience. Whatever worked. He shook his head slightly, laughed in a way that sounded almost human and a small smile broke on his face. “Etta, you’re crazy if you think you need to apologize to me for anything.” His free hand came up and long fingers curled themselves in her hair by the base of her neck for a second. His face broke into something soft (or as soft as a thin face can get). It was an intimate gesture, much more intimate than he’d intended.

And to protect himself, he went back to himself.

“So, you want to sit down or stand in the middle of my house awkwardly? Or maybe a tour? Or a shirt? Oh wait--the shirt’s for me...” A chuckle as he distanced himself from the girl and slowly his arms came back normally. The look on his face was much more Van-like now, much more safer-er.

Van told Henrietta that she didn’t need to apologize to him about anything. She smiled and then stopped when he placed his hand on the back of her head. The way he looked at her made a blush creep onto the brunette’s face. Wh..What’s he doing?Her blue eyes met his grey ones and they looked at each other for a moment before he pulled away. The girl felt a breath escape her. She had been holding her it, but hadn’t even noticed. She blinked a few times before clearing her throat to break the awkward silence.

The boy listed off some things and when he got to the shirt, he laughed a little. It made Henri laugh too and she shook her head as she did so. “Well, I’d love a tour. As for the shirt, you look great without one too.” She smiled and turned away from him and pretended to look at something. Holy crap, Henri. Way to just say it. She was still smiling. The brunette didn’t regret saying it at all, but couldn’t believe that she had stated it the way she had. After a second or two, Henrietta turned back to Van.

“Anyway, about that tour?”

Blink. Blink. Look down curiously at Etta--did she really just say that? He was pretty sure he heard right. There goes some brownie points to the ol’ ego...but seriously...it was weird hearing something like that from someone like her. Weird indeed. Not bad...just weird. He blinked at her one more time before addressing the rest of her statement. Shaking his head, he snapped back to earth. With a too chipper voice he said: “One moment please miss!” before rushing off to his room to acquire some clothing. He literally grabbed the first shirt he saw--it was a while tee shirt with a slightly v-necked collar--not enough to be girly though, it was just a shirt. The tattoo on his chest was still sort of visible beneath the thin fabric.

“Well, ma’am--this, as you can see, is the living room.” He walked up behind Etta and put a hand on her shoulder, swiveling her to look at each attraction. “That is the couch, you have your TV over there, and this...” He took her by the arm and marched onto the linoleum tile of the kitchen. “Is the kitchen and laundry room. If you would follow me...” He took her arm again. “We have a bathroom,” He kicked open the door at the end of the hall. “My room,” He kicked open the door on the left of the hall. “And my father’s room.” Another kick, this time to the right (it was very dark in that room). There was another door in that hallway, but he didn’t mention it or touch it at all.

“Wanna see my room?” He let her go and walked into the room on the left, suddenly a bit self conscious--not many people had been in his room. There were a few band posters on the walls and in between there were Polaroids and cut outs from magazines. His walls were basically wallpapered with pictures of things that tickled his fancy--they were the inner thoughts of Van in an existential form. His bed wasn’t made (no pillows, just a blanket or two) and there were clothes all over it...in fact there were clothes all over everything, as well as some bottles that once held alcohol and in one of the windows there was an ashtray--his room smelled a little bit like smoke, but so did the rest of the apartment. This was him and she could judge if she wanted, it didn’t mater to him in the least.

Well, it did...but he’d get over it.