Van took Henrietta by the arm and tugged her every which way as he gave her the tour. The boy kicked open most of the doors and the brunette’s right eyebrow rose slightly. He seemed to not care much about his house, but Henri could understand that with two guys living together. Henri lived with her mother in an apartment building, but both females were both pretty particular about the upkeep of their home. It seemed like men never were much into cleaning, but that didn’t bother the girl. She smiled and watched as the boy walked into his own room.

The first thing brought to the girl’s attention, was the fact that there were bottles of alcohol sitting randomly around the room. That shouldn’t have surprised her, but it still took her off-guard. The second thing that was noticed was the smell of smoke. She glanced over and saw his ashtray. Again, it wasn’t much of a shock. The brunette turned and smiled at Van. “It’s very homey.” Her smile got bigger and she giggled. “It’s different than my house back in Springfield, but its two girls in my house. Kind of like opposites, huh? Not to mention I've never drank or smoked before.” Henri walked over and sat on the edge of Van’s bed.

Henrietta suddenly found herself curious as to where Van’s mother was, but didn’t want to ask in case something bad had happened to her. Instead, the glanced over at the boy. “I never met my dad. Mom won’t tell me anything about him. I’m not really sure why. She won’t tell me that either.” A small smile appeared on her face. “Maybe he couldn’t take my mother anymore. Sometimes I really felt like leaving too. She’s not a bad mom, but we aren’t that close. It got worse after my mutation appeared, but you already knew that.” The girl swung her legs slightly back and forth, wondering if he’s open up to her. She didn’t expect him to, but it would be nice. The girl had decided it was worth a shot.

‘Homey’ probably wasn’t quite the right word for his room, but Van let it slide...maybe she was trying to be nice...or maybe her definitions of adjectives were as warped as his own? Hard to tell. In any case, the young mutant liked his room well enough and in his book that was all that mattered. Living with two chicks and living with two dudes in an apartment could be very different, Van supposed, depending on the people--it sounded like her mother wouldn’t have approved of the way he and his pops lived. “I guess it depends on personality and all that...” Of course a girl like Etta had never drank or smoked before--she was way too clean for that. “You don’t do the drugs, do you?” He laughed and then tried not to wince at his own joke...drugs hit too close to mom. Despite himself the boy wondered if Vicky would have approve of the girl that was smiling merrily on his bed. There were several responses to that, either she would love/be excited about/chat with/feel mature about Etta or she would hate/tease/be mean to/not understand her...or she could never realize who Etta was, no matter how many times she met her. It didn’t matter anyway, Van reminded himself, she was dead--she didn’t care.

He blinked when she started talking about not knowing her father. Cue emotional overload what with everything that had happened that day and his own father and Vicky and now Etta obviously spilling some guts onto his wood floor. He had no idea where she was going with that and it scared him. The boy ended up watching the girl for a long moment after she stopped talking before he walked over to the window with the ashtray, opened it, and then pulled out a cigarette from his pocket which he proceeded to light with a flick of the wrist and a lighter that materialized into his palm. The moves looked absent minded, like he’d done them many times before.

One long drag later he was able to focus his thoughts enough to speak. The smoke relaxed him. “Maybe he wasn’t worth knowing...or something.” Another drag and then he exhaled a stream of smoke towards the window. “My dad’s an epic prick sometimes so I know how you feel about your mom and all that...” He still wouldn’t turn and look at Etta, afraid that if he did he’d share something he didn’t like to advertise often (especially not after a certain dark haired beauty stomped all over his squishy parts about his mom in the alley below that very window). “My mom’s dead, so...”

A shrug to convey that he didn’t care.
A shrug to ward himself from any of the emotions that were threatening to crawl up his throat with the next round of smoke.
A shrug to keep everyone else at a safe, stretchy arm distance.

The boy asked Henrietta if she did the drugs. Henri laughed and shook her head ‘no’. “I’m sure that’s not much of a shocker. I don’t really come off as the dangerous type, do I?” The brunette rolled her eyes a little and sighed. Van seemed like he did all kinds of exciting things. Not just drinking and smoking, but he just seemed more spontaneous. She found herself wondering why he was interested in her. Sure, she was a nice girl and would be pretty easy to keep happy. She didn’t cause trouble, but where was the excitement? Her lips quirked slightly to the left as she thought it all over.

Henri watched as Van walked to his window and lit a cigarette. She stayed seated on his bad and just tilted her head. Her hair shiny, brown hair all fell to that one side. The brunette was trying to figure out what he was thinking, but it wasn’t working. It never worked. It seemed that the young man was good at hiding his emotions. He eventually started talking again, and Henrietta felt her mouth slide into a frown. What he said about her dad may have been true, but it was impossible to know for sure. That wasn’t what made her stomach turn.

His mother was dead? Henrietta stood up instantly. Her mouth opened slightly and then shut again. Nothing a person said would make losing someone any easier. She knew that, and instead walked up next to Van. The brunette looked out the window silently. The girl smiled as she watched a group of kids run around out on the sidewalk. Henri turned to Van and touched the hand that wasn’t smoking. It wasn’t a big gesture and she still said nothing about his mother. She could tell he was trying to treat it like nothing, so she tried to help him. He didn’t want to show emotion, but Henrietta figured it was killing him inside. A touch was all she did. She pulled her hand away and smiled at the boy. “You’ll have to see my room back at the school at some point. That’s only fair.”

She walked back across the room with her hands folded behind her back and looked over her shoulder back at him. Humming, the girl sat back on his bed.

This was it: the tipping point. This was the part where they stopped being whatever they were and she started seeing him as the victim, some stray off the street that she could nurse back to health OR (this was very unlikely with someone like the brunette in his room) she used the information against him at a later date. He hadn’t meant to tell her, honest he hadn’t...it had just sort of slipped out. What had that Riley woman said? He’d learned from her--but apparently not enough to not go and blurt stupid shit about stupid dead women. Well, woman, singular, one, most people only got the one mother and he envied those that got two good ones.

Cue Etta being the sweet girl that she was and saying something that made him feel wor--wait. What’s this? A hand touch? Moving on with the conversation? Oh, Etta, you’re wonderful, brilliant, marvelous. I could fall in l--like oh my gawd, I’m so glad you didn’t feel the need to tell me how ‘sorry’ you are. She’s MY mom, you didn’t even know her. You can’t say sorry if you didn;t know the person--what if my mother had been Genghis Khan or something like that? You can’t be sorry that the leader of the Mongol horde is dead--that’s just bad politics.

“Yeah...” His tone was distracted as he turned away from the window. Grinding up the cigarette in the ashtray, he walked to where the girl was sitting on his bed. It was super weird to see her there. Super-duper weird even, but he sat beside her all the same. “I’ll have to check that out.” He looked her in the face and the boy had a smirk-y look on his face that was much less heavy and much more ‘Imma-teenage-boy’ than the look he’d been giving the window.

And because she didn’t press him about his mom he asked: “Can we be friends?” He needed a friend, even if that friend looked out of place in his world. Maybe that was part of Etta’s charm? She wasn’t soiled or broken or used like so many of the things in his life.

The teenage boy turned back to her after putting out his cigarette. Henrietta smiled when he answered her about coming to see her room. He smirked at her and the brunette felt a fluttering in her stomach. They both sat on his bed now. The girl was quiet for a moment as he looked at her and then asked if they could be friends. Henri quickly turned and had her blue eyes meet his grey ones. Was he serious? She continued to look at him, this time with a confused look on her face.

“What kind of question is that?” Henrietta searched his face for something, anything. She let out a small, frustrated sigh. A second later she laughed and shook her head. “Of course I want to be your friend. Actually, I was even hoping you might—“ The brunette trailed off, her face turning red. “Um, I was hoping maybe we could even be more than friends.” She looked down at her hands as she rubbed them together nervously. “But, if all you want is friendship, that’s fine with me too. If we do go out and then end it, I’d want to be friends. Either way, yes, I’ll be your friend.”

Henrietta’s face was still tinted red, this time it was partially for her non-stop jabbering. She took a deep breath. “Okay. Sorry, let me start over.” The brunette cleared her throat slightly and looked Van in the eyes again. “I’d love to be your friend, but I do like you more than I like other guy friends I have. I’d be honored to call you my first boyfriend, if you’d let me.”

She looked confused. What about his question was confusing? Sure, to most people it was probably a bit odd but this was Etta and she’d understand that and what he meant. Still, she looked confused. This scattered Van a bit and he looked back at her curiously, wondering what was going on inside her head.

He didn’t have to wonder long.

He was almost indignant for a second with her first utterance. It was a very good question, thank you very much, especially when one considered the State of Things between them. Might as well come out and ask about what he wanted otherwise--how was she to know? She wouldn’t and couldn’t know what was going on in his head and--wait, what? In typical Etta fashion the girl began speaking in circles, and large ones. He blinked at her. She rubbed her hands together. He blinked at her again, his mind whirring with a million different thoughts that were impossible to capture and categorize neatly.

Hey, she said they could be friends either way--that was a plus.

He reached out with both hands on set them on either side of her face, then Van leaned forward so he was looking the girl so much in the eye that his vision was blurring from the closeness. “You promise that either way we will still be friends?” Because he needed a friend more than he needed a girlfriend, crush that couldn’t be crushed or no crush that couldn’t be crushed.

Each of Van’s hands came to rest on opposite sides of her face. He made sure she was telling the trust about still being friends no matter what. It seemed he much rather have her in general, even if it wasn't as a girlfriend. Henrietta’s breath became a little shallow and she could barely make out the eyes on the boy’s face. Her own face felt very hot and her cheeks were red. There was no need to see her reflection, she just knew it.

For a moment, Henri sat quietly with her head practically pressed against his. “Van, I want to be your friend no matter what and I will be. I promise. I don’t want to lose someone just because I dated them.” She took a deep breath. “And because it’s you, I really, truly mean it. You're a very cool guy and if we can only be friends, that's fine too.” The brunette closed her eyes and listened to the silence between the talking. It wasn’t awkward for her, but she wondered if Van felt the same way. She hoped that she wasn't making him uncomfortable.

She wasn’t lying, that much he could tell. You blushed differently when you lied and you got more defensive--he doubted that Etta could ever be one of those crafty liars who practices so much that what they say doesn’t seem like a lie. She just wasn’t that type. This was a very good thing because the boy sitting very close to her wasn’t a liar either. In fact, one might say that he was the anti-liar, taking the truth to such extremes as to be as stupid or as painful as just lying. Van liked honesty. It was...honest.

Also, he was a terrible liar himself, so he didn’t even bother trying to lie.

After Etta spoke her piece they both just sat there, she closed her eyes and he mulled it all over for a moment. Now, at this point the boy figured he only had two options: he could either pussy out and be just friends with this girl (thereby totally securing him a friend blah blah blah) or he could do the dangerous thing and open both of them up for another of his douche bag moves and take things farther (gaining himself a girlfriend and an awkward friendship if things went to sh*t and the odds of them going down the crapper were...let’s not get into it).

What to do, what to do? The real question here would be: What would Van do?

a) Van pulled himself away from Etta and took her hands in his. Smiling he said: “Let’s be friends, best friends.” Because seriously--why would he risk the beautiful thing that they had over a whim or two of his heart and body? That was silly. No, the right thing to do would be to keep the girl at a distance so she wouldn’t get hurt again.

b) Van nervously licked his lips and then pulled back from the girl’s face. His hands relinquished their hold on her face and moved instead to wrap themselves around her body. Awkwardly he pulled her close and spoke in her hair. “If you’re sure we can still be friends...” He whispered, before burying his thin face in her dark locks.

c) He ripped off his shirt at the sound of a woman screaming outside--revealing...his bare chest. He then proceeded to launch himself out the window, using his powers to save him from a terrible fall...Okay, seriously? You need a third option? You're still reading this? Van is opposed to all forms of vigilante justice...Tsk, tsk, you fail, sorry!

q :sı ɹǝʍsuɐ ʇɔǝɹɹoɔ ǝɥʇ

On a scale of accidents involving moving modes of transportation this day was definitely some kind of horribly awesome carwrek that Van hadn’t decided if he was going to survive yet.