The rain has begun falling hard, and I don't bother to shield myself as I run through the torrent, instead enjoying the sensation of cool water soaking my skin and clothing. My hair is sticking to my head, though, except for a few stubborn locks that absolutely refuse to stay down, giving me what I assume is a rather comical look.

Sable-hair is just as wet, looked utterly confused at my approach.

"Hey! I'm Brea… from choir." I give him an expectant look, but don't offer my hand. Hopefully I can catch his name now… although I'm rather fond of 'sable-hair'.

He blinks at me with those lovely grey eyes, and his head tilts lightly before he answers, voice accented just faintly with something that I can't quite place.

"I'm… Esan." He hesitates slightly, that gaze moving to the empty street, and huddles against the cold stone pillar that sits in front of our school. We're standing on waterslicked steps, and I suddenly realize how absolutely foolish this is. I don't even know this boy, just that he's got a gorgeous voice and a body to match.

It's insane, but I think I'm drawn to him. It's gravitation. Something I feel with almost all my friends, of course, but I usually know them a little better.

I mean, I first saw him about four hours ago, and I was in the middle of giving a blowjob. Kind of sad, maybe? I don't know; I'm internalizing too much.

Snapping out of that train of thought, I start to giggle. Like I said, insane, standing out in the pouring rain in the silence, because Sable-hair, Esan, isn't talking and I'm too busy with the inner monologue to notice.

"Are you waiting for someone?" Prodding carefully, I step a little closer, my breath making clouds in the air. Annoying, almost, the chill, and only after I see the steam do I shiver, glaring down at my clothing. Not warm, or waterproof, and currently soaked.

Esan gives me an unreadable look and blinks, his voice low and even.

"My mother was supposed to be here. But I can walk, it's only a few miles."

Ooh, no. Walking in the rain? Absolutely not. I voice this quite nicely, too, I think.

"Hey, there's a coffee shop a block that way. We could sit and have something hot to drink and wait for the rain to let up…"
By taking his hand, I don't allow him to argue. And he doesn't protest, simply looks down at the contact and blinks with that same gracefully quiet stare, and follows me through the rain like a good puppy. It would be pretty, the simple, elegant way he moves, as if he were dancing, had he not looked so cold. Locked up and surrounded by ten feet of barbed wire fencing.

But he's coming, isn't he? That means something, doesn't it?

It takes only a few minutes to get to the café. Faye and Jenna won't be too terribly worried, they know me. Well, Faye does; Jenna prefers to ignore my flirtatious nature and… she simply doesn't fret about anything. Calm, cool, collected, my little sister.

The bell above the door jingles, and it startles Esan out of some deep contemplation, and he gives me a half-alarmed look before falling back into the expressionless mode. I don't like it much; it's like he's shutting me out.

"Brea!" A simpering tone calls from the left; it's Renea, a pretty blond boy that I've romanced a few times. I forgot that he worked here.

He sees that I have company, though, and pretends not to be hurt by the icy look I shoot him. Renea irritates me - he's one of those stereotypical Bird-Cage-and-fruit-tarts gay men that simply flaunt their sexuality; hand waving, lisp, everything. Beautiful, though, when he takes off the makeup and the skirts.

I take a seat in a section that he doesn't wait on, and smile prettily at the girl who offers to take our order. She, unlike Renea, looks nothing like a cheerleader. This is Sarele, one of my concert friends. Black hair streaked with green and gold, eyes that match that color scheme, and god-only-knows how many piercings. Her real name is Sarah or something, but she'd kill anyone who dared call her that.

"Darling, the regular? And what for your bitch?"

Sarele's a regular doll, she is.

Esan didn't really register that, I don’t think, so we're okay, but I give her a look all the same.

"Hot chai… Esan?"

The dark-haired boy looks over at me with those eyes and I almost melt. He has the deepest gaze…

O-o, bad thoughts. That was infatuation, there, and I don't do that sort of thing. Kind of taboo for me.

"Uh. Whatever he's having…" He looks almost vulnerable, uncertain of what to do when faced with Sarele. She's a bit much for anyone.

The girl smirks and marks something down with a fluffy pink pen and moves off to get our drinks.

Esan is staring around quietly, and I notice that his eyes are caught on the bookshelves. A careful lean, and I realize he's staring at the display devoted to poetry, and a slight smile curves my lips.

"You like poetry?"

Paired with a hand on his arm, guiding him down into the booth beside me, our bodies just a little too close to be just friendly. He doesn't seem to notice one way or another, which almost disappoints me.

His answer is quiet, reserved.

"Yes." A single word. I feel cheated. It's almost, almost irritating.

"You write any? I do, sometimes, just when I'm feeling really strong about something… y'know." Hesitant, my words, because I'm not sure he really wants to talk to me. He's probably thinking about leaving right now, which would explain his detachment.

"I have… notebooks. Of writing. Not all poetry." His eyes move up to meet mine, this time shining with a gentle light, a flicker of passion in those colorless hues. Stunning, mercurial, and I can't breathe for a moment.

"What do you write about?" I almost speak too quickly, eager to know all I can about this mysterious teen. Too curious, gods, he must be feeling pushed.

His answer is just as slow, and he watches me the whole time with a perfectly neutral light, the only expression one of contemplation… as if he's planning carefully what to say, or translating from another language in his head. Maybe he doesn't speak English all that well?

"Everything." A shy glance down at his bag, and he moves to open it with that quiet grace. His fingers are slender, like an artist's, and I catch a glimpse of several cloth-bound books with embossed lettering, and a drawing pad, along with the worn leather folder he produces. The thing is handed to me, his fingers sliding lovingly over the cover. This is something precious to him, and I handle it with the utmost care.

The notebook, of sorts, is really a work of art in itself. Handsomely made, bound with leather, the paper sheathed within thick and expensive, and removable. Like having a loose notebook inside a folder, not like the wire-bound crap that I use. A pretty silver pen is tucked within, obviously for writing with.

At my first glance, I'm disappointed. It seems to be written entirely in some other language, but as I turn the pages, taking in the dates; recent, some from today; I catch some English intermingled. His writing flows the same way he does; elegant, graceful, perfect and unintelligible.

A single poem, though, catches my eye.

It's impossible to describe it. I can't recite the words, can barely understand them even though the work is in English, but the phrasing is simple and beautiful.

"You're wonderful. What language is this?"

He seems lost in his own world as he takes back the portfolio, his lips curving into a faint smile.

"Italian. It's all my mother speaks, my first language. I'm sorry… I didn't realize that you wouldn't be able to read any of it."

His apology was unexpected, but before I can reply, Sarele sets down two china cups of hot chai tea, smirking at me.

"On the tab, sugar?"

At my nod, she shifts off, catlike. Sarele really is a darling girl.

I look back at Esan, sipping my tea, and watch as he tries it lightly, experimental. His faint smile is all that I'm rewarded with as he cups the beverage, and we drink quietly for almost fifteen minutes.

It's comfortable, though, and our eyes meet every so often, one of us smiling; me casually, fondly, him almost secretively.

We're both finished by the time I realize that the sun is out. Disappointed? Yes…

"Look, Esan?" My voice is soft, hesitant, and he simply tilts his head at me. "There's this concert.. uh.. tomorrow night. Here. It's jazz, I mean, if you're not into that, I understand. But would you like to come? With me?"

He just nods and stands, giving me that unreadable look, and turns to leave.

But before he walks out the door, he turns, and smiles. Just the faintest curve of those plush lips, but it's enough.

I can't help but collapse back into my seat when he's gone, and just… grin.

"Who was that?" Renea is serpentile as he asks, almost hissing as he flips blond hair off his cheek.

"None of your goddamn business. Screw off."Rejection comes just that easily to me, and is paired with a hard glare as I stand. I don't like Renea; we fucked twice. That's all, and he's acting like he has some sort of claim over me?

No.

I brush him off, bag swung over one shoulder, and exit the café to head over to Faye's, perfectly unperturbed by the blond's tears of rage and frustration. I'm a slut; we both know that. He should have expected this.

It's not my problem. I have other things to worry about, other people to do.

I realize with an unhappy note that he's ruined my good mood.

Whatever.

Author's Note: Alrighty, kids. ^^ We're going to have a special contest-type thing. Sort of. Basically, the first three people to review this chapter can each ask ONE question about the plot, characters, me, anything. I'll answer anything, so long as it doesn't give away my PLANS for this story. Oh, and I have plans all right… *cackle* I love being the author. Also, I've revised all the chapters since first uploading the story, to make the plot flow better. I notices a few inconsistencies, which I fixed - I would really appreciate it if you all would point these out to me - I can't catch them all, and I need to fix them as soon as they come up. ^^ Example; Faye, I said in the first chapter, was an orphan. Now she has a family? I went back to explain that she lives with a foster family now. Just little stuff like that, it comes from not having my characters entirely planned out. And I forgot what color Brea's hair was. I have a profile for him now, though, HAHA. Take that, stupid brain-thing! … ^^;;; Aaaanyway. Review, please, I 3 you aaaallll!!!!