Chapter 1: Charlie

Charlie rolled over in his bed and promptly fell out of it, landing with a soft thump on the hardwood covering his dorm floor.

"Ouch! Bedamned floor," be muttered while rubbing his hips and palm, the first things to make contact with the hard floor. He was sure he'd have a bruise by mid-afternoon. Landing on a floor with colored pencils, sketch pads, and books littering it hurt a lot, he mused.

He yawned widely and shoved his knuckles in his eyes to get the sleep out. He shot the bed a dagger-filled death glare, messed up and rumpled from a mild nightmare, and rose shakily to his feet.

He stretched and some of his joints popped back into their normal places and Charlie released a long sigh.

"Need tea," he muttered as he made his way to the kitchenette, something that made his childhood friend, Mike, extremely jealous, and put the kettle on to boil. A container of sugar, box of various flavored teas, and a mug was retrieved from the cabinet and set on the counter. "Hurry up and boil faster, already."

He changed out of a burgundy sweater that was way too big for him and into clean, though paint splattered, clothes. He looked around for his hair brush and hummed when he couldn't find it. The kettle whistled and he fixed his morning tea.

Fifteen minutes, a mug of tea, and a honey granola bar (Absolutely pure sugar and an indispensable part of Charlie's diet) later, Charlie was still looking for his hair brush.

He growled under his breath and pushed the door to his bathroom open, finally finding the wayward brush when it banged on the opposite side of the door. It had been hanging from the doorknob the whole time.

That made him feel just a little silly.

He shook his head, called himself a scatter-brained-nut-case, and pulled the brush's soft bristles through long black hair. Black as night and shining bright blue, it hung to his lower back when braided and he loved it, was proud of the black tresses he had been lucky enough to receive from his mother's genes.

He twisted the black locks into a braid and fastened it with a green ribbon before flipping it over his shoulder so he could finish the rest of his morning routine.

"Okay, what do I need for today's classes?" he asked himself as he rummaged in his desk for his schedule and absently separated some books into a pile. He found the note he'd meant to send to Dave and pinned it to the corkboard above.

He gave up the search some time later and glanced at his alarm clock. It was 9:44AM and he had a class at 10.

"Dammit, I'm going to be late!" he grabbed his denim jacket (Which had paint splattered up the left arm) and slipped it over his equally paint splattered shorts and tank top. He grabbed the stack of book, most of which needed to be returned to the campus library, and turned his answering machine on so he wouldn't miss any calls should someone decide to call him up (Something he doubted, but he did it every morning out of habit anyhow).

His keys were grabbed and tossed into the outer pocket of his backpack before he whipped his door open and ran out, letting the heavy door slam shut and locking on its own.

He took the stairs two at a time, swung around the banister, and hit the button for elevator on the floor below his. He never took the elevator on his floor for reasons unknown to even himself. Erika said he was paranoid.

Mike said she was crazy and that Charlie just did it "just because."

And Charlie agreed with his shorter friend. "Just because" suited him just fine.

"Come on, come on, hurry up," he tapped the toe of his low tops against the hard tile floor. Him being the impatient teenager he was, he quickly gave up and pushed the nearby door to the stairway open.

The lobby of the building was quite.

Too quiet.

The janitor pushed his mop along the floor and the lady at the welcome desk filed her nails. They were interrupted by the sound of clattering coming from the stairway beside the twin elevators. They looked at each other and at the door.

Said door slammed open, making the two adults jump with surprise, and a tall, too skinny, dark haired teen ran out of the stairway. He slid wildly across the wet tile floor before he slowed down and pushed the double doors open, shouting a hello-goodbye to the adults and leaping down the concrete stairs outside two-at-a-time.

The two adults looked at each other again and shook their heads.

"Charlie's late again," the janitor noted and the lady nodded.

Once outside, Charlie, a first year art student with a colorful background, jumped the last five steps and shot across the campus lawn, paint splattered backpack banging on his back. He grabbed a tree trunk and used it to make a sharp turn right and raced up another set of concrete stairs to the big double doors of the main entrance to the college.

"Library, library, does the bloody library move every time I need it?" he muttered under his breath as he ran down the empty halls, sneakers remarkably soundless as they hit tiled floor. "Bleeding alarm not going off and making me late, damn it all ta Hell!"

He cursed like a sailor when the bells sang out, signaling the start of classes. He continued to run down the hall towards the library drop-off box, praying to his god or any god who happened to be listening for him not to be too late to his classes.

He took a sharp turn and promptly slammed into something hard and yielding. His books scattered and some paper fell from between the pages. "Ye-OUCH! Who put tha bloody wall up?!" he growled.

"Funny, I was going to ask you the same thing!"

"Huh?" Charlie looked up from his new place on the floor into a pair of brown eyes so dark they were almost black. Vivid blue eyes, another "gift" from his mother, refocused and he looked at the owner of the pretty inky eyes.

The other was tall, probably taller than Charlie, and was dressed all in black, save for dark red hair. It had black streaks decorating the blood red locks.

"Oh, I'm sorry, mate, I didn't mean ta run inta ya," he said quickly, bowing his head in apology.

"It's okay, I need a good excuse to be late. Here, lemme help ya," the black clothed teen help Charlie pick up his books and the long haired student dropped the load into the drop-off box.

"Thnaks, I needed a little bit of help," he flashed on of his signature Lets-have-fun grins at the teen and held out his hand. "I'm Charlie, or Char as my friends call me."

The taller teen, and he was taller than Charlie by a good 4 or 5 inches, shook his hand but didn't say anything. Charlie took the time to look him up and down and circling him, judging him to be his age or maybe a year older. The other teen blushed lightly at being checked out so obviously and Charlie grinned before tugging on the other's black cotton shirt.

"What's with tha all black look, mate?"

"I've what some call a dark persona," he tilted his head slightly at Charlie through a black streak and indicated the paint splattered clothing, "What, pray tell, is with all the paint?"

Charlie flipped a tress of black hair from in front of his eyes, "I'm an artist, I paint a lot."

They eyed each other for a second before chorusing, "Oh, I'm so sorry."

The black braided artist flashed a grin and a peace sign. "To each his own, yeah?"

The black clothed teen smiled slightly and nodded. "Yeah, right, to each his own," he looked at his watch, a silver pocket watch with a pirate insignia on a silver and gold colored chain. "Well, I'm sufficiently late foe class now."

"What time's it?" he asked out of curiosity and the taller let him see the time. Tanned skin lost most of its colour and Charlie an eep. "Bloody hell, I'm late! Nice meetin' ya, see ya 'round!"

Charlie swung his backpack across his neck and under his arm and took off running. The other teen watched him go, slightly shocked at seeing a long braid on the boy, and shrugged before turning around to his physics class. "Nice kid, that," he murmured. "Even if he's an artist."

Three halls and a staircase later Charlie slipped quietly into his English literature class, earning a light glare from his friend Erika, and thinking along the same lines.