Click. Click. Clickity-click. The feverish sound of typing skittered through the room. Random bursts of silence filled between the rapid fire of words. She sat there wiping her tears away. They were always silent. She didn't believe in the noise.
He couldn't figure her out. She just sat there, in front of her computer, typing sporadically with trails of saline on her cheeks and wells of tears in her eyes.
"What do you want?" Her voice was composed, aloof. The typing continued in the background.
He leaned against the doorframe.
"Then maybe you should go. I'm not fit to be seen right now."
"You don't have to hide from me. You should know that already." The hurt was evident in his voice.
Her typing stopped. She didn't look back though. She kept staring blankly at the pages of writing in front of her.
"I don't like it when people see me cry."
"It makes me feel weak… vulnerable." Her voice cracked.
"I don't think your weak," he said quietly.
"But you know I'm vulnerable," was her waspish reply.
"Well, there's no changing that," he said bluntly.
She chuckled. He let out a breath of laughter, a small smile creeping up.
"It's nothing. I'm just letting out some pent up feelings," she said, waving vaguely at the computer screen.
"What kind of pent up feelings? The kind that makes you cry when you're alone?" His tone was vaguely accusing; his eyebrow was raised.
"The kind that makes me cry when I think I'm alone," she looked back at him with a condescending look.
He had the decency to blush.
"Talk to me."
"I don't want to." She turned her chair towards him.
"Don't you trust me?"
"No, no… it's… it's not that." She waved her arms around. "I just… I don't know how to say it, how to explain it. That's why I write. I can just type it all out and then figure it out from there…" She faltered. "I don't know. It's just one of those things you write about, not talk about, you know?" She ended uncertainly.
"You mean it's one of those things you write about."
She tsked irritably. "You knew what I meant."
She sighed heavily, as though in apology. "You're a good friend, you know? I don't know why you put up with me."
He looked at her quietly, studying her.
"What?" she asked self-consciously.
He didn't say anything, just continued to stare. She stared back.
"You must be tired," he said suddenly, breaking the silence roughly, looking away.
"I'm fine." Her tone was clipped. She turned her chair back towards her computer, ready to type again. She was shutting him out again.
"Hey…" he said, turning her chair round again. He leaned on the armrests on either side of her. He was close, so close that he could see the tears clinging to her mascara-covered lashes.
"Yeah?" she whispered.
He looked at her, his eyes darting from her left ear to her lips, to her nose, to her eyes. He leaned down, his lips barely touching her own. Her eyelids fluttered shut. She opened them again, almost immediately.
"No, keep them closed," he commanded gruffly.
She clamped her eyes shut.
He hesitated. He was giving her time to realize what was going on, giving her time to pull away. She didn't.
He kissed her, gently and pulled away slightly. She kept her eyes closed as she licked her lips and swallowed. When she finally opened them again, he watched her uncertainly. He knew that he'd just taken her first kiss. He hoped it hadn't been ruined.
She saw his nervousness and smiled. He smiled back. They just stayed there, smiling and watching each other. Finally he stood up.
"Well, I better get going. It's getting late. I was just checking up and you… and… yeah…"
She reached out and grabbed his wrist. "Stay?"
His eyes softened. "Okay."
"Will you talk to me now?"
"Nothing to talk about."
"Just… it doesn't matter anymore."
They both smiled. She was still holding his wrist. He pulled her out of the chair and to him. They started swaying to imaginary music. He bent down and sang in her ear, "Come away with me in the night…" She laughed.
She laughed again. Sometimes things just click. It was a good night.