{Draven} Shatter.

[francois jonathon lucielle]

Beating sweat. Dimming lights. Endless circles. This was the common routine of the small French boy. It was he thing that allowed him a portal to escape from reality and into a dream world of his own. It was a way for him to feel sane and, and even happy at some times. That was becoming quite a task for Francois lately. Becoming happy. Staying happy. It was just something he didn’t know how to do, and yeah he thought it was unfair sometimes, but he dealt with it. He dealt with the odd looks in the hallways. He dealt with the nagging guilt in the pit of his chest. He dealt with it all and kept a smile on throughout it too; one of the hardest tasks that life could throw at you. In Francois’ view of life, if you aren’t smiling, then you’re crying, and crying is something no one is ever allowed to see of you. Though for the boy it was much more difficult than it sounded. He had cried in front of his friends before, in front of his family; hell, he had even cried in front of Draven as well. This was pathetic to him. This was something he could never do again. It was something he could never let out again. He would show the boy. He would redeem himself and show him everything that he could be- everything that he would be.

And this is why he danced. This was why he pushed the limits of his already exhausted body, but he didn’t care. A week or two had gone by since his…incident, with his trainer, and now he could dance again. Now he could finally push his toes to the brink as he pirouetted round and round in three hundred sixty degree circles that never seemed to stop. It was a gift. It was something no one could ever take away from him, now would he ever let anyone take it from him. Not his mother. Not his father. No one could take from him the serenity of dance, the escape of boundaries; it was simply a part of who he was now, and oh no, he would never again let someone define who he was. He would never let anyone tell him what he could and could not be. Though, for some odd reason, the boy still danced in the middle of the night. He still felt the need to keep it a secret and do it only when the blanket of shadow could be set upon him. He remembered back in France, how he used to compete in competitions and win awards and metals…but this was different now. Life was different. There were no medals at Waverly. Maybe if he killed someone. Maybe if he snuck out in the dead of night and silently disposed of a person, then he would get a medal. An award. But alas, the boy could not do that, nor did he ever believe he could kill another human being. But he had pushed the boundaries of himself before, and he imagined if he had to, he could push himself more and do it. But it was a grave thought; a gruesome though he quickly dismissed from his head, as his falling reflexes began to take over.

He had slipped on the stage, and now he was sliding and falling like usual. His hand rimmed some type of jagged metal as he lightly fell from the stage, landing with a small thumb on the ground. He got up quickly, seeing the large cut move across his palm and nearing his wrist. He growled lightly beneath his breath; he would have to do something about this. He found himself walking quickly, with haste towards the lobby. It was two in the morning, the nurse was certainly not up, and he doubted anyone else was as well. He slid into the room quietly, looking around and seeing not a single sign of life before rummaging through the drawers. He took out a large wash-cloth and pressed it to the wound, hissing lightly as he continued to search. Very gently he let his hands pick out a needle and thread from one of the many drawers and set it down. The metal gleamed into his eye in reflection to the dim light. His back was to the door, and maybe it was better like that; best that he let everyone stay ignorant.

No need to watch a broken doll stitch itself back up again, right?

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

Once again, Draven couldn’t sleep. But this time, it wasn’t because he had insomnia, which had been hounding him most of his life. This time, he had quite a lot on his mind. Way too much for him to be able to calm down his thoughts and rest. He had never had these kinds of problems back in Germany; he wasn’t sure why they decided to show up now. Well…maybe it was because he had never found himself in these kinds of positions in Germany. God, so many things had happened already. He had made a few…well, yea, they could be considered friends. One because he found himself being rather protective over one boy, and the other because she intrigued him to no end. And she was easy on the eyes, that was for sure. God, he needed to stop thinking. Thinking was what was keeping him up. He had gotten one good night of sleep the other day…but that was before the…well before everything had happened. God, sleep felt wonderful. He was that guy who could get one good night of sleep and it could last him about three days. Which he was entirely glad for, because of all the shit that had been going on. First, having to help Francois out with his dancing instructor. God, that had almost friend Draven’s nerves. He really didn’t know what it was about the boy that made him want to protect him. It could’ve been his small frame, or it could’ve been the fact that he seemed to need one stable thing around him or he’d go off and hurt himself again. Draven could even say once that he was almost worried that the boy was hurting himself on purpose, or worse. And so he was sticking around. Francois seemed to trust him, and he couldn’t find any hidden agendas with Francois that Draven could see so he figured being friends with the boy was fine. Because everyone at this school needed at least one or two friends. It was a tough place to be.

Which led, of course, to his other friend that he had made. Well…actually, he didn’t really know what to consider Anahi. She had been the first person he had met at the school, and right from the beginning, she had annoyed him. Question after question, telling him what he could and couldn’t do. It got under his skin. But after that meeting, she was actually a bit of a help to him…and slowly caught his interest after a while. The fact that she tried to make sure he was happy or could carry along a conversation with him without making it feel pressured or the words too big or anything. Okay, he really didn’t know how to explain it, but after a while, he started actually wanting to hang out with her. She made him curious. And the fact that she even told him flat out that she didn’t know how to flirt just made it that much easier for him to pretend to teach her how. When he wasn’t talking to Francois or sitting bored in class, he was hanging out with Anahi. But really, he called her Ana. He couldn’t actually pronounce her whole name. Sad, but true. It didn’t seem to bother her. And neither did closeness. When it came to girls, Draven had a tendency to get a bit close to them even if he wasn’t trying to. And in this case, it got to the point where he could come right up behind her and talk right in her ear, which flustered the hell out of her, which he liked. But when she still wasn’t quite getting any of his hints, it led to him being confused. Like now. Well…especially now. He had worked up the urge to kiss her. Not anything too over the top, but it wasn’t just a small peck either. And she had participated, thankfully. Enough to the point where she actually touched him without acting like she was afraid of him recoiling at it. But when it had ended…it had just done that. It ended. She didn’t mention anything, he didn’t say anything, and soon he had had to leave anyway. And that was what puzzled Draven the most. She hadn’t responded much at all. And so his insomnia kicked in worse.

Maybe it was becoming a force of habit, or maybe he really did need a daily dose of caffeine at two or three in the morning. But it was happening often, the same routine – he pulled himself out of his room and headed to Subzero. God love the drink vending machines that actually had Dr. Pepper. Dr. Pepper and Snickers were his favorites. Walking down the hall, he pulled at his sleeves, hooking his thumbs in the holes he had cut near the cuffs so they would stay down. Yea, he was fully dressed at two thirty in the morning. Odd enough, but he was pretty sure he was a vampire when he would rather sleep in the day and live at night. He was pretty convinced, actually. Moving into Subzero, Draven expected no one else to be there, but of course, when did that ever happen? Spotting Francois’s head of hair, Draven walked over to him a bit. ”What are you doing?”

[/color] He moved to see what was in the boy’s hand, being surprised but maybe not so surprised to see the boy’s hand bloody. When didn’t this boy hurt himself? But it wasn’t until what Draven saw next that made his entire face contort into a disgusted confusion. ”Francois! What are you doing!?”[/color] He moved to try and stop the boy. HE was stitching up his own hand? Where was the alcohol to clean everything? Where was the fucking nurse? This boy was going to kill himself. He moved to take the boy’s hand instead, not making him mess up at all, but he looked through the drawer nearest them for something to dab on it. ”You’re crazy. Why do you do this to yourself?”[/color] Draven didn’t understand how there wasn’t one day where Francois wasn’t hurt at all. It was like he had a pain Vendetta. He looked up at Francois. ”How could you even think of doing this by yourself?”[/color] Francois confused the shit out of Draven. Shaking his head and flicking his hair out of his face, Draven waited for some logical answer.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

It was funny really, how much Francois got hurt. It always amused him to no end how his scars seemed to just be never ending. It was almost like every time he left his room he came back with a new wound. This wasn’t uncommon though, because it happened in France too. Though, in France it was much easier to get it all taken care of. He always danced with people. He always received wounds with people, and that was like second nature to him. He had done so many things to himself before. He had received so many wounds in his lifetime; a small gash on his palm wasn’t too much of a big deal. He had also stitched himself up before. There was a small scar to prove it on his knee as well. He had sliced it open at a dancing competition, and had to sow it up so he could continue. His friends always thought he had it so easy. He was good at stitching people up. He was good at suppressing pain. He was good at all these things, so he was just an all-around better dancer in their eyes. That was where they were wrong. Francois may have been a better reason, but not for those reasons. He was a better dancer because he put himself into his dance. He put every ounce of feeling and emotion into his dance; simply every ounce of his being, and that was to say the least. You could always tell what Franny was feeling, or thinking, simply by watching him dance. The slower his pirouettes, the sadder he was. The more exasperated his movements, the more tired he was of life. It was just simply him.

Francois honestly didn’t know who else to lean on in this school. He had Alex, but she wasn’t here all the time. He had Celeste too, but once more, how much could you lean on both of them without losing them? Anahi…no. She was out of the question. He didn’t want anything to do with the girl. He hated her so much as this moment. He couldn’t explain why, he didn’t want to explain why…but he did. He wanted to scream and yell at her. He wanted to take out every single emotion he felt on her with no remorse. But he couldn’t. He had to remain civil. He had to act like everything was okay when it was not. Nothing was okay anymore. Nothing was okay inside his mind or out it. It was all coming undone. Everything about him was unraveling and tearing, and there was no stopping it anymore. His skin was going along with it as well. The skin on his hand was torn from metal. The skin on his arm was reddened from falling so much. The skin on his legs was breaking as well. The boy was simply crumbling visibly now and there was nothing left he could do about it.

He couldn’t let Draven know. He could never let the boy see anything on his body ever again. It was like taboo now, and there was nothing else he wanted the German boy to know about him. He didn’t want him to see the bruises forming on his body. He didn’t want him to see the shredded remains of skin on his arm. He didn’t want him to see the gash through his palm. He couldn’t deal with Draven knowing all of this anymore. He wanted the boy to like him. He didn’t want to be hated by the one person he cared for in the entire shit-hole school he was in. He didn’t want Draven’s view of him to change any more than it already had. He had done so much damage. Done so many irrevocable things in his own eyes; he couldn’t stand to do anymore.

That was until he heard the boy’s deep German voice behind him. His eyes widened at the question, but before he could even answer the boy was looking at him and his hand- his hand. Shit. That was not supposed to happen. This was bad. This was very bad. Questions. He was being asked questions. They were flowing into his head fast and his mind was working in overdrive to calculate them. What was he doing. What was he doing. He had to think. He had to answer. And then he did.

“I have to stitch it before it becomes infected. I cleaned it already.” He talked in a small voice, gritting his teeth and not even trying to take his hand back from the boy. In truth, Draven’s touch was always so warm and comforting. It was something that reminded him of when he used to be safe. When he used to think nothing could hurt him. Boy was he wrong.

“I didn’t do it to myself. My hand scraped on a piece of metal on the stage. I’ve done it before, I can do it again.” He gave generic answers, because he did not feel like elaborating on anything. He didn’t feel like dealing with any of this right now.

He just wanted to go home.

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

Of course Draven didn’t know what was going on. When was he ever completely in the loop? Never, now that he thought about it. He had no idea that Francois was inches from spiraling downwards even more. He had no idea that Francois had any sort of feelings for him other than a friend or a protector of some sort. He didn’t even know Francois liked boys. Draven didn’t really have a good radar when it came to that kind of thing. He never really hung out with a lot of people, he didn’t know what all to expect from them. Waverly was a wicked big step for him. He was actually having to work with people and talk to people and there were actually people trying to befriend him which was NOT something he was used to, in the slightest. He wasn’t used to guys needing anything more than a drinking friend. He wasn’t used to a girl who wanted more than a quick fix, if you got what he was saying. Francois was like…an open window, or some shit like that. Draven was finding a whole lot of things out, a lot of things he really didn’t want to know. At all. In the slightest. Not only about just Francois, but just…about the world in general. Or people and their tendencies. It was just weird for him. He hadn’t been one of those people who really liked people all that much…now he was surrounded with them. And both…Anahi and Francois...they were making him feel things. Feelings he’d never felt before or feelings he wasn’t fucking fond of at all. Ones he didn’t know how to deal with, things he didn’t know how to handle. As if the school work and the language wasn’t hard enough, and here he was completely becoming overwhelmed with things he wasn’t even being graded on. Though the tension helped when it came to his physical field tests, that’s about it. Because that was the only way he could let things out. He just…wasn’t sure how to get a grip on things again.

When Draven was confused or didn’t have control over something, it led to migraines. Big migraines. And insomnia…and sometimes violence. Not towards people, but just in general, he could get aggressive. And then he really couldn’t be nice or…pleasant anymore. His agitation and anger showed through stronger when he knew he was losing control and couldn’t do anything about it. And his patience started to wear even thinner. Because it was thin to begin with. That would probably explain his last few run ins with Francois…or how he really couldn’t wait for Anahi to get her head on straight and let her decide if she liked him or not. Because he didn’t fucking know. But little did he know, someone else did. Little did he know that he had been watched. Little did he know this someone saw a few things and let Francois know everything. Well, not everything…she hadn’t seen everything. But absence of a few facts could really make things distorted. And little did he know that once Francois was a bit more in the light of things that Draven was still semi in the dark about, that Francois became bitter. And if Francois was bitter, it was sure to come out somehow. And little did Draven know that the person he actually liked was being despised by the other person who he talked to and cared about a bit. These were all facts that would come out into the open sooner or later, and they would probably hit him like a ton of bricks. Why was it that things could never coincide? Why was it he had to run into problems when he was starting to try and make his own way somehow? Why couldn’t things stay peaceful for once? What he wouldn’t give for one more day of quiet where things were calm and he could relax. He felt like he was walking on fucking pins and needles at this school. Around all the people, around all the teachers. He couldn’t get rid of the feeling. Nearing Francois, that same feeling came into the pit of his stomach, sinking like a rock. Something was going to happen and he wouldn’t be the least bit prepared for it. He wasn’t looking forward to finding out.

Draven wasn’t sure how to feel not when the boy seemed surprised to see him. It wasn’t like he didn’t ever show up at the most RANDOM times ever around Francois. They ran into each other all over the place. And each time turned into some kind of conflict. He moved to dab some alcohol at least to the end of the needle, cleaning it off anyway, handing it back to the boy and looking away. ”No. You’re not ‘sposed to fix yourself, you go to doctor or nurse for this. And doesn’t matter time, don’t give excuses.”

[/color] He didn’t find anything impressive about how Akio knew something like that. Draven shook his head. ”Not what I meant.”[/color] But he didn’t quite know how to explain himself. His eyes flashed up at the boy. He either seemed testy with him or a bit short. Draven just sighed, letting Francois do what he felt he needed to do. Shaking his head a bit, his hair falling into his face, he looked up at Francois. ”What am I goin’ to do with you?”[/color] He felt like an older brother scolding a younger sibling. But he knew that wasn’t true. He didn’t know how to take in anything Francois threw at him. He let go of the boy’s hand, looking away so he didn’t have to see. ”How can you stitch yourself? How does that not hurt more?”[/color] He was absolutely lost. The boy had…either the biggest pain tolerance…or he had to be one of those people who couldn’t feel pain. He wasn’t sure what they were called, but there were people who’s nerves didn’t work or something like a part of their body’s system wasn’t connected to their brain so their arm could be on fire and they wouldn’t know unless they saw it. They wouldn’t feel it. Though somehow, Draven was sure that Francois would probably WANT to be like that. He didn’t know. He looked to Francois. ”Still can’t sleep?”[/color] He was just checking. Trying to help obviously failed.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

Francois wanted to leave now. He wanted to go home, back in France, and just deal with his father. At least his father didn’t cause this much internal pain. His father just liked to give him scars and all the shit like that, but Francois could handle that. This? No, oh no. He could not handle this. He could not handle the things he felt and he knew it. He couldn’t deal with the swelling of his heart when the boy was near. He couldn’t deal with the stutter he had to force back with every word he spoke. He just couldn’t deal with the tears that wanted to pour out his eyes at the mention of his name. He didn’t like it, sometimes. He didn’t like being…well…being gay. To him, it had caused so much trouble…so much pain, and now it was just a burden. Now all of his feelings were fucked up and there was nothing he could do about it. There were feelings telling him to stop and just relax, but he couldn’t. There were feelings telling him to be happy for Draven, but he couldn’t. There were feelings that whispered darker things to him. They were like little demons perched on the boys shoulders, and they whispered such manic, disturbing things to him, constantly reminding him of all the medical points of dancing he knew. It was scary how fragile the human body was, because Francois had to learn about it all before learning to dance. He knew which pressure point turned off which body part. He knew which vein lead to where. And these voices…they whispered such disgusting…such vile things. They reminded him of which artery he could cut to bleed out silently. They told him about the pressure point in his neck that could kill a person. They told him all of this. They told him where to go so no one could find him. They just kept talking, and talking, and talking; to the point where Francois couldn’t deal with it at all. He had to get out. He had to go somewhere.

He knew he needed to answer Draven’s questions, he knew he had to say something, but his tongue was tied. Secrets. The secrets all wanted to pour out. They all wanted to slip aimlessly from his tongue, just washing into the other boys ears, but he knew he could not. He knew he could do nothing of the sort, just to keep Draven from hating him. Hate. The idea made Francois was to smile, but he knew he couldn’t right now. He knew he couldn’t express emotion right now, because if he expressed anything, it would be overrun by the senseless need to cry and break. But he wouldn’t. He couldn’t. He refused to let his body betray him this time, and so he just kept still, letting the boy keep his hand away from him. There were urges, right at this moment. There were always urges. Urges to just reach out. To just latch onto the boy and never let go, but they were such fruitless thoughts; such pointless games his mind played on him. In reality, Francois just wanted to hug him. He just wanted to cling to him and never let go, and knowing that he couldn’t, knowing that he had no right to; it made the air painful. It made everything painful, to the point where his eyes glazed over, and his left hand, his uninjured hand, began to tremble. That was when he knew he had to go. He knew he had to get out. He had to answer, and then leave. He had to tell the truth now though, that was the problem, and so that was what happened. He answered each question, the truth just seeming to aimlessly pour out of his crimson stained lips.

“I don’t know. My skin is cold and numb, it doesn’t hurt anymore. Nothing hurts more. I haven’t slept in over a week, I won’t be starting tonight. I’ll stitch this in the bathroom.” The answers were out, and then he was moving. He moved around the boy, careful not to let any of his own body touch his as a single tear dripped down his cheek and he pushed into the bathroom next to the lobby. He quickly moved to the sink and wiped at his tears, his trembling hand taking the needle and thread and bringing it to the cut. He took in a deep, shaken breath before moving to gently start the stitches.

The needle punctured through the top of the wound, only one side; and something was wrong. The boy’s eyes widened as a small, shrill noise of pain emitted from his lungs. He pulled the needle out and nearly threw it into the garbage. He bit deep into his bottom lip; that needle, the small, tiny, metallic object had broken the lock. It had broken the lock he secured around his self-restraint, and now the pooled tears were falling. He pushed his hand under freezing water, and it numbed it for a second; but there was something wrong. There was a ripping sound when the water was on. It was as if someone had cracked something and broken it, dragging it across a board of some sort. Francois searched the faucet with frantic eyes for a moment, before he realized something. The noise…it wasn’t the faucet…it wasn’t anything of that sort…

It was him.

It was a sob. A sob had broken through his chest, his restraints, and now there would be no stopping it. His hand flung to his mouth as the water continued to run, panicking immensely. He quickly thought of an idea; dorm. He moved to grab a paper towel and wrapped it securely around his hand, keeping the water on as he pushed through the door, injured hand at his side, uninjured by his mouth as he ripped through cuticles and nails.

“I-I’ll be in my d-dorm.” He said to Draven in the lobby, refusing to make eye contact with him as the small French figure moved through the hallway with haste.

Never would he have been prepared for this.

Never.

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

It seemed that no matter what Draven did, it really never seemed to help. He wasn’t a hugging, comforting person. He was a bit more cold, a bit more stiff. Touching when it wasn’t needed or wanted was not something he dealt with very well. When he was with a girl and he was doing it, it wasn’t that bad. But even then…he wasn’t a hugger. He had never been a hugger. Not even to his mom. Not even as a little kid. Some people were affectionate and cuddly and were all over other people. Draven wasn’t one of those people. He remembered the first time he had ever “dated” a girl. She had thought he didn’t like her as much as he said he did because he wasn’t the kind of guy who would just let his hands wander. He learned, and warmed up to it, of course. But it really was different, being faced with someone you liked and had feelings for than being put in front of someone who was crying and trembling and you weren’t sure how to handle. He hadn’t been a big help at his dad’s funeral with his mother. His mother. And he had guy friends, but no way in hell did he hug them. They hugged each other but they all knew better than to touch him. He wasn’t touchy, he wasn’t feely, but he was touchy when it came to people actually touching him. Touchy as in he would actually snap at them. Francois had to consider himself lucky that Draven felt slightly protective over him, because the hug that Francois had given Draven the second time the two had talked was not something Draven looked back on with a smile. He hadn’t known what to do. He barely ever knew what to do when it came to people and their emotions. People and their natural instincts. His were a bit more animalistic than he really realized. That didn’t help him. He didn’t know what to do. And that’s what the problem was, here and now. He didn’t know how to make Francois feel better. And since Francois only kept getting worse, Draven wasn’t making the situation any better.

It was getting to the point where Draven would’ve welcomed going home with open arms. America was confusing, people were confusing, he didn’t know a lot of people here. He missed home. He missed his mom, he missed his friends, he missed his own bed. He missed sleeping. He missed the cat he left behind. He missed how he could go out any night he wanted and do whatever the fuck he wanted. He missed how no one expected anything from him that he couldn’t deliver. He missed the fucking simplicity. He missed his language. He missed his food. Maybe the fact that Francois always had his raw emotions was making it so hard for Draven to keep up his apathetic wall. It wasn’t an air, it wasn’t fake at all. Draven really didn’t care about a lot of things. But now…every. Little. Thing. Got to him. Cut into his skin, crawling under it like a bug. New thoughts in his head. Feeling like he actually wanted to help someone? Feeling like he actually might like someone? These were two very different, colliding thoughts. And Draven was a tunnel vision kind of person. He liked to think one thing through at a time. When his mind was flooded, he didn’t function very well. He couldn’t handle everything. Francois couldn’t handle everything and Draven couldn’t handle everything. It was a lose-lose situation. Draven was still drowning in this thought process when the boy’s hand that he held in his started to tremble. Draven blinked a bit, his gaze that had been far away coming back, looking to Francois as he snapped out of it and started to talk again. It seemed both of the guys were in a cloud, but over completely opposite things. Well, not opposite but different. Completely different things. A lot of things out of Francois’s mouth seemed to have an extremely dramatic quality about them, and Draven just blinked at what Francois said. ”But you can try-“

[/color] Draven started, but Francois was already heading away.

Draven moved to stand up straighter, washing his hands off and running a hand exasperatedly through his hair. Well, that didn’t do any good. Draven took a breath, thinking stitching would take a bit, using this time to actually buy the pop like he had planned on, putting his money in the machine and getting himself a Dr. Pepper. Putting it down deep into his pant leg pocket, Draven had a feeling that maybe he should’ve followed Francois. Was that a creeper move? Well, he was going to follow what his gut was telling him. He moved into the hallway, standing close to the bathroom door, listening. He heard the water…and then…a sob. Why…? Why!? Why was the boy crying again? Draven tensed, thinking once again that it was something he did but…he didn’t…he didn’t do anything! Watching as the door flung open, Draven hustled to get out of the way of the boy flying down the hallway, shaking his head. Draven wasn’t going to put up with this running shit anymore. Moving after him, Draven grabbed the back of the boy’s shirt, stopping him that way before grabbing the arm that was by the boy’s mouth. He wasn’t stupid, he wasn’t going to go directly for the hand that was injured. He turned the boy around to look at him, keeping a firm grip on the boy’s wrist. ”No! No more running, no more crying! That don’t help with much anything! Tell me what the fuck is wrong! I’m not sitting here for you to just keep throwing what I do off! I can’t help if you won’t take it! Stop not taking it! Tell me, help, what’s going on!?”[/color] His voice raised a bit, his facial features defined. They needed to stop this shit. Draven couldn’t be friends with someone who ran away from him. That just made him seem like the bad guy. He took a deep breath, confusion and frustration finding it’s way on his face. ”Tell me!”[/color] He wasn’t going to sit back and watch anymore.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

There was just too much to handle anymore. There were too many things that Francois felt, that he didn’t want to feel. He didn’t like feeling such…such jealousy and anger towards someone he didn’t even know that well. He didn’t like feeling as if he wasn’t useful to anyone. He didn’t like feeling the pain of watching Draven be happy, when he simply could not. He was tired of faking smiles. He was tired of shoving his tears down his throat with laughter. Dancing wasn’t working anymore, and so now the boy was dealing the only way he knew how; running. He didn’t know anything else. Once all else failed, Francois bolted. He didn’t know how to take on…such heavy situations…like the one he found himself in now. He let his tongue slip out curse after curse in his mind, scolding himself for not being quieter; for not keeping his cries under control. He knew he had to say something now…he just…he didn’t know how to. Fortunately for Francois, his brain began to think, his body began to move, and his mouth began to speak; all without his consent.

“J-just stop it!” He couldn’t help but yank his hand away, faltering back as it moved around his stomach. His eyes were blurry, yeah, but he would see the boy in front of him perfectly. He could see Draven’s mind contort into different expressions of anger and then confusion, before fury and then more confusion. Guilt. Guilt was something that began to pulse through the boy’s veins faster than anything he could have ever comprehended. Soon he began to feel it. He began to feel everything he had shoved deep down into the pit of himself. He felt the sadness he didn’t want to feel. He felt the disappointment that washed through every single fiber of his being. He felt the crack inside his chest that he silenced when Alex told him where Draven was. He felt the unbearable need to scream and cry and just run away, but he couldn’t. He felt every single thing he didn’t want to feel, and now it was pouring out. Now words he didn’t think he would ever say to the boy were coming out, and there was no stopping it; there was never any hope of stopping it.

“Y-you don’t know what it’s like! Having to watch the person you love…l-love someone else! You don’t know what it’s like to want to latch on so hard, to just latch on and n-never let go…just to know you’ll be safe…just to know you will survive this time. You don’t know what it’s like to want to touch them…to want to keep them close…but you can’t. Instead, you get to know they are t-touching someone else…t-they are l-loving someone e-else…” His rant wad dying, and his body was fumbling back more and more before hitting a wall with a small thud.

“You don’t know what it’s like to hate yourself a little bit more each day…because you simply can’t be happy without them around, but you know you mean n-nothing to them. You k-know you can’t h-have them, but you know you should be h-happy…b-because all you ever wanted was for t-them to be happy…” He let his now muddy hazel orbs move up over the boy, finally meeting Draven’s eyes as tears poured out his own. He spoke up in a small, shaken, almost scared voice.

“B-but I’m n-not.” His right hand moved into his hair, combing through it for a moment, before letting his bangs fall in front of his eyes, shielding them; trying to keep what remained of his emotions inside, but failing ultimately.

“I s-should be h-happy for y-you…I s-should be g-glad you don’t h-hate me…b-but I’m not…” His left arm gently crossed over his stomach as his body began to slide slowly down the wall. His eyes were dull and watery, and they hid behind his hair in shame. His body was trembling, and his right arm gently moved across his torso, hugging himself lightly. He was dligin further and further down the wall, until finally, finally he hit the ground with an inaudible thud; he was defeated.

“I-I’m sorry…” Francois had been defeated by himself, but he had to apologize to Draven. He had been defeated by the one person he thought he could always trust, but now he could not. Now he was plunging himself further and further into the darkness that use to surround him. The encasing darkness that was slowly pulling Franny into its grasp, never planning to let go.

But the thing was, Draven was like a light. He was the thing that gave his life purpose and gave him a reason to continue on, but now he knew it was over. He knew Draven would hate him now, and he knew the boy would probably either get infuriated and hit him, or just walk away and never speak to him again. Either way, he knew he had nothing left to fight with…but he still would. He would still push through and fight for his right, for his want to keep the boy; the only thing keeping him going.

Because Draven seemed to be bathed in a bright light.

A light which Francois was not going to give up so willingly.

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

Draven knew what it was like to like someone before and have it not go the way you planned it, at all. Back in Germany, he had dated a girl named Khira. Khira, his ex girlfriend, the girl he had been with for almost a year, who knew a lot more about him than he would like to admit, and who had a way of manipulating him like nobody’s business. He had been ensnared in her little tricks too many times and he had broken up with her when they had decided that the relationship was actually really unhealthy for them to continue in. They had fought, mostly yelling, both in a drunken stupor most of the time. She had played him, he had played her. No one should’ve been under that kind of stress. They were the epitome of ‘bad romance’, like that Lady Gaga had written the song about them. They had ended on a truce kind of note. He wanted to move on. She wanted to be with him but she agreed to move on as well. Of course, he didn’t know that him breaking up with her would blow back up in his face. Once he considered himself “out of her life”, because with how their relationship had been, there was NO way he could’ve been “friends” with her, she had done her best to spread every nasty lie about him as she could. Rumors galore. There had been rumors he was a nazi, rumors he beat her up to the point of unconsciousness. Rumors he was even dead. He had actually had to delete his accounts on some things because she had found a way to hack those as well. Maybe that was why he was so nervous to get in a new relationship with someone. Things could be thrown in his face that he didn’t even realize he might’ve been doing or might’ve said. There were just those people, like Khira, where he felt like he was walking on pins and needles with, and he didn’t like the feeling. Anahi wasn’t like that…she still made him a bit uneasy, but not to that extreme extent, so at least he felt he had a chance. He didn’t know it was ruining a friendship as well.

As Francois told him to stop, Draven’s brows rose, his hand falling as the boy yanked his arm away. Well… this was some sort of progress. Instead of Draven telling the boy to be strong and decide what he wants for himself, here he was telling Draven to stop. Instead of being a bit angry, Draven was actually a bit proud. And a bit taken aback as Francois was suddenly throwing an entire dialogue his way. What? What was the boy talking about? Who the hell did he like? Draven had only seen Francois hang out with…two other people? Alex and that Celeste girl. Though Draven would completely understand if Francois liked Celeste…anyone with eyes would probably like her at some point or another. And the way Francois hung around girls, the way he acted with them. Draven would’ve said even he could’ve learned from Francois. But of course, he didn’t know. That Francois’s relationships with these girls were just as very good friend and would never be and could never be anything more. Draven seemed to have some blinder on his eyes, like a horse with a carriage. And as Francois kept going on, Draven started feeling extremely sorry for him. That and his brain was going through every girl Draven had seen at the school, let alone with Francois, trying to see if he could peg who Francois was talking about. Oh…wait. Was he talking about Anahi? Whatever Draven had with Anahi, he couldn’t even tell what it was…but did Francois think…? Wait, how did he even know? Draven was confused beyond all measure by the things that the boy was saying. Loving someone and watching them love someone else? Well, that would explain his emotional state a few times…who was this person? He watched the boy back up against the wall for more strength, and Draven didn’t dare touch him. Not like he’d know how anyway, but he knew the boy wasn’t done. And now that Francois was venting, it was best to just let him get it all out – that was the way Draven saw it.

Meeting Francois’s watery eyes, Draven just waited to hear who it was that was putting Francois through such turmoil. Maybe there was something he could do? He did NOT want to play intermission or whatever it was called – he didn’t want to be caught up in the middle. Little did he know…wait…did Francois say you? Meaning him? Draven? Francois liked Draven? Draven’s eyes widened, flashbacks moving over his eyes. Wow. That made a LOT of sense. Too much sense. Staring at the boy as he slid down the wall, Draven didn’t know what to say. First off, how did Francois even know that Anahi and Draven were “together”? That would be news to Draven, that was for sure. Second…a boy liked him. He was liked by a friend. This was too weird for him. Draven didn’t have anything against, you know, but not when he was the one being liked. He didn’t even like that kind of attention from girls most of the time. As Francois apologized, Draven’s head started to shake, slow with disbelief instead of saying no. ”No…I’m…I’m sorry but I don’t…I mean, yes, you’re my friend but you…I don’t…like you like…that.”

[/color] Draven realized that would probably hurt Francois more only after he already said it. It was him…Draven, himself. Messing things up for Francois, putting him through more heartache. Well, what was he supposed to do? What the hell was he going to do now? He was losing a friend over something he had no control over! He wasn’t sure what to say now, he wasn’t sure what to do. He stood there slowly, thinking, his muscles tight and that seemingly ever present headache flaring up again. He would try something…”Francois…”[/color] He sighed a bit. ”I’m sorry, I really…I don’t even know what is going with Anahi, and I didn’ know this was…what was going with you. I um…”[/color] He rubbed the back of his neck, his hair falling in his face. ”I don’t know what to tell you.”[/color] He was genuinely confused into speechless-ness.[/size][/blockquote]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

Francois didn’t know which way to turn now. He wasn’t sure if he should get up and bolt now. He wasn’t sure if he should just sit there. Was Draven angry? Was he mad? He didn’t know what the boy felt, but he would give the world to know. He would give anything up- really, anything to just know the boy didn’t hate him. But he probably did. Francois knew he did. Deep down, whether Draven would admit it or not; he hated Francois. That’s just the way it worked. People who were supposed to care, people who were supposed to love you never did. It was all a lie. It was a game to Francois. It was a game he knew how to play too. It was a game he knew all too well, and it was a game he could never stop. The fake smiles. Distant laughter. It was all the cards he held, but right now, right now he held no cards. He felt like all the cards he had in this game were gone, and now he was wide open- now he was vulnerable. Francois hated being vulnerable. Being open. It meant you were the one hurting. When you were open and waiting to be hurt, it meant you were already hurt enough to allow yourself to be open. That was what Francois despised about himself the most. He hated how open and vulnerable he could be. But there was nothing he could do about it. His father had made him that way. His father had broken down every wall the boy had put up, and now he was more open than he ever was. Now it was like someone had driven a dagger in the boy and twisted it, when he heard Draven talk. He knew the boy would never like him in a million years- it was simply just not possible. But still…there was still that part of him, that part deep down in the most sanctioned and confounds parts of his mind that had hope.

Hope was disgusting. It was the thing that constantly broke the boy a little more each and every day. Hope was a weapon Francois used against himself, and it was a weapon that was killing him. He didn’t know how to stop it though. He didn’t know how to stop hoping though. Hope was something the mind did without consent, because if Franny had a choice, he would never hope. He would never allow himself to be built up by false connotations of life just to be let down by the harsh slap of reality. That was always the hardest part. When Francois had to acknowledge reality, it was always the thing that left him the most broken and shattered. When he had to acknowledge that he was hurt and beaten down. When he had to acknowledge his father wanted him dead. All these things were what broke Francois, and now, now he had no one left to help fix him. Now there were no more people left to help him survive. He had lost Draven, and he had also lost all hope that he could still be friends with the boy. There was no chance of it now. He wished he could just go back to France. He wished he could just go back to where there were words. Words were always easiest to brush off and forget, but this…this was not. Francois listened to the other boy as he talked. The saddest of smiles spread across his face. It was a long, defeated smile. It was a smile that told Draven he was done. That he couldn’t take anymore. That he couldn’t do anything anymore. He felt helpless in front of the German boy. There was nothing left to protect Francois now. There was nothing more he could say, nothing more he could do to keep himself from falling apart.

“S-stop. D-don’t say s-sorry. Y-you should h-hate me. Y-you should d-despise me.” He spoke up in a small tone before he felt his body hit the floor and he brought his knees to his chest, curling into himself and letting his arms wrap around his legs.

“I w-want to go h-home, D-Draven. I w-want to go b-back…w-where the word f-faggot didn’t h-hurt as much…w-where names d-didn’t hurt as m-much…” He trailed off, not being able to look the boy in the eyes, lying his head down onto his arms, feeling pain course through his body, but not caring at this point.

“I-it’s like…a c-curse n-now…s-something I c-can’t e-erase…s-something I c-can’t get r-rid of. Y-you don’t know w-what it’s like…to h-hate y-yourself…f-for s-something you c-can’t c-control. To l-lose the people you c-care most about…b-because of w-what you f-feel…b-because you c-can’t get r-rid of w-what you f-feel.” It was like confessing his darkest secret to the boy. Telling him everything he wished he could tell everyone else, but for some reason…it just came out around Draven. It all just seemed to pour out around him.

“I d-don’t want to be a m-mistake anymore. I j-just want to be n-n-normal. H-happy.” He curled further into himself once more, before letting out his last, shaky sentence.

“I d-don’t w-want to hate m-myself…for l-loving someone.” There was nothing left to say, and Francois just brought his knees closer to his chest, crushing them to him, making it more and more difficult to breath. He let his left cheek tough against his arms, his body quivering from the cries he would not allow Draven to hear, to see because he refused to acknowledge this pain.

He didn’t want to mourn the loss of two people today.

The one person he called a friend.

And the only person he was never allowed to love.

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

Thinking about it, really, Draven wasn’t mad so much as he was…surprised. Like, really, genuinely surprised. Wasn’t it almost a good thing when you were “good looking” enough or…well…appealing enough to both sexes? That was like… a big deal, apparently. He wasn’t sure how that worked. He wasn’t a homophobe at all. He knew a few people who liked the same gender, and the way he saw it, it was really their decision and he had no say in what they did with their life. It wasn’t like it was hurting anyone. If they were happy, why not? Though, he had never thought, in a million years, that he would be in that situation. Not the situation where he was dating someone of the same sex. No, he liked women way too much to ever give them up – this was very true. He wasn’t too fond of the male anatomy. He was very hooked on everything girl’s had to offer. Sure, he worked out on himself, but that was himself. But no…he was never in the situation where someone who was the same gender as he was happened to think of him as more than a friend. Way more than a friend. Well, not way more than a friend, but he was going to cut to the chase: he had never been liked by another guy before. It was actually funny to him. He had a few bi friends who would fool around with the idea, trying to see if it freaked him out or not, but normally Draven was pretty chill about this stuff. But when it came to being a friend with a boy who liked him a lot more with feelings Draven couldn’t return and it was obviously hindering the boy to a dangerous level, that was…what really, really threw him. He wasn’t so much flattered, now that he thought about it, than he was…actually very apologetic. And that was just wrong for him. It seemed wrong for him to apologize to Francois and tell the boy he couldn’t like him. Because America was a free country – the boy could do whatever the hell he wanted. And that was troubling for this issue. He didn’t know what to do.

Draven didn’t hate Francois at all. Sure, being around Francois was hard sometimes because it was kind of more stressful than it should’ve been, but at least Draven had a clue now as to why. It made so much more sense. If only the boy could’ve told him sooner – Draven was sure they could’ve avoided a lot of hassle. And he couldn’t believe he hadn’t seen it before. Not that Francois was see through or anything, but he was pretty readable. That’s what being vulnerable did, it made it so everyone could see your weak points or other things you wanted to hide. That was what Francois had had to work on. Not that Draven was going to tell him that or anything. Hell, if he could get his mouth to work right now…all that would come out would be gibberish and weird excuses, he was sure. He didn’t have any idea what to say. He couldn’t comfort the boy – he was the one who had caused Fran pain. Emotionally. God, how the hell did he comfort Francois about liking him? He would only make it worse, really, if he tried to do anything. He couldn’t hug him, that would make it worse and Draven couldn’t hug to save his life. He couldn’t talk about it. He wouldn’t know what the hell to say. What else was there? He wasn’t going to just walk away, he wasn’t a complete bastard. And he wasn’t going to give the boy any false hopes either. If Francois was going to treat this awkwardly or like it was the death of the friendship, Draven couldn’t sit there and tell him it wasn’t because the boy wouldn’t believe him. He still believed they could be friends if Francois wanted to, but Draven was going to be keeping his distance for a while, that was for damn sure. He didn’t know what sane person wouldn’t after they were unintentionally hurting someone kind of close to them. It was called being aware of the people around you. Draven was getting a bit better at that now that he was here. But his awareness was definitely getting thrown off when Francois’s reactions didn’t match was Draven was hearing. How could the boy smile? It was confusing him again.

As Francois told him to stop apologizing, it was like the boys had switched places. Draven was the one who told Francois to stop apologizing, not the other way around. But with Draven, an apology was special, and he really only said “I’m sorry” once. He didn’t repeatedly say it when it wasn’t needed. That was just him. Draven shook his head, trying to keep his eyes sincere. ”But I don’t…despise you…Francois, I don’t hate you.”

[/color] He wasn’t saying he was in love with him either, but he didn’t want to lose one of his only friends. Listening to Fran, Draven’s eyes narrowed. The boy was lying. He didn’t want to go home. He just wanted to run. ”You don’t want to go home. You don’t. Not back to your bastard father. Words hurt much like hits hurt much! Is something they can’t stop so they should stop trying!”[/color] He wasn’t sure if he was making any sense at this point. He really didn’t know. He pursed his lips as the boy continued to speak. Fuck, what was he supposed to say!? He nodded a bit…”You’re right…I don’t know how it feels but I can tell from the way you act with things it’s hard.”[/color] His jaw clenched a bit, adding adamantly. ”No Francois, you’re not mistake. No one is mistake. You can be happy if you choose and try to be.”[/color] He pursed his lips a bit, looking to Francois. Wow, he really didn’t know what to say. He took a breath as Francois once again seemed to come to a close…and close off. Draven shook his head. ”You don’t…have to hate yourself. There’s no reason for hating yourself. You just don’t think ‘bout. Mistakes happen, is no big deal.”[/color] He rubbed the back of his neck. ”If it won’t bother you…we can still be friends, is no bother for me…is okay.”[/color] He looked to Francois. He honestly wasn’t sure what to expect from the boy now. He always surprised Draven.[/blockquote][/size]

[francois jonathon lucielle]

He was at such a standstill right now. Francois didn’t know what to do, where to go, what to say; it was as if he was frozen. Like he was just sitting there, a shaken frozen block of ice with nowhere to go and no one to care about; or at least that’s how he saw it. He knew Draven would want nothing to do with him anymore. He knew that if the boy decided to despise and hate him…he would be okay with it. Francois was used to people hating him, really he was. He was used to his father hating him and wanting him dead, and there were always people in school who hated you. That was one thing you could never really ever get around, whether you wanted to or not; they were always there. It was just a matter of how you dealt with being hated though. You survived by not letting it bother you. By pretending the people didn’t exist. But Francois could only imagine…what he would do, if Draven hated him and continued on through life like he didn’t exist. It would…it would crumble Francois into nothing and he knew it. He knew he would never be able to look at himself in the mirror if that happened…but he deserved it, after all of this. He deserved it after putting Draven through so much that he didn’t deserve nor did he want to deal with. No one really wanted to deal with Francois…so it was okay to him, that Draven was another one of those people. He didn’t mind really…well, he tried to tell himself he didn’t mind, but deep down, beneath those layers and layers of masks and protection; Francois really, and truly did care, a lot more than what he lead on.

He cared about every single thing Draven though about him. Whether it was from being the shy kid to the quiet kid, something small and insignificant, or to something like being helpful or just a flat out burden, something larger. Francois knew he was a burden though. He knew people tended to dislike him because he was such a heavy emotional package to carry…but for some wild reason, something Francois didn’t even had a chance at stopping; his mind had begun to flourish hope. He didn’t know why it was there or what it was doing, but back when it had first appeared…Francois really didn’t mind it. The small, tiniest spark of hope, that maybe one day…maybe for just a second, he would know what it felt like to love the German boy in front of him. It was such a fleeting little thought, but it had planted such a deep rooted seed of growing hurt, growing agony inside of him. It began to bud and spread and turn into such an unrealistic expectation that maybe one day it would come true. It was an expectation of not Francois himself, but in turn, his mind. It was something that his brain began to whisper to him and speak such fruitless and fervent words, when it was all for not. Draven was Draven. He didn’t like Francois. He could never like Francois. It was something that the French boy had thought he knew…something he thought was evident to him in his mind, but apparently not.

Each word was like a dagger. Each one stabbed into the boy a little bit more, and each time it hurt him like he would have never believed. He didn’t hate Francois. He should have. Words always hurt, stop trying to act like they didn’t. He didn’t know, but Francois acted it out enough. Each one was like a rupture. Each word tore deep into the boy and it felt like he was splitting more and more with each idiom. He wanted to be friends. He wanted to keep Draven, he really did…but he was so scared. He was scared of being replaced by Anahi, and it was so evident in his mind. Every time her name rolled off someone’s tongue, it hurt. Every time she was mentioned in conversation, it hurt. He couldn’t deal with it anymore. Every time he pictured her…he pictured Draven, and just seeming him with her…broke him. It hurt because he would never be allowed to be close to Draven like she would. It hurt because he would never be allowed to touch Draven like she was. He wasn’t allowed to hug the boy. He wasn’t allowed to do anything to him, but Anahi was. It hurt. Francois wouldn’t keep lying to himself. It hurt him to the point where he wanted to crawl up and die. There were more images at the thought of the red-head, and Francois felt tears bubble and leak over his eyes again. He didn’t know what to do about it. He didn’t know such gripping fear and pain until he had met this girl, until he had come to this school. Draven was such a different person than he was. Draven had the drive to explore and spread his wings, while Francois did not. All Francois did was dance and fall and fall again. True, he can get back up…but then he falls again. Each time, the falls get more and more painful, and each time it gets harder and harder to get up. Wound after wound after wound; it’s like an endless cycle that doesn’t seem to go away. He felt something bubbling up inside of himself before he was forced to let it out. His damaged hand scraped against the carpet and wall, gently highlighting it with blood as he moved up to a standing position once more, shaking before speaking up, eyes shielded by hair and facing down.

“Y-you…d-don’t unders-stand…” He shook his head for a moment before his teeth grit and he looked up, tear stained cheeks and bloodshot hazel eyes staring into Draven’s with such a look of helplessness, such a look of defeat.

“I d-dance for so many things, but none for myself! I dance to become better. I dance to prove to father I’m worth living. I dance to s-show you I’m n-not worthless. I d-dance to prove to y-you I have a r-reason to keep going, b-because I’m not as pathetic as you t-think!” His anger was boiling up, but not at Draven. When he talked, it was evident he was mad, but it was also evident he was mad at himself.

“I k-keep trying and pushing, and I g-get nowhere! T-the more I try to s-show you I c-can do something right, the more I just p-push you a-away! T-then…all s-she does is…s-stand there…and l-look pretty…and I-I’ve lost already.” His arms looped around himself again, tightening them as his eyes found the floor and he kept speeking.

“I-It’s not f-fair. S-she does…n-nothing…and s-she won w-without a c-care in the world. I c-can’t help but k-keep going t-though…b-because I w-want to believe I c-can still k-keep you…b-but I can’t! I-It’s because I w-was born a m-mistake.” Every word finally made sense now as he looked up, angry with no one but himself.

“It’s b-because I was born a fucking b-boy! I c-can’t win! It doesn’t work like t-that! She is a girl! She wins, end of story. There is no competition. There is no chance for me. I loathe her for it. I hate her so much. But…but it’s not fair that I do, and yet…y-yet I can’t help it.” He didn’t know what else to do. His right hand, the one with the wound, was dripping on the ground now. He brought it up to his face and smelt the stench of the rusty blood on it before averting his eyes to the ground, looking away.

“I h-have to t-take care of t-this. I-I’m s-sorry.” He let his body move shakily, without another sound, angling to turn down the hallway to his left and hide away in his dorm.

Francois would crawl under a rock and never come out.

This was his only solution as of now.

[/size]

[draven cole arrow]

Draven knew by now how to deal with what people said to him or about him. Oh, he had heard so many things about himself. Most of them were ridiculous. And not one of them really hurt. He knew people were just ignorant and stupid. Draven didn’t care. Wasn’t this said before? He didn’t care what people thought of him and he could remember probably telling people that he didn’t care. Petty little names, slurs against how he looked. Bring it on. It was like he had the thickest outer shell a person could have. He had hear it all. Vampire, walking zombie, someone saying he had died, being called a Nazi by his ex, people in his town calling him a no good and telling him he wouldn’t get anywhere in life. Well, fuck off to all of them, because Draven was in America. At a spy school. Learning things that the people who put him down had probably never heard of. Hell, they had probably never even made it to the United States, so he completely one upped them there. He had gone from being the bullied to…helping the bullied. Somehow. It was just too funny sometimes when Draven did things that surprised people. He wasn’t a monster or some sort of criminal or jerk or something. He could do good things. Even if he got kind of destructive when he was angry, he could do a load of good when he wanted to. And the fact that he had missed the looks on everyone’s faces whenever his mother had to tell them where he was. Not that she knew this was a spy school, but a ‘great school in America’ was still a very good answer. He could only picture their disbelief. He was going places. Because he didn’t take shit from anyone. And that was really what Francois needed to learn. Not to accept it, but to ignore it and brush it off.

Not knowing whether his words were helping or hurting, Draven just looked to Francois’s face. He honestly looked physically sick. Like he was ready to throw up at any second. Draven shut up, waiting for Francois to say something, do something. And then Francois started crying again. Draven held back a sigh. He meant do something besides cry. God, he felt like a heel. And then Francois stood, letting his hand cover the wall with crimson. Draven swallowed a bit. Didn’t that hurt? To let raw flesh like that just scrape against the wall? Draven tried to keep his face from actually looking sick, watching the boy as his eyes were hidden away. He took a breath, shaking his head, ”I probably don’t…I don’ understand a lot of things here.”

[/color] Draven stood pensively. He was sure his nerves were just going to collapse after this and he’d have to smoke an entire pack just to calm down. He met the boy’s eyes, honestly feeling just as helpless as Francois…well…maybe not just as helpless, but he could relate. There was some part of him weirdly trying to decide if he wanted to hug the boy, but Draven immediately shut that idea down and pushed it aside. Draven’s brows furrowed slowly as Francois went on to talk about dancing, and why he danced, and really, Draven didn’t understand how the boy dancing proved any of these things, but then again, he wasn’t a dancer, he couldn’t get this. He blinked as Francois kept going, yelling at Draven now like it was still his fault for more things he didn’t do. But Draven could tell, Francois just seemed to be angry at the world in general. Draven believed he could sympathize with that. After his father died, he was angry at the world and no one could really fix it. He just had to get over it with some time. Really, Francois needed some time to let things all boil over.

But as he brought Anahi back into this, Draven’s eyes narrowed. ”Is not true. She second guesses all of times, just like you. She won nothing, I’m not prize. You see Francois? I’m not prize to be won or something shit like this. She might not even want…me, and I can’t help either of you, alright!?”[/color] Draven’s muscles tensed, his hands fisting. Why did he all of a sudden feel like an object? Usually he was the possessive one, he never thought he’d be the one viewed as the ‘thing’. He growled, ”Francois! I’ve said. NO you’re NOT mistake, stop saying these!”[/color] As Francois went on, Draven just became more worked up, more uncomfortable. Now he really didn’t know what to do. He didn’t even know how he felt, he was just feeling like a big blank. ”Just leave her alone, leave her out of it! You could be girl, someone else could be a girl, and I still would not choose different! It’s NOT YOU!”[/color] He felt a vein nearly pop on his head. God, how was this so hard for Francois to grasp? You liked who you liked. Him of all people should have gotten that. ”Stop hating! She hasn’t done nothing to you! Nothing much at all! You were even first to talk to her at the dinner, acting like you like her and now you throw her aside. Just stop!”[/color] He watched as it seemed like Francois was already deciding to throw it all away again, making a face as Fran smelled his wound. As Francois went to leave, Draven stood back. He had already tried to stop him once, and it hadn’t gotten him anywhere. He was going to let the boy go. This would all work itself out in the end. He wasn’t going to do anymore damage. Because he couldn’t even comprehend what more damage would look like. To Francois, to himself, to Anahi. He was just going to keep his distance in total.[/size][/blockquote]