parlez-vous or something like that | shale

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living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Alan knew absolutely nothing about tutoring. He didn’t know why they would choose him to do it, of all people. He didn’t know why they thought he could do it, or how they expected him to. It was obvious that he was the best in the class at French. Maybe that was because he didn’t have to worry about the spoken aspect of the language and he could just focus on the written part, but he knew more vocabulary and had better spelling than anyone else in the class. Apparently he couldn’t be good on his own, though. No, he had to help all the other people catch up to his level. Well, not all of them. Just the worst in the class. The way the teacher had explained it to him, he was supposed to work with Shale and help him understand the written aspects of the language. Apparently, (though it wasn’t like Alan could hear it) he spoke the language very well, but he couldn’t write it to save his life. Alan didn’t know how he was supposed to fix that, but the teacher was offering to pay him and he wasn’t going to say no to twenty dollars per hour session. On top of that, it would give Alan a reason to be out of the house more. And that was always good. He spent most of his time away from home if he could help it, but eventually wandering around the streets of Caroline grew to be sort of pointless. It was nice to have a reason to be out, finally. It would have been a lot easier to prepare for this if Alan had known Shale at all. They were in the same class, sure, but Alan spent most of his time working at his own pace in a corner, while everyone else did group activities to get used to wrapping their tongues around the foreign sounds. He didn’t know anyone in the class well, but Shale was one of those that he’d never contacted before. He hadn’t even really noticed that he’d been in the class. No, wait, scratch that; Alan could remember seeing him the first day and thinking him mildly attractive and then never paying attention to him again. Alan wasn’t one to get distracted by a pretty face. He was in school to learn, not to ogle strangers. He’d talked himself out of countless crushes that way. It was just logical to not think about people like that. And so he found himself in the library, waiting for this kid to show up. He hated meeting people. Once he knew them it was okay, but the first meeting was always difficult, because nobody knows how to react to someone they can’t talk to. He had his notebook with him, like always, so he could write to him, but that always made things go so slowly. It got old fast. He was irritated enough by the fact that he had gotten himself wrapped up in this with no clear way of going about it, and that was only aggravated by the fact that this kid he was supposed to be tutoring was ten minutes late. He was tempted to leave under the premise that Shale didn’t care enough to try to pass this class and so he wasn’t going to come at all, but he stayed anyway, deciding to do his own homework since he was there anyway. French class was okay because it taught him French words. But it could hardly be considered learning a language, because it focused on bare necessities. How to order food, how to buy clothes, how to describe your sister’s old and ugly brown dog. He was far more interested in the words that French had that English lacked. Those were never found in the textbooks, though, much to his dismay. What was found in his textbook was conjugation, and so he filled out worksheet after worksheet of verb conjugation, learning words that he already knew but had to continue to learn because of the pacing of the class. It was mind-numbing and dull, but it was better than sitting and doing nothing while waiting for someone who wasn’t going to show up.

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Notes: I hope this is long enough Tag: Shale Words: 710[/center]

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living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] -E, -es, -e, -ons, -ez, -ent. Again and again he copied the endings down, wondering if this repetition ever helped anyone do anything but work on their handwriting. Alan naturally had good retention. It took him only one or two times to have something memorized, and so worksheets like this were wasted on him. It just gave the teacher more papers to waste time grading, since it wasn’t as though there were mistakes to correct. Alan knew what he was doing. He wasn’t going to mess up, he knew these words just as well as he knew their English equivalents. It didn’t make sense for him to have to do all of this. The arrangement with his teacher to work around his disability was far more complicated than made sense. He was permitted to work at his own pace and teach himself the material and he could take the tests when he felt ready to, but he was expected to do all the same work that the class did, regardless of if he was already three tests ahead. It was frustrating. But they ‘didn’t want to make the other students think that being deaf makes you better than the rest of them,’ and so he was stuck doing the tedious work that was ages behind his actual progress. On the plus side, though, he never had to do presentations in front of the class. Not that he would’ve been able to. He finished eventually, starting to pack up. It didn’t take him long to do these assignments, it was just annoying on principle, to have to spend even five minutes doing such extensive work on things he knew already. But since Shale was now fifteen minutes late and he was done all his work, Alan figured he might as well just leave. That is, until Shale appeared in front of him. It was the movement that made him look up. Usually he wouldn’t pay attention to something like that, but as it happened so close to him, he couldn’t help it. And then he saw Shale sitting down and saying something, but he hadn’t looked up in time to be able to follow what it was he was saying. And so he didn’t know how to react, because he didn’t know what there was to react to. Shale paused in his speech for a moment, then apologized for being late, which Alan caught only because he was paying special attention. He couldn’t understand why he kept talking to him, though. Surely it had to be common knowledge that he couldn’t hear? He shook his head, pointing to his ear. I can’t hear you. How could it not be common knowledge? Did the class not ask about why he didn’t have to do the same things they did? What did they think of him, if they didn’t know? Certainly things would be much less complicated if someone had just explained? After pulling out the notebook he’d just put away moments before Shale finally appeared, he intended to start scribbling a note to him to explain what was going on, but he stopped before he even began, not knowing what on earth to say. This was why he hated being deaf so much. He never knew what everyone else knew because nobody sought him out to explain it to him. Everyone else was told things aloud, how was he supposed to know how far their knowledge extended? How could he try to explain something to someone when he had no way of knowing what other people had tried? Why did they expect him to be able to do this? But he felt like he had to try and say something, try to get Shale to understand what was going on. It’s just that everything sounded so stupid. I’m sorry, I Are Do you I can’t Where do you want to begin? It would be easier to just pretend like everything was normal and just get on with the...whatever this was. He still didn’t know how this was going to work, but they’d figure something out. Hopefully.

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Notes: meh Tag: Shale Words: 707[/center]

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living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] In the constant struggle to follow along with everyone else, Alan spent a lot of time watching people’s faces. Other people, those who had the benefit of hearing things, who could understand without watching lips form words, could look away and still know what was going on in the conversation. Alan, however, had what others might consider a staring problem, in that he didn’t let his gaze falter. For this reason, he was able to catch the moment of realization that flickered across Shale’s face, and that answered his question. Shale hadn’t known he was deaf. And so he must have had some other explanation, some way of justifying the way Alan was in class. He decided he didn’t want to know what that had been. He avoided reacting, continued pretending that he believed Shale had always known he was deaf. It was easier this way, less awkward. But he didn’t understand how he couldn’t have known. Surely it would’ve been obvious? The way he never flinched at the sound of the fire alarm during drills, or that he never started slightly when the bell rang like everyone else did? And if people didn’t pay enough attention to see his lack of reaction to things like that, one would think that the way he never spoke would be some indicator. Teachers never called on him or expected him to participate in discussions. He couldn’t even count the amount of times people in his classes would say something to him and he’d just miss it and then they’d give up. Was that not enough of a hint? Alan didn’t exactly want a big flashing sign above his head that screamed of his disability to the world, but it would’ve been nice for people to know and understand. As Shale read his note, Alan continued to watch him so that he knew when he reacted. When Shale just started talking again, he wondered briefly if he’d been mistaken in thinking that Shale now understood. Certainly it would’ve been more convenient for everyone involved if he would’ve just written a response? He caught what Shale said, of course, since he’d been paying attention, but it was so much easier to get a message off paper than through reading lips. He paused for a moment, biting his lip before leaning down again to write a response. I don’t really have a much better grasp on what I’m supposed to be doing than you do. They weren’t very thorough in explaining. And I wanted to ask you because I don’t know what you’re struggling with and I need an idea of where to start. He had debated for a while asking Shale to write back to him instead of speaking again, but he also didn’t want to be inconvenient. If Shale preferred speaking, and Alan could follow along easily enough, then that was fine. Or should be, at least. Things would be easier if everyone knew sign language. That was an outrageous request, of course, to expect everyone to work around his communication barrier. And anyways, he didn’t even like sign language. It was convenient, sure, but it singled him out as being different, and he hated that he had need for it. Knowing it didn’t really do him much good, either, since nobody else knew it. Therein lies the problem. Even at home, Natalie was the only one that took the time to try to communicate with him. Out of the nine other people in his family, she was the only one who knew any sign language at all, but most of the time she didn’t have time for him because she was too busy with the four younger kids. Natalie was a saint, she had to be, to be able to put up with practically raising five kids all by herself. And it must be terrible for her, Alan thought, for her to know that she couldn’t possibly move out of the house with clean conscious. She did everything around the house. She gave up a social life and a job and probably a future to make sure that her younger siblings wouldn’t starve to death or run out of clean clothes to wear. The fact that she even had time to learn to communicate with Alan was a shock. He didn’t know how she did it. Alan didn’t do nearly enough to thank her. When things got chaotic in the house, even though he didn’t have to put up with the noise, he’d escape out his bedroom window and smoke on the balcony, or he’d leave and go for a walk, but whatever he did, it wasn’t helpful or responsible and he didn’t do a very good job of being the second oldest in the house most of the time. Sometimes his three other older siblings would come back to help out, but more often than not they weren’t there and Natalie had to work alone. He knew he should’ve at least tried to do more, but he didn’t. He was too busy trying to avoid everyone else. And that brought him back here, in the library with Shale. Shale, someone who didn’t know sign language and wasn’t willing to try, just like seven of his siblings. Shale, who was going to rely on Alan’s ability to read lips instead of writing to him. Shale, who was expecting too much of him, the same way his teacher seemed to when she believed that this whole tutoring thing would go well.

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Notes: this post is bleh Tag: Shale Words: 931[/center]

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living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Professionals always said it was easier for those who were born deaf to adjust to their disability than it was for someone who became that way in life. Those who were born deaf were more likely to accept their lack of hearing with grace and live their lives almost normally, and do so sooner than their once-hearing counterparts. Without ever having heard sound, there was no way of knowing what they were missing, and so it was simpler to give it up. And then there was Alan, the natural exception to every rule. Alan, who, even after seventeen solid years without one of his senses, was still angry, was still ill-adjusted, and was still unwilling to accept what was wrong with him. It was unfair. Unfair that he never had a chance, unfair that there was no hope for the future because his condition was inoperable. He was stuck in silence for as long as he lived, and that was it. And it was a lot to take in. However, most people seemed to think that seventeen years should have been enough. Even back in elementary school, before he’d started refusing to see the school specialist, they had always been curious about why he reacted so badly, when other deaf students his age did not. The result of their wonderings was weeks of personality tests for Alan, which he took because he hadn’t yet grasped the concept of refusing authority. In the end, they decided that the negativity wasn’t simply directed at his disability. He was simply negative in general. (What a breakthrough. Alan could’ve told them that himself.) It made sense, though. Who says the effects of the attack on his mother could only target one aspect of him? Why only screw up his hearing when it could equally mess up his personality? Everyone in Caroline knew about the attack, it seemed, except Alan. The first several years of his life, he had no idea of the cause for being the way he was. No one bothered to explain to him, because no one really ever explained anything to him. It wasn’t until he was thirteen and breaking laws in an attempt to vent his frustration with everything that his sister had finally told him. In the end, that’s what made him leave the special education classes and integrate himself into able-bodied student society. He was tired of not getting all the same information as everyone else. If he’d felt isolated before, however, it was nothing compared to what life was like on the outside. No one took the effort to cross the communication barrier because they didn’t understand why they should have to. But they didn’t understand because they didn’t communicate. It was just another never ending cycle, exactly like everything else in Alan’s life seemed to be. It was unfair, and it made him even more bitter every time he remembered it. What was there to do about it, though? Everything was just against him. Not only was he born deaf because of the astronomical odds of someone being violently mugged in Caroline, but he lived in a house with meager income and even less affection. Science had shown that children develop problems when they aren’t properly nurtured, and it was no secret that his mother didn’t care for any of them at all. It wasn’t fair to blame her for the effects the mugging had caused him, but Alan did blame her for not taking care of him or his siblings, and for any problems that may have begun as a result of that. Yes, she needed to work; there was no denying that. Even Alan’s pessimism wasn’t strong enough to fight that fact. Without all the hours she put in, they’d have nothing at all. The lack of money almost justified his older siblings’ departure, in a way. With three less in the house, there was more food for the rest of them. But still. There was so much to be done around the house to keep everything functional and no one living there seemed willing to do it. A bad home life shaped his school life. Alan pushed himself into his studies because he needed something to devote himself to, something he could do even despite his disability holding him back. Where his younger siblings had favorite television shows or favorite bands, Alan had homework to do and extra credit to earn. It wasn’t so much that he enjoyed learning so terribly, but that he needed something in place of friends and media as a source of entertainment. As a result, he’d worked himself to almost the top of the class. Whatever he may or may not have lacked in brains, he made up in sheer hours and concentration dedicated to his work. It wasn’t enough. There was certainly no shock value in the idea that schoolwork was not a good substitute for social interaction, and he was still unhappy. He hated that his family--his neglecting mother and his eight insane siblings--were the only people he interacted with regularly, and so he did his best to avoid them. It was likely not the best response to the problem, he knew that, but he didn’t know how to bring about a change. The deafness was an isolator that could be both problem and solution. It allowed him to ignore his family with ease. If he was going to have to be alone, he might as well be completely cut off. So it all made him wonder why he was trying. Why was he here with Shale, interacting, trying to communicate, when he’d so long been perfecting the art of being alone? It didn’t make sense to him. Yet he was doing it anyways. Alan had been trying to figure out why during the time it took Shale to read his note. Shale was a slow reader, he noticed, but it didn’t bother him much. It gave him time to plan how he was going to approach this tutoring thing now that it was at hand and to think about everything that was wrong with the situation. Problem was, though, he let himself get distracted, so he wasn’t paying attention when Shale started talking again. It didn’t help that his eye was temporarily caught by the motion of Shale tapping his pencil against his paper, trying to point something out. I’m not sure you understand how this lip-reading thing works, Shale. I can’t look at whatever you’re pointing to while you’re speaking or I’ll miss whatever it is you’re trying to say. He caught only the last word--grammar--which didn’t help much, even if that was the most meaningful word in the sentence. Grammar was a broad subject. Asking for help with ‘grammar’ was just as bad as asking to be taught math or be told about history. Alan might have been bad at asking questions in this situation, but Shale was no better at answering them. This wasn’t going to go well, he could tell already. But just as Alan was starting to mentally write out his response to such a vague request, Shale had come around the table and clarified. Negatives. That, Alan could work with. He did his best to annotate Shale’s notes and worksheets with hints and rules that he thought could be useful to emphasize, but overall he was just trying to do something for the sake of doing it. He really had no idea what he was doing. He knew the language, sure, but teaching it was something else entirely. After he’d finished being thorough as he felt he possibly could be, he pushed them back over to Shale to look over. He decided at the last minute against asking Shale to either speak slower or start writing his responses down so that it’d be easier to follow along with what he was saying. However, he was sure this already had to be bad enough for Shale. Alan was fairly sure Shale was already a year older than most everyone else in the class, and the fact that he was failing again and had to stoop to the level of being tutored by someone younger than him, only to find that not only was the tutor younger, but they were also deaf and still much better at the language than he was...all of that was enough on his own, Alan was certain, without him asking favors when he could just pay better attention and achieve the same thing. Still, it frustrated him that it was difficult to communicate with Shale. The ability to understand each other was crucial in this sort of situation. If he still felt like he was missing something later, he’d have to change something, even if it was inconvenient for Shale.

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Notes: he never stops complaining omg half this stuff is hypocritical just omg Tag: Shale Words: 1475[/center]

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living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Alan had never struggled with the fact that he was attracted to boys, because in his mind, there wasn’t a problem. There was nothing with him, at least in that respect. He wasn’t so ignorant as to think that everyone else in the world wouldn’t have an issue with it, but he didn’t care much for what they thought. It was his life and he’d do what he wanted. There hadn’t been and wouldn’t be a big ‘coming out’ scene, because there was no one to tell. It wasn’t anyone’s business but his own, anyways. Nobody seemed to care about any other aspects of him, why should it matter to them if he was gay? The answer was that it didn’t, and so he never told anyone. At any rate, his sexual preference wasn’t really even relevant for him personally. It wasn’t like he was expecting a relationship anytime soon. And anyways, after he’d convinced himself that he could live without anyone else around, he found people to just be distractions. Looking at Shale and letting himself dwell on the fact that he was attractive wasn’t going to help Alan teach him better. Developing a friendship would just open up a thousand different opportunities for distraction, since they’d have other, more interesting things to spend their time on than doing French work. God forbid he ever have feelings for him--that’d be even worse, because he’d get all self-conscious and nervous around him and that would make their already difficult communication situation even more of a challenge. It was better this way, hardly knowing each other and likely never getting any closer. It would help, though, if Alan had a better idea of how Shale learned. Or if it was easier to communicate to him. Explaining things through writing didn’t seem to be working. He didn’t know if it was his inability to teach or Shale’s inability to learn, but one or both of those things was standing in the way and they weren’t going to make any progress. His suspicions were confirmed when Shale passed him a note back telling him that it wasn’t working. He took a deep breath, trying to figure out what else there was he could do. Looking back up at Shale, though, Alan noticed that he was already writing something else. After a closer look, he saw his lips moving, which he would’ve assumed was just him talking to himself as he wrote, had he not been writing so much slower than he was speaking. As he waited for Shale to realize that he was missing whatever was supposed to be going on at the moment, he looked back down at the note he’d wrote a moment ago. It wasn’t written on normal lined paper. Instead, he recognized the lines of different music staves, which he only knew because his elementary school teachers had insisted he participate in music class even though he was missing the big picture. He’d learned to read music, though, even though he’d never hear the notes that corresponded with them. He looked back up at Shale, who was still writing (he wrote almost as slowly as he read, Alan notice) and so he looked back at the note, this time noticing the misspelling of ‘explanations,’ (which he didn’t understand how he missed before, since the writing was so big). Once he looked up again, Shale was done writing, and Alan again saw the realization cross his face that Alan couldn’t hear whatever he was saying. Yet another note was written, asking for something--anything--to make this easier. The problem was, though, that he had no idea what else there was to do. Biting his lip again, he wrote another note. Do you have some sort of trouble reading? I wouldn’t ask but I feel like all things considered it’s pretty important to know.

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Notes: bleh Tag: Shale Words: 659[/center]

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living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Being pitied was nothing new for Alan. He spent the beginning of practically ever first conversation with someone explaining his disability, only to get something along the lines of ‘oh, that sucks’ as a response. Very astute. Yeah, it sucks. I know, I have to deal with it every day of my life. People were very good at pointing out the obvious and trying to pass it off as sympathy. But after seventeen years, Alan knew better. People don’t care that much. When people claim to feel sorry for you, it means they’re just thankful to not be in the same situation. ‘Oh, that sucks.’ Translation: ‘I’m really glad that it’s you and not me.’ Not that it mattered, though. He didn’t want or need their pity. He did the job perfectly well on his own. Regardless of how much time as he spent being told how terrible his condition must be, he spent infinitely more time feeling bad for himself and getting angry that things couldn’t just be easier. It was these feelings that drove him out into the streets and had him smashing windows and spray painting the sides of buildings and ultimately getting arrested at thirteen. The weeks he spent in the correctional facility didn’t teach him how to accept his disability. It taught him that he couldn’t show anyone how much it bothered him, and that if he was going to act on it, he just couldn’t get caught. Now, four years later, he dealt with his issues in silence, typically writing or taking a walk or just sitting inside his own head. And smoking. Lots of smoking. Lots of cigarettes. Most of the time he got them from Mark or Eric, but eventually his stash from them would dwindle down to nothing and he’d end up stealing them from his mother when she was at work. He didn’t feel particularly bad about this, considering even St. Natalie did the same thing. At any rate, when he got to the point where he needed cigarettes to deal with how shitty he felt about everything, stealing from his mother was the least of his worries. Self-pity and cigarettes. That was all his life was made up of, most of the time. And Alan couldn’t help it: after seventeen years, he’d grown to expect people to pity him. Not that it was desired or anything, but experience told him that it was more likely than not. But here he was with Shale, who was not only flatly not feeling bad for him, but giving him more than enough reason to pity Shale himself. There were so many things that required reading, the idea of being unable to was unthinkable. Alan had enough problems with feeling isolated because of being deaf. It always felt like people were keeping secrets from him. Without reading, though, the entire written world would be a series of secrets. He could empathize with how that must feel, but it had to be infinitely more frustrating for Shale to know that he could physically read, but it was difficult and took forever. At least Alan had the benefit of never having false hope that things would get better. It was obvious that Shale was uncomfortable talking about not being able to read, though. He started getting defensive instantly, and the acceleration in his speech made his lips increasingly more difficult to follow. ‘I’m not stupid’ became “weren’tfisIbefail’ and then he was completely lost. He looked back down at the note Shale had written, telling him to do whatever it took to get past the talking barrier, so he reached out his hand and rested his fingertips lightly on Shale’s throat, since sometimes feeling someone talk helped him make sense of the movement of their lips. It must have startled Shale, though, because he stopped talking. He motioned with his other hand for Shale to continue, which he did, though dramatically more slowly. It made the placement of his hand unnecessary, but he didn’t remove it. Necessary or not, he liked the feeling of sound. After Shale finished speaking, Alan bit his lip again, trying to figure something out. He felt almost responsible for Shale’s understanding of not only French, but writing and reading on the whole, considering that the way Shale said it made it sound like Alan himself was the only one to know about the issues he had with it. How he could go about fixing the problems, though, was beyond him at the moment. I’ll figure something out, if you’re still willing to try?

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Notes: meh i just want these two to be a couple omg Tag: Shale Words: 780[/center]

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living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Alan was, in a way, one of the most irresponsible people that he knew. Sure, he got all his school work done on time every day, managed to make it to the bus on time, found a way to do his homework without a computer or a desk or, really, even a clean surface in his house. He didn’t forget things often, rarely neglected to clean up after himself, and, on the whole, took care of himself to the best of himself to the best of his ability based on his means. Still, there was so much he lacked. He didn’t have anyone relying on him, but only because he wouldn’t have paid them the right attention if they were. It was impossible to miss the need for affection that shone through the eyes of his siblings, but he almost never took the time to fill their need. That was for someone else, someone who cared and didn’t have better things to do. If that someone didn’t exist, what was that to him? He couldn’t live his life catering to his siblings’ needs. He was extremely self-sufficient, practically raising himself and teaching himself and everything. And it came naturally, after a while, making him believe that everyone should be like this, should be able to take care of themselves, not needing anyone else. He’d see his siblings wanting, and he’d remember himself at their age and be certain that he could’ve taken care of himself, and so they should, too. That, or find someone else to help them, because he was not interested. He didn’t care about them, and why should he? They didn’t care about him, not even enough to learn how to talk to him. They didn’t love him, and how is anyone supposed to love a family that doesn’t love them back? Sometimes, on those rare occasions when he was feelings a bit more optimistic than usual, he would consider that that perhaps they just didn’t know how to express these things, since it wasn’t like they’d ever been shown, but that was a stretch, wishful thinking. He wanted to feel important, certainly, but had long since given up belief that that was possible. He was too bitter, he knew that. His entire outlook on life would have to chance if he was ever going to be different and start caring about people. And that wasn’t going to happen on its own, and since there wasn’t anyone to help him, it looked as though things would be staying the same. Alan wasn’t particularly happy with that idea--being stuck hopelessly self-centered and heartless? No thank you--but he also realized that there wasn’t much that he could do about it. So he let it happen. In the end, it wasn’t that Alan cared about Shale, or that he felt responsible for his success, or anything like that that made him so determined to help Shale past his issues reading. It wasn’t even the money he was being promised for his (which he wasn’t sure he even deserved, anyways). In the end, it was the empathy; the fact that finally he had someone to relate to, someone who knew just how much it sucks to have a giant wall stopping you from being able to communicate efficiently. He just needed to figure out what to do about it. Saying that he wasn’t frustrated by Shale’s willingness to give up so quickly would have been a lie. If, after his whole life of it being so hard to read, after telling someone who was willing to try to make it better, if that was the breaking point... Well, frankly, that was just a bit pathetic, in Alan’s opinion. Alan, in his deafness, couldn’t just stop trying to understand people because he was tired of it. He had to keep trying. And so did Shale. Alan just had to figure out how to make him see that. It was lucky, though, that he didn’t notice Shale talking after that, because that would have been even worse for his mood. It was better that he missed it, better that he didn’t know how Shale was feeling or what he was thinking and just keep his mind on trying to figure out how to make written words make sense to Shale. It was going to bother him until he found a solution, or, at the very least, something that was worth at least trying. The thought distracted him even as Shale was leaving, so even if Alan had been able to read lips as far away as the door was, he wouldn’t have been looking or paying enough attention to find meaning in the movement of Shale’s mouth. He missed the words of thanks completely, but it wasn’t like he expected them, considering the note they had just ended on. He made short work of clearing up his things and leaving, once Shale had exited the library. There was no reason to stick around now, and taking walks was something known to help him think. Alan nodded to acknowledge the librarian that waved at him from behind her desk as he left. She was the one who seemed to always be here, who had seen him in here doing countless reports and projects over the years, enough to recognize him by now, though he was fairly sure she couldn’t know more than his face. Considering how his family was, books weren’t the best idea at home, so it wasn’t like she’d have a checkout record for him. He didn’t even have a library card. Thoughts of a solution jumped unintelligently through his mind as he made his way through the streets, only sort-of heading in the direction of home. Nothing was clicking, though; how was he supposed to teach Shale to read and write without writing or speaking? Hell, he didn’t even know how hypothetically to teach people to read and write with the advantage of speech. He’d taught himself, there had been no real need for anyone to teach him and so he’d never known the words they say to get started. He reminded himself that Shale knew how to read, though, he just couldn’t make the words make sense. At least, that’s what Alan was getting out of the whole thing. Still. There had to be something he could do, though, right? Alan kept walking until after the skies darkened and all the street lamps came on. He told himself he couldn’t go home until after he figured this out, even thought that was hardly motivation, considering how much he really didn’t want to go home. Eventually, though, something hit him. They could both read music, couldn’t they? Shale had had the sheet music in his bag, he wouldn’t have had that if he couldn’t read it, right? That was the thought that carried him home, since he knew he really needed to eat something before he wrote this down and then went to bed so he could get a few hours of sleep before school in the morning. Most importantly of those three things, though, was that he needed to write down the code he was formulating in his mind. Believing there was a chance in the world of there being blank sheet music in the house would have been nothing short of deluding himself. He just hoped that there would be paper at all, and then he could put lines on it himself. That would have to suffice. Once he got home, he decided to skip the eating part and go straight to the code writing part. It didn’t take long, once he finally hunted down paper and a pen. He did his best to keep the lines straight without a ruler, since it had been too much to ask to find all three of those things. The most difficult part for him, honestly, had been remembering to write large enough for Shale to read easier. Once he was happy with it, he decided to enclose a message written on the staff, one that Shale would only get if he took the time to translate it. Same time, same place. The next day in French class, Alan, who usually got to class early due to the occupational hazard of having no friends to talk to in the hallways, put the papers on the desk he was almost sure was Shale’s before sitting down and starting on his work. He didn’t know when Shale came in, didn’t know if he would even look at the things on his desk, but he didn’t let himself look to find out. He’d find out later, same time, same place.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes:GOD HE'S SO COMPLAINY also the posts i write on my phone get really long. Tag: Shale Words: 1459 Links to the code thing: The program I used made me put rests in all the measures without notes so just pretend those aren't there because Alan wouldn't put them. And here's the other half. I didn't make the encoded message because doing something like that wouldn't work on the program. So just pretend. [/center]

[Deleted]

living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] When Alan was younger, just after he had cracked the next-to-impossible code that was the English alphabet and taught himself to get meaning from it, he asked his mother one day to take him to the library. It had taken him ages to figure out how to ask her, but eventually he decided on drawing a picture for her and looking at her pleadingly. There weren’t enough books to read in the house. Back then, there had been far more than there were now, because his older siblings were all more careful with things than the younger ones were at present, so they hadn’t completely destroyed all of them. But those got boring, once he memorized all the words. He wanted to expand his vocabulary, find out more. See more pictures and all the things that writing could describe about them. He’d tried reading the mail once, but he couldn’t make sense of anything. There were too many tiny words and not enough pictures. It was too much for a four year old deaf child to handle. And anyways, he’d got in a heap of trouble when his mother found him rooting through her bills. And it had taken Allyssa several moments to figure out what it was that her youngest child could possibly want from her. She had her socked feet propped up on a tattered footstool, cigarette in one hand and glass of whisky in the other. She’d never had much patience with children, and Alan was easily the most difficult, what with the deafness in the way. He was bright, certainly, but how does one discipline a child that can’t hear your yelling? She didn’t believe in hitting her kids, especially after she found out first hand what an effect physical violence can have on someone. She never knew how to deal with him, so for the most part she just let him do whatever he wanted. If he got hurt, then it was a lesson learned for him, and she’d just have to help him feel better. That was all. But she was much too tired, too busy, too sore to take him to the library. That was her excuse the first time and every time after. There were too many other things to do, and after work she felt so completely exhausted that it was almost difficult to stand long enough to pour herself a drink every evening. And so she’d shake her head and shoo him away with her hand, and she’d take another draw of her cigarette and let the smoke chase him off. Alan asked time and time again, determined to have an escort just once, just so he knew where the place was. Every other time, he could do it himself. He just needed to be shown once. But no one wanted to take him. Finding that his mother was a lost cause, he’d started on his older siblings, who were just as unhelpful. Finally, after weeks of toting the drawing around with him everywhere, he decided to just go out on his own and find the place once and for all. Needless to say, he became hopelessly lost. His four year old legs became more tired than he could tolerate, and eventually he gave up on his desperate search and collapsed in a stranger’s lawn, taking a nap to avoid confronting the fact that he hand no idea how he was going to get home. It was dark when he was woken up by the man who owned the house, who seemed horrified by the idea of finding a child asleep in his yard. With no way of telling the man where his home was and only the picture in his pockets, he found himself being taken to the police station, and it was hours before they realized where he belonged and took him there. His mother took him to the library the very next day, and he never got lost on the way again, no matter how many times he went on his own. He went there almost every day, when his siblings were at school and his mother was at work. He’d never liked being left alone, and if he could go to the library, he wouldn’t have to be anymore. And so it made sense, really, that the library felt more like home than the house he lived in did. It was quiet there; not that that affected him personally, since it was quiet everywhere, but the quiet was on purpose. In the library, he wasn’t missing anything, because no one was talking. No one was slamming doors or stomping around or screaming obscenities, and so he had no need to stay on his guard in case someone’s anger was directed at him and he wasn’t noticing because he couldn’t hear it. It was cleaner than home, it was usually warmer, and the lighting was better. There were more people, but in a bigger space, so that didn’t bother him. As a kid, he would usually take a book and curl up in a corner, but as he grew up, typically he migrated more towards the tables, specifically the one that he had sat at with Shale the previous day. And so, even in French class, not knowing whether or not Shale would even care about the code he’d written, not knowing whether he’d be interested enough to try reading the encrypted message, not knowing if he’d show up if he did understand, Alan knew that he’d go to the library anyway. Because it was better than being at home. Even after French was over, Alan didn’t look at Shale, out of fear of the wrong sort of reaction. He didn’t know what he expected or what he wanted or how those two compared, but he couldn’t bear to find out the truth. Not yet. He’d confront it later. And so he ducked out of French class, only thinking about his next class and the path he’d take to get there quickest. The rest of the day passed without event, save for the nervous feeling growing in his stomach. He didn’t honestly know what it was coming from. He didn’t know what he wanted to find when he got to the library. Didn’t even know why he cared so much. What was Shale to him? Maybe it was just pride in the code; it had been a clever bit of problem solving on his part, if he did say so himself. And--he couldn’t believe he was thinking this--but it didn’t help that Shale was enormously attractive. It felt so foreign, thinking of someone in terms of looks. But if he was completely honest with himself, that fact was a contributer to his desire to have things work out. If his code was successful in piquing Shale’s interest, it meant more time he could spend studying Shale’s face. And it’d look so innocent, like he was just trying to understand speech--which one one of the few perks of deafness. Alan wasn’t in any way one of those gay teenagers who believe their lives to be heinously tragic because ‘all the good ones are straight.’ Just because someone doesn’t go around with a scarf on their neck and another boy’s tongue in their mouth doesn’t mean they’re straight. The boys he passed in the halls every day didn’t look anything more than ordinary, didn’t appear to have any desire for male company. But some of them did, he was sure. After all, he blended in with the rest of them just fine. He wasn’t particularly interested in finding which of them it was, of course. But the thought reminded him that, if he should ever get to that state of desperate longing and hopelessness, he at least knew better than to believe for a minute that everyone who he thought was attractive was genuinely straight. Alan didn’t know what Shale preferred, but it didn’t matter. Alan wasn’t interested, refused to be interested, had never had justifiable reason to be interested. He just wanted to look, if anything. Not that any of that mattered if Shale didn’t show up that afternoon, however. Alan expected him to be late if he showed up at all, based on yesterday’s experience, but when his eyes drifted automatically toward his usual table as he stood in the doorway of the library, he saw Shale sitting there already. Feeling the strange nervousness unclench immediately, he went over and sat down across from Shale, setting his bag down beside his own chair. You came, Alan thought. And I feel bad for being surprised. He didn’t know what to do next, though. Even as proud as he was of his idea, seeing the key he had written there on the table struck him with how childish it seemed, and how stupid it looked all drown out the way it was. The idea of responding to Shale’s thanks and expressing his own gratitude for the music paper by writing the notes on the staves seemed silly. And so he hesitated for a moment before pulling a pen from his bag and writing back by drawing notes on one of the papers Shale had given him. It’s nothing. I just didn’t want to leave you to struggle without having done anything about it. Thank you for the paper. It wasn’t a particularly long message, but it took him a few moments to write it, since he had to keep looking up at the key to find the letter and note he needed. Shale would have to spend just as much time decoding it. It seemed like such a hassle, but if it helped, it had to be worth it, right? Alan didn’t know. If only his mind hadn’t been so preoccupied with what Shale would think of his idea, then maybe Alan could’ve taken the issue of explaining French class into consideration. He still had no better idea of how to do it today than the day before, and that was a problem, because that’s what they were here for, after all. So, French. What would help you? The negative part of them both writing back and forth was that Alan didn’t get his opportunity to watch Shale’s face so intently as he spoke. On the bright side, though, he was at perfect liberty to watch Shale when he wasn’t looking, when all his attention was being spent on the paper below him, completely oblivious to the way the boy across from him was staring. Maybe it was dangerous to think like that, but maybe he was tired of caring. He was allowed to have a crush every once in a while if he wanted. It wasn’t like anything would come of it, and if it did, so what? It was the expecting of something that wouldn’t happen that was a problem, not the actual happening. He told himself people were distractions from more important matters, but people will tell themselves anything to make the lonely feeling go away, and he was no exception. It wouldn’t be so bad to have someone. Someone who would listen to the words he wasn’t saying, who would know how to handle him on every occasion, regardless of his mood, someone who was willing to get through the communication barrier and care for him anyways. These were dangerous things to be yearning for when right across from him there sat a perfectly good-looking, age-appropriate boy who was doing just that, learning to write in a language Alan had made for the two of them. Could he have helped starting to like him a little? Alan didn’t know what Shale had done to start him thinking this way, but he was somehow both dying for it to stop and pleading for it not to. None of it made sense. It was completely illogical and he didn’t want to stand for it. And then he’d look at Shale again and find he didn’t mind.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: Longest post ever woo! Tag: Shale Words: 2030[/center]

[Deleted]

living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Alan hadn’t even started school the first time he fell in love. Or thought he did, at least. His name was Drew, and he was Eric’s boyfriend. Alan was three. Drew, who was sixteen, already had a tattoo of a dragon on his forearm and--best of all--he let Alan touch it. And then there was no going back. Even after Drew stopped coming over because he and Eric broke up, Alan would still go around with a marker and try to draw his own tattoos. At first, it was just a dragon like Drew had, but eventually he got tired of it not looking good enough, so he changed to things he could draw, namely birds that were really just little m’s, trees, and stick people. He would have expected Natalie to try and stop him (Natalie was always trying to make him stop doing fun things) but she didn’t. Evidently, she was busy with other things. And that suited him just fine. Eventually, he grew out of drawing tattoos on himself and found he was no longer in love with his brother’s ex. But when he was sixteen and being tattooed himself by Mark in the living room of his house, it reminded him of Drew again. There had never been a doubt in his mind that he liked boys, that had been obvious since he was a toddler. He realized it back then without knowing that society looked down on boys who liked boys even more than they looked down on tattoos. The music notes Mark had inked behind his ear, as well as being ironic because of his deafness, served as a reminder of the boy that had introduced him to both. And maybe it was an unconscious movement, or maybe he was remembering those times and reacting to the things he was feeling now that were familiar because of them, but his hand found it’s way to the small space behind his ear and he ran his fingertips over the tattoo, despite there not being much to feel, considering it was just ink. It took him a moment to realize what he was doing, at which point he pulled away quite suddenly. In hindsight, it would have been less noticeable had he just left his hand where it was. Shale wouldn’t know it signified anything. But Alan was too busy panicking, because he did not think this way. Shale was attractive. And he was being nice. But this was different than back then. That was...he was a child. Now he was older. Now, he knew better than to just grow completely obsessed with the first attractive boy he saw that was nice to him. Somehow, this argument wasn’t helping him feel better about anything, so he pushed it out of his mind and tried to get Really Determined to Crack The Code and Understand What Shale Was Saying, leaning over the piece of paper in front of him. H-e-l-p-? Y-o-u w-r-i-t-i-n-g a-l-l m-y-- He blinked several times as the paper was pulled out from in front of him by Shale, and his eyebrows furrowed in slight frustration. Because, of course, the sudden movement made him look up at the source, and looking at Shale again just made all the thoughts about boys and liking them and maybe possibly sort of almost liking Shale and it was frustrating. And even besides that, he really had wanted to know what the note had said, and being interrupted in trying to read it was pretty much just as annoying as when people started to talk too fast when they knew he was trying to read their lips and-- Then the paper was pushed back to him, with more notes across it than before. Alan simply took a slow breath, wondering how hard it could’ve possibly been for Shale to have asked first, or waited until he had read the first note before adding more. t-e-s-t-s. T-h-a-t w-o-u-l-d h-e-l-p. Not knowing how on earth to respond to that, he didn’t try and instead went on to read the follow up, which was more amusing. He didn’t usually employ the more physical method of understanding with anyone but his family, who seemed determined to talk quickly all the time. It didn’t make sense, considering they wouldn’t have learned it from their mother or anything, whose speech was always slow, which Alan typically pegged on both exhaustion and intoxication. Everyone else in the house had infinite more energy than she, however, and their mouths ran faster than the speed of light, or at least faster than the speed of his lip-reading ability. And so he found it was easier if he was touching them, to at least be able to feel the natural break between their words. He could break up the words in his head better that way. You were talking too fast. It’s easier to understand if I can feel the pauses between words. Otherwise it just all blends together. I’m sorry if it bothered you at all.

[/color][/u][/font]

Pushing the paper back to Shale, he bit his lip, forcing his gaze to stay on the table instead of drifting up to Shale’s face.

Sometime in the course of his literate history, Alan had read something about the nature of crushes and love and the science behind them. Brain chemicals and all that, but he didn’t remember much of it. He did distinctly remember--almost horrifyingly so--that seeing someone who was attractive caused the pupils to dilate, and the thought made him even more determined to not meet Shale’s eye. Not that he would notice something like that; people never paid that much attention. But Alan would know, and it would bother him that his body was daring to react that way, after all the effort he put in to shutting everyone out.

What was almost worse, though, was that there was no real way of knowing whether he was liking Shale for Shale or because he was the first person to reach out to him that had the genetic advantage of being completely gorgeous. If he had to feel like this, surely it would’ve been important to like the boy for who he was, yes? But it didn’t seem possible, really. Alan knew nothing about him, except that he had issues reading and that was causing him to fail French. In summary, there was nothing there to build a relationship off of. And so these feelings, the attraction, it was pointless.

Tell that to the chemicals in his brain. [/div]
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Notes: slaksgjlasjg feelings. I almost feel like I’m overdoing it, but I don’t even care because it is so cute. Tag: Shale Words: 1139[/center]

[Deleted]

living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] The things that were running through Alan’s mind right then--that’s why he didn’t like growing attached to people. Maybe it was still to early in their relationship to consider himself attached, but there was still something there, the haunting feeling of wanting to know more, wanting Shale to know more, wanting a friend after so long without one... It was like being ripped completely in two. One half was desperate to keep things the way they were. He had never gotten hurt this way, so why change? But then again, he’d never let anyone in enough to get hurt by them, either. So why was he so torn? Alan had always been bad at feelings. That sounded stupid, but so was the woman that kept keeping the children she couldn’t and wouldn’t care for. And neglect is terrible for the health of a child. Anyone with any psychology experience at all can tell you that. Combine that with whatever may or may not be wrong with his brain due to the prenatal attack, he might as well give up trying to be normal at all. Because it was never going to work. He was frustrated that he felt all these things and angry that there was no way to fix it and upset that he had to spend all his time being angry about everything and so he tried so hard to be apathetic. Just ignore everything, pretend nothing bothered him, and then he would have nothing to worry about. This is why he couldn’t have friends. More than the communication problems, he just didn’t know how to handle it emotionally. He didn’t know how to love or how to be loved even in a platonic love, much less a romantic relationship. And so he needed to stop liking Shale before it began. Before it really began, rather, because there was no denying that there was at least something, otherwise he would have nothing to be talking himself out of. Either way. He couldn’t do this emotionally. He was too busy feeling all these other things and trying so hard to keep them all tamed, under control. It didn’t always work, either, and it wasn’t good for people to be around when things started falling apart. He broke things. Hurt people. He felt bad about it afterwards, but in that moment, it was better to just stay away. Natalie learned that early on. The others each got their turn later. Now, the whole lot of them knew to just stay away when there was an uncharacteristic excess of noise coming from his room. He wasn’t okay, there was no reason to ask. Eventually he would get over it. Whatever he broke was his own problem. Everything in his room was his, and he was the one who would have to live without it. He had broken his bookshelf so many times. That was usually the first victim. The notes were still taking a bit to decode, but there were ways around it. Noticing the eighth rest--an apostrophe--for one, made it easy to realize that the second word was a contraction, and after realizing that the first and third letters were the same, he didn’t even need to find the other letters until the last word. And then it came easily. I didn’t mind. Well, that was at least a little relieving. Alan wasn’t going to even address the fact that it’d been sort of nice. By the time he had done that, Shale was writing again, so Alan took the time to try (again) to talk himself out of...whatever was going on in his mind. Find flaws, focus on them. It seemed harsh, but it was easier to deal with resentment than infatuation, wasn’t it? Problem was, what was there to pick at? Shale was perfect, really. Smooth skin and fluffy hair and gorgeous dark eyes and he was nice and interesting and he needed help and-- --and Alan could not have been worse at this. He ran a hand through his hair as he read the note, slightly irritated by how uncooperative his mind was being. Not sure how to respond, Alan read the note through twice before even considering writing back, but before he had time to start penning a reply, he noticed someone approach from the corner of his eye. The librarian was speaking to Shale, naturally; she had seen Alan signing with Natalie before, when she came to find him one day a few months ago, so if she hadn’t known in the years past that he had spent in the library, she knew by now that he was deaf. He watched her shift awkwardly, pushing up and adjusting her glasses while her other arm was wrapped across her body. She must have been talking before he looked up, but he got her message: they had to leave, the library was closing. What time was it, even? Libraries closed at stupid times, they always had. It made doing homework really inconvenient some days. But he had never been asked to leave before. Usually he stayed on top of the time, leaving a few moments before the librarians would want to lock up and leave themselves. More time must have passed than he realized. A thousand cliches about time passing quickly bounced through his mind, but he shut them up to the best of his ability as he stuffed the music paper Shale had given him into his bag. Once his bag was packed, he looked up at Shale, as though to ask What now? As much as he didn’t want to be all attached to people or anything, he also didn’t really want to just leave. There was so much more they could be talking about right now, since they had this easy way to communicate now. Time consumption notwithstanding, this was the simplest that a conversation had happened between him and anyone for...well, ever, really. At least since the last time he’d been with anyone fluent in sign language, and that was probably when he was about nine. Even Natalie still had to just spell out all the words using the alphabet. She was pretty fast at this, and she moved her mouth so he could read the words she was spelling, but he would have to spend time thinking of the the word’s spelling instead of the sign that was automatic anymore. This, though. Once he had this memorized, it could be just as simple as reading and writing English was. Regardless of whatever Shale wanted to do next, they had to leave the library, so he found himself migrating towards the doors, painfully aware of Shale by his side. Every step, there was Shale. Shale. Shale. Shale. Every step was a tiny piece of him minding a bit less.

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TEMPLATE BY OH SO CHARGASMIC ! @ CAUTION 2.0

Notes: Actually proud of this post omg what. It came so quickly I think this is the quickest I've ever written a post. Tag: Shale Words: 1149[/center]

[Deleted]

living a dark circumstance ,

[atrb=style, background: #373737; border: dashed #ffffff 4px; border-radius:50px 0px 50px 0px;] [atrb=border,0,true][atrb=style, border: dashed #ffffff 3px; width: 400px; height: 500px; float: left; padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 20px; padding-bottom: 25px; padding-top: 25px;] Leaving the library felt like running away. Alan was running away from Shale, away from friendship and communicating and people and his feelings and for a little while, he was happy with that. That was what he needed. He wanted to run away and leave it all in the library to be locked up for the night. He could deal with it later, tomorrow, a week from now. Sometime after he’d gotten his head on straight, when he could think again. The more he considered the idea of running away, the better it sounded. He could try to sort out Shale and his own feelings toward him later, but for now he needed to get away, go eat something and go sleep it off and somehow be magically fixed in the morning, without all the confusing relationship things to deal with. What were they to each other, anyway? Hardly friends. Friendships aren’t made through knowing one thing about each other, or through a code that makes it possible to talk. There had to be more than that, and at the moment they lacked it. But they had to be more than acquaintances, because it seemed abnormal for a label so simple. They had a code. Alan knew that Shale couldn’t read, and that was something he had never told anyone else. What was the in-between? Alan didn’t have words for it, but whatever it was, that had to be where they were. And Alan was running away from that, running away from the in-between thing that he had with Shale, and he refused to let himself think of anything different. It had to be bad in his mind, considering that he was not only running from the one person who he actually found himself not minding and running back home to hide. The fact that he was choosing home, preferring it to the mess he was running from. Not that Shale was a mess. Or having friends was a mess. Or the code. Or being to communicate. It was just...just... He didn’t even know. But he couldn’t face it until he could figure it out. Maybe that would be tomorrow or maybe it would be never. He just needed to leave. He thought he was a good distance away. Thought he was past the point of no return, where he wouldn’t be tempted to go back and Shale wouldn’t try to catch up with him. And then he felt a hand around his wrist, and he knew before he turned around, before Shale even said anything to him, that he couldn’t get away this easily. Alan nodded in response to Shale’s suggestion, glancing down at his wrist as Shale let go. He wasn’t used to people touching him, other than to get his attention. That’s what this was, too, he knew. But it felt different somehow, and part of him was disappointed when Shale let go. The feeling was ridiculous, of course. Boys couldn’t just walk down the street holding hands, particularly when they weren’t even friends. It was probably, like, some kind of repercussion for having been neglected as a kid. It was easy to blame that for his problems, so he ended up doing so quite a bit. It was nice to have a distraction when Shale started writing. Then Alan could just watch him try to get the words out while walking. It was admirable that Shale would try so hard to communicate with him, since Alan knew it was already difficult for Shale to write, even when he wasn’t trying to walk at the same time. The fact that Shale was asking about smoking just gave him something else to focus on, something to do with his hands...this would be an excellent compromise. He shook his head. No, he wouldn’t mind. Actually, it would probably be preferable. As soon as Shale had gotten a cigarette out for himself, Alan did the same. Thank God for Mark. Maybe he wasn’t around consistently, but at least he always came bearing cigarettes. That was the important thing. Feed the habit. He decided after a little while that it felt strange having Shale beside him as he was walking home. He didn’t bring people to his house. And, even if Shale wasn’t going to be going inside the house, it felt weird knowing that he’d see even the outside. It was only six, so his mother wouldn’t be home from work yet, so the kids would probably all still be running around screaming like they always were, and Shale would hear it and draw conclusions and it would just feel incredibly awkward. Taking a draw of his cigarette, Alan tried not to think about it. It wasn’t worth worrying about. He was still worrying about it. Honestly, it was one of those times where he honestly felt that everything would be made simpler if he could just hold a conversation with someone. He could try to explain away the mess that was his home life and maybe that would make him feel better about the whole thing. Or he could get to know Shale better and Shale could know him better and then maybe they’d reach the point where it didn’t matter what his family was like because Shale liked him regardless. Wishful thinking. Alan couldn’t say which he wanted more: for the walk to never end so he’d never have to go back home, or for it to be quick and painless so he could get away from Shale. It wasn’t so much Shale as a person that he wanted to be rid of, of course. It was just the sharp little jabs he kept feeling in his stomach every time he looked over at him, it was the burn that he still felt on his wrist where Shale had grabbed him, it was the twisted wish for something he couldn’t even begin to explain. He needed to get away from it so he could clear it from himself. And then there was the stupid part of him who didn’t want either of those things because it wanted to stop walking altogether and... He wasn’t going to let himself have thoughts like those. Not now. He just needed to go home. But this walk felt endless and it was difficult to mind because Shale was far too perfect. Could things get more confusing?

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Notes: This started off awesome and then turned terrible oh man. Tag: Shale Words: 1074[/center]