chapter 4

Chapter 4

OkHis eyes met Percy's in a shake. Leaping up from his seat, he backed away from the friendly nature that taunted him. For he knew Percy wasn't there, but rather a temptation beyond what he and himself agreed to. Stumbling back into the gym's hard door, Ronin glanced at Percy before pushing off the wall, listening as his fast feet echoed in the halls he urged to escape from.

Ronin held his pointer finger, which he'd bitten to a bleed, tightly in a fist he refused to open, for it had gone numb in what he feared yet wished the rest of would do—unable to feel the things that hit him, the feelings he'd never let show. Instead, they froze over, only about to be seen when dusted clean of the sprinkle of snow he counted as a wall, for that ice surely would never melt in the cold, uncomfortable skin he was trapped in.

For that same temptation had followed him into the final classes of the day, sitting in a distant seat as if it blended in. Ronin couldn't help but glance repetitively at its two-faced movements.

Ronin's figure rested over his desk in a tired gesture; his head lay on his forearms that crossed over the cold surface in a defensive demeanor. Percy's eyes fell upon his seemingly drained stature.

"There it was," Ronin convinced himself as he felt the environment change, for his eyes had hit Percy's in a stare. The feeling was different than before, for this feeling carried a warmth that doubted his assumption, a comfort that corrected his rejection.

Soon, the rest of the class had grown curious about his blank stare.

The boy in the back left was his acceptance, while the ones that surrounded him were his defense.

The figure beside him was most certainly his past, as well as the one that followed behind him.

Turning his gaze to the front of the room, his regrets gazed back at him. Their eyes were suffocating as he aborted to his page.

The words read as the thoughts began to accumulate throughout his head, for each paragraph captured a different question he'd had. Yet it never ended in an answer, for it was as if the text split into a blank box where he would have to answer the questions that spread across the page.

It instructed him to support his answer with doubt, for then more questions were created.

It was as if it were noted of the process in his head. For when he tried to answer, he would ask more questions until cluttered and smeared. That was his answer.His eyes met Percy's in a shake. Leaping up from his seat, he backed away from the friendly nature that taunted him. For he knew Percy wasn't there, but rather a temptation beyond what he and himself agreed to. Stumbling back into the gym's hard door, Ronin glanced at Percy before pushing off the wall, listening as his fast feet echoed in the halls he urged to escape from.

Ronin held his pointer finger, which he'd bitten to a bleed, tightly in a fist he refused to open, for it had gone numb in what he feared yet wished the rest of would do—unable to feel the things that hit him, the feelings he'd never let show. Instead, they froze over, only about to be seen when dusted clean of the sprinkle of snow he counted as a wall, for that ice surely would never melt in the cold, uncomfortable skin he was trapped in.

For that same temptation had followed him into the final classes of the day, sitting in a distant seat as if it blended in. Ronin couldn't help but glance repetitively at its two-faced movements.

Ronin's figure rested over his desk in a tired gesture; his head lay on his forearms that crossed over the cold surface in a defensive demeanor. Percy's eyes fell upon his seemingly drained stature.

"There it was," Ronin convinced himself as he felt the environment change, for his eyes had hit Percy's in a stare. The feeling was different than before, for this feeling carried a warmth that doubted his assumption, a comfort that corrected his rejection.

Soon, the rest of the class had grown curious about his blank stare. The boy in the back left of the classroom was his acceptance, while the ones that surrounded him were his defense. The figure beside him was most certainly his past, as well as the one that followed behind him.

Turning his gaze to the front of the room, his regrets gazed back at him. Their eyes were suffocating as he aborted to his page. The words read as the thoughts began to accumulate throughout his head, for each paragraph captured a different question he'd had. Yet it never ended in an answer, for it was as if the text split into a blank box where he would have to answer the questions that spread across the page. It instructed him to support his answer with doubt, for then more questions were created.