Thorn was a small woman, a young woman too. But even for her short stature, her proportions fit. She stood at five feet five inches and weighed in at one hundred and twenty-five pounds. Her waist was trim, her thighs and calves rounded with muscle, tight muscle. Her arms were slender, though not as muscular as her legs and waist, and her chest rather substantial. She could pass as nineteen or twenty, was really only eighteen.

Thorn happened to be a very pretty girl, as her brother was rather hansom, but neither of them had gotten their looks from their less-then-attractive parents. Her face is slightly oval and tanned just enough not to be pale, with a narrow set nose and wide silvery-gray eyes. Striking eyes. Her hair falls to her waist in many tight thin spiral curls to create a thick mass that if tangled would be impossible to brush. Right now, it’s pilled into a sloppy bun on top of her head. It’s naturally black but died blacker, so that when light catches it, it shines off other colors, blue, greens, and reds, like a raven’s feather. On her torso she’s wearing a black sports bra and a black muscle shirt and over her thighs are a pair of short black jogging shorts and over that a pair of semi-loose legged black sweatpants.

Her jogging shoes might not even be classified as shoes anymore but rather ratty little things that should have been replaced several months ago. They’re white with three black strips. She’s panting loudly but running almost entirely silently. A trail of sweat runs down from her hair line, beside her gray eye, down her cheek and drips off.

Her lips are moving as she counts in just above a breathy whisper.

“one, two, three,” she breaths in, “one two three,” she breaths out. It’s an ongoing breathing technique and a stress releife to keep from hyperventilating. It isn’t going well. She’d just been to see her parents at Michael’s request (or demand). They’re back on her case about being sent away to school again. Of course, by school they mean they’re trying to talk her into signing herself up for a mental home. She’d gotten angry, rushed home and changed into running clothes. Gotten so mad she could hardly breath. Started to sweat in mildly warm weather.

Now here she is, a mile from the apartment, no one knows where she is, in a semi-decent part of town, running to hard and beginning to hyperventilate again. Her knees get weak, her mind spins. She stops and puts a hand out on the brick wall beside her.

Closing her eyes, she feels as though she’s still moving, her breathing is coming in deep rasping gasps, gulps really. The wall is moving beneath her fingers. No. Her fingers are moving across the wall as she falls backwards, slowly at first, just tipping off balance, until gravity grabs her and pulls her quickly to the ground

One, two, three... one, two three...

Instead of running or jogging, Irving was walking. His fingers were in a slightly better condition, as were his ribs. They'd once been broken, but now they were healing up rather nicely... though, while his fingers were healing, he couldn't play his violin. He felt so lonely without it, and almost worthless without a beautiful tune to ease the pain away from the day.

Irving isn't dressed like a rich kid should dress. He has a pair of beige colored cargo pants and a black t-shirt. He has a sweater over the black t-shirt, though, that appears to be made of cashmere... and is white.

He'd been walking, just to get away from all the noise, and from her mother's boyfriend. She still had boyfriedns, behind her husband's back, even though she was married. And she and Katherine had been whoring it out, for lack of a better word.

Irving was just upset that he was included in this whole thing... like some sort of sex toy. He'd actually been treated as one today, too. Sixteen and still can't stand up for himself.

His black hair was blown around in the wind, and hung carelessly in his wide orange eyes, which seemed to be sort of sorrowful.

He wasn't so far from Thorn, really, and now, he was approaching her.

At a slightly faster pace, you could say Irving rushed to the fallen figure's side. Screw the fact that she was a girl, she could be hurt or something.

"Are you all right?" His voice is tiny, meek... shy, even. He'd been too slow to catch her, and now was worried she was hurt. He didn't like it when others hurt.

The impact with the ground didn’t seem to interfere much with hyperventilating pattern, or lack there of, and she was still wheezing away, lying on her back. She knows what to do in a situation like this, but has no means of doing it. She had no paper bag to breath into, no plastic bag, no oxygen mask without oxygen. And besides, she was too busy gasping for air that she couldn’t think staright about it.

People who hyperventilate breath into paper bags because when you breath in from such a contained area, your breathing in sixty percent carbon dioxide. Carbon dioxide makes you light headed and light headedness calms you to a normal breath pace. She knew all of this, when she wasn’t actually hyperventilating.

She was semi-aware that a boy was asking her if she was alright, but other then turning gray eyes on him, she didn’t respond. Her chest hurt, was caving in on her, suffocating her and her fingers clawed at her ribs. Slow down! Breath!

But she didn’t heed her own command. She didn’t slow her chest. Her gray eyes swooped around, looking for something to breath in and she rolled towards him on her stomach, pressing her cheek to the ground. Pulling her fingers into the sleeve of the sweat shirt, she covered her mouth with the sleeve. It might not be as effective but at least it was something. But she wasn’t doing well holding the sleeve over her mouth and nose.

Well, Irving was pretty much helpless in a situation like this, since he didn't hyperventilate, personally, and didn't know anyone that did. Thus, the reason why he got almost... nervous, and worried. She was hyperventilating...? and he didn't know what to do about it. He hated being helpless.

"Miss..." There was no sense in asking if she was all right, because she was obviously too busy breathing too hard to notice he was asking her.

He laid a gentle hand on her, because that was all he could do, in all honesty.

(Blah, my muse poofed. <_<)

It was enough.

The light weight of his hand seemed to bare down on her comfortably. Her body was trembling but her wheezing was slowing. Soon, she was sucking air in deeper but in far less intravals then was normal. She was under-ventilating. Better then hyperventilating for certain.

Finally, Thorn was able to calm herself and grew still for a moment. Her eyes were closed and her breathing grew steady and peaceful, though sweat still beaded her brow. People walked by. Stared. Didn’t stop. Whispered. Assholes.

But someone had stopped. Someone had asked if she was alright, laid a hand on her, called her miss. Obviously that someone had mistaken her age as a little older, as was often the case. She rolled her head over to face him.

He was as young as her. Younger. It’s no wonder he stopped, cared. Innocent youth. His hand rested on her shoulder, her lip trembled.

“Thank you.”

Irving’s eyes narrowed angrily when he glanced back, and saw people walking by, who didn’t stop to help. Who gawked and whispered, and went on with their life. “Yeah, that’s right, keep walking! I hope nobody helps you when you need it. Unless you plan to help, get on with your life and quit staring.” He might’ve been emotionally scarred, shy, and skittish, but he was still a punk teenager and was still allowed to tell people off. He hated when people stared, like some person was just a freaky lab experiment, and nothing more. If you’re not part of the solution, you’re part of the problem, after all.

His gaze softened when he looked back to Thorn, his expression seeming to calm, the worry from before fading out of his eyes when she started to breathe normally.

He didn’t take his small, fragile hand off her shoulder yet, though. Just in case… just in case… something happened.

…She was saying thank you? For what? Irving didn’t do anything, but he was willing to help, anyway. He shook his head, slightly, his mop of black, curly hair falling into his eyes, and shaking with his head.

“..Are you all right?” His voice was soft, almost melodious, but still tiny and shy.

(sorry for the long wait.)

Her eyebrows raised, mouth hanging stupidly open, when he began to yell at the passer-bys. The stupid people who made a five foot radius around them, avoiding too close contact with them. She’d learned that lesson long ago. Don’t depend on people. They’re ass holes.

She took the sleeve of the sweaty sweater away from her mouth. She was still panting heavily, but just as though she’d been running and decided to lay down rather then she’d had a hyperventilation attack. Her gray eyes closed, opened, blinked twice. Closed again.

Are you all right?

Shy. He was shy and soft spoken but the words made her eyes flutter back open. Tight smile made it obvious that it was forced and a slow nod.

“Almost.”

Her eyes closed again. His hand was on her shoulder. She knew it was a pointless gesture since he couldn’t do anything with a hand to the shoulder. But it made her feel good anyways.

“Thank you,” she said again.


(tis Kyle)

So sad that the smile had to be forced. But Irving recognized a forced smile when he saw one... he should know, he forced emotions all the time. But, for so many years of doing it, he could pull it off so convincingly that one would never think it was forced.

"Do you need to go to a hospital? Will you be okay to walk? Do you need help?" Those are all things he hoped someone would ask him if he ever ended up on the sidewalk like that.

His voice was still soft, and sort of slow, so she could understand him if she were only semi-conscious.

Then... this was something that surprised him.

In the smallest, softest voice, barely audible, he said something...

"I can help you..." he offered.

Her eyes fluttered opened again at his soft voice. Too many questions. Wait. She knew the answers.

Do you need to go to a hospital?

"Nnnno."

She had to think about that one.

Will you be okay to walk? Do you need help?

She didn't answer. Instead, she arched her shoulders and began to struggle to a sitting position, finally getting there and sighing, slowly. Yes. She could sit. So she's prooven that much but can she walk? Of course she knows she can. She's done this before, hyperventilated then got up and walked home alone, unsteadily of course, but she'd made it.

Then I can help you...

Such a sweet, shy, little...hm. His shyness made her think of him as a little boy, though he wasn't much younger then herself. It was funny how when you've gotten yourself out into the world and learned how harsh it can be, that you meet someone who isn't harsh and you think of them as young.

"Thank you." No...That was the wrong answer. But she was thankful. "Yes, please."

I think the reason she thought of him as young is because people generally group young with innocence... and because Irving was nice, and soft-spoken, and shy... people applied innocence to him... therefore thinking him young. That much was understandable.

Okay, no hospital...

A gentle sigh escaped his lips... he could've helped her to sit up... but damn, she had her pride. He just wanted to help, though...

"All right. Can you stand for me, or do you need help with that, too?"

"mm."

What was that?

"I can stand."

Thorn rolled to the side until she was on her hands and knees, sat up to her knees, and wrapped an arm around her chest. Her lungs burned, her throat was sore from trying to force in air that just wouldn't go down the windpipe. Slowly she got to her feet, a whopping five three. Yeah, the weather is nice down here...

There. She's prooven she can stand. And even take a few steps alone in the wrong direction of her house. She took a few steps towards the direction she'd been running in. Incountering this boy and her own drastic situation had made her forget exactly why she'd hyperventilated in the first place.

She turned to look at him. look. I can walk too. But the fingers flexing by her side, then rising out slowly towards him for suporrt said 'I can walk, but easier so with your help.'

He stood, as well, careful not to get too close by her side, if she didn't want his help... but careful to stay close enough where, if she fell, he could easily catch her.

It was okay that she was only five foot five. That was tall for a woman. Five foot three is the average height for a woman, you know. Besides... Irving was no taller, or no shorter than she was. He stood at an exact and perfect five foot five as well.

He wasn't going anywhere in particular, either. He had time, and he could go in any direction she wanted him to. He'd been out here to get away from home, and as long as he wasn't going back there, he was perfectly fine.

He took a few steps, going easily by her side now...

"You can walk, but you still need help?"

She frowned, closeeyes ag exhasted.

"Yeah."

She opened her eyes, angry with herself, as was usual...very usual, that she was tired. Jogging a black and a half should NOT have made her so tired. And she said so outloud, groaning. She said so but it sounded like a weak attempt. Like when your in an argument with someone and you want to argue because you just feel like being angry but your argument is really weak. This was how she sounded. She was mad at herself for something she knew she shouldn't be.

Running shouldn't tire her. Hyperventilating would though.

"You don't have to help." She dropped her hand now. "I don't want to bother."

What if he had plans, and she was being a distraction? just a few blocks to her apartment. She could make it.

He shook his head, slightly. Sad that she had to be angry with herself. No, it shouldn't have tired her, but did that matter to Irving? Not really. All he cared about was that she'd be all right. He worried that she wouldn't make it, and nobody would help her then. He'd help now... prevent that from happening.

"Not a bother... you need help. Let me."

Just a helping hand, Thorn. Won't hurt you. He tried to show that by slowly offering his hand. A kind of, 'if you want my help, you can have it' kind of thing, as to not scare her or something.

It's funny. He's the timid, shy boy. She's never been a shy girl, distracted and depressed maybe, but never shy. But now he seemed to be treating her like a timid deer that might dart at any given moment. She made a smile appear on her lips, but it didn't look much like a smile and felt like a strain on her cheeks.

Her hand raised and fingers landed in his hand with finality. Well, now that she's taken his help, she can't really take it back. Not. Thorn's one of those girls, if she doesn't want to deal with you she won't.

"Thank you."

Again...she has a lot to be thankful about.

He wanted to say that he'd do the same for anybody... but really, that wouldn't actually be true. He only went out of his way to help someone if they really, really needed it. In this case, Irving thought she needed it.

"Not a problem. Looks like you could use the help."

He's curious to know whether she'll allow him to put an arm over her shoulder to both to help steady her walk and make sure she didn't fall. So he asked just that, and explained why.

She hasn't got a phobia of being touched as some people do so she won't mind being touched. But being suported she's got issuse with. She's strong enough not to need help. Not really. But she was raised with the feeling that she had to be strong enough to suport himself.

"No."

Not firm or harsh. She just said no. Her brother would have laughed if she'd accepted. 'see there Rosey. Your always going to be depending on someone. Weak link.'

But she kept his hand, holding tight and using it for suport. He was better for suport then the walls.

"I'm Thorn." Rose really but he doesn't need to know that.

If she didn't need his help, he understood. He let her keep his hand, and went along at a pace safe for Thorn. He still had to make sure she wouldn't fall. He didn't want her to.

"Nice to meet you... Thorn..."

He paused to think a moment. Did he want to offer his name? Well, why shouldn't he?

"I'm Irving."

Yes, go ahead and laugh.

Why laugh? Her name was Rosey Abigail. That's not a very pretty one eaither. So she lies about it. At least until she stops being lazy and changes it legally. But Irving was a little strange. She cocked an eyebrow at him and smiled a little. This one was genuin.

"Irving." She nodded. "How'd you..." Get landed with a name like that? She could be nicer then that. "It's nice to meet you too." A little laugh and the smiles gone. "Really good to meet you. Thanks."

Again.

At least being named Rosey was better than being named after an oil company. That's right... oil company... or gas company. There were signs with the name Irving printed over them in big, capital letters.

He wouldn't mind if she asked how he got landed with a name like that. He was used to it.

He didn't ask what she was going to say, though.

"Could've been better if we met on different circumstances, though. And you don't have to thank me."

"I don't have to do anything"

Touchy subject with her. Don't ask.

"But I want to. Everyone else would have just..." left me. And then i wouldn't have calmed enough to think about what I'm suposed to do and i would have choked on no air and...

"It would have been better under different circumstances," she agreed. But would Irving have talked to a woman if she hadn't needed his help? Therefore they probably never would have met unless for this circumstance.

Irving didn't press the subject further. He didn't feel the need to.

"It's okay, really. Stupid bastards would've just left you there, I know." And there was absolutely no denying it.

No, he wouldn't have talked to her had she not needed help. Never. And it's true that they would've never met otherwise.

"How far to your destination..?"

She stopped at his question. Her destination. She breathed in deeply and slowly, her shoulders rising with the intake.

"I really don't...I guess I should go home."

She turned suddenly, slowly. She looked at the other direction.

"What about you?" She asked without looking at him. "Where're you going to?"

"Oh..wherever you want to go, I'll take you." Now, his voice was a bit less shy, but still soft... Not so tiny, either.

His face fell at the question, almost all at once.

"Nowhere. At all."

"Really?"

She liked home almost as much as he did. but for very different reasons. He didn't go home because someone was there, his mother and sister. She didn't because no one was there. When alone, she dwells on her...history. Not a good history.

She watched his face fall and her eyebrows knitted into an expression that screamed 'i'm so sorry'.

"I'm...sorry." What time was it, a quick check of her wrist told her still early in the evening. "Want dinner? It's that least I can do." For helping. She supressed saying thanks yet again. "At the diner?" She really didn't have the money to toss around like that but he'd helped her, and he didn't know that.

Irving had the money. His family was rich, after all... and he couldn't just not steal money from them (or at least Katherine and Aviva) when they didn't expect it. Besides, what's a few dollars to miss when you have millions? He hadn't been caught yet.

"Don't worry about it." He shrugged it off.

"'N yeah, I guess that sounds good. I can pay for it, too."

There was nothing wrong with that.

What confused her was what about her asking if he had somewhere to go to had upset him. She'd not meant to but it seemed like such an idle question. Conversational.

She promptly turned her back on the direction of her apartment when he agreed. Maybe too fast. She tripped on her scuzzy shoes and tipped forward, only catching her balance because she could lean on his hand. Sweaty. She shouldn't go to a restraunt so smelly and scummy looking in a dead sweater, sweat pants, and shoes with holes. She might embarass him.

But she wasn't going back to the empty apartment.

"No no. I'll pay. I'm thanking you."

He held onto her hand tightly. Almost too tightly. He wouldn't let her fall. Not again. He was determined not to.

He almost frowned, but stopped himself. "No, really. I wanna. No sense in thanking me like that. Just knowing you're all right is good enough for me."

Read: I'd hate to see what would have happened if I weren't there to help you.

Lol...Read: I would've kicked the buucket and eventually someone would come along with a morbid sense of humor (*cough* Verkur *cough*) and poked me with a stick.

She frowned. This really wasn't fair. He helped and and now wanted to pay for a dinner too? It wouldn't be fair to him and she'd feel like a shmuck. She shook her head.

"How about fifty-fifty?"

Even that makes her feel like a shmuck. She realized she'd have to go back to the apartment anyways for moeny, might as well change.

"Where? I'll have to meet you there. I've gotta," she hooked a thumb over her shoulder, wobbled, straightened.

He didn't want her to feel like a shmuck, honestly. He was trying to make her feel better, actually... by going to dinner with her. This was all very silly, wasn't it.

"Sounds good to me."

He frowned too. (My do those two frown a lot.) "Will you be all right, or do you need me to walk you... home?"

They certinally seem to. Frown a lot that is. If they arn't careful they're going to get premature wrinkles. At any rate, she shrugged this time instead of frowning. Did she want him to walk her?

She nodded.

"Walk me...but..."

Another shrug. She wouldn't say that. It's rude. 'don't come in. I want your help but I don't want you in my home.' How rude. She turned towards her apartment.

"It's only a black and a half this way."

She should've said that. Irving would completely understand. In fact, that seemed to be something he would say. Except, for different reasons. He wouldn't want her to come into his home because he hated his home, and the people in it. He wouldn't want to subject her to that at all.

Besides, he was used to walking in when the woman in the house were having rough sex. It happened almost all the time. But he wasn't sure she would be used to that.

But anyway.

"All right." He nodded. "I'll leave you to your home when we get there, then. Wouldn't want to intrude... or anything."

She blushed at his announcement. She wasn’t sure if he was just saying so because he didn’t want to go in or because she’d been painfully obvious about what she was going to say. At any rate, it was what she wanted so she didn’t argue.

“Ok.”

It took longer then it normally would to get to the building because she felt weak. She entered and returned not long after wearing low blue jeans, flat black sandals that wrapped around her ankles, and a long sleeved black shirt that hung to exactly the top of the pants. Her hair had been redone back into the same careless bun. She looked a little better then when she’d gone in, walked steadier, sure of herself now.

“Alright. Where to?”

Irving didn't notice that she blushed. And if he did, he didn't say anything about it. He simply said that not to intrude, or to be rude. He didn't like to invite himself into other people's homes, you see.

He walked alongside her until she could make it by herself, and then patiently waited, looking distantly at the street, seeming to be zoned out...or perhaps trapped in his thoughts. I guess she's nice... Irving shrugged inwardly...Better than going home at any rate. But I mean... I don't know, what if she's just like Katherine? What if this is just another stupid trick? What if... At that point, she returned, and he was knocked out of his thoughts.But it barely showed on his face... even if he had been a bit startled.

"'Ow about... Monroe's?" He asked, looking over her, and inwardly asking himself if she looked okay enough to walk.

He was such a worrier.

She did look ok to walk, if just only. But maybe it was that she’d washed her face of dirty sweat and smoothed all the hassled friz out of her hair. But whatever, she seemed to look better. And she didn’t hold out her hand for help, so she must be better. Or she’s simply proving she can walk alone. She’s so self-conciouse and that little incident made her look like the crazy git her parents said she was.

“Monroe’s sounds ok.”

Perfect actually. It wasn’t too expensive and she was so used to being there, once having worked there a long time ago. She fidgeted with the keys, a ring with five keys, that hung from her back pocket. Looked at a red, old Camaro muscle car that was parked on the curb, shook her head, and began walking in the direction of Monroes. She’s good enough to walk, maybe not enough to drive yet.

It was good, in a sort of odd way, that she thought herself not well enough to drive just yet. Irving didn't like cars. He felt uncomfortable, and very trapped in them. Especially when in a car with a woman. It's another one of his silly... things, about him.

"'kay."

A simple nod of the head. Irving didn't ask this time if she needed help, because she looked okay, for now.

(blaaaaah. Crappy post. Mesorries.)

She smiled at him. It was a determined sort of smile. The sort of smile that someone who doesn't get out much or doesn't have many friends uses. In her case, she doesn't have many friends. She doesn't trust people enough. She tucked her fingers into her back pockets as they walked. The teenage clothing and her hair tied up made her look closer to her eighteen years then the presumed early twenties that she usually tried for. The no make up put her at even younger.

"Sooo..."

She sucked her upper lip between her teeth, bit, released.

"Irving."

Test of the name. Smile. It was cute. Abnormal. But cute. She wondered who named him, was smart enough not to inquire. She'd never seen the 'irving' signs. Didn't know it might be embarassing.

"I don't usually do that."

Blush. Embarassed.

There was a slightly awkward half-smile trying desperately to make its way to his lips, but looked rather... awkward. He stopped trying to put it there... it might be painfully obvious that he doesn't smile a lot. He knew how to fake smiles perfectly, sure, but naturally it just seemed... fake. It's a weird concept, I know.

"Heh. Well..."

he paused for a moment. Tried to think.

"I'd certainly hope not."

Small, tiny, measly little smile.

Now that she looks as old as she is, it looks less like little kid with his big sister, and more like two friends about the same age. And height.

A soft sigh and faint smile was her reaction. But the smile was only a flicker. Then it was gone. Then it was back again, genuine and accompanied by a single note of breathy laughter.

"No. That wouldn't be good would it."

Her eyes softened. Not a usually look for Thorn but very becoming. It was a more innocent look then what she usually wore, bringing out the real person behinde the mask. It suited her face, her guestures.

She must have noticed because her eyes hardened several deciples into unreadable pools, not hard...just unreadable. Her face hardened under a mask that said 'I can take on any tough guy as well as any other guy could.' Not that the look was really important right now because Irving was certinally not one of those guys that thought he was tough and walked around hitting on and challenging woman. Not at all.

But she couldn't let her real self show. It's like a porkipine (sp). Untouchable on the outside. But if it rolls over it's soft belly is exposed to the predators.

Most of the time, Irving wasn't well protected from the world. He should have learned to be, but in all honesty, he really wasn't. He couldn't trust anyone, and though he tried not to be vulnerable, he was very muchly so. But along with that vulnerability came a lot of hatred for the world. A lot of hatred towards women. A lot of skittishness, and shyness.

"Certainly not. And, unfortunately, there aren't a lot of people around who'd help." That last sentence was said with a hint of regret, and almost... hate. But the tone quickly brushed away.

(Agh, short post. Sorry.)