[ ??? ]

It’s not everyday the teen comes across a scene apparently so common amidst the inhabitants of this island. Grey hues lock with the body placed against the wall, the setting seemingly perfect to be that of a murder. Skepticism makes an eyebrow raise, if only slightly, since it’s widely known that appearances can be deceiving.

Silently, hands hidden in his pockets, the raven stands still and watches from a safe distance. It’s just a few moments later, when he’s about to give up, that ears catch a hint of a groan, and though that could also mean she’s hurt, it’s enough to set him walking in the other student’s direction. Concern is not his motivation, though; simply put, he’s bad at minding his own business.

He approaches the petite figure with serene pace and a questioning look in his eyes. Upon closer examination he notices the movements of her hands, motions only arousing his curiosity further, if not making the situation all the more peculiar. What an oddball.

“You okay?”

                 { ✘♟✘ }

Reading of the lips is
immediate

                                                    And of course she is okay,
                                                    fine, average, and any
                                                    remaining synonyms 
                                                    pertaining to the middle 
                                                    sector of melancholic
                                                    normality. Sigh, rendered
                                                    to a husk of a breath, is
                                                    pushed through lips and 
                                                    accompanied by off-hand
                                                    nod in slight (eyebrows
                                                    raised, lips pursed with
                                                    words still at the back of
                                                    her mind). Of course, one
                                                    would expect her to, at
                                                    this point, finish her
                                                    alphabet and cease
                                                    movement in hands, but 
                                                    repetition is comforting to
                                                    the whisp of a girl.

By this time, she would
be staring at him openly   
pebble-like eyes lazily
examining plausible threat.
Words heard beforehand
had left their mark in mind,
remaining at back and
nagging at her even as
morning routine when
sounds did slip out positioned
itself upon step four.

                                                    Perhaps, if she hadn’t left her
                                                    (new, thankfully) notebook in
                                                    her dorm, she would do
                                                    more than stare    attempt
                                                    to communicate properly,
                                                    maybe. But, for now,
                                                    content she would have to
                                                    be with subconsciously taking
                                                    note of body language and
                                                    expressions.