a poor man's therapy session. ernest. open.

[Anna]

ooc. Jump in (: I thought it was about time to roleplay with people I haven't yet.

--

It was so easy to get lost in a good book. With a beautiful, tattered book open on his lap, all that mattered was the way words were weaved together to form that image against his eyelids, the way his heart rose and fell with the protagonist's, how his pulse raced at cliffhangers -- nothing else.

Ernest Bruun always got emotionally attached to a good story. Reading was one of the few times that side of him came out -- usually his nerves stifled that emotional side of him, the one that made him smile too wide, or cry too hard. He always tried to keep his emotions under the radar, but for someone who felt emotions as deeply as Ernest, it was hard to hide.

Anyone watching him read could see the emotions carved on his face as he read. His eyebrows flew up in surprise, eyes widened and narrowed, lips smiled and frowned, gasps came from his throat. He got so wrapped up in a book that he forget himself, forgot he was Ernest Bruun.

At the moment, this was a very good thing. Lost in the pages of his book, he didn't have to think about how he'd just come from church, how he'd sat quietly the entire time, with his hands clasped, and how he'd skipped confessional. With the protagonist of his novel ecstatic, he could ignore his own guilt that he had chickened out of telling Father Charleston about everything that had gone on at Eddingborough. How his roommate had assaulted him, how he had kissed his new friend, how his mind spun with everything around him.

But his mind wasn't spinning now. He was at peace now.

"No!" he muttered excitedly around a gasp, urging the main character away from the anger that was now creeping over her. He flipped the page enthusiastically. "No, don't!"

[twiff]

Blaine York was determined to knock over an assignment in less then the time allocated. It was one of those easy, but intense ones that took forever to complete due to all the small, fiddley bits involved. Not usually one that got stressed about school work, Blaine had found himself waking up in a hot sweat over it, premonitions of unfinished papers being handed it. A strange nightmare, yes, but the pressure was intensified by the fact grades were split and averaged, and he didn’t (wouldn’t) let Peter down. Not if he could help it. And, lets face it, he’d sleep easier knowing that it was sitting, safely, in his folder complete.

He had started off well with his good intentions too. Books stacked around him, all the information neatly tagged with post-it’s, all waiting to be combined in the right order and transferred in Blaine’s painfully neat hand. His minute writing was etched on the beautiful, unlined pieces of paper in front of him. It almost looked as if his teachers would need a magnifying glass. And then, he’d fallen asleep. The relief at getting it started, and making headway relaxed him enough to quietly doze in his corner of the library, cute, really, resting his head on a book, mouth slightly parted.

He’d gotten a decent hour of sleep before he woke with a startled gasp, hearing words bounce off the walls of the institution. Grey eyes peered over the stack of books that had hidden him from view, noting the dark-haired boy was the only other in here within sight. At first, he was about to sink back into his hair, and continue with this paper, but then he saw the expressions moving freely across the others face, and the small noises of shock.

Blaine didn’t think he’d ever seen anyone get so caught up in a book before. A small grin tugged at the corner of his lips in amusement, not wanting to stare, but unable to tear his eyes away. His head, tilted to the side, hearing the words of protest, arguing against the inevitable that was about to happen in the book. And he couldn’t help himself. He had to interrupt, talk to this boy he hadn’t even noticed, or seen, around the school.

After all, he didn’t look like he’d molest Blaine without so much as an introduction, which seemed to happen quite frequently here.

“Good book?” He murmured across at the boy, friendly smile on his lips, eyebrow cocked in amusement.

((Punish me, I couldn't think of any better way to introduce the two. ))

[Anna]

ooc. Sorry it took me so long to get to this! I just kept forgetting xDD I'm such a dork that way.
Oh, and also, sorry for the lack of interaction. It's tough with Ernest -- Blaine'll just have to force conversation out of him

--

To be perfectly honest, the last thing Ernest wanted was to be interrupted. He had finally achieved a calm state of mind, and let himself sink lower and lower into the book held open on his lap. The moment that concentration was broken, he would be thrown back into the real world, and all the very real feelings that came with it.

Ernest was very guilty of escaping real life in favor of fantasy. He so often allowed the boundaries between his reality and dream life blur that he ought to be ashamed. But he couldn't bother with it, not when it was such an exceptional distraction from the hardships currently plaguing him.

So when the voice interrupted his stream of conscience, the book in his hands jumped as the noise startled him. It hit him sharply, that soft whisper in the absolutely silent library.

Oh, no. Ernest couldn't deal with strangers right now. Strangers were the worst, always causing him to overthink and become a victim to his nerves. It was like his anxiety around unfamiliar faces was an entire entity in itself, and Ernest was merely an unfortunate host to the forceful intruder.

"Yes," he said, not wanting to be rude. Hopefully if he was brief, the boy would just go away. He kept his eyes trained to his lap, allowing a darting glance toward the newcomer, unable to allow himself to be impolite. His mother always told him it was terribly rude not avoid eye contact. "It's .. yes, th-thank you, it's good."

[twiff]

Nervous. That’s the first word that came to Blaine’s head at the others words and tone. It was odd for a boy to be like that, most of them rambunctious and all too willing to take advantage of anything possible. Blaine himself was reserved, but the others withdrawal from eye contact (though he was desperately trying to maintain it) spoke deeper volumes. It was a good thing that Blaine was in the mood for a challenge, and nothing seemed like a bigger one then getting this boy to speak to him. At first though, he went back to his papers for a second – picking up the pen, twisting it between fingers and feeling the smooth plastic grind against slightly calloused fingers. He even wrote a cramped word or two.

And then he spoke.

“I’m Blaine York. I haven’t seen you around here.” He was friendly, uncomplicated, voice light and quiet. He was careful not to make any sudden moves either, in fear of making the mouse pick up his books and scurry quietly away. He said this with brief glances up, not making a big deal of talking, though he did try and keep a lookout for that dreadful librarian (shockingly, the other hadn’t gotten banned from the library.) He hummed quietly as he thought for the next word he was writing, before focusing on the boy across from him.

“So what’s your name?” Toothpaste smile beamed across.

[Anna]

Ernest's immediate thoughts weren't pleasant ones -- in fact, they were distinctly unpleasant. It wasn't often such mean spirited thoughts passed through the tall boy's mind, but as he listened to the stranger, he couldn't help but desperately wish he would just leave him alone.

Usually Ernest loved people. It was surprising, really, how much he enjoyed interacting with and learning about others. After all, someone as obviously ridden with anxiety whenever in the presence of others wasn't exactly the poster child for social butterfly. But the boy did like other people. Liked seeing good in others, and caring about them, and making them feel special.

But today -- gosh, today -- it was such poor timing.

He smiled weakly, hoping that his thoughts didn't show on his face. They probably did. Ernest's countenance had the annoying habit of vividly projecting all his inner emotions and thoughts for the world today. He was terrible at hiding anything.

The blinding smile Blaine offered was enough to get a sprinkling of light pink over Ernest's cheek bones, and he lowered his head slightly, as though that would distract from the fact.

"I'm Ernest Bruun," he said, fingers digging into the corners of his book, still waiting on his lap. "I -- I d-don't know why you wouldn't have seen me. I've been here for three years, after all, but I-I suppose I could be easy to miss."

He fell quiet again. Maybe if he didn't ask any questions in return, the boy would lose interest in conversation and go back to whatever it was he was doing before hand.

Oh, but Kida had wanted him to branch out. Honestly, Ernest thought that his younger friend was all he cared to have at Eddingborough -- juggling any more would send him over the edge into a nervous wreck. But for some reason, the blond seemed set on Ernest making a few more friends, and how disappointed would he be if he found out he'd passed up a perfectly good opportunity?

He'd seen Blaine around before. Ernest actually knew most people in his year -- it was hard not to, since he had gone to school with most of them his entire time at Eddingborough. He wouldn't be surprised if all the people he knew didn't know him in return, but that didn't bother him. He liked observing people more than interacting with them.

He searched his mind, landing quite easily on something. "You -- you go jogging, don't you? I've seen you. I think we're the only boys at this school who have seen the likes of five AM, actually."

A small, slightly pained smile was offered. Making conversation was hard. But Kida would be proud, at least.

[twiff]

Ernest was surprisingly easy to read – and if they had been positive emotions, Blaine would have found this charming. But, to be quite honest, the annoyance didn’t suit the others face and it grated on his nerves. He usually didn’t offer up conversation first, or bother socialising with people he would just forget, or be forgotten by, straight after school broke up. This was the reason why he never tended to branch out. He stuck to those he knew. This boy had looked friendly, uncomplicated and unusually, he’d been proven wrong.

Or had he?

Maybe the other was just shy and his timing (a library) wasn’t exactly perfect. The slight blush made him appear younger and finally that name seemed to drag his way from the others lips. He vaguely remembered the name, and the face, but couldn’t remember the connection completely. He’d only been here for half a year before this year, and wasn’t much for remembering people.

“I don’t pay attention to other people much.” He murmured, shrugging apologetically. “You’re hardly easy to miss though!” He kept smiling, just friendly. “Especially if you’re reading a book, it seems.”

The silence was heavy, but Blaine expected it. He expected it to continue and be ignored, so he turned his attention to the school books, continuing where he’d left off before – words flowing easily, but jerking when the voice came again.

Jogging?

He blushed at the memory of jogging. His recent run in the morning hadn’t turned out like he had expected. It had been distinctly heated – and private and something that he didn’t want to be thinking about while speaking to the other. The light sprinkling of pink settled on his cheeks perfectly, trying to keep the memory at bay before he answered. It was a nervous thought thinking someone else got up so early as well.

“It’s my kind of religion.” He answered, quietly, gauging the other for any nuances, wondering if he knew anything and was just baiting him. Blaine didn’t think so. “Out there, no one else. It’s a good time to think and unwind.” He hadn’t spoken to someone like this before. It was easy to trust Ernest. “Why are you up so early?”

[Anna]

Hardly easy to miss? If Ernest Bruun had one goal in life, it was to be easy to miss. It was hard for someone his height to blend in, but he did everything in his power to remain under the radar. Constantly, his shoulders were hunched over, his chin dropping to his chest as he navigated the hall with his eyes down. Maybe if he couldn't see the students, they wouldn't see him.

The comment made his blush deepen, probably extending from his cheekbones to his ears. "When I'm reading a book?" he repeated, attempting to seem oblivious, though he knew exactly what the boy was talking about. He hardly realized he did it anymore, not until later, when his muscles hurt from smiling or frowning along with the protagonist. "Yeah," he conceded with a small smile, "I guess so."

He shyly watched the boy as he considered the latter half of Ernest's comment. It was peculiar how his cheeks became faintly flushed at the mentioned to jogging, and Ernest wondered what he'd said to send blood rushing to the surface. Was he embarrassed that someone had noticed his morning excursions? But what was there to be embarrassed about?

If Ernest were braver, he would've posed the question, but he didn't want to be impolite. "Me? I don't know, really," he said. "I suppose I just don't like wasting my day. There are better things to do than sleep."

He didn't elaborate. 'Better things' to him might've been vastly different than Blaine's idea of the subject. He hardly guessed the boy would understand that he simply enjoyed spending the morning relaxing -- reading, writing, praying. Simple things that were so much more pleasant without his awful roommate to disturb him.