Dance For Me PV: Ruka Tân Locked

@Persephone Barret

Mondays always felt busy.

After relatively eventless weekends like it had been the case this time, Ruka was always glad to get himself back into classes and some Fire Dance before and after. While the approaching exam season had kept him vaguely busy with his studies, he found that he still had quite a lot of time on his hands outside of his clean cut schedule. The routine was helpful, sure, but the fact that he was strangely unaware of how to do anything without a purpose that wasn't just his own enjoyment made him feel strangely uneasy each time he found himself with excess time. Still, he couldn't plan out every minute of his day exactly, and he did feel like having at least come up with a schedule he was able to stick to was a big achievement - and improvement - already.

So after eventless weekends, Mondays returned a semblance of control to Ruka that he desperately needed in order to keep his most unhealthy habits at bay, such as not showing up to meal times, slacking in his studies and most of all that insistent tapping and counting that clouded his mind with bouts of anxiety, made him bite his own lip raw and bloody. He hadn't picked it up again, not since his last encounter with Flash, since he'd seen that unsettling smile on the other boy's face, had perceived the words he spoke as a threat to be heeded. While still filled with worry about Flash's intentions, Ruka had dropped all his anxiety in favour of working at a possible plan; He wasn't going to let harm come to someone he cared about, no matter the cost.

Mondays, however, were not for the scheming of precautionary plans of attack.

No, the start of the week was always pleasantly accentuated with two visits to the Rehearsal Room. His morning practice had gone smoothly, had put him in a great mood that had strengthened his concentration during classes and heightened his appetite during meal times. There was not much, he believed, that could have possibly destroyed his positivity on that particular day.

So after classes, Ruka had gone to his dorm room to change into his all black fire retardant outfit - courtesy of Jack's thoughtful mom - and grab his messenger bag - the jar of Burn Healing Paste carefully tucked inside - as well as some torches before he made his way to the fourth floor to finish his day just as well as it had started. He had an upbeat routine in mind to be able to get out any excess energy he had accumulated throughout the day. His legs and arms had grown restless, fidgety even, from sitting around in class all day, and he felt like they were screaming for the opportunity to really move again.

Ruka was happy to provide that opportunity.

With a bounce in his step and a lively light in his eyes, Ruka opened the door to the Rehearsal Room and immediately twirled one of his torches above his head upon entering. An airy laugh escaped him as he did so, his feet moving easily to match the twirl of his torch. Without paying much attention to his surroundings, Ruka kicked off his meticulously clean grey sneakers and carefully pushed them against the wall as he usually did. The routine had started to ingrain itself in him so much that he could have done it blindly.

It was only when he put his torches - four of them - on the ground to start preparing for the actual practice, that he caught a glimpse of something that wasn't usually there at this time.
Ruka had picked his times for practice with the utmost care; There was an hour or so before breakfast time where everyone else seemed to either still be sleeping or still getting ready for classes, so it left the Rehearsal Room blissfully empty. The same held true for a good hour or two in the afternoon, where everyone seemed to be busy catching up with friends and doing some left over homework or meeting up with study groups.

He liked to have the room all to himself, enjoyed the solitude, the peace. Of course there was also the matter of the fact that it was less dangerous to wield flaming torches in an empty room, rather than around other people who had no real idea of how to behave around fire, but Ruka had to admit to painfully little care about the well being of the majority of his fellow students.

So the fact that there was something - no, someone - sat against the wall, blending into the shadows like they belonged right there, caught Ruka so off guard he needed to blink a few times to make sure he wasn't just imagining it.

"Are you rehearsing how to be creepy?" he asked, a small smile tugging at his lips as he abandoned his torched for a moment to approach Persephone instead. He didn't think he'd ever been alone in a room with her, and he had to admit that he had never had the desire to be so either. Whenever they had met before, he was unable to shake the thought that the way she was looking at him matched the expression of someone who was only waiting for the right opportunity to step on a vaguely annoying bug. He could almost imagine the squelching sound of the sole of a giant boot coming down on him when he least expected it to.

"Or did you just think this was a good place for brooding?"

@Ruka Tân

As soon as Ruka twirled through the door, dressed in midnight black from top to bottom and carrying four torches with an inexplicable joyous aura, a near-invisible smile became engrained on Persephone’s lips. From the short distance between them, his exact expression was unreadable, though she could see that lustrous shimmer in those eyes through the back of his head, a similar tint to her own. Misery was a long-forgotten vice; he gamboled for a few ignorantly blissful instants before halting abruptly, realizing the irregular presence in the Rehearsal Room. It wasn’t as though this was her regular den, regardless of the architecture that sang, nor had Ruka likely predicted time alone with his ‘attacker’, the reaction was entirely plausible and truthfully expected. It was also, however, rather amusing. Eloquence was not his specialty.

The grin on her face barely breached the wall of exhaustion that composed it; looking at Persy, it was obvious that sleep had been regarded as unnecessary. Hair that was usually curly, the result of proper treatment and stylistic habits, was instead still in its two French braids down the back of her head, forsaken strands dangling out. Underneath her eyes were the shadows of a darkened forest, and the blonde’s complexion had almost whitened, a walking corpse. Still, the energy was within, and it was present in her gaze, in that near lively shake of her head, the entertainment of the evening beginning with disappointment. Even the dead had taste, exquisite taste at that.

Maybe he would persuade himself that appearance was the work of a dreaded Monday, a typical destruction in the minds of a reckless child, harnessing the weekend for exhausting plans that involved excitement and fun. People would always flout what they didn’t want to accept, live in the delight of pretending the poetry engraved in her skin was that of an innocent child. Thinking this to herself and not in response to the words that had tumbled from his mouth with a certain spite, Persephone laughed dryly. Fun, excitement, sure. Running incessantly, not only physically with the sun, but mentally from the looming monster around the nearest corner, lurking in the closest alleyway.

“I don’t need much rehearsal for creepiness, I’m fairly sure I can induce fear without much practice. Not that I need to, of course.” Even her voice sounded weary, slightly hollower than instances of their other meetings. Regardless, it held its same confidence near and dear, a cord of life support. There was no doubt within it, no dislike, no resentment that shook in the core of her neglected soul, just typical arrogance, and a snake-like conversationalist tone. “If I wanted to brood, I would do it somewhere it would actually be useful. Rude of you to assume this isn’t just how I look.” Another smile, dark and fitting his description; proving his point, perhaps. Purposely, maybe. Play the ego of those without and watch them fall into its trenches.

She broke away from his eyes, looking back at the torches he’d placed down. Many parents, typically those of young muggles that found themselves entranced in the magic of a match, told their children not to play with fire. What had his said, if they stayed around? ‘Become a circus act’? Persy didn’t know the blood within his veins, though her bets could be placed away from pure-blood. He didn’t carry himself with that entitlement, though neither did Persy, really. Her condescension was not a result of her upbringing, it simply felt like a valid fortress of protection between the young, affected girl and hatred. If anything, she’d kill to not have that last name, or to be the sole carrier of it.

“Fire dancing.” The blonde would whisper, skipping the words as though they were rocks across a pond, watching them before they sank into realization. If the acoustics of the room amplified this, it may sound like more of a question than an epiphany. “I wonder how someone gets into that. Gets that much disregard for safety.” Those remarks were louder, though they were laced with hypocrisy like cyanide. Who was Persephone to comment on safety disregard? With the acts she committed, become a casualty seemed likely, but never frightening. Destinies were to be embraced, and there was no reason to not lie in the grave she dug.

It wasn’t as though she, too, didn’t have a certain respect for the indestructible rose of flames. Her matches stayed with her most times, tugged protectively away somewhere on the left side of her body, easy access. Magic was a phenomenon to be respected and appreciated, something to be utilized, but it wasn’t personal. It didn’t feel personal. Muggles had few things right, few things that the young blonde could agree and empathize with, but they had this. Knives, both professional and make-shift from the glass of an empty bottle, did more damage than any spell could. Fire, engulfing and consuming everything but your soul, that left marks. Simple, physical attacks. It was personal, and that made it hurt a hell of a lot worse. Perhaps Persephone admired Ruka’s respect for at least one of these forces, maybe she did that same thing for the young Raven of the lifeless night.

“Anyway,” Persy moved to stand, but fell into consideration before going limp again. “I thought we could both benefit from a chat.”

@Persephone Barret

There were a lot of words Ruka knew to use to describe himself with - often more negative than positive - but observant was the one he liked to use above most others. It was the trait that had allowed him to see through Jack's flimsy facade the first time they had met, was what had kept him from falling into Flash's trap when he had tried to use his own weak emotional state against him, and it was what kept him from expecting an attack out of the girl in front of him, at least not now.

Not yet, maybe.

Few people their age were as familiar with exhaustion the way it was written across Persephone's entire appearance as Ruka was. Selim, certainly, but other than that he didn't think he'd seen it as clearly on anybody else's face; Or maybe he just hadn't paid enough attention. That would make sense, considering Ruka had a tendency to grow bored of people before he even took a look at them. Still, that didn't change the fact that he could tell by Persephone's almost messy appearance, that the girl had foregone sleep, had neglected various steps of self-care before throwing herself into the day.

Perhaps it was nothing but leftover traces of a weekend well spent, but Ruka liked to think life was less simple than that; There were reasons for everything, and rarely was the simplest explanation the most honest or accurate one.

"Your being here is supposed to be useful then?" he questioned, tilting his head to the side curiously as he took another step closer. It was strange to be talking down to someone as he was usually the shortest person in a group and constantly craning his neck to look at people, but for now it seemed like Persephone was happy to remain seated on the floor, like a spider feigning immobilisation before striking at her prey.

Unmoving, Ruka kept his eyes on Persephone as she kept talking, seemingly more to herself than to him for the moment. "Yeah," he agreed quietly, narrowing his eyes slightly in concentration. "How does that happen?" Disregard for safety was not something he thought of when it came to Fire Dancing; He had learned to be careful, had spent his whole life developing the necessary respect for the flames to ensure they wouldn't bite and nibble at him in the same way they had attempted to devour people back at the ball. The scars and burns marking his skin were merely proof of a lifetime spent taming a beast.

Sometimes he thought he was in the safest place while engaged in a Dance with the flames.

Persephone, however... Actions warranted reactions, and Ruka was well aware that people weren't above violent reactions in answer to perfectly innocent actions; The girl in front of him was anything but innocent, that much he had been able to see so far. From spilling tea all over Evelynn, smashing his own head against a table, even attempting to kick at Erin back at the ball, the actions Persephone chose to take on a seemingly frequent basis were downright cruel, and at some point people's reactions to them were going to catch up with her.

Ruka feared for her safety far more than he did for his own.

With a small step forward, he observed the way Persephone seemed to consider standing up for a moment before apparently thinking better of it - Maybe exhaustion prevented her from doing anything but stay on the ground, or maybe that's just what she wanted him to think.

Either way, Ruka grew tired of speaking from above quickly, so he rolled his shoulders once before dropping down on the floor in front of Persephone, pulling his knees close before letting them fall to each side of him and leaning his elbows on them. A curious spark lit up his eyes as the girl opposite him continued talking, making him hum in contemplation.

"We could?" he wondered, a small chuckle escaping his lungs. He didn't see much reason for why a chat could possibly benefit either of them; As far as he could tell there was nothing he possibly had to offer Persephone, and while Ruka couldn't deny that he had a certain intrigue for the girl and her motives, he didn't think she was willing to give up any kind of information he could actually have any use for.

Still, the mere fact that she seemed to have sought him out specifically made him curious enough to entertain the situation, at least for the moment.

"What do we have to chat about, then?" he asked, a hint of amusement tinting his voice. "I would have thought the Bringer of Fear had more important people to talk to than me. I feel flattered, really." He laughed lightly, but it wasn't exactly a joke; He did think she had people to associate with that were far more useful to her than he could ever be, and a part of him did feel kind of flattered that she had taken some of her certainly valuable time to talk to him anyway.

However, he wasn't naive enough to believe that she was here for the mere pleasure of his company; He had thought so before and was even more convinced of it now, that there was a reason behind everything Persephone was doing, and he was more than eager to find out more about this one.

"Was there something I can do for you, then?"

@Ruka Tân

Something enticing about Ruka brought Persephone to this place, surrounded by an atmosphere that was heavier than the weight of both of them combined, to a room where the style sang more sonorous than any student could dream, but where screams would echo into a million different worlds before reaching the others of their own. What exactly that was, that ruthless magnet that bound their minds into one, souls of the same creation, it couldn’t be pinpointed. The blonde could stay rigid in her position, stealing her own thoughts and replacing them with consideration of this lethal interest, and nothing would come of it. This made it unfair, all the more unfair, that as their conversation took its first steps into maturity, the train of thought remained enthralled elsewhere. Here, but not reading lips. Here, but not taking in the scene. Here, yet only considering the path that lead to this destination.

When this lost in thought, it would reflect in her gaze, glassy and as though it could be shattered with a sharp enough glare. That delicacy was a weakness, and Persephone would blink several times as if trying to erase it, hide it from the lingering stare of Ruka. The fact that he returned her remarks with some of his own, didn’t rush to the door in a flee of terror, perhaps it was a sign of hope resonating from the lights. You may almost be able to hum to the beat of their tension, tap dance along the tightrope of hatred versus admiration. But the ends were promiscuous and not meant to be taken as they were. Her blinking would only give her green eyes a watery look and a reddish hue, contrasting the blackness of the shadows beneath them.

Ruka tilted his head in question as he echoed her, a pointless inquiry unless he'd gone deaf in the span of a few fleeting seconds. A loose scoff would come from her, condescending but as though it didn’t have the energy to be. “Whether or not my presence here is useful is up to you, Ruka. It isn’t a one-way street.” The use of the Gryffindor’s first name as opposed to his surname was not entirely personal, not a vindictive tactic to embrace the dark and hardest side of the iridescent angel. Instead, it was a common approach of the younger yet taller student, someone who found comfort in its purpose, yet not its implications. Being called Barret wasn’t particularly endearing, rather it made her want to slit a throat, identity up to interpretation, and the girl didn’t wish to return that favor. It came back to the use of muggle tactics in battle; it was far more personal. Not familiar, not a bond between them, just personal enough for them to know, I know you. Names were powerful and telling all the same.

Still admiring the torches near the entrance, fingers laced together and twirling in each other, his following statement went unheard. Biting her lip, she envisioned his dance, his love and respect for the flames, tying it to a source but instead throwing the lasso at anything that remotely resembled a cause. Each cause had an effect and vice versa, a law of physics, Persephone believed, but it couldn’t be interpreted by one human being, born into existence by the vague abyss of daydreaming. Trauma, maybe. Forced upon him, perhaps. That was an answer she may request during the course of their dance together, a tango that the copper-haired boy may not be aware he was in. Copper hair, like rusted metal. From there, her mind ran laps. Tetanus, maybe. He, too, carried a deadly disease. Beautifully feigned sentiment. Ruka was an artistic actor.

In the blink of an eye, Ruka dropped to the floor in front of her, resting contentedly with a dry chuckle from his throat. His doubt was displeasing, yes, but it was merely a display of his shallow thoughts and lack of consideration on the subject. Persy placed her dead hands behind her and leaned back, muscles aching so that they almost seemed they would burst. “Surprises me, just a little, that you never thought you’d benefit from talking to me.” The blonde returned his humorless laugh, a not-at-all comedic remark that likely was composed more from superiority.

“Bringer of fear, destruction, death, chaos, whatever you’d like to call it.” She mumbled under her breath, at first sounding like a correction of his reference, but molding quickly into a vague sense of disappointment. Not for him, though maybe he wouldn’t recognize that. Without any hint of delight, Persy smiled her weary grin, followed by resting her eyes and staring into the blackness behind them. “Glad to see you’re amused. Didn’t realize how funny the situation was to you.” A breath that sounded like her lungs held no room for more air. “I took the time out of my busy schedule to give you a concussion, what, you don’t think you’re worth a conversation too? That’s depressing, Ruka, have some self-worth.” With that appearance, it was listening to a serial killer tell you not to fight.

“Humor me. Just for that time you can spend in here, and I won’t interfere with any more of your day. It seems there is a heavy amount of information that we don’t know about each other, and with our poetic history…. You’re just an enigma.” Even if the words themselves, when written and said in a monotonous way, may sound slightly kind, it only took a sad glance to realize there were things left unsaid. To reveal all her motivations in the course of a few words would be foolish, a deathwish written in red ink. The blonde pulled one knee closer to her chest before resting on the palms of her hands again, careful to no longer meet his stabbing gaze.

@Persephone Barret

There was a silence in the room they were in that seemed to stretch between them after every spoken word, like the room was soaking up everything that was said, chewing it up, swallowing it down and leaving it to settle in the bile of Ruka's thoughts. Persephone made no sense to him; he couldn't understand anything about her actions except for the fact that they had a purpose. It was so vastly different from the way he wasn't able to understand Flash; He was perfectly aware of the purpose of his actions, could simply not comprehend why he would go through the lengths of what he was doing for the predicted outcome in the first place.

Persephone, on the other hand, was a complete mystery to him. She seemed calculated and cold, but her tired, glassy eyes shone like those of a lost child barely aware of why she was tied to these mortal realms when she knew she was supposed to be floating high above it with an air of superiority that could never reach its full extend while bound by mortality. He could study her for years and probably understand her no more than he understood the stars in the sky by simply watching them through a telescope.

The use of his first name didn't shock or surprise Ruka, only elicited a vaguely amused hum. After spending so much time with Jack who was so vehemently against exposing himself to the familiarity of first names, it was almost strange to meet people who didn't share that same irrational fear. Given names had never held that same kind of meaning to Ruka personally; They didn't show any form of bond or sign of familiarity unless you specifically gave them that power. They were an identity, a single word to sum up one's entire being - Knowing a name was to know a person, not to understand them or be familiar with them. It was the intend it was used with that gave it its real meaning.

Persephone didn't seem to suggest any kind of familiarity between them, no bond, no understanding, no implications that they were kindred spirits of any sorts. Ruka kept an ear out for a threat in her tone but he could find none. His name was just there, lingering on her tongue, just out of his reach. His existence was known to her and now it was up to her what to do with it. To make it useful somehow.

The way she suggested he make her existence useful to himself as well. It made him smile wearily. A purpose for a purpose, a favour for a favour. Life was not a one-way street as much as he would have liked to make one out of it.

He only responded with a nod of understanding.

The comfort in his position did not extend to his face as he mustered Persephone as she spoke, a frown creasing his forehead slightly with each word she said. There was something about her that made him feel much younger than he was, like a mere toddler unable to even grasp at a single one of the hints she was throwing at him. He wondered, for a second, if she was just as disappointed when people didn't manage to keep up with her ever wandering mind as he was bored of people doing the same to him.

"I don't think talking to anybody is beneficial to me," he pointed out with an airy laugh, waving a hand in front of him in a dismissive gesture. It was an admission, maybe, a sign of discomfort at the thought of interaction. He had learned how to take care of himself, how to function without needing to rely on anybody else, but he had never learned how to operate among people, how to mould into social groups, keep up a conversation that was anything but straightforward, brutally honest to a point it was apparently painful, judging by the way Flash constantly seemed to be close to tears each time they talked. "I enjoy my solitude."

The correction of the title he had given her gave him cause to narrow his eyes curiously. There was something in her tone that made him wonder what exactly had made her want to address the name in the first place; He hadn't done so with much purpose, had simply tried to poke fun at the fact that she had claimed of herself to be able to induce fear without needing much practice. The disappointment was not lost on him, though he thought it may have been due to some sort of repetition. Had he been predictable to her? It sounded like she had been titled all of the things she listed on a frequent basis; His approach had been uncreative and obvious. He almost felt guilty about it.

"Did you think you had the power to influence my mood?" he asked with genuine curiosity lacing his voice. "It's been a good day and I'm not looking to end it on a sour note." He shook his head lightly at the thought. It wasn't so much that he thought the situation was funny somehow - What reason did he have to get that impression? - but there was some humour in it that he couldn't disregard. The way they were sat opposite each other, engaged in calm conversation that still needed to reveal its purpose. Ruka was in a good enough mood to take amusement from what he had thus far assumed to be an unlikely scenario.

Something about her notion that he didn't have much self-worth stung a part of him he hadn't much considered before; He wasn't sure if it had been an intentional jab at something she had genuinely observed or just a shot in the dark, maybe even some twisted show of humour, but there was truth to her words he didn't like to consider. A strange disconnect was ever present in the way Ruka saw himself; No life was more important than his own, that much he had established throughout various events already, but he couldn't say he considered himself a particularly important person. He liked to stick to himself rather than mingle in social events, wasn't interested enough in other people to collect any sort of valuable intel, had a sense of humour that wasn't often matched, and didn't usually even bother to think of any interesting conversational topics.

If someone was put before the choice of either talking to him or absolutely anybody else, he was quite sure he wasn't the option anyone would go for.

"I didn't think the concussion was a calculated attack," he pointed out, less like a fact and more like a question. He had started out assuming it had just been a matter of wrong time, wrong place, but the more he had seen of the way Persephone carried herself and talked to people, the more he had started to doubt that it had truly all just been incidental. "Are you saying you had planned to spend that time specifically on me? Should I feel flattered?" Almost instinctively his hand reached up to touch the scar on his forehead, these days thankfully hidden beneath hair that had grown too long and only ever got cut by himself with the aid of a breakfast knife.

Another hum escaped him at her suggestion that there was a lot of information they didn't know about each other, a thoughtful expression crossing his face. It was true, there was little he knew of Persephone, but there were various things he couldn't deny intrigued him about her, so the offer of a mutual exchange of information - history even - had a certain appeal to him.

"I wouldn't give up my practice time for just anybody," he relented, an easy agreement to her terms. If there was nothing to gain then there was nothing to loose; There was no reason for him to tell her more than he wanted to, and if she was unwilling to answer the few questions he did have then he would simply leave this conversation with the same level of ignorance as before.

Her use of the word enigma made him laugh lightly as he nodded in Persephone's vague direction. "As are you," he said, watching the way her hands moved behind her back, her muscles tensed. It seemed like an uncomfortable position but he wasn't going to comment on it; Comfort was clearly not a keyword in this encounter.

"Our poetic history," he repeated as he leaned forward slightly as if wanting to get a closer look at the girl's expression, her tired eyes, her weary smile, her pale complexion. He had seen those things in the mirror all too often not too long ago and he wondered...

"You say that like we have some shared pain. Some intertwining thread in our lives that I'm not aware of." Maybe her choice of words had had a completely different meaning than the one he had applied to it, but it was a start to figuring out what exactly it was that made up her thoughts. "I'm happy to answer any questions you have as long as you answer mine. I like solving a mystery as much as the next person."

@Ruka Tân

By technicality, a saddening fact that made Persephone want to triple her course of anarchy to that which is ‘factual’, humans were social creatures. Even those made uncomfortable by the presence of others, those enticed by loneliness and maintaining homeostasis through heartful isolation, would eventually crave connection. Negative or positive, strong or as feeble as a crystal ball, the unique warmth of an embrace, the composition of long-separated souls made from the same essence, it was irreplaceable and inimitable. Born together and to die together. Within another person, millions of pieces of your character, still missing millions more, finding oneself in another. Thinking of the codependency, the corpse you would be without your assigned match, it sickened Persephone so much that her already pale skin would whiten even further. Her eyes met with Ruka’s again, wondering how he came to this conclusion of isolation. What tales were told under his irises, what floated in his veins, weightless yet burdening? A questioning gaze, a curious one, a disgusted one. Connection was a magnet, attractive from the back, repulsive from the front.

Once again, that glassy appearance would overtake the blonde’s gaze, lost in relentless thoughts with an unblinking stare at the fire dancer, or past him perhaps. Beyond him, through him, transparent like he seemed to desire from his earliest days. To bring Persephone to a halt, to an uncomfortable pause in the route of friendships, experiences that molded the clay. With time, it would harden and begin to crack before breaking, but now, in this anguishing moment, the cork remained rigid in the bottle. When she looked at him, not in the hard manner that had become so second nature, he was no longer a mere boy, but a ticking time bomb. Older than her. Sharing pain, maybe, but pain that didn’t compare from her own perspective. How could it? His clock, his beeping timer, the numbers were lessening with more haste, already beginning at a disadvantage. At last, the Slytherin blink, clearing the water from her eyes as the image changed, now a helpless child. Emerald eyes, platinum blonde hair—wait, no—brown hair. Copper hair, rustic and withering away. Multiple people all molding into one, as though they were never separated.

“I don’t entirely believe that.” The blonde would quietly remark, staring blankly at him but still not seeing beyond the distortion in her mind. So many doubts could be extracted from his claim, though this could not be proven simply. The data that was comfortably waiting for usage in her possession, for once in the many years of useful reconnaissance, was not sufficient. Deductions were based on a flutter in her chest and stomach, not butterflies but nightly feeding moths retreating to worn stars, likely connected to personal experience. Not that she would ever state this aloud, allow that vulnerability to pain white skin a forgiving shade of golden, it was a wish for lethal injection that the snake just did not have. With a brisk and sharp shake of her head, a clear internal and external disagreement, the roses died when she spoke, “Not that I can prove anything, but you don’t look like you enjoy your solitude. Maybe you just like negative connections, or fake positive ones.” Spite. Jealousy. Which one, or in an ideal world, what was being overlooked? Or flouted for the benefit of all the population?

His eyes narrowed in inquiry of some mystery, true form resurfacing from black, bloody water. Behind her, keen nails tapped an inaudible beat on the floor, a memory and tune, a way to disregard that which wasn’t going to be revealed. You never find the answer to the questions you don’t ask, but stubbornness would pull ahead in a relay of personality traits.

Toxic voice, but a recollection dwelling within it. Persephone frowned in a prologue of quiet response. “I suppose I only have as much power as you give me, but I would think that I possess the capability to upset you. Done it before, have I not? Only in good experiments can results be duplicated though, so I do guess we’ll have to see.” A good day. Perhaps her following remark would be tainted in green, colored with the essence of envy. “Admirable. Looking at you, you’d think everyday ended on a sour note. Before you sleep or whatever you do at night—recharge your battery?—the only person gracing your company is yourself.” Dryly, she chuckled. “You weren’t blessed with the best company then….” One moment commenting on his lack of self-worth, the next bringing it down with a agonizing kick.

“Everything I do is calculated. Why wouldn’t it be? Too risky to do something that is so spur-of-the-moment. Too risky to…” In a heartbeat, the blonde had chopped that opinionated conclusion away, eyes widening and hands silently scratching at the floor. First, perhaps his declaration hadn’t been a question, only sounding such due to the soundly echo of the majestic room. Second, too risky to live. Pitiful. Revealing. Everything that Persephone was not. “Flattered sounds like you’d take it as a compliment. Are you self-destructive enough to take a concussion as light-hearted praise?”

Ignoring what preceded it, a lingering trace of a grin would fall upon her weary visage at the reminder of complexity that wrote her. To puzzle, to bewilder, and to consume others in perplexing theories wasn’t a recorded goal, but a benefit. The longer she remained ensnared in being an unsolvable puzzle, everything she despised Ruka for being, the safer the fortress remained. The less likely it was that death would come earlier than planned, whether physical or mental, if both of those bodies had not already decayed away to the attraction of insects. Time of death: birth. Dead years before her heart stopped, remorse for herself, remorse for others, similarity. Mourn those that pass, dress in black, wear their sins as face paint, wear that scarlet letter.

When Ruka moved only slightly closer as though the peak of their story had been reached, combining the pieces of an experiment, Persy instinctively fell backwards onto her elbows. “Er—” An odd noise of discomfort fell from her as she yanked herself back into a sitting position. He inquired of the history they shared, the intertwinement, where the tangling ropes met and never disconnected. The answer wasn’t collected of serene clarity, it wasn’t even known to its creator. But it was there; the far away look, the gaze as though someone took the bodies from the galaxy and used them all in the making of yours eyes, the tangling strings of holding the universe together from the glass pane of your window.

“Not only me can decide what makes us, or just you or me, ourselves. I can’t choose that…forbidden connection, and neither can you. It’s there.” She shook her head as though clearing the insanity way with an earthquake of destruction, letting it fall into the crevices of the unforgiving earth. In a moment of attempted salvation, Persy quickly carried on. “I’m no mystery, maybe you’re not to the point of understanding yet, not as empathetic as you think. But questions sound fair, I’ve got a lot myself.” The premise reminded her of the previous interaction had with Flash, and she’d visibly shiver as though it brought an immortal chill. “Normal conversations can say plenty on their own, however.”

@Persephone Barret

As much as Ruka tried to catch Persephone's eyes, as much as he tried to meet her eyes, it seemed like he always missed it by just a hair. Her irises, green, a similar shade to his own, were empty and far away; She was seeing him but it was more than that, seeing through him, maybe, like he was made of the finest paper, translucent when looked at from the right angle. It almost made him uncomfortable to know that her gaze was sharp enough to cut through his entire being without actually ever even focusing on him.

Silently he kept his eyes focused on her glassy stare anyway, as if there was a story for him to read, something to grasp onto, to figure out the thoughts and experiences she was made of. There were galaxies in the black of her pupils that were so far out of his reach he could never even dream of mapping them into coherency.

"Negative connections," he repeated quietly, but his voice was tinted with amusement and curiosity. There was a familiarity to her words, though none that he could identify with. Negative connections were not something he sought out, at least not without reason. He didn't thrive of arguments and misunderstandings, didn't go looking for confusion and resentment; They were just as draining as fake smiles and shallow conversations neither party had a genuine interest for. Avoiding both of them was usually in his best interest. "You must mistake me for someone else we both know," he pointed out, eyebrows raised questioningly.

There was someone he thought fit the description quite well, and while he knew he shared some obvious similarities with Jack - physically as well as emotionally - this was where they differed like night and day. While Jack craved the interaction, the thrill of figuring out how to get under someone's skin, how to leave them bare and vulnerable, Ruka tended to shy from it unless not given the option of retreat. He had told Flash before that he thought people were either boring or dangerous, and he had no desire to associate with either group. Catching his genuine interest was a difficult feat, and keeping it even more so.

Though... While he didn't think her assumption stood up to scrutiny, Ruka had to admit that his claim may not have been as truthful as he had thought it to be when he had voiced it. There was a part of him that craved to bond with people, that wanted to belong where he clearly didn't fit. He did enjoy a mystery, liked to take people apart into their rawest state. All of those were longings he had not experienced before he'd made that one significant connection to the world that had tied him back to the ground when he had been ready to float away in his everlasting solitude.

Shaking his head off that thought he returned his attention to the girl in front of him, listening to the sound of her nails on wooden flooring. The rhythm of it was enough to make him close his eyes for a moment, imagine their conversation as a dance, a carefully choreographed performance among the flames burning away at their skin.

"You're right," he agreed easily to her observation that he wasn't the best company to have around his lonesome at night. He could easily think of someone he wouldn't mind sharing his time with at the end of the day, the one person he found superior to his own company, but that didn't mean he disliked recharging his batteries by himself either. "But it's still better than the majority of the mindless sheep in this castle. I would rather endure my own bad company than theirs." He wasn't sure if she thought attacking his self-worth was going to upset him, but he was too aware of the fact that he didn't particularly like the person he was for it to hurt particularly much when someone pointed it out to him.

"Yet," he continued, a teasing grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Here you are, having sought out my company which you have just claimed is not the best to keep." He straightened his back, rolling his shoulders to relieve himself of the strain the position was putting on him. "Now I have no choice but to endure my own company, but why would you lower yourself to it?" His smile remained in place, his hands folded in his lap, his eyebrows raised curiously.

He had no issues remaining on the path that required them both to keep trampling over his own self-worth; As contradicting as it may have seemed, he was quite confident in not necessarily being a good person to keep around so the kick she had attempted to deliver was but a mere tickle.

A moment of silence passed between them as Persephone interrupted her own words like she was revealing too much, or maybe like she couldn't bare to voice her thoughts out loud where they would remain in existence forever, turn them into a reality that may overtake the room they were in and cause her to suffocate in it.

As much as Ruka would have liked to know what exactly it was that Persephone deemed too risky, it did not seem like the issue to press, so he remained silent, shivering at the continuous sound of nails against wood.

"You really don't know me at all, do you?" he asked, an amused spark lighting his eyes as she spoke of his self-destructive tendencies. "I'm not flattered by the concussion. I am flattered by your acknowledgment of my existence." He hummed a toneless melody for a moment as he focused his gaze on a spot on the wall just above Persephone's right shoulder. "If you were targeting me specifically, for whatever reason, it means I have at least some kind of impact on your life. We're in charge of who we give that kind of power to, didn't you just say so?"

Blinking his eyes, Ruka returned his gaze to the blonde girl's pale face, a faraway look in his own eyes now. "I don't like being around people most of the time," he admitted quietly as he pulled his knees up and against his chest, holding them close like he needed something to keep him grounded through this conversation. "But maybe you're right. Maybe solitude is only temporarily enjoyable. If it's only you, all the time, do you really even exist?" A sad smile lit up his face, a shimmer in his eyes hinting at tears that were not going to fall in this room. "If attacking me specifically was calculated then you have given me the power to be impactful to your life if I chose to make use of it. You're giving me that power again right now by seeking out conversation with me, the same way I'm giving you power over me by entertaining it." He sighed heavily, and with another blink of his eyes the sad smile vanished along with the tears, waiting in the darkness of his mind to resurface at a later time, a better place.

"Sometimes I think acknowledging someone's existence is the biggest compliment one can give."

For a moment there was nothing else to say, a heavy silence filling the room as Ruka just took the time to observe Persephone until she let out a sound of discomfort, her body visibly moving away, elbows colliding with the ground behind her as if his close proximity had startled her somehow. A small frown creased Ruka's forehead, his own hands falling to the floor beside him, a small hum the only indication that he had even taken note of the instance. Had it been the intrusion of personal space that had made Persephone back away, or was it him specifically? Maybe he would add that on the short list of questions he would try to find answers to in the course of this encounter.

Her next words left him puzzled, a small frown on his face betraying how out of his depth he felt whenever she talked. Her words had purpose, her thoughts ran deeper than he could possibly imagine, but what she voiced was vague, barely an answer, riddled to an extend that Ruka didn't know where to start looking for a solution.

It only raised his intrigue for her.

"I never claimed to be empathetic," he pointed out, feeling the need to clear up that misconception before it could run any deeper. Quite on the contrary, Ruka often felt himself so detached from people he could not fathom their emotions in the slightest, didn't know how to deal with them either. If he was even less empathetic than he thought he was then that was probably cause for concern.

Her suggestion that conversations were plenty revealing by themselves were met with a nod of his own, a silent agreement that sometimes the natural flow of a conversation could answer many more questions than could have ever been asked. "I'm a horrid conversationalist," he pointed out, almost an apology. "But if you have plenty of questions, I'll gladly let you pose the first one; The thing I wonder about most is what you could possibly want to ask me anyway."

@Ruka Tân

With every added word, each one tasting more bittersweet with contempt, the ache in Persephone’s head grew stronger and more ruthless, like a child attempting to read an early classic. Everything presented as a puzzle, a question to be answered, even those that were rhetorical or simple statements of fleeting thoughts. There was truth in some places, others masked by clever lies with no visible seams, and the blonde would rip it to shreds to find what composed it. What colors made up his soul and thoughts, the shades in which Ruka saw the world and registered it, or perhaps lack thereof. Regarding him as a rubix cube had been witty at the time, an easy explanation of the greatest of phenomena, but it was more than that, rather than giving new colors, there were no defining shades. It always appeared solved, and therefore, never really was.

Regardless that they were engaged in a conversation, taking fair turns with remarks and making implications to be reviewed and disliked later, it felt as though nothing had begun yet. Perhaps this was because their eyes never met, rarely caught each other in a moment of enhanced weakness, and the two might as well be speaking to themselves, in body and in mind. For all anyone knew, each could be looking in a funhouse mirror, two rooms on opposite sides of the castle, disagreeing as much as they did now. Not to say they were one and the same, old souls and mates in such, but just to say they were stubborn. Or, more likely, Persephone was stubborn and begged he was too. That would make the time fly by much quicker than if she felt compelled to stay.

“I’m not asking that you change your stance on that, that would take the joy out of this.” She whispered, one hand finally coming up to massage her left temple. Only now did Persy realize that the headache had been present hours before Ruka graced her presence and would probably persist for several hours after. Some aspect of their conversation just gave it plentifully desired power, and this could not be stolen, like the light from day or the glimmer from night.

It took extraordinarily little exertion to deduce the insinuation of his retort, that person they both knew that sought out negativity as though he couldn’t breathe without it. For this, Ruka would be given silent credit, the recognition that his dear friend craved unbalance for a reason that couldn’t be specified. More than once, the Slytherin girl had been invited to errands or activities with that friend without comprehensible rationale. Elbow to the ribs, tackling, the boy before her choking on his own mistakes and blood. Nothing between the two remotely resembled friendship, yet they’d encountered one another more than your typical enemies. And, of course, this was only one example; the marks along his back still reigned in part of her mind. It was an impressive way to always stay with someone. Thinking of this, her eyes had retained their shine and far away look, vision of transparency. From where she sat, she could see the ocean miles away.

Tap, tap, tap. Tap, tap, tap. Clicking the edges of her nails against the floor in careful threes, keeping time. It brought about pattern and prediction where the situation was so arresting in volatility. “I suppose you’d rather have a bad personality than none at all.” Even when being reasonably offensive, showing him the breaches in his own constructed walls, she could almost sound timid. She could almost be timid if you were someone who didn’t recognize her arrangements or thoughts as instability. An embodiment of innocence, clinging to the features of a child in all ways or none at all. Young in obvious existence, in age of dying cells, but withering away under the decay of age. Fresh, new, worn, dying.

“Good question if the answer weren’t clear. Can we leave it at I’m probably not talking to you for the immense joy your company gives me?” She leaned back slightly once again, a futile attempt to restore ease and coolness that was never there, especially not in a conversation that didn’t allow such relaxation. Just the sound of Ruka’s voice, the stabbing pain from his gaze that would never be met, it tensed her nerves almost religiously, born to do it. Fulfill your purpose, make this girl uncomfortable.

Persephone craved to end the conversation here, throw up a striking white flag and retreat with such speed she could do it twice before his heartbeat slowed. But it truthfully hadn’t begun yet, fight-or-flight had set in prematurely, and the young blonde could perform neither of those options. Knock some sense into him now, it would be incredibly difficult to mold another perfect encounter, so ideal and gorgeous in its conditions. The atmosphere of the room surely did the two grim reapers an important favor to keep the world from draining of its color and vibrancy. Together, perhaps they could put the whole universe into a depression. Flight, an identical issue, except the violent demise of a reputation accompanies your shame. Yes, because I forgot how much you care about what people think.

She could swear he faintly shivered.

His rhetorical inquiry was senseless, and couldn’t reflect differently under any changing conditions. How could she know him, better than she knew herself? Most of her comments were the result of ill-advised deductions, and some birthed themselves from a trick of the light that made his rustic hair resemble hers. That made him ever-so-slightly taller, filled. But, he had her. Checkmate, then. His skills in listening were far more advanced than predicted. “Yeah, I don’t know you. Isn’t it interesting that we’ve never had a conversation prior to this one? It is to me, but you’re also being narcissistic. You had no power over me, you’re just valuable for what I needed.” Still avoiding him. If she looked at him again, he became real. If he was real, he mattered.

From her peripheral vision, the boy assured her that his solitude gave him color and distinctiveness, but pulled his knees close immediately after. Fear or discomfort? Body language often spoke more than a person ever could, which said plenty for his own talkative being. Though, this was also hypocritical, as Persy found herself spitting words out every other second where silence was the loudest voice of all. Screaming so quietly, without sound, without movement, it did wonders, yet she kept talking. He kept talking, both with his lips and general stature. The agony was worth it; for a short-lived moment, Persy glanced at his eyes and melancholy smile, not seeing him anymore.

“Emotional topic for you?” Even her own gaze had sewn itself sorrowful, maybe from meeting his own or the burden of their conversation. “Don’t answer that. You sound like one of those people that question whether trees fall in an empty forest; the answer is yes. Whether I came here today or not, giving you power or taking it, you would be here. I—” Almost envy that stability. Persephone had to kick this habit, diving too deep to keep all of her breath, preparing herself to drown. Water made you weightless, yes, but it was heavy.

In response to the brief startled reaction she’d granted, the Gryffindor merely appeared confused. That was much preferable when compared to the trenches of his thoughts giving him answers to questions he hadn’t asked, yet it perplexed her all the same. With him, Ruka carried a certain darkness, a grim grave in his mind that was full of thoughts that lacked process. Though she was thankful for its temporary malfunctioning, a part of her had believed he would see through it. A part of her had wished someone would.

“Maybe not with your words, but sometimes just existing the way you do is enough to fool people into seeing empathy.” Her tongue spoke in riddles, a natural desire to remain opaque and translucent. If there were a translator, the two would burst into continual tears until they drowned in the Rehearsal Room. Nearly apologetically, Ruka expressed a preference for a simple game of question and answer. Back to Flash, and that didn’t end well. It would have to swell into a conversation to avoid the flight option in fight-or-flight. And that would have to be sufficiently suppressed to evade fight.

Why did it feel like she always had to be so cautious?

“That’s a paradox.” Persephone mindlessly pointed out. “But sure. What I wonder the most is why haven’t you tried speaking to me before? Or do you sleep well at night knowing a stranger ‘attacked’ you?” Air quotes and all; an attack was only truly such if it were unreasonable. Otherwise, it’s simply a means to an end.

@Persephone Barret

There was something so gravely contradicting about the way Persephone voiced that there was any joy in what they were doing, in this conversation or this general encounter, while simultaneously rubbing her temple like Ruka's mere existence was giving her a headache. He was going to comment on it, had the words ready at the tip of his tongue but he swallowed them down in favour of a silent hum, a scratch at the back of his throat, barely audible.

For all he knew, that aching in her temples may have not been his fault and while he had quite a lot of faith in his capabilities he wasn't quite arrogant enough to believe he had enough power over Persephone to cause her pain like that.

Instead he focused on the tapping of her fingers on the ground, the toneless melody Ruka had grown so familiar with over the past month or so, the rhythm he had been trying to shake in favour of the light-footed dance he wanted to engage in but never quite seemed to be able to. His mind craved the control, the stability, seemed to almost be lulled to sleep by the calming repetition of One, two, three over and over again.

Was she doing it for the same reasons he had been counting his threes before deciding to try and stop the habit from becoming bigger than he was? Did she feel herself slipping off the edges of the world ever so often, with nothing to hold onto? Had she been moving through life without being able to focus, like everything around her was nothing but a blur and only the rhythmic tap of her fingers was able to sharpen the visuals?

He wanted to mimic the gesture, his fingers stiffening with the urge to join the toneless melody, his personal song of agony, but he held himself back, curled the digits into a fist instead, just for a second, clenching and unclenching as if to imitate the momentary tension of his mind.

"I do," he answered her question he assumed to be mostly rhetoric. Just like their aforementioned mutual acquaintance, Ruka did like to argue semantics where he could find them. "It's all very subjective anyway, isn't it? Good and bad. What's a bad personality to you could be delightful to someone else. Not having one in the first place just completely eliminates the chances of someone else enjoying it at all." He accentuated his musings with a little shrug to convey that he could possibly talk about this for ages without ever coming to a real conclusion.

His eyes mustered her for a while, taking in the perfect picture of distraught youth and innocence she displayed, her own gaze like smoke in the wind, carried ever further away, always out of reach but all consuming either way, just unsettlingly there. It felt like she was looking at him from every side, but no matter which direction he turned, he never seemed to catch her eye.

One, two, three, he thought, but this time not for himself but for her, like he could somehow give her some control this way, could fill her life with consistency, rhythm. Her words were barely there, quiet and musing, like they were lost in a thought she didn't quite know how to voice completely, like there was more beneath them than the obvious intent of vaguely kicking at his own self worth.

"I have gathered that much," he said with a firm nod. "I suppose I'll stop questioning it for now then." There was seemingly no answer to why she had taken the time out of her day to seek him out, none she was going to offer him on a silver platter at least, but it didn't seem like their conversation had reached its climax just yet, so there was still time.

The way she leaned back, away from him once again was not lost on him, his eyes narrowed in a question he wasn't going to ask just yet, his skin rising with goosebumps he wasn't sure what had invited them to show.

"Valuable for what you needed," he repeated her words, mulling them over by tilting his head from one side to another. Each word in that statement filled him with questions and theories he was unable to count they were so vast in quantity.

Did valuable mean indispensable? Had he not been there, would things not have worked the way she had planned for them to go, or would she have simply chosen another person to cause harm to?

Something she needed. A selfish act without regard for anybody else. She had needed something which meant her plan had been successful. Mission accomplished. At least that part of it.

"Is that it then?" he asked vaguely, thoughts flooding his mind almost overwhelmingly. "I'm a cog in your machine?" Funny, almost, how he seemed to be useful to Persephone's grand scheme somehow, while just the other week Ruka had realised that to Flash he was nothing but a kink in his machine. Either way it made him wonder why people insisted on trying to make him part of their system in the first place when he was perfectly happy operating by himself.

Selfishness was a trait everyone possessed whether they wanted to admit to it or not.

"Is that not exactly what power is? You've built yourself something and used me as a piece, but who's to say I'll be turning the way you expect me to?" He hummed thoughtfully, the mental image filling his mind, his eyes fixing on his own hands, laid on his knees, palms facing upwards like he could read all his future actions from them. "What if I come lose and block the rest of your pieces from turning? Isn't that exactly the problem with involving people in anything? You can never predict just how predictable they will be and thus nothing you build around them will ever be stable." He sighed heavily as if the mere thought of people and their peculiarities was exhausting to him. "But humour me, what was it that you needed? What exactly is it that you got out of targeting people who hadn't wanted much else than some tea and a few house points?"

He was missing something, he was sure, some big picture that Persephone had long gone puzzled together while he was still trying to search for the edges. Spilling tea on Evelynn, Opeila's unnecessary and dramatic interjection, more tea spilled, the loud, sickening crack as his own skull had collided with the table beneath.

Two weeks of agonising abandonment, justifications tormenting his mind, company he didn't want nor ask for, that longing clouding his mind, making him roam the dungeons at unreasonable hours. Two weeks of being the target of emotional extortion, attempted bullying, two weeks of the realisation that in the depths of his being he was nothing but a selfish, needy little brat.

Had that been part of Persephone's big picture or simply an unforeseen side effect? Collateral damage, maybe.

Glassy eyes found a spot right beside his left foot, something to focus on as he did his best to suppress the need to fall back into that reliable pattern of threes, fingers itching to tap it out, but he didn't let them. It had been bad enough that he had let Flash bring him back into this pit of helplessness, but he wasn't going to grant Persephone that same kind of power.

Her words passed him by, barely there, as if she was talking to him while his head was held under water, and for a second he recalled that blissful moment of peace, eyelids fluttering, body going limp, the lightheadedness before he'd been pulled back to the surface to experience the sharp pain of reality.

He could hear her talking, understood the words, but they weren't important; What felt important was that moment, once again, in which she stopped herself from continuing.

"Are you scared of your thoughts?" he asked, seemingly out of the blue. All those broken off sentences, hanging in the air like Persephone had been unable to take in enough breath to finish them, like every word brought her closer to suffocation. Her gaze was so far away but Ruka wondered if maybe it had just gotten lost in the width of her thoughts, had been caught in a deep Black Sea, unable to resurface without someone throwing her a life boat. He wondered what it would take to pull Persephone back to shore. "Do they feel too real when you say them out loud?"

It was projection, maybe, a flicker of something familiar, something he could recognise. He liked to say what was on his mind, unashamed and without any regard for consequences, as long as it came to other people. What kind of monsters were crawling through the darkness of Persephone's mind that she didn't want to release into the world out of fear that they would be able to feed on reality until they were too big to fight off anymore?

He knew there were plenty of those in his own head.

"Is it my fault that people get fooled into seeing something I never meant to display?" he asked quietly, gaze settling on the girl in front of him once again, a sadness washing over him as he took in her fragile form. She was just a girl like this, in this room, this position, with her skin pale, her hair messy, her eyes so far away Ruka was almost envious of their freedom to escape. For the moment he didn't see an attacker, bringer of chaos or destruction, just a child trying to hold onto the world, grasping at tiny, useless threads and falling deeper and deeper each time they broke. "We fool people all the time, don't we?" he asked curiously. Don't we he said but Don't you was how the question rang if she listened carefully enough. "We fool them into thinking we're better than we are. Worse than we are. It's the most harrowing thing to feel like someone might see us for who we really are beneath all that pretence. There's nothing more agonising yet satisfying than to see how little people truly know about us."

He abandoned that train of thought to instead focus on Persephone's easy acceptance of his request for questions rather than the rhythmic flow of a conversation. It may not have been what she had wanted, but she had accommodated his preference either way, which he took as a sign that this interaction was more important to her than her own comfort. There was something he recognised as well, something he had harboured a deep dislike for, but it wasn't prominent enough in Persephone yet for him to judge her for it. "I don't sleep well at night either way," he revealed easily. Things had gotten better, but he would be lying if he said that sleep came easy or even that he was usually able to sleep through the night. "You're just a drop of rain amongst the countless demons in my head."

Leaning back a little bit but not enough to lose his balance, Ruka released a deep sigh, hands reaching up so he could rub his palms across his tired, burning eyes for a moment. "I never thought there was much point in having a conversation," he admitted, letting his knees fall to his sides again so he could wrap his hands around his bare ankles as if to anchor himself. "Words can't get rid of scars and experiences so why bother with them?" A small laugh escaped his lungs as he shook his head to himself. "Like I said, I prefer to stay away from people. Did you assume you were an exception to that?"