He tossed over in bed and gave a heavy sigh. He hated days like this. Days where it rained and rained and never showed any signs of letting up. As much as he hated the cold, soggy weather, though, he couldn't help but feel like it were times like this when the Earth understood how he felt. But that was silly, he reasoned. No one could truly understand him.

"Thomas, what are you still doing in bed?" His best friend, Charles, asked in his thick English accent as he knocked on the bedroom door. "Get up, mate. We're going to miss waffle bar day in the dining hall."

"Go without me," Thomas replied with a sigh as he pulled his bedsheets over his head, praying he could somehow manage to suffocate himself, just lay there in bed as his breaths became shorter and slower until he finally drifted off into that placid, unending slumber.

Charles shook his head as he leaned his back against the closed door. "Thomas, come on. You've been like this for days," he said in a gentle tone. "I hate seeing you like this, mate, please."

"I know you hate it, but I can't exactly control when I have these bouts," Thomas mumbled. "Please, just allow me some time alone."

"You've had nothing but alone time since you heard about Sarah passing away," Charles replied. "I know you're upset, but as I've pointed out to you before, things don't get better unless you let someone help."

There was another heavy sigh, followed by a few moments of silence. Eventually, Charles heard the squeak of box springs and a few creaks of the wooden floor in his friend's bedroom. Thomas opened the door a second later, bundled up in blankets. "That cat was all I had in that house. Whenever my mother would come home drunk and scream at me for not looking her in the eye when I spoke or hit me for forgetting to put my dish in the sink, I always had Sarah to come and dry my tears. She was my best friend for so long, and I didn't even get to say goodbye."

"Your mother really should have told you she was sick," Charles sighed, setting a hand of his friend's shoulder. "I'm sorry, Thomas."

"What for? You've done nothing wrong," Thomas said quietly, shuffling his feet. "You're the only one who hasn't managed to hurt me in some way, in fact."

"I believe you've mentioned that, yes," Charles replied softly. "Look, if you want to go back to bed, I understand. However, I would like to go out and do something together and try to lift your spirits. I know that the weather is rubbish, but that doesn't mean that we have to stay inside."

Thomas sighed, considering this for a minute. "You have a lecture in an hour," he said after a moments' recollection. "You'll have to leave."

Snapping his fingers, Charles let out a quiet, frustrated groan. "I can't miss this lecture either. The professor said this was going to be an important one."

"It's fine. I promise that I won't spend all day in bed," Thomas replied. "I can't; I have an evening class."

"Well, at least thank God for that," Charles said, chuckling quietly. "I'm going to go fetch some breakfast. I'll bring you back a waffle and some bangers."

"I don't feel much like eating, but I know that you're not going to take no for an answer," Thomas mumbled, already shutting the bedroom door and making his way back to his soft mattress - the one comfort he had at university.

"I never do!" Charles called back before Thomas heard the front door shut, signaling to him that his friend had left the hall of residence.

Yet again, he could be alone with his thoughts. Whether or not it was a good thing, he did not know. Well, that was a lie. He knew very well that being alone with his thoughts was never a good thing, and yet, he managed to convince himself that it was what he needed to cope. He needed to be alone and lay in his bed and watch the rain, leering out his window as water crashed into the glass with a gentle tap, tap, tap sound before cascading down to the bottom of the pane, much like the tear that had fallen from his eye and dripped down his left cheek. He didn't realize it was there until it made its way to his chin, and he quickly wiped it away.

He laid like that for a few hours, hardly even noticing when Charles stepped in and left a plastic take-out container on his bedside table. He had let it sit there for some time before he finally decided to force himself out of bed and took the box off of the nightstand. "Ice cold," he mumbled, not quite sure why he would have expected the food to still be warm after all this time. With a quiet sigh, he wrapped his blanket around his shoulders and paced out to the common room, taking out a paper plate from the cabinet and opening the container. He tossed the two waffles and three sausages onto the plate before he set the dish in the microwave - which they weren't supposed to have in their dorm but did anyway - and turned it on at high heat.

About an hour later, having dressed himself for the day and eaten one of the waffles and half a sausage, he stepped out of the dorm and left the hallway in favor of going outside, not bothering to bring his bumbershoot with him. He took a deep breath and let it out slowly as he looked up and let the sky's teardrops fall onto his cheeks. He closed his eyes for a brief second before he set his eyes back to the path ahead of him and decided to walk to the library.

He needed quiet to clear his head, and he knew the library was the perfect place for that. Sure, the dorm he shared with Charles was quiet enough, but there was something specific about the library that brought him comfort. Whenever he needed peace and a place to escape from the world, he would go there and sit in his private little corner. There was just something about the smell of the books and being surrounded by literature - which was centuries old - that made him feel like home. Well, not home home. He never wanted to experience that nightmare again.

Shaking away thoughts of his abusive mother, he stepped into the large building and managed to give a small smile despite his dark state of mind.  He felt comfort. He felt happy. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to his favorite corner and sat at the small table, leaning both elbows on the tabletop and resting his chin in both hands.

He knew she would be there soon. Any minute, she would walk through the door and sit at the same table as usual, and he would watch her, as he always did.

Three...two...one...

"There she is," Thomas whispered to himself as he watched a tall, brunette, hazel-eyed girl walk into the library. He couldn't help but smile slightly as his eyes followed her to her table.

She was always here around this time of day, and whenever Thomas was there at the same time, he would sit and watch her. She could read for hours on end, and there was something that Thomas found particularly fascinating about that fact. More than anything, he wanted to be her boyfriend, but could never quite muster the courage to ask her on a date. He instead resolved to be the gentleman his mother had taught - or rather, forced - him to be, and he always treated her kindly, hoping to eventually win her over.

After all, she was the one light in his dark mind.