(For my bebo *weakly blows a kiss*)
I look to him, just for a moment. It wasn't for any reason other than he had shifted. He had been a moving object in his peripheral vision. Regardless of this however, I had to suffer the consequences. My eyes remained glued in spot, though I moved my head in the direction of the window directly by both him, and the professor. To lower any suspicions I assured myself foolhardy. I took a moment to take in this seemingly light hole in the dreary backdrop. It may of been his pasty, almost ghost like skin, or the wisps of white that were considered his hair, but something like that made him pop like fluorescents in the dark. My eyes gently skimmed over his figure, probably making me look as shy as this light in an already too bright room. Something about the pose conveyed all I needed to know about his personality without digging in his thoughts. His knees were tucked close to him, his head was low as well. Something about his curled figure just screamed out to me, telling me of his, most likely, shy, timid nature. I swallowed as I thought of the action I would face regardless of how much self control I had at that point in time. I at first denied the part of me that begged to dig into his thoughts. Saying it would result in something lackluster and boring, like it always did in class. But something about him, maybe his weak presence, or maybe his nonchalant expression, was edging him on, begging for attention. I shuffled awkwardly, faced with an unusually tough decision. With a sigh, quiet and gentle, not wistful, I faced back to the teacher as I pried into his head. No foul done, in a peek. Go in, come out. Probably not that interesting anyway

I was wrong

It's odd how simple things humans are able to do are actually rather hard to explain without blunder. I always found it hard to be able to explain what imagining is like, even though I understand it as for what it is and how to do it. In that moment, I found the best reason as to why I was never able to explain it in a way that felt like it did imagination justice. For in that moment I realized, while looking in the mental eye of this pale, shy light, that for some, imagination is too beautiful to ever explain

I nearly felt as though the wind had been sucked out of my lungs against my will. Only to have my lungs filled with an air that almost smelt like that in a forest. It wasn't there, but in his eyes it was. He was remebering, recalling that smell. It was salty, but gentle, not hard on his senses. So many earthy tones hit me at once that I couldn't clearly separate them into anything specific. Along with this smell, came so much more. So many details that it felt as though I was being suffocated in them. Everything was thought out, as though he had taken to memorizing this scene down to every detail. And of course, just as I had climbed over my immense awe, his emotions finally settled into my very core as well.

It was sharp, like a stab to his heart. Ruthless, merciless, the bitter nostalgia that settled in him stung like lemon juice in a wound. No, worse than that. It stung like fire, fire that melted away anything else I could possibly ever feel. It was a feeling that, if I was in my own head, probably would have driven me to tears. I was familiar with the bitter nostalgia of remebering a past fight or depression streak, but somehow, this light boy I had scanned over with little of a second thought, had felt that so much harder than I. Now, even if I wanted to, I wouldn't be able to drag myself out of his thoughts. I needed to know what had driven this boy to look at such a scene in a grim matter. To anyone else, such a picture would be considered beautiful, a scene to look back on with a warm grin. But he, he had looked at it with a frown, a slight furrow of the brow. Although in this case, that frown had meant so much more. It was malcontent, angry even, a protest against showing any more extravagant emotion. It was as much as he could do without pulling concern to himself. That much I could tell. Being in his head, I could feel the emotions he was muffling. There was grave sorrow, something long lost, anger at being so melodramatic for something that was gone and had passed.

"It's over, isn't it?"

The words that rang in his ears before the picture was harshly ripped from him rang harshly in his ears, even though the voice was gentle and quiet. My breath was gentle even though, for some reason, I felt short of breath. Now, I was stuck in the lackluster real world. Seeing it through his eyes only made it worse, seeing it through his eyes made everything look dark and under saturated, as though the color had been pulled out of the world. The noise of the classroom rang in his ears, but on me, it doubled back, making it almost unbearable. For us both it was suffocating, stuffy, too loud and distracting. His eyes moved down to his wrist, tugging up his sleeve in empty thought. He felt out of place, like he wasn't in this world, still back in that sad place, at least mentally. He was cold, as though the warmth of the memory was the only thing keeping him from realizing the harsh chill within the room.

I was startled abruptly when I saw myself through his eyes. My misfortune was well deserved. At some point my own body had went limp, head down on the desk, eyes closed and resting. As I was brought to remebering my actual body, I was once again able to feel the prods of the other students. I was astonished, even though in another's head my own feelings are muffled. Never before had I been so intrigued in another's head space that I completely abandoned my body. This light, this boy, was truly a wonder. At that thought I felt what would have been a flush to my own cheeks. No, getting interested in another's thoughts wouldn't end well for either of them. He didn't want to hurt this new found light. Something told him that he had already been through enough.

A crisp call of my name rang through both our ears, making him jump and quickly look to the teacher than back to my limp body. I felt his depression ease for a moment, replaced by caring sympathy for me. As if a guilty dog who over stayed his welcome, I begrudgingly moved back to my own body, knowing it would only end badly if stayed any longer. The warm feeling of his happiness was tempting, but he knew it wasn't right. He finally cut the tie when he heard a gentle, caring "Hinata..."

I gasped as I sat up ubruptly, heat pooling over my face and a pain in my chest. In a burst of instinct and desperation, I looked back to him. Not knowing the dried tear trails on my cheeks were still visible. Maybe I wasn't asleep for as long as I thought, for I would have needed to still be partially myself to actual let free a tear. Really, I looked a mess in general, but my mind wasn't moving fast enough to contemplate the fact of my own pride. My desperation was guiding me now, leading me to edge out words. Telling me to make sure he wasn't hurt or going to attempt something rash. The words tumbled out of my mouth without me approving them, and as they rang out, oh how I wished I could have grabbed them back out of the air and hid them.

"It isn't over, is it?

Something in his presence shook me, violently so. It stung, the shock and fear in his eyes. Though it wasn't clear to the others, I could still feel him, see it in him. He was confused, hurt almost. And yet, neither of us were able to speak. The only thing that filled the quiet room was my heavy breathing and a few whispers. As the bell rang and he quickly walked off, I was left with nothing but an empty feeling, a gut wrenching feeling of regret and sorrow. I watched him go, still to shell shocked to move properly. All I could think as I saw the light leave the room was that I needed to see him again, to say something. I shouldn't have read him