Title: Meaning
Chapter 2: Percentage of Loneliness

People can feel lonely no matter where they are. As human beings, we're programmed with a constant urge to belong. Of course, this impulse isn't as strong in others as it would for some, but nonetheless, it still remains. It's in every heartbeat, every nerve-ending, every single breath we take in. But sometimes, it remains dormant, silent and barely noticeable. 'I don't need anyone, I have myself,' one would say. But Loneliness would assault people like that when they least expect it. Not as frequent as most others, but frequent enough for them to doubt their own security. Many have found tears welling up in their eyes or lead forming in their chests, and Roxas was no exception.

The air was thick with the throat-clogging pungency of frying oils and the heat of a particularly warm Spring day. From how the high-school was built, one would sometimes wonder whether the guys on top had skimped a little when constructing their canteen. It was wide enough, sure, but the ridiculously long tables stretched across that span like the printed blue ink on his notepaper. Narrow-line notepaper, mind you.

Of course, close-proximity is inevitable in a place like this.

Which makes it all the more painful when you realise you're alone.

His sigh was drowned out by the ringing chatter of the congested eating hall, further magnifying the sentiment; honestly, it was more of a parasite. It found him, latched on and proceeded to nonchalantly sap him of his essence. Whether it would drop off when it was satisfied like a leech or cling on until he expired like a parasitic plant, he wasn't sure. But in his honest opinion, he didn't care.

But he did, apparently...

Sitting three tables wide across him, that lanky redhead was casually spooning mounds of curry rice into his mouth. Occasionally, in between shovelling his food at his face and smirking at something one of his friends said, he would laugh. It was inaudible from where he was, overpowered by the collected mass of conversations which were being tossed all around the canteen. The cluster of noise had turned into a insignificant background buzz over time, which made it look like the male's laughs were silent. Somehow, this got Roxas wondering what his laugh sounded like. Was it loud and genuine? Was it wheezy? Did he snort when he laughed? Usually, the blonde would berate himself on thinking such odd and pointless-

Those ponderings were cut-short as the redhead made eye-contact with him and smiled.

Light travels in a straight line and the image is projected in the mind's eye through the lens in your eyes. So, if light was a solid, there would be a long, thin pole aligned between his icy blues and the other's vibrant greens. This would be quite a feat because, surely this stick is no more than a centimetre in diameter, yet it still spanned across three tables, perched between the random heads of other bystanders. If you were to let another second tick by, someone's head would have surely moved towards that pole, snapping it promptly and cutting-off the established connection. In that bit of frozen time which lasted about a millisecond, eye-contact was formed and broken.

Roxas found that fascinating and thought-provoking, yet idiotic and insignificant at the same time.

A thousand questions pulsed from his left brain seconds later, all of which doubting and questioning the point of the last two paragraphs, then lecturing him on having such odd thoughts of a person he had met just yesterday. A million 'maybe's then joined the assault (Maybe I'm just tired. Maybe people like him leave a strong impression. Maybe one of the cooks spiked my food.), proceeded by probability calculations of each 'maybe' with non-existent numbers from statistics that were never weighed out. With every number punched into that imaginary calculator of his, his doubt increased tenfold; of himself, of the person named "Axel", and of what this would lead to in the future.

But all in all, in the chaos of his mind, he was sure of one thing:

He didn't feel quite as lonely as he did before.