A/N: SO SORRY FOR THE LATE UPDATE. again, i'd need to apologize for this one. hehehe, i just hope i won't totally ruin it this time... ugh, i have no talent in this, forgive me. once again, this was written out of impulse, still unedited and i have no clear idea of half the things i wrote. i sure hope you guys would still find the time and energy to read it though. oh well...^^

The other night, I couldn't sleep so well. I don't really understand why. I would force myself to sleep, and then I'd fail miserably. I tried counting sheep in my mind, and every time I attempted to do so, one face would surface into my head in the end.

You thought that he had done something in me to make me think of him overly like this. What's the guy had to do with me, anyway? I was afraid that time. It was natural for me to run and ignore him, especially since he was the one who had caused all those. Why do I have to feel . . . this weird feeling I myself do not even know about. This weird feeling inside of me is slowly eating me up, and it was all because of him. If I hate him so much, why can't I forget about him? Why does it even seem like his entire feature—those cold distant eyes, his alabaster skin, even that deep scary voice of his—I don't know why they seemed to have slowly etched themselves into my mind. He should be the last person I should ever think of, but why, of all people, should he be roaming in my mind like this?

Perhaps because in all those times that I've witnessed him tormenting other students and wrecking terror in the entire school, I've never, ever had any first-hand experience of his wrath, or whatever I hear from other students. In fact, instead of that inexplicable fear that he should've imposed on me because of his actions, I've felt something else. Perhaps it would be respect that has kept me from being fearful in his presence, and has kept my feet on the ground despite his deathful glares. Again, I still don't understand, but it has always seemed like I owe him something.

Maybe it's started that noon, when he 'saved' me from falling into the ground. Or, maybe that wasn't really the time when it all started. Was it when I saw him smile at me the day after that incident? It didn't even look like that much of a smile, actually, and up to now, I don't know why I have to feel, sort of, elated every time I remember that moment. Maybe it's just that I've never really saw him do that since then, that's why I always feel some sort of privilege when remembering what had happened. Anyhow, I never saw him smile since, so I'd never understood how to feel that way, really.

Why was I so afraid of him that night? What could have possibly been holding me back? That night, when I couldn't get myself to sleep, I contemplated on what I should've done then. I should've thanked him, or something. Why? Because he saved me from those thugs. Again, I owed him something. But this time's different. Instead of feeling gratified, I became afraid. Afraid of what, possibly? Afraid that he might think of me as a clumsy, hopeless herbivore? I don't think so. Then, what is it?

The days that followed were a string of endless daydreams and deep thoughts. My mind was starting to get even worse. I even thought that I should start hating him for starting all these, but in the end, I couldn't find any reason why he should be the one to be blamed. I realized that I merely wanted to hate him. Again, for what, exactly? I know that the root of all these is something deeper; something I could never reach if I keep on clinging to the surface. I couldn't find myself anymore. All I see is him. If I ever want to reach deeper into the pits of my being I have to let go of my thoughts of him, for then will I ever be able to leave the surface.

I was thinking about all these one afternoon in the library, when all of a sudden, my train of thoughts just suddenly stopped. Obviously, it would have something to do with him, for when I looked up from the book I was supposed to be reading, the very first things my eyes fixed upon were his eyes—the same distant ones whose words I tried to decipher, if ever there really were, that is. They were transfixed on me, and I became uneasy. His hands were on his sides, and the wind from the window behind him was so cool, keeping the small strands of hair away from his dead-set eyes. I was immobilized once again as I stared at him that I actually forgot how much time has passed.

Finally, his eyes moved from me to the side, and that's when I noticed the heavy stares from around us. It seemed like for a moment, everyone has stopped working just to watch us. I felt awkward, and I diverted my gaze from his. In an instant, he threw deathly glares to everybody in the room, and in just a snap, they were back to what they were doing. Oh, the fear he sends them with just a single glare!

I was glad I was still able to breathe, for I could never imagine him asking for help in case I fainted. Once again, his eyes bore unto me, and I was again awkward at his presence. He might've finally realized the ordeal that he was dragging me into, for when a minute passed by, he sighed and folded his arms. He closed his eyes briefly, but it was enough for me to gather my scattered thoughts. I straightened my back and looked anywhere but his face. Again, I failed miserably, and I caught myself looking into his eyes.

"Those chocolates," he said, "you were the one who made them?"

I instinctively nodded, slowly and unsure of myself.

He inhaled for a brief moment, and then he continued, his voice monotonous, his face unreadable, "I want you to make me another one."

I could feel my eyes growing wider, and for a moment, I thought what he said was ridiculous. "What?" I heard myself ask.

He opened his eyes and shot me an impatient glance. I thought he noticed my hands gripping the sides of the book tightly, and he smirked. He then leaned in closer, his hands resting on the table. When he again spoke, there was no trace of humour left on his face anymore, "Make me another box of those sweets you gave me. That's an order. If you do not do as I say, I'll bite you to death."

With that, he propped himself up and folded his arms once again. Before he left, I saw the corners of his mouth curl into a slight smile. I could never forget that moment.

The threat was obvious in his voice, if not in his remark. But, deep inside me, I didn't feel that sort of fear that I've felt before that. For some reason, I tried so hard to decode whatever those words that I often see in his eyes. I never wanted to let go of that moment. Besides, I understood a bit of what I was going through.

I now know what I was afraid of. I became afraid of this ever since that day I met him. I was afraid of those sleepless nights, those nights when only that face of that one person is the only occupant of my mind; I was afraid of experiencing those temporary moments of happiness, those daydreams about the other person; the false hopes about fairy tale endings and everything; I was afraid that I might fall into this deep, dark abyss, all alone, with only the hopes of seeing him at the other end keeping me alive; I was afraid of waiting for nothing; of thinking that everything is possible when it comes to love.

I was afraid of falling down again, of the thought that he would be once again there to break the fall; to save me from this ordeal. I was afraid of feeling something for him, for I never wanted to be blinded by things I've once before been blinded by. I know what they say about mistakes, that they make us stronger and surpass even bigger obstacles. But the past would always cling to us, and then they will haunt us forever.

I now find it useless to scratch off the surface and go deeper into what was inside of me. Because I know that wherever I go, all I'd see is him. I know it's too late to hide these feelings now, and it would be definitely hard for me to ignore these. For that's how it is when it comes to falling in love; you can never get back up the way you were before; you just wait for that person to catch you. And that's what I've always hated about it.