Eponinea

                       Why are you blushing, boy? Did I say something to offend you? You're always blushing. It's rather odd, you know. Anyone else would look like a bloody beet, the way you blush, but it's nice on you. Suits you. Everything seems to suit you, and nothing I. Ah, God is unfair in his distributions of blessings.   Now you look like you want to say something. Can't you ever just speak?    "I ought to go home." The words come from your mouth sounding small and lost and somewhat apologetic. Why are you always apologizing to people, always worrying about what they think? Why such sensitivity? Sensitivity; it is an alien feeling

Snow outside. Crisp, white flakes sticking to the ground and a few battering against the windows, hitting the glass and sliding down; he is staring at them, brow furrowed over clear blue eyes, and Marius cannot tell whether he is bored or transfixed. It is a strange marriage of those two expressions that is written on his face now; Marius has never seen such an expression as that before. Although, he has never seen anything quite like this man before. The two of them have been sitting there, burrowed into the two aged, familiar wooden chairs on either side of the table, for some several minutes. Marius caught his eye on the street. They exc