you never told me, c

His jaw slacked; when facing a pretty lady he still never quite knew what words to say and what tone to say them in. It all got bad after the deal with his first crush... who he still couldn't really forget. She was like a dark shadow in the face of every attractive woman he had come face to face with during the past three years.

"Huh..." He said, more to himself, bewildered at how his situation could change so quickly. People talking to him were always such a plot twist. "I'm probably, no uh, I just got kicked out so I guess I'm uh..." His eyelids drooped so he forced them open, only for them to threaten to squeeze shut again. "Homeless? Yeah that's the word." His French accent was still something careful people could pick up on. Three years weren't ten years, after all.

"I'm tired..." He mumbled. Could this lady really help? He doubted so.

@noemi

In truth it was hard to decipher what the nice, pretty lady was saying. Sleep seemed to want to black everything out and it was very much a struggle trying to fight it, but he let her drag him by the sleeve anyway; the danger element not really hitting him in the head.

Although he did manage to catch her last question.

"Franklin..." He muttered, sleep seeping into his every letter.

@noemi

The scenery passed him by without so much of a blink - Franklin had no idea where he was, not was it on the forefront of his mind - all he wanted to do was concentrate on not falling asleep on the pretty lady. Her hair seemed so immaculate it looked fake.

He didn't know what was going on until he was pushed into a very nice looking apartment, no doubt costing a very pretty penny every month. By then, however, the sleep was overwhelming before he could barely take another step, he tumbled, face planting on the wooden floor.

@noemi

He woke up with his head watching a blank piece of paper slowly bleed colour into it. He didn't really know where he was, but if he wasn't dead yet, that was a good sign. No stab wounds, no odd hazy feeling; in fact, it was a good sleep.

Plus he woke up on the usual time. Seven am on the dot, the wall clock told him. If, this thing that was happening, included a very nice lady taking him in, it would mean he should make breakfast for the pretty lady, of course, with her own food.

He could only fill the silence with his odd thoughts; and that's how he managed to ignore it, scrunch it up and throw it away and hope it didn't unravel itself and make Franklin unhappy.

"The sun's a happy chappy today..." He murmured as he cracked another egg on the frying pan. Strangely enough, the lady had enough for a very well balanced breakfast.

Laying it out in two places, two bacon and egg sandwiches, the boiled water went into the five cups which circled the plates in a dotted pattern. The cups of all shapes and sizes looked funny, all of them brown and not light brown because light brown coffee didn't work very well.

Picking one up and drinking it all in one go, Franklin grumbled about the taste and did it for the next one too. Now picking up the third one, he walked back to admire the wall clock.

Eight o'five am.

His coat was nowhere to be found but his instruments were on the wall, so he unzipped his guitar and fished out a crumpled sheet of music he was working on last week; and started lightly strumming.

@noemi

He looked at her pants instead of her top; they looked comfortable. Franklin didn't fancy getting his comfortable pants out from his bag, which he saw lay somewhere else in the room. He felt like he should've said something, but what? He wasn't sure. He hadn't had a lot of companionship for so long, the rules were all so hazy.

"That's too much effort," He said with a bit more energy, whilst he strummed another chord. It echoed quite well in the spacious area. With one hand, he reached for the coffee that sat in front of him and gulped most of it down.

"But good morning." No, that wasn't what he felt like he should say. "Did you sleep well?" No, not that either.

@noemi

He was going through all the chords in guitar, so his responses were late and disjointed. The coffee was placed on top of his stack of music sheets, making a brown ring.

"Uh... oh yeah. Oh, uh, I'm narcoleptic. Curse genetics I guess." He missed a note. With a frown, he tried it again. His brows softened when it sounded pleasing to the ears again.

It was when she asked did he stop playing.

"Oui? You know French?" He titled his head to look at her properly, blinking twice. "Well, I guess it still might be quite obvious. I've been here for only three years."

Running his free hand through his hair, he looked into space, and then began to play through his new piece once more, trying to fill in the gaps.

@noemi